David Dalglish - The Shadows of Grace

“Enough,” Harruq said. “Just stop. Tend to your priests.”

Bernard bowed.

“I will be here,” he said. “Whenever you are ready to talk.”

“Sure thing,” the half-orc muttered.

Harruq found a corner to stand in, and in silence he watched the priests go about their rituals. He kept trying to shut out what the priest had said, but one question gnawed at him.

The door opened, and before Harruq could draw his swords, Tarlak and Aurelia were inside.

“Blasted fools,” the mage said.

“What’s going on?” Harruq asked.

“We can’t find Lathaar and Mira,” Aurelia said.

“And Haern?”

Tarlak shook his head. “He swears no involvement. He’s outside now, patrolling the area. This is going to be a long night.”

Aurelia joined her husband in the corner, wrapping her arms around his waist and leaning her weight against him. “You all right?” she asked, feeling how tense he was.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” he said. “Just thinking.”

There they waited through the night, listening for the sound of singing, the marching of feet, and the coming attack of the priests of Karak.

L athaar found Mira between the walls, slowly pacing with a blanket wrapped around her shoulders. She heard his arrival and turned, smiling faintly.

“I figured you would want solitude,” he said. “You’ve never been comfortable around so many people.”

“Why should I be?” Mira asked. “I’ve killed them all.”

“Don’t say things like that,” Lathaar said. He leaned against the wall and wrapped his blanket around himself. “Do you really love me?”

The girl spun around, unable to look him in the eye.

“I think so,” she said. “When I was to die, and make everything right, all I could think about was you. I’d lose you. My mirror would have died, and the winged soldiers would be gone, but I’d be gone too.”

She turned, tears in her eyes.

“I don’t want to lose you,” she said. “More than anything in the world. Is that love?”

Lathaar wrapped his blanket around her and pulled her close.

“Love is learned,” he said, staring straight into her solid black eyes. “But it sounds like you’re learning.”

She kissed him. His arms held her waist. She nuzzled her forehead against his neck, shivering, but not from the cold.

“I’m scared,” she said.

“We don’t have to do anything that’d make you uncomf…”

“Not that,” she said, pressing a finger against his lips. “It’s the half-orc. Harruq. Celestia wants me to tell him something.”

“What is it?” he asked.

“I’m not sure,” Mira said. “It’s just… it makes no sense, and I don’t know why I think he’s the one I should tell. He’ll think I’m crazy.”

Lathaar held her tight and kissed the top of her head.

“If you think you should, then you should,” he said. “Sometimes all it takes is a bit of faith.”

Mira smiled, then flinched as if she’d been pinched.

“Tarlak is trying to scry for us,” she said.

“That’s a shame,” Lathaar said.

“He won’t find us,” she said with a wink. “I won’t let him.”

She wrapped her hands around his neck and kissed him.

“Again,” Lathaar said. “Such a shame.”

The next morning, the two awoke cuddled together, their blankets piled atop them for warmth. Lathaar stirred first, waking up Mira as he popped his back and stood.

“They’re going to make assumptions,” Mira said, peering at him with one eye.

“Let them,” Lathaar said, giving her a wink. “Now hurry up. I don’t want to miss breakfast.”

They returned to camp hand in hand, only to be surprised by how empty it was. Antonil and Sergan ate by the fire, chewing on bacon and thin slices of bread.

“Where’s the rest of the Eschaton?” Lathaar asked as he sat beside them.

“I’m not sure,” Antonil said. “I haven’t seen them all morning.”

“Neither have I,” Sergan said. “And if anyone stands out, it’s that crazy mage. Looks like he took a perfectly clean outfit and had a giant piss all over it.”

Antonil elbowed him while choking on some bread.

“I’m serious!” Sergan said. “What’s with him and yellow?”

Before either could answer, a soldier wearing the colors of Mordan ran up and saluted.

“King Antonil Copernus, I present high priest Hayden Farworth.”

They all stood as Hayden approached, wearing even thicker gray robes and carrying a silver chain with a roaring lion pendant hanging from the end. He bowed to Antonil, then dismissed the soldier.

“Greetings, priest,” Antonil said. “What business brings you out in the cold so early this morning?”

“A fellow priest was murdered last night,” Hayden said. “He was a dear friend. I want to make sure you had no part in it.”

King Antonil crossed his arms, his visage hardening.

“No soldier under my command would ever do such a thing,” he said.

“No soldier, but perhaps a mercenary,” Hayden said before glancing at Lathaar. “Or perhaps paladin?”

“Go back to your death god,” Lathaar said. “I will not stand such accusations.”

“Whatever you know of Karak, I assure you it is wrong,” Hayden said. “We desire order and stability, and the gray of our robes represents our neutrality in matters of war and death. But whoever strikes at us, unprovoked, will most certainly be dealt with.”

“We understand,” Antonil said. “Now leave.”

The high priest bowed and left.

“There’s news to brighten your morning,” the king muttered before tossing the crust of his bread to the dirt.

“I need to inform Tarlak,” Lathaar said, bowing to both. He turned to Mira. “Can you find them?” he asked.

She closed her eyes and cast a spell.

“In the city,” she said, eyes still closed. “They’re asleep, a temple of some sort.”

“Perhaps they went to see Bernard,” Lathaar said. “Let’s go.”

L athaar knocked twice, but entered without waiting for an answer. Inside he saw the four Eschaton together in a corner, in various states of battle ready.

“Where the bloody Abyss have you been?” Tarlak asked, startling to his feet.

Mira went to say something, then stopped and blushed a deep red. Tarlak’s jaw dropped.

“You didn’t,” he said.

“No,” Lathaar said. “We didn’t.”

Bernard looked up from his prayers and saw the paladin. His wrinkled face stretched into a smile.

“Welcome back,” he said, using the bench to steady himself as he stood. “Though things have grown far more somber than your first joyous arrival.”

“Someone murdered a priest of Karak last night,” Lathaar said. “Hayden’s blaming Antonil.”

“Much as we’d like to take credit, we can’t,” Tarlak said. “Isn’t that right, Haern?”

The assassin shrugged. “Is that sarcasm, Tarlak? Say it again; I couldn’t tell.”

“Enough,” Aurelia said. “We need to find out who, and put a stop to it.”

“Why?” Haern asked. “We should be joining them, not hunting them down. You saw what the priests of Karak did to Veldaren. We cannot let the priests here do the same, not with an army within weeks of laying siege.”

“I will not listen to this,” Bernard shouted, startling them all. He stormed over to Haern, reached down his shirt, and yanked out the golden mountain pendant hanging from a chain. He let it fall, and as the candlelight reflected in all directions, the old man stared down the assassin.

“I am no fool,” he said. “You have fallen far, young man. A lying tongue and bleeding hands are welcome even here, but only if they seek forgiveness and atonement. I will not listen to you advocate murder.”