David Dalglish - The Shadows of Grace

“I’m not sure there is such a thing as safety in this world,” Tarlak replied before the elf flew away.

S outhward, the demon army followed the Kingstrip road, the undead lumbering at the lead, flattening a huge swath to each side of the beaten wagon path. Fallow fields stretched as far as the eye could see with harvest long past. So deep into winter, there was little to scavenge. The war demons relied on hard rations that seemed impervious to rot or mold. Jerico ate little of it, the taste of the meat foul and salty.

As weeks passed, their path gradually turned west. Upon reaching a fork, the army camped for a day. The southeastern path led toward the elves of the Erze forest as well as the Lords in Angelport along the coast. To the west were Antonil’s forces. Jerico assumed they discussed strategy, but he was privy to none of it. His days and nights were one long march, undead before him, fanatical tested and dark paladins behind, and flying demons above. He felt cold and alone, and with each stare of Velixar’s eyes, he felt his faith eroding. At last, the army seemed to reach its decision. At daybreak they continued west, resuming chase of Antonil’s forces.

They pillaged as they traveled, though the spoils grew ever scarce.

“Like rabbits,” Qurrah had muttered after veering off the Kingstrip to ransack a small farming village. They’d found little supplies and no residents, only scattered remnants of chaos.

“Look west,” Jerico said, mocking as a bit of his old self flared up. “I’m sure you’ll see their cotton-white tails.”

Tessanna punished him severely for that.

Pulling her cart had at least one benefit, and that was exercise. If he had been bound and carried, Jerico feared his finely honed muscles might have withered and decayed. Instead, he found them growing stronger, though his flexibility suffered. Every night he lay down with bare earth for his bed, cold grass for a pillow, and a night sky his blanket. Sometimes Tessanna came with her knife. He’d begun to appreciate her subtle skill. He could deal with physical pain. It was Velixar’s taunts that cut deep.

The days and weeks melded together, so that the paladin lost all track of time. His throat was forever parched, his lips cracked and bleeding. Scars lined his shoulders and chest, which was sometimes bare in the cold, sometimes not. Qurrah watched with distaste. The rest of the army, seething glares. But one night, as Jerico lay shivering, his legs curled up to his chest and his arms around his ankles, he heard footsteps approach. They were steady and light.

“It seems winter is Karak’s time,” Velixar said. Jerico kept his eyes shut, hoping sleep might steal him away. The prophet continued, as if he didn’t care whether the paladin slept or not.

“The light is failing. The stars themselves dim. The elves see their goddess in the stars, did you know that? Even Celestia loses her luster within the cold. But Karak remains strong. The darkness comforts. It does not blot out the beauty of the stars, only enhance it. Do you feel the light touch on your skin, Jerico? It has begun to snow.”

Jerico stirred from an uneasy doze. He felt numb, yet strangely warm. With blurry vision, he saw a thin layer of white across his body. Velixar chuckled.

“Were you hoping for an easy death? You will not pass away in your sleep. I am death’s most comfortable friend, and I do not sense it about you. Get up and seek a fire, paladin.”

Jerico sat up but did not leave his spot. He brushed snow off his shoulders and curled his knees to his chin. His jaw chattered as his body reawakened to the cold infusing itself deep within him.

“I will find no comfort here,” he said.

“Not even the comfort of another’s body?” Velixar asked. “Tessanna would give it to you, if you would only accept the offer. What harm would there be in it? Do you think Ashhur would prefer you to die?”

Jerico chuckled through his chattering teeth.

“I thought vipers were cold-blooded,” he said. “Yet you seem quite lively in winter.”

Velixar’s red eyes sparkled with humor.

“Such a strong spirit. You waste it, Jerico. Your fanatical allegiance will mean nothing, not with it devoted to the wrong god.”

“Funny. I’ve always thought the same of you.”

Velixar grabbed Jerico’s neck and lifted him off the ground. A steady heat spread from his hand, melting the snow and filling his chest with a burning pain. His chills faded, and as much as he hated it, he felt thankful. Setting him on his feet, Velixar grabbed the paladin’s wrist and led him west. A ring of soldiers ordered them to halt at the edge of the camp, but realizing who it was that approached, lowered their weapons.

“Where are you taking me?” Jerico asked, once the camp was far behind. He thought of escape, but his body was sluggish, his reactions slow. He had no chance against the dark power of Velixar.

“I want you to see something,” Velixar said, as the snow gathered atop his robes. The white seemed appropriate somehow, as if it were a burial shroud atop a being that should have been long dead. They traveled across ground that steadily turned rockier, until at last they climbed a hill that seemed almost solid stone. At the top, Velixar gestured outward. In the far distance, blurred only by the swirling lines of snow, was a great city.

“That is the city of Kinamn,” Velixar said. “The Jewel of Ker. Do you see its walls? They are thin, paladin, and they are not tall. Its gates have more wood than iron. Do you see its castle? There are many windows, and through each one will fly a demon of Thulos. There are thousands sheltered before you, huddled together in their homes and sleeping close to dwindling fires. Do you know what will happen to them? To every… single… one?”

Jerico fought to look away, but he could not. Velixar latched onto his face with his frozen hands. His stomach lurched at his touch. Jerico looked upon the city as Velixar hovered within his vision, his eyes burning, his mouth scowling.

“They will die,” Velixar said. “And they will serve me. It is inevitable. This whole world will soon share its fate. I will be a god, for what else would I be when every living thing obeys my command? I will build a tower of flesh and bone, whose very walls will shift and wail. My throne will be the twisted spines of a thousand children. To your god, I am the greatest abomination, a creation so vile and sinful your soul aches in my presence.”

“Why am I here?” Jerico asked, his voice shaking. The cold was returning, and Velixar seemed to have no intention to rekindle the warmth that had awoken in his breast.

“Answer me this question,” Velixar said. “Tell me truthfully and I will let you go free. You may warn the people of the city, or perhaps flee like a coward and leave them to their fate. I don’t care. All I want is my answer. Do you disagree with all I have said? Do you disagree with what I know I am?”

Jerico looked to the city, seeing hundreds of torches and fires, just tiny dots in the distance. So many lives within. So many to die.

“You are what you say,” Jerico said. “A most hideous abomination.”

Velixar laughed, as if he took pride in the label.

“Then why? ” he asked. “Why does Ashhur let me live? Protector of the weak, slayer of the darkness, beacon to the lost… why do I still walk this earth to mock your god? Why will that city die, even though you say Ashhur will weep for its destruction?”

He lifted his arms, his palms open in worship toward the heavens.

“Strike me with lightning,” he cried. “Burn me with fire! Send down your wrath, Ashhur! In the open I am, and I call your power false. Will you endure such blasphemy? Kill me! Give me peace in death, and an eternity in my god’s bosom.”