David Dalglish - The Shadows of Grace

The door opened, and Jerico grunted.

“Be you woman or dead thing?” he asked, not bothering to look.

“Woman,” Tessanna said. “And get up. We’re leaving, so I have a task for you.”

He glanced at her and raised an eyebrow. “Not sure I’m in the working mood. What help can I be anyway, unless you have something that needs rolled across? Then I’m all for it.”

Tessanna snapped her fingers. The bonds slackened, and with a grunt of pleasure Jerico freed his wrists and ankles.

“That’s a step in the right direction,” he said.

“You’ll be taking far more than one,” Tessanna said, smirking.

“Excuse me?”

She didn’t answer, instead grabbing him by the throat and pulling him out to the courtyard. There he found his task waiting for him: a small wooden carriage. Tessanna stepped inside, then gestured to the thick ropes attached to the front.

“I made it just for you,” she said.

“You’re too kind.” Jerico crossed his arms and shook his head. “Sorry, but I’m not pulling you anywhere.”

“Yes, you are,” Tessanna said. “Unless you want to bleed out your eyes, you’ll do as I say.”

The paladin prayed to Ashhur, searching for the right answer. No matter what he did, she would torture him. Perhaps it was time to be practical.

“So be it,” he said. “If this is my burden, then I will bear it, but I will bear it silently.”

He walked over to the ropes and stooped down. Tessanna frowned.

“Take off your armor,” she said. “And your shirt.”

Jerico shrugged. Without a word he cast aside the rest of his armor, followed by the undershirt. He shivered in the cold. At the sight of his muscled chest, Tessanna shivered as well. The paladin grabbed the ropes, wrapped them around his arms, and then waited. Tessanna stepped inside the carriage, giggling at the thought of herself as some royal princess. She was dressed as one, and she bedded a warlord. Perhaps it wasn’t that much of a stretch.

A few blankets rested upon the bench in the carriage, which Tessanna wrapped around herself. “Take us outside the city,” she said. “I wish to see my lover.”

Jerico acknowledged her by tensing his muscles and stepping forward. The carriage creaked a bit, but as he took another step, the wheels ceased their grinding. He took another, his task growing easier as the carriage gained momentum. They rolled down the street, straight for the southern exit. They passed by demon soldiers and the tested, and he felt shame claw at his gut as they stared. He fought it down. He would not feel shame, he told himself. Not from the looks given by fanatics and war demons.

“This isn’t so bad, is it?” Tessanna asked him. He said nothing. She crinkled her nose as she realized what he was doing.

“Stop being such a child,” she said. “Your tantrum will accomplish nothing.” Still, he remained quiet. The girl with blackest eyes glanced about, and she saw the whispering among the Karak faithful. They knew what Jerico was, she realized. They stared at him with mindless anger. Tessanna bit her lip, suddenly uncomfortable. She was better than them, she told herself. They hated Jerico because they were told to. She hated him for the hypocrisy he represented, for the hurt his kind had done to her. Hers was not mindless. She looked at the rippling muscles of his back as he pulled her and wondered. What might be if, just perhaps, her hatred really was mindless, and therefore could be cast aside…?

“What nonsense is this?” a raspy voice asked, pulling her from her thoughts.

“Oh, Qurrah,” she said, smiling down at her lover. Jerico had stopped just beyond the southern gate, where Qurrah stood with arms crossed, a frown on his face.

The half-orc gestured to the carriage. “A unique mode of travel,” he said.

“I am a pregnant woman,” Tessanna said, pulling her blankets tighter around her. “Did you think I would walk, or risk the bucking of a horse?”

“I suppose,” Qurrah said, eyeing the paladin with disdain. “But what of this horse? What happens if he bucks the reins?”

“Then I buck him back,” she said, giggling. Qurrah was not amused.

“He is dangerous,” he said. Jerico smirked at this.

“We will be fine,” Tessanna insisted.

“Many want him dead, Tess,” Qurrah said. “Be careful.”

“When am I not?” she asked. She clicked her tongue, and onward Jerico pulled them.

Hours later, he collapsed to his knees, gasping for air. His whole body shivered. His exposed skin was a bright, angry red. Above him the stars shone bright, a meager comfort. Pulling Tessanna through the city had been one thing, but across the hard earth and dying grass was another matter. His arms felt ready to fall off, and the center of his back screamed in agony. Most of his face and extremities were numb. He’d give anything for a fire to curl before, but he doubted he’d get one. Tessanna was punishing him.

“Come now,” she said, climbing out of her carriage. “You think you can hurt me with silence? Disturb me somehow?”

Velixar’s army stretched for half a mile all around them. Almost a thousand undead marched under his command, forming two columns on either side. The tested marched between, singing worship to Karak. Within them marched the war demons, preferring the ground over the biting air. They were in no hurry. The world was already theirs. They just needed to claim it.

One by one, tents popped up about the camp and fires roared to life. Jerico stared at a fire in the distance, wondering if he could throw himself in before Tessanna stopped him.

“I wonder,” Tessanna said as she drew out a knife, “just how sensitive your skin is right now. It looks numb, but maybe…”

She ran the tip across his shoulder to the back of his neck. He tensed, waiting for the stab, but none came.

“Tessanna,” he heard Qurrah say. The dagger left his neck.

“Yes, lover?” she asked.

He glanced around to see Qurrah shivering in his robes.

“Come,” the half-orc said. “I need your warmth by the fire.”

“Ruin all my fun,” she said, but she was smiling. She tucked the knife into her sash and knelt beside the paladin. “Some other night,” she whispered before kissing his scarred cheek. He jolted at her touch. Qurrah darkened visibly, but kept his rage in check. He took his lover in his arms and guided them back to his fire.

Still naked from the waist up, Jerico closed his eyes and did his best to pray as the temperature slowly fell. If he was lucky, he thought, the cold would take him in the night, without pain or torture. As Qurrah and Tessanna made love by the fire, Jerico heard the soft, quiet voice of Ashhur. It offered no warning, no promises, nothing intelligible. But it was there, and that comfort was enough.

A sharp pain to his gut woke him halfway through the night. Through blurry vision he saw several people standing around him, wearing faded robes of brown and gray. The stars glittered high in the sky.

“Get up,” one said. “Get up and defend yourself.”

Another sharp pain pierced his gut. Two more spiked his back. They were kicking him, his groggy mind realized. Why were they kicking him? A heel crushed his ear, waking the nerves within. He grunted in pain, then pushed away the foot. He sat up, brushing away his long red hair and glared at his harassers.

“Karak has given us gifts,” one of them said, holding up his new hands. “And we plan to show our gratitude.”

Jerico’s stomach heaved at the sight. All around him were the tested, and new hands had grown to replace their old, lost pairs. Bones protruded out the stubs of flesh that had been their wrists, locking together into fleshless, nerveless fingers. Soft whiffs of smoke rose from the bones, so that when they swung their hands they left faint trails that slowly dissipated.