David Dalglish - The Death of Promises

Spidery words left Qurrah’s lips. A fleeting image of white mist rising from his armor graced Jerico’s eyes.

“You were blessed with strength not your own,” Qurrah said. “Do you feel it now, how strong you truly are?”

A lash of the whip knocked his shield an inch to the side, exposing his face. The whip curled back and then lashed inward, burning his already bleeding cheek. The paladin cried out, his balance fading. He tried to raise his shield, knew his life was exposed, but his arm refused to cooperate. As he collapsed before the fire, he heard the half-orc speak.

“ Hemorrhage. ”

He felt the rupture just above his wrist. Blood exploded out of it, splattering across his face and chest. Dizziness claimed his mind, that which was not occupied with his screaming. Qurrah came and stepped upon his bleeding wrist, his heel grinding into the agony.

“Listen to me, and listen carefully,” the half-orc said, his voice quiet and cruel. “You have scarred my beautiful lover. You will make amends.”

“And if I don’t?” Jerico asked in between labored breaths. Qurrah placed his knee on Jerico’s other shoulder and knelt down so his face was inches from the paladin’s.

“I will slaughter every single priest hiding in this building. It will be slow, and it will be painful. If you heal her, I will spare their lives.”

“Either way, you’ll kill me afterward,” Jerico said. “How can I trust you not to lie?”

Qurrah stood, grinding his heel in semicircles.

“You sacrifice your life in the hope to save others. Is that not how your order works? Does it matter if I follow my word, if you do all in your power to save the innocents that cower in fear of me?”

The paladin nodded, trying to ignore the horrible pain spiking up his arm. Qurrah walked to where Tessanna lay. Slowly Jerico stood, keenly aware of the black energy sparkling on Qurrah’s fingertips. Any false move and he would die.

“She is Celestia’s daughter,” Jerico said as he took an uneven step toward her. “Perhaps Ashhur won’t be too upset if I heal her.”

“Quit speaking nonsense and do your duty,” Qurrah said, though his eyes had narrowed at the mention of the elven goddess. He watched as Jerico knelt and pressed the palm of his shaking hand against the wound he himself had created.

“Daddy?” she asked, her eyes closed and her voice drowsy.

“Shush, Tess,” Qurrah said.

“You hurt me again, didn’t you daddy?”

“Ashhur, forgive me if what I ask is wrong, but give me the strength to do what must be done,” Jerico prayed. Healing light surrounded his hands, pulsing unsteadily. Tessanna moaned as it poured into her flesh. Her broken bones snapped together. Her torn skin pulled tight. She let out a gasp as dizzying waves filled her head.

“Be healed,” Jerico told her as he removed his hand. Both men observed his work. The shape of her jaw was back to normal. Amid the drying blood ran a single scar from ear to chin. When she opened her eyes, even the burst vessels had closed.

“Good man,” Qurrah said. He waved his hand. A wall of energy slammed into the paladin, throwing him across the room. He collapsed in a heap of armor and muscle. The half-orc knelt beside his lover, his pale hand slowly tracing the scar.

“How do you feel?” he asked her. The girl looked up at him and smiled.

“I feel awful. I dreamt my daddy hit me. Did he?”

“No,” Qurrah said, kissing her lips. “Just a dream. You’re fine now.”

The paladin rolled to his side, eyeing a door a few feet to his right. Beyond it was the deepest parts of the Sanctuary where the clerics of Ashhur had hid. If he could reach them… He tried to stand, but his entire arm remained numb. He could see blood pooling underneath his body. He would die if he lost too much more. The wound needed closed, and he lacked the strength to do it.

With his good arm he pushed, grinding his teeth to focus against the pain. He stood.

“Where are you going?” Qurrah asked, sounding amused.

“Forgive my rudeness,” Jerico said, touching his shield with his other hand. “But I should go.”

The light from his shield flared a brilliant white, blinding the half-orc. He shielded his eyes with his arm, but it did no good. When the light ended, the door was open and the paladin was gone. Qurrah stood to chase but Tessanna grabbed his ankle.

“No,” she said. “Let him go. Take what we came here for.”

Qurrah rubbed the tears from his eyes, blinked a few times, and then accepted the girl’s request.

“Very well. The book is very close, hidden where…”

He stopped when he saw the burning fire. A smile crossed his face.

“Clever,” he said. “Very, very clever.”

A wave of his hand scattered the logs. They rolled across the floor, spilling ash as their flame died. Qurrah reached into the black pile where the fire had been, ignoring the heat that burned his fingers. Deep within the ash he felt it. Excitement sparked inside his heart. With a cry of victory, he tore the tome free.

“The fire?” Tessanna asked.

“The book is impervious to it,” he explained, wiping ash off with his blistered fingers. “Otherwise the priests would have burned it themselves.” He stared at his treasure. It was large, but that seemed its only special quality. The bindings were plain leather, with a strap connected to an iron buckle to keep the pages closed. But within…

“Let’s go,” he said, offering his hand to Tessanna, who took it and used his strength to stand. “I must begin reading the pages. So many mysteries inside…”

Tessanna kissed him on the cheek.

“Go on without me,” she said. “I’ll be right there.”

Qurrah, so enamored with his prize, nodded and let her go. Through the door she went, heading after the fleeing paladin.

J ust your wrist,” Jerico muttered as he staggered down the hallway. “You’ve been stabbed how many times, and you’re going to…going to bite it from a silly wrist cut?” Silly or not, he could see the veins pulsing in his arm, and the blood pouring from the grievous wound. He kept his left hand clamped just above the wound. If he had the time, he would have asked Ashhur for the power to heal it, but he dared not stop his frantic running.

The walls abruptly changed from wood to stone. The hallway turned a sharp left before descending five feet of stairs. Jerico, staggering along as he was, did not notice the change. His foot hit air where stone should have been, and then he was falling headfirst. He had a brief moment to swear a multitude of punishments against Lathaar before his head cracked against the cold stone at the bottom, knocking him out cold.

Tessanna found him there, his arms and legs sprawled about and his head atop a pool of blood. Not far from the bottom of the stairs was a solid wooden door, barred from the inside. The clerics hid within, she knew. She could smell their fear.

“So close, yet none dare come to your aid,” she said, kneeling beside his unconscious form. “Did they hear you come? Do they know it is you here?” She took his bleeding wrist in her hand and blew across it. Fire burned within her breath, sealing the wound. Finished, she smiled and kissed his cheek.

“Qurrah didn’t tell me, but you fixed my face,” she whispered into his ear. “But you also broke it. You’ve left me a scar, paladin, so I shall leave you scarred as well.” She kissed his face, her tongue flicking against his skin. As she pulled back her lips her tongue remained. The flesh underneath it blackened and burned under its touch. She ran her tongue across his face, so that a long black line marred him from ear to cheek.

“My scar will fade in time,” she whispered. “They always do. Will yours?” She kissed him on the lips, thrusting her tongue into his mouth. It did not burn him. The girl sighed as she tasted blood. Reluctantly, she pulled back and climbed the stairs.