David Dalglish - The Death of Promises

He closed his hand around the dagger and looked to the imprisoned Delysia.

“I don’t know,” he said. “I don’t feel guilt, I just…I don’t want to hurt my brother. Not any more than I already have, even if he hurts me.”

She slipped behind him, her hands trailing around his neck and shoulders.

“But the choice is the same for him,” she whispered. “If he had never chosen his lover over you, then the hurt would never be. He chose his path. He chose his hurt. Will you be slave to it?”

He looked at Delysia’s beautiful frozen horrified face. She was alive inside, he knew. He could smell her fear. His fist clenched tight.

“Be gone,” he said, waving his hand. The essence of the Doru’al shrieked in anger but could not refuse the power of his words or the magic that spiked from his fingers. The girl collapsed as the rest of the darkness dissipated. Delysia gasped in air, her eyes locked open. The half-orc stood over her, dagger in hand. The hand shook.

“How many times,” he said. “How many times must I question myself? How many times must I doubt the path I walk? How many? How many!”

The priestess coughed once, then blinked. Her fingers clutched the grass, a reflex as the woman gulped in air.

“I will not,” he said. His heart was in his throat. He felt his soul quivering. “I will not do this anymore.”

He knelt down, pulled Delysia’s head up by her hair, and then sliced open her throat. Blood poured over his hands and onto the grass. She made no sound as she stared at him with eyes that were full of despair. He stared right back as deep inside him he felt something die. He dropped her head to the dirt and then looked to the dagger in his hand.

“There,” Tessanna said as she wrapped her arms around his neck. “Now the blood is on both our hands, as it always should have been.”

“A life for a life,” he said, mesmerized by the crimson droplets dripping from the edge. “Will it be enough?”

The darkness swirled around them, then collected into a doorway that Velixar stepped through. Qurrah knelt at his entrance while Tessanna curtseyed. The man in black eyed the body, then clapped his hands together.

“All as I hoped,” he said. He knelt and touched the body. Shadows lifted it from the ground. They took shape, becoming a long-legged, spindly-armed creature without eyes or a mouth. The thing held Delysia’s body in its arms and sprinted east with blinding speed. Velixar bade his disciple to rise.

“A man dear to me passed away this night,” he said. “And now they will suffer in turn. You are strong, Qurrah, and you grow stronger still. Come. Your army awaits.”

“My army,” he muttered. He clutched the dagger tight with both hands and looked at his master. “Please. Take us to my army.”

Another portal of shadow opened. Velixar stepped through, followed by Tessanna. Out of sight, Qurrah finally let the tears free. He wanted to kneel and beg for his brother to forgive him, but instead he placed the dagger underneath his right eye and slashed downward. He screamed. His tears mixed with blood. Before he lost his nerve, he placed the dagger underneath his left eye and did the same.

“I will not cry for you anymore, brother,” he told the darkness. “Let my tears mix with blood so I may remember this vow.”

He slid the bloody weapon into the sash of his robe and stepped through. Neither Tessanna nor Velixar asked about the wounds upon his face. It was if, somehow, they understood.

H arruq awoke with a screaming headache and a throbbing pain in his side. He guessed the headache to be from hunger and exhaustion, and the pain from the hilt of his sword digging into his side. He rubbed his eyes and looked about. The rest of the Eschaton were asleep on the pews. A few torches flickered and died, bathing him in darkness.

Tun…

The half-orc spun, for the voice had come from behind. Nothing, just a closed door. He thought perhaps it was Haern testing him, but he was curled up in a bundle of gray robes beside Aurelia. It wasn’t Tarlak either, for the mage slept in the far corner, twitching and shifting as if trapped in unpleasant dreams.

Betrayer…

He drew his swords. Their red light seemed demonic in the holy place. Harruq debated waking the others. So few would call him betrayer. Only Qurrah…

He felt a shiver crawl up his spine. There was another who would label him as such.

Do you suffer yet?

He knew that voice. That cold feeling. The man in black had returned.

“Show yourself,” Harruq whispered. He stood in the aisle between the pews, constantly spinning and searching.

Listen to me, Harruq Tun. You can avoid more pain. You can avoid more suffering. Take your lover and go.

“What is it you want?” Harruq asked the silence. “What is it that brought you back from the abyss where you belonged?”

You lost a daughter. Do not lose more. You can still come to my fold. You can join your brother and fight at his side. Do not let pain cloud your judgment.

The half-orc approached the giant doors to the temple. His armor creaked, and he kept waiting for someone to wake from his noise. None did.

“I am not what you wanted,” he whispered. “I am not what you tried to make me be. You failed, Velixar, and damn me for letting Qurrah fail with you.”

My life for you. That was your promise. If you deny me what was promised, then I must take it from another, and another, until your life is either mine or ended. There is no other way. You and your friends killed one dear to me. I have done so in kind. Suffer, Harruq Tun. Suffer in your betrayal.

The half-orc kicked open the door, swords raised to strike. Velixar was not there, only the cold body of Delysia. His blood froze. His swords fell from his hands, and their loud ringing upon hitting the stone awoke the others. He staggered back, slamming the door shut to block the sight. He fell to his knees, his hands digging into his face. Her throat was cut, her clothes torn…but most damning was the single word carved across her forehead.

Tun.

“What’s going on,” Haern asked, the first to reach his side. When Harruq did not answer, he pushed open the door. All time halted for the assassin. He did not move. He did not breath. When time resumed, he sheathed his blades and knelt beside her body. He lifted her into his arms and carried her inside. The others were waking, each stirring from a deep sleep. Harruq kept his eyes shut, hating his brother more than he had ever hated someone in his life. And then he heard Tarlak’s cry.

“What happened,” he heard him shout. “No, she’s alright she…she…”

He opened his eyes at the sound of Tarlak’s weeping. Somehow the torches had been relit. Delysia lay on the floor before Tarlak’s curled form. Aurelia was at his side, her arms around him. He accepted the embrace and buried his face into her bosom. Haern stood by them, tears on his face. Even Mira cried, overwhelmed by the sorrow her keen mind drank in from the room. Only the paladins remained firm.

“Hear me, Tarlak,” Lathaar said, kneeling beside Delysia’s body. “There is no emptiness in my words, only truth and compassion. She has gone to a place beyond our suffering. She dwells in a land foreign to our tears. Everything we feel, we feel for ourselves.”

“My sister,” Tarlak sobbed. “My only sister…”

Lathaar took her body into his arms and stood.

“Ashhur gave her life, and now he has taken that life back to his arms.”

He carried her outside. Tarlak followed at Aurelia’s insistence. Harruq stayed where he was. When the wizard cast his eyes to him he dared not meet them. When the door slammed shut, the half-orc thought himself alone. He was not.

“Get up.” Harruq looked up to see Jerico standing over him, his arms crossed. “I said get up.”