David Dalglish - Clash of Faiths

“I ask questions to show you have no answers, and will do so until you finally open your eyes and realize it.”

The man in black shivered.

“Such wonderful dreams. This man has seen the dark side of this world, Darius, more than you could ever know. If anyone understands Dezrel’s need for order, it is him.”

“Will you help me escape?” Darius asked, feeling unclean as he did.

“Escape? No. Don’t you see, this place, this moment, personifies you perfectly. Karak stands at the gate, ready to free you, and you simultaneously plead for aid while denying him his truths. You cannot have both, Darius. You cannot hold back Karak with one hand and reach for his help with the other.”

Darius felt too tired, too lost to argue. He regretted even asking. Death at the hands of his brethren seemed better than going with the man with the ever-changing face. Still… what if Velixar was right? What if he truly spoke the will of his god?

Velixar knelt before the gate, appearing to be in no hurry. The sun had set, and the jailor slept. They had all night.

“Do you know where you first erred?” Velixar asked.

Darius rolled his eyes. More questions. Always questions.

“I suppose you’ll say when I refused to kill my friend?” he said, his voice full of sarcasm.

“No, that was just a symptom of a greater failure. It is when you treated him as your equal, as your friend. Call me a liar, and doubt my wisdom, but did you ever do the same to Jerico? You overlooked his lies. You forgave his belief in the false god. You treated him as one of your own, and in turn, spat in the face of Karak. Ashhur is the enemy. You cannot serve Karak and refuse that simple truth.”

“No,” Darius said, wishing he could call for the guards. “No. You’re wrong. Karak doesn’t want murder. He doesn’t want bloodshed. He wants order! He wants peace!”

Velixar stood. All trace of humor left him. When he spoke, there was no mockery, no anger. Instead, Darius heard something all the more frightening: certainty.

“My eyes are everywhere,” he said. “I watched you kill the paladin, Pallos. Answer me this one question truthfully, and I will let you be. What happened when you killed him? What happened when your blade cleaved through Pallos’s neck?”

Darius fought against the memory. He had tried to think it made no sense, that it had been a hallucination, a delusion, a deception. The weight of it crushed him, and when he looked into Velixar’s eyes, he knew he could not lie, so he said nothing, for what else could he say?

But Velixar knew. No smiles. No bragging. He spoke quietly, almost gently.

“Your blade burned with Karak’s fire, didn’t it? At that glorious moment, you felt the presence of your god.”

Darius felt tears slide down his face.

“I did,” he said, his voice cracking.

“You took the life of a paladin of Ashhur, and Karak blessed you for it. The truth could not be any simpler. Do you still deny me?”

He wanted to. He needed to. Shaking his head, Darius clung to the last vestige of his faith.

“Killing Jerico would have been wrong,” he said. “You will never convince me otherwise.”

Velixar put his back to him, and as the shadows swirled about, he spoke.

“I will not be the one to convince you, Darius. You will do that on your own. When you do, I will be waiting, and I will welcome you back to the glory of Karak with open arms.”

The shadows thickened, and then Velixar was gone. Darius jolted, as if he’d been asleep the whole while. Tears remained on his face. In the corner, the jailor snored.

“Damn you, Jerico,” Darius whispered. “I hope you live. I hope you live a thousand years for the suffering I must endure.”

He slept, not long, and not comfortably. His dreams were dark, and Karak’s contempt filled them with shadows and fire.

Kalgan sat beside him when Jerico came to, his consciousness swimming to the surface amid an ocean of pain.

“How long?” Jerico asked, lying very still, which kept the pain at its least.

“Just a few hours,” Kalgan said. “You’re tougher than you look.”

“Thanks, I guess. Water?”

A bony hand pressed against his back as he sat up. Every movement made his leg ache, but he was thirsty, and refused to let the pain control him. He accepted a small wooden cup and drank. It tasted strangely bitter, but he downed it anyway.

“There’s a few herbs in there to help you,” Kalgan said, taking back the cup. “Some you’ve heard of, and some I doubt you’ve ever seen before. You’ll sleep well, and it’ll dull the pain. Ignore any strange hallucinations it gives you.”

Already he felt his head turning light, and he tried to protest.

“I shouldn’t… things like that…”

“Spare me, Jerico. Even in your sleep, you moaned with pain.”

Jerico breathed in deep and tried to relax. Best he could tell, he was back in the same hut, and when he glanced left, he saw the patched up hole that had been his exit earlier. Beth was gone, and he hoped that meant her recovery was going well.

“Your ability to heal,” Kalgan said, settling into his chair and resting his hands on his lap. “Can you use it on yourself?”

“In a way,” Jerico said. His throat felt dry despite the drink, and his tongue thick. His pain was dulling, though, which was nice. “It requires concentration, and if the pain is bad…”

“Which it is. I thought so. You won’t be going anywhere for a few days. I suspect you’ll be up and about faster than any man has right to, but it won’t be today. I already told Kaide as much.”

“Kaide?” Jerico started to sit up, but his stomach lurched, and the whole room swayed as if the world had begun to shake. He lay back down, deciding such complicated actions like sitting up or talking could probably be done slowly, or later.

“Yes, he seemed quite worried for you. Not that you’d get better, but that you’d run off. I told him you had a few days to recover, and I considered that generous. Most men would have never walked again, and those that did would use a cane. Your kneecap is in pieces, paladin. As for the flesh around it, well… I wouldn’t look if I were you. Not until you’re ready to use Ashhur’s magic to remedy it.”

“Not… magic…”

Kalgan laughed, and Jerico chuckled along with him despite his sour mood.

“Call it what you want, but Kren did something to your leg when he touched you, that much I’m certain. I thought of cutting it off completely, to be honest. If I hadn’t seen what you’d done for Beth, I’d have already brought out the knife.”

“How is Beth?” Jerico asked after a moment to catch his breath. He felt a heaviness settling over him, like an invisible blanket weighted on all sides. He wanted to lie still, and do nothing, but he refused to cooperate.

“Still asleep, but in her own bed. Poor girl, to suffer such a cruel fate from a little thing like a spider. Some parts of life are lost to her, but she’s resilient, got that much from her father. She’ll find a way to thrive, and the people of this village love her. Don’t worry about her fate, just concentrate on your own.”

Ignoring Kalgan’s earlier advice, Jerico sat up again. His eyes didn’t want to open, but after a moment, he rubbed them with his fingers and then pulled aside his blanket. Seeing his leg, he turned to one side and vomited. Kalgan cursed up a storm.

“What’d I tell you?” Kalgan said. He left, then returned with a handful of dirt and sawdust to scatter atop the vomit.

“Does it smell of rot?” Jerico asked, pulling the blanket back over.

“No. For that, I guess you can be thankful.”

Jerico laughed.

“Aye. Thankful. If you don’t mind, I’m going back to sleep.”