David Dalglish - The Death of Promises

“Leave me be,” Harruq grumbled.

Jerico struck his fist against the half-orc’s face. The pain flared his anger, and he glared death at the paladin.

“What the abyss is the matter…”

“It is one thing to mourn,” Jerico said. “But you aren’t mourning. You’re drowning yourself in guilt and grief. That was your name carved upon her forehead, wasn’t it?” Harruq’s look was answer enough. “Why, then? What is the meaning behind it? Answer me.”

“A long time ago, me and Qurrah swore our lives to Karak,” he said. He didn’t want to, but he couldn’t stop staring at Jerico’s eyes. They imprisoned him. “I turned my back on Karak when I fell in love with Aurelia. Qurrah fell in love with a girl named Tessanna. Aurry pulled me away from the darkness, but Tess just pulled Qurrah further and further in.”

“Tessanna is the other daughter of balance,” Jerico asked.

Harruq shrugged. “Don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“No matter,” the paladin said. “Another time. So now Karak tortures you for your choice? He does not take kindly to those who escape his grasp. You may be just one life, but just as Ashhur celebrates with every soul that welcomes him into their heart, so too does Karak fume with each loss.”

“Brug, Delysia, Aullienna…” Harruq shook his head. “How many will he take? How many will suffer for my sins?”

“None will, and none have,” Jerico said. “Your sins haven’t earned you the pain you feel. It is the good in your life. Karak could not hurt those you love without you loving them in the first place. Would you sacrifice everything good just to avoid your pain?”

“I’ve slain children,” Harruq said, confessing though he knew not why. “And when my daughter was killed, I thought it punishment for my crimes.”

“And so you felt the burden yours,” Jerico said, finishing the thought. “Will you let every good deed you perform be overshadowed by your past? If so, there is no point. Go join your brother. Join Karak. But if you wish your sins forgotten, join us with Ashhur and accept the grace he freely offers. The darkness in your life is caused by others, not the past you seek atonement from.”

Harruq fiddled with his swords, uncomfortable and confused. “You make it sound so easy,” he said.

A bit of the hardness left Jerico’s face.

“Trust me. It’s a heavy burden, but I do not carry it alone. I’ll be outside. You should help bury her. It is only right.”

The paladin left Harruq alone in the chamber of worship. In the silence, he thought over Jerico’s words. They did seem too easy, too simple. But how many days had he spent with the Eschaton without guilt, fear, or condemnation of his past? It seemed only his brother obsessed over who they had been. Qurrah never believed people could change. Perhaps that was why he seemed so alien to him now.

“If you’re listening,” Harruq whispered. “Help me figure this out.”

It was the closest thing to a prayer he had made since the death of his daughter.

F or a moment Haern and Tarlak wearily argued for an Eschaton burial, but Lathaar would hear none of it.

“You’ve buried enough,” he had said to the wizard. “Let me bear the burden.”

Lathaar carried her in his arms while the others followed him to the western wall. Two nervous guards stood before it.

“Open the gate,” Tarlak said in a cracking voice. He produced his sigil showing his allegiance with the King. “Now.”

The guards obeyed.

“They’re just on edge after the spell cast over the city,” Lathaar said as they exited the city. “I’d wager that they cowered and hid every time the lion in the sky roared.”

They didn’t go far. West off the road was a large common grave. In its center was a stone slab for those who preferred the burning of bodies to burial. Lathaar picked a spot on the edge of the grounds and nodded.

“There.”

They had no tools to dig. Instead Aurelia raised her hands and whispered a spell. The dirt shook and cracked. A perfect slab rose into the air, hovered a moment, and then broke into tiny pieces. Lathaar set her body within the grave and shook his head at Aurelia.

“No magic for this part,” he said. “Our hands will suffice.”

Silence overcame them as each looked down at the still body. The word Tun glared out at them from her forehead. Disgusted, Mira took a handful of dirt and blew. White sparkles filled her breath. The dirt flew to the letters, smoothing and compressing until a thin layer covered them. Harruq was grateful, but when he opened his mouth to thank her he found it dry and uncooperative.

“It’s always my job to say something,” Tarlak said. Every bit of his being fought to collect itself, to toughen against his pain. It was a monumental effort, and all there could see the will within him was strong. Even so, Aurelia gently placed her hand on his lips and kissed his cheek.

“Not this time,” she whispered.

Jerico and Lathaar exchanged looks. Jerico was the older, and by tradition was to speak at a burial, but Lathaar had known Delysia in person. Familiarity won out over tradition.

“All of us here,” Lathaar began. “Every one of us knows how to kill. Every one of us has. But Delysia was a healer. What we accomplished through strength and magic, she did through love and kindness. As we made a better place through our sword and fire, she made a better place by her forgiveness and compassion. She touched each one of us, and saved so many. While we may harden our hearts against the world for her passing, may each one of us remember that the strength of her love and conviction is no less weakened, nor voided, by her death.”

He took a handful of dirt and let it fall into the grave.

“She is with Ashhur now. Finish the burial.”

When the last of the dirt filled the grave, Lathaar stabbed two thick branches into the earth, forming a simple triangle. Somber and exhausted, the Eschaton lingered, unsure of what to do. It was Haern who broke the silence, and it was a sentiment Harruq recognized. Harm had befallen them, and he wanted vengeance.

“I can lead us to the priests,” he said. His sabers were already drawn. “We have tolerated their presence long enough.”

“Delysia would not approve,” Tarlak said.

“I do not share that sentiment,” the assassin said.

Their leader glanced around, gauging everyone’s feelings. He had denied retribution against Qurrah, and for that Aullienna and Brug had died. He had denied retribution against the dark priests, and now his sister lay buried before him. Could he do it again?

“My heart is not ready for battle,” he said at last. “Not this night. But we will.” He stared straight at the assassin and promised.

“We will.”

Mira wandered amid the graveyard, her eyes closed and her arms outstretched. Her aimlessness reminded Harruq so much of Tessanna as he watched her. Her back was to him, so he could not see the horrible pain across her face. Only when Lathaar called her name did they see her torment.

“Too soon,” she said. “They’re too soon.”

“What do you mean, dear?” Aurelia asked.

She pointed west. They followed her gaze, and there they saw the faint line of torches lining the horizon. Aurelia gasped, for her eyes were far keener than the others.

“An army,” she said, as if she herself could not believe it. “Thousands strong. What devilry is this?”

Lathaar and Jerico exchanged a glance. They had not revealed their failure yet, but it seemed they had no choice.

“Qurrah has Darakken’s spellbook,” Lathaar said. He winced at the ashen look that covered Tarlak’s face. “Please. I’m sorry. He attacked the Sanctuary and stole it from the hearth.”