David Dalglish - The Shadows of Grace

“Look upon the village before you,” Velixar said. The man in black had not bound him, and Jerico could not decide if it was because of arrogance, confidence, or trust.

“They’re preparing to flee,” Jerico said. He saw people running about the streets, a few going house to house while others fled west without a single bit of provisions. About two hundred people total, he guessed. All about to be butchered.

“I will make you a promise,” Velixar said. “Admit that Ashhur has failed these people, left them without protection against my army, and I will spare their lives. Here is your chance for atonement, paladin. Hundreds of people you may save.”

“You ask for blasphemy,” Jerico said.

“I ask you to speak the obvious,” Velixar replied. “And there is more. I will let you stay with them. You can save your life, and the lives of so many others, just by admitting what is clearly true. Are you so afraid of the truth?”

Jerico crossed his arms, feeling every wound Tessanna had carved into his body. He could escape it all. The temptation was there. But he also felt shame at the way he had reacted with her, how close he had been to succumbing. He knew if he said yes, he would feel that shame the rest of his life.

“I can’t,” Jerico said. “And I won’t. It is you who will kill them, Velixar, and that is where the blame falls.”

“We shall see,” Velixar said. He turned and gestured to the crowd behind them. Krieger stepped forth and saluted.

“Send in your paladins,” the man in black told him. “Slay many, but bring me some women and children. Bring them alive.”

“As you command,” Krieger said with a bow.

“You’re a monster,” Jerico said, watching the village with a heavy heart.

Velixar smirked. “Perhaps.”

The dark paladins rode into the village, waves of undead at their heels. Screams of pain and terror traveled through the crisp morning air. Each one was a stab at Jerico’s heart. True to Velixar’s orders, Krieger returned, his blade dripping with blood. A woman rode with him, crying as he held her with one arm. Two other paladins rode beside him. One held a young girl, the other, a boy no older than three. They halted before Velixar and saluted. The prisoners they tossed to the ground.

Velixar knelt before the woman, who cowered on her knees, her head low and her hands clutching the dirt.

“Do not be afraid,” Velixar said, lifting her face with his fingers. Tears ran down her cheeks. She was plain, but she had startling green eyes. She did her best to halt her sobbing.

“Who do you worship,” he asked her. “Who is it that your heart prays to for guidance?”

“Ashhur watches over us,” she said, staring at Velixar’s shifting face in horror.

“Even now?” he asked. She nodded. Velixar smiled. He rammed his fingers into those beautiful eyes. His other hand muffled her scream.

“Watch her die,” Velixar said, his voice trembling as he glared at Jerico. “Blinded in life by your god’s falseness, so blind she dies. Watch her, Jerico! You could have spared her, you damn coward.”

He rammed his fingers in deeper, until her screams died, and her body ceased its frantic twisting. Velixar dropped her, still seething with rage. Nearby the two children bawled, horrified.

“Bring me the boy,” Velixar said.

“Don’t,” Jerico said, desperately searching for something, anything, to spare them. “Please don’t, there is no need for this.”

“You made your decision,” Velixar said. “You agreed to let them die, all so you could claim Ashhur still watches over their souls! Is he still watching? Does he weep yet?”

“If they’re to die,” Jerico said, gut churning as he said the words, “then let it be by my hand, without pain or torture.”

At this Karak’s prophet crossed his arms, suddenly intrigued.

“You would murder innocent children?” he asked. “Your priorities confuse me, paladin.”

“Give me a weapon,” Jerico said, ignoring him. “If the blame is mine, then let me spill the blood.”

“So be it.” Velixar held out his hand, and one of the dark paladins handed over his sword. Jerico took it, running a finger over the blade. It was sharp and well-cared for. He approached the two children, who huddled together as they cried. Jerico felt many eyes upon him, and he knew his time was short.

“Shush now,” he told the two. He knelt before them, his sword laying across his knee. “Shush, and listen to me.”

The older girl stopped her sniffling, while the little boy buried his face into the girl’s skirt.

“They killed mom,” the girl said. “They’re going to kill us too.”

“Put that away for now,” Jerico said, his voice just above a whisper. The less the dark paladins heard, the better. “I want to ask you something, something important. Have you prayed to Ashhur before?”

“A little,” she said, nodding.

“Good,” he said. “Now I want you to pray he’ll watch over you. Pray he forgives all your wrongs, and that you accept the love he gives you. Can you do that?”

Again she nodded. He put his hand on top of the boy’s head and prayed just that for him as well.

“Whatever you do,” he told the children. “Don’t move.”

He stood, gripping the large sword with both hands. He raised the weapon to strike.

“Guide my blade,” he prayed to Ashhur, then spun. He cut the first dark paladin’s throat, and in a smooth motion, took two steps and buried half his sword in the other’s stomach. Krieger yelped in surprise, just barely drawing his sword in time to block Jerico’s strike. He blocked the next two hits as well, and then Jerico leaped back, searching for Velixar.

Two snakes made of shadow sprung from the earth and bit his ankles. Their vile poison seeped into him, immediately turning his world into tumultuous disorder. He saw a twisting, swirled version of Krieger lunge, and then something hard smashed against his face. Blood splattered from his nose. He fell back, still searching. He caught glimpse of a black robe. Without hesitation he turned and swung. He felt his sword connect. He swung again. Laughter met his ears, and then stabbing pain filled his back. A fist slammed his head, and down he went.

“You damn fool,” he heard Velixar say. Jerico sighed. He should have known the retched man would never die. Velixar grabbed him by his hair and lifted his face.

“Look at what you’ve done,” Velixar said. Through blurry eyes the paladin saw the bodies of the children, crumpled together and soaked with blood.

“You killed them,” Velixar said. “Children. Are you still so holy, paladin?”

“The heart is all that matters,” Jerico said, a grin on his bloodied face. “And I will not weep for them. Ashhur has them now, not you.”

Krieger kicked him in the chin, hard enough Jerico thought he’d bit his tongue in two. Blood poured from his mouth. Velixar took the sword from his hand and stood.

“Kill him,” he told Krieger.

“With pleasure,” the dark paladin said.

“You will not!”

Jerico glanced to his right, to where Tessanna pushed her way through the rows of undead that surrounded them. He wondered how long she’d been watching.

“He is mine,” she said, purple smoke swirling about her fingers. “Not yours. You will not kill him.”

“He has killed two of my men,” Krieger said, his sword wreathed in black flame. “I have every right to slay him.”

“I will kill you if you try,” she said. The dark paladin looked to Velixar.

“You are the stronger,” Krieger said. “It is our laws that govern now. The paladin must die. Give me the order.”

Velixar’s face darkened, and his shifting features quickened their dance. Standing a few rows behind Tessanna was Qurrah, watching the proceedings with quiet intensity. They were both sorely taxed by keeping the portal open in Veldaren. Could either stop Tessanna if they tried? He didn’t know. And he didn’t know how Qurrah would react. No doubt he wanted Jerico dead, but at the cost of Tessanna’s life? Definitely not.