A Sliver of Redemption (Half-Orcs Book 5)

by David Dalglish

  She whispered something, the sound wet and groaning.

  “Yes, dear?” he asked, leaning closer.

  “Bastard,” she whispered.

  “Love you too,” he said, grinning. “And as enjoyable as this is, let’s get you dressed.”

  Deathmask shook out her clothes, then helped her slide on the pants and shirt. Every movement hurt; he could tell by the winces she made and the little gasps that escaped her lips when he touched her. He talked to her the whole while, hoping the distraction would take her mind off the vast amount of aches and stings.

  “I have a few people for you to meet,” he said. “It’s been two days since Haern, or whatever shell of Haern that was, attacked us. Since then, I’ve spent plenty of fun hours in undesirable locations I won’t bother boring you by listing. There was one advantage, however, and that was in finding others who felt a similar need to hide. I also killed a few of the Lionsguard. Can’t let them think the Ghost and his Blade are out of the game, can we? Anyway, it seems we’ve inspired some like-minded individuals. I’m sure you don’t feel up to lively discussion, but it’s with them we will be safest. Besides, there’s someone there who I think you will be very happy to see.”

  Once dressed, he stepped back and surveyed her form. Her neck was yellow except for where the blood had stained it red. Her scarred eye was swollen shut, while her good eye still dripped tears. Every step she took, she winced, and it seemed she was unable to halt the tremble of her hands.

  “Like a princess,” he said. “Let’s go, before daylight comes.”

  Deathmask had no choice but to hurry along the streets. Veliana couldn’t skulk or leap across the rooftops, so instead he looked every which way before leading her by the hand. Silently he begged whatever gods might be that Haern remained on the other side of town. If there was anything he wasn’t prepared for, it was another duel with the undead assassin.

  Twice he spotted a Lionsguard patrol approaching, but both times he led them into a side alley to avoid their torches. They steadily made their way south, away from the castle. They stopped once, for Veliana to catch her breath. With every rise and fall of her chest, she whimpered. Deathmask couldn’t wait until they arrived. He hated seeing her in so much pain.

  “Almost there,” he told her. She looked up at him and mouthed the word ‘good’.

  The streets were calm and empty, the result of the many patrols and the viciously enforced laws the priest-king had enacted. For once, Deathmask was thankful. The unsettling silence made it easy to hear any patrols coming. Deep in southern Mordeina, he turned them down a street, waited for a group of priests and soldiers to get far enough away, and then led the two of them to a large house of stained oak. He rapped his knuckles three times against the double doors, paused, then three more. The door cracked open.

  “Come in,” said a gray-haired man.

  The house had once been exquisitely furnished, but everywhere Deathmask looked he saw bright squares and circles where paintings and mirrors had once hung. The floor was bare, the long hallway empty.

  “Follow me,” said the elderly man. “You took much longer than expected. We’d all begun to worry.”

  Deathmask glanced back at Veliana and the stitch-grin on her neck.

  “There were some complications,” he said.

  “Things are never as easy as we hope.”

  He led them through a parlor, past two bedrooms, and then down a set of stairs. Despite its lack of windows and thick stone walls, the deep cellar was well-lit by a floating ball of gold that shone like a miniature sun. Several men occupied the crowded space, kneeling on pillows or sitting on uncomfortable stools. Below the light, keeper of the spell, sat another elderly man wearing the white robes of Ashhur.

  “Welcome back,” he said. “It is good to see my prayers for your safety answered.”

  “Save your prayers for where they are useful,” said Deathmask. He took Veliana’s hand and pulled her to his side. “Veliana, meet Bernard Ulath, former high-priest of Ashhur.”

  “The temple may have fallen,” Bernard said, a soft smile on his face. “But I am still a priest. Lay down, Veliana. I can see the pain all over your face, and I will do what I can.”

  Veliana sank to her knees, then rolled onto her back. She closed her eyes as Bernard began to pray. His hands shone white, filling with healing power. Deathmask watched with his arms crossed. He didn’t share Bernard’s sense of faith. He was a practical man, after all. But the priest’s healing ability was superb, and his way with words and men skillful. For all of Deathmask’s killing and scaremongering, it had been Bernard who had kindled the first true resistance against Melorak’s rule.

  “Did you encounter him while you were out?” asked one of the others in the room.

  Deathmask switched his attention from Veliana to the man. He was a heavy nobleman, his face covered with a red beard. He tried to remember his name. Hocking, and first name with a K or a P…

  “No, Hocking, I did not,” he said, deciding first names weren’t necessary.

  “Thank Ashhur for that. A few of my men have seen him about, but he’s never attacked. It seems he’s got his eyes and swords for you only, though I fear what might happen if he succeeds.”

  “Yes, I’d hate to find out,” Deathmask said, rolling his eyes. “Where are the others? I count five here, yet you promised at least ten.”

  “It’s going to take time,” said another, a wiry man with dark eyes. “Once we prove our goal is achievable, the others will come.”

  “Which means others now know of your involvement but have not yet committed to our cause,” Deathmask said. “A potentially dangerous mistake, milord…uh…”

  “Dagan,” the wiry man said. “Dagan Gemcroft. You seem poor with names. Is killing all you are good at, Deathmask?”

  “More than good. The best.”

  “Would you like us to introduce ourselves, maybe write our names on our foreheads to help you remember?”

  “Enough,” said Bernard, interrupting his prayers. “These times are difficult, but snapping at one another is childish. We have enough to begin our fight. That is all that matters. Now please, talk quieter so I might concentrate.”

  “I have over two hundred house guards ready to kill at my command,” Hocking said, hitching his thumbs in his belt as if this number should impress him. Deathmask rolled his eyes.

  “What else?” he asked.

  “I have five-hundred mercenaries hired out from what’s left of Neldar,” Dagan said. “They’re pretty damn angry at what’s happened. They’ve cut their rates by half, just to get a shot at killing.”

  “Mercenaries and house guards,” Deathmask said. “Such a grand army. Are they prepared to do dirty work? This won’t be an honorable battlefield, gentlemen. We’re going to fill the shadows with blood and fire.”

  “You won’t burn our own property down, will you?” asked a man from the corner. He was tall but thin, giving him a stretched look that his wrinkled face only exacerbated.

  “And you are?”

  The man bowed.

  “Lord John Ewes. I once owned half the great fields, until the priest-king took them from me at the edge of a sword.”

  “And what, you fear we’ll burn your fields?”

  “Damn right I do. That’s my sweat and blood growing out there. For a century my family has toiled the fields, hired workers, dug and cultivated. Stolen, all of them!”

  “You’re yelling,” Deathmask said, a dark grin on his face. “And what does it matter? The fire will make next year’s harvest all the greater. As for this year…you have nothing. Better we give them ash to feed their armies than grain.”

  John crossed his arms and leaned back into the corner.

  “How far are you willing to go?” he asked the assassin.

  Deathmask looked down at Veliana’s battered form, and he remembered his friends, the twins, who had died during Melorak’s victorious assault.

  “As far as my life will take me
,” he said. “You all must remember, we won’t be heroes. No one will remember our names. If we’re lucky, Antonil will show up, retake allegiance of the Mordan soldiers, and then crush this new priest-king dead. Until then, we starve them. We bleed them. We take their coin and bloody their noses. They’ve cowed the citizenry. We need to make them angry! Fire and hunger are our weapons now. And if any of you here aren’t willing to give up everything, and I mean everything, to free this city from Karak’s rule, then I suggest you leave right now and never let me see your face again, because the next time you see mine, it’ll be covered with ash.”

  “We fight for our survival,” Bernard said, standing and helping Veliana to her feet. Already her skin looked healthier, and the shaking of her hands had finally stopped. “Deathmask, you yearn for the bloodshed and destruction, but we are not the same. You are right, but I ask that we ensure our victims are only those sworn to Karak. I will not aid you in slaughtering innocents.”

  “There are no innocents in this war,” Deathmask nearly snarled.

  “Maybe so,” Bernard said. His shoulders sagged, and he looked as if he bore a great burden. “But I still want you to try.”

  “So be it.” Deathmask turned to Dagan. “Send your mercenaries to the Great Fields. They’re harvesting the grain to feed his army massing north of the city. Burn the fields to the ground.”

  He shot a look at John, who sighed, then nodded.

  “Burn everything,” the lord said. “And may Ashhur have mercy on us all.”

  Deathmask laughed.

  “Mercy,” he said. “I’ve fallen in the company of fools. John, I assume you were paid a pittance when your lands were stolen from you? Take it and start distributing it among the poor under the condition they buy food and only food.”

  “What for?”

  “When the fields burn, Melorak will need to obtain food from elsewhere. I want every spare loaf in the hands of Mordeina’s people. If we’re lucky, he’ll get desperate and try to take it from them. Either that, or he buys it back, otherwise his army starves. No matter his choice, we win.”

  “You ask me to bankrupt myself,” said John.

  “No heroes, remember?”

  “Already you burn my fields, and now ask for all my wealth? You’re doing a better job destroying me than the priest-king.”

  “Quit complaining,” Dagan said. “You think I haven’t spent every coin I have keeping the mercenaries?”

  “I have nothing left,” Hocking said. “My house guards stay with me out of loyalty and a hope for revenge. At least you might one day retake your fields. Karak’s priests have my fortune.”

  Lord Ewes threw up his hands in surrender. “So be it. This better work, rogue.”

  “Night will soon be over,” Bernard said, ending the taut silence that had followed. “I will pray for your safety. Return to your homes. I will send a messenger for when we are to meet again. Go with Ashhur’s blessing.”

  One by one the men left, until only Bernard, Deathmask, and Veliana remained in the cellar.

  “You need to learn how to speak with subtlety and kindness,” Bernard said, sitting back down and leaning against the wall. He let out a grunt of displeasure as his back popped. “These men are scared and desperate. Every day Karak’s priests whisper in their ears, promising their wealth returned a hundredfold if they prove their loyalty and devotion.”

  “This is no time for childish handholding,” Deathmask said. “We are at war, and they need to learn that.”

  Veliana tapped him on the shoulder, then tilted her head back and made a drinking motion with her hand.

  “Do you have any wine or water?” he asked Bernard.

  “Up the stairs,” the priest said. “What few stores we have are in a cupboard to your left.”

  Deathmask left and came back with a wineskin. Veliana guzzled it down, even though she winced and clearly fought against the pain in her throat.

  “This is some rebellion,” Deathmask said, plopping down atop a stool. “Burning the fields will hurt them, but he won’t disband the army. Melorak’s been kind so far to the general populace, but I fear that will end soon enough. They’ll pillage and tax like never before. We’re about to make a lot of people unhappy on both sides. Are you sure your…fragile sensibilities will endure this? These are not times for grace and forgiveness, only blood and ash.”

  Bernard closed his eyes, losing himself in his memories.

  “When Karak’s army stormed the walls, my priests and I did our best to fend off the undead emerging through the tunnels. When the bulk of the army was trapped atop the walls, I sent my followers after them in hopes of freeing the soldiers so they might fight. Alone, I hurried to the queen, fearful of what her advisor, a priest of Karak named Hayden, might do. I arrived too late. Melorak and his priests were already there, singing Karak’s praises. My beloved queen was dead. They scattered her ashes across the steps. As for my brethren, Karak’s priests covered their heads with tar and put them atop spikes throughout the city.”

  He opened his eyes and looked at Deathmask.

  “I am ready to do whatever must be done. I can endure no worse a day than that, hiding like a coward while my friends were tortured and killed.”

  Veliana knelt beside him, tapped her throat, then tapped his heart.

  ‘Thank you’ she mouthed.

  “You will regain your voice in a few days,” he told her, trying to smile. “Until then, you may stay down here and rest. I have cast many protections, and if this Haern is undead, he will burst into flame should he take a single step into the cellar.”

  They piled up pillows, and then Deathmask wrapped her in a blanket after she lay down. It wasn’t long until she slept, unable to fight off her exhaustion. He kissed her forehead, then headed for the stairs.

  “Where are you going?” Bernard asked.

  “After today, I really need a drink.”

  “Drinking’s illegal now. You know that right?”

  Deathmask chuckled, then outright laughed.

  “Then I’ll drink twice as much,” he said. “Fuck this priest-king and his laws. It’s time we showed him the world isn’t ready to roll over and die.”

  12

  Tessanna watched the forest burn and cried.

  “I know,” said Velixar, standing beside her. “Isn’t it beautiful?”

  The smoke clogged the air for miles, blotting out the sky in a gray and black plume. Everywhere she looked she saw fire. The red haze made her feel trapped in a nightmare, one she could never wake from. She wore a sparkling red dress, her hair long and carefully cut. Velixar’s dead queen, she’d begun calling herself. The bride of a corpse. Romance of the grave.

  “Here come the elves,” said a war demon standing beside them. He carried two flags, and he raised the red one above his head and then took flight. In response, a great patrol on horseback turned toward them, having ridden along the Erze Forest’s edge waiting for the counterattack. They were over four-hundred in number, men that had bowed their knee at Felwood. Tessanna hoped the elves would see this and flee, but instead they raced out of the burning trees with their swords drawn. A single thin line of undead stood in their way, but Velixar appeared unworried.

  The elves cut through the undead and continued on, but the distance was too great. The horsed archers unleashed their barrage. The first of many arrows landed, and then they fell like rain. Ten elves died, their corpses trampled as the archers rode across them before looping around in search of more targets.

  Still Tessanna cried.

  Thulos’s plan had been simple. They’d scattered out along the forest’s edge for several miles, then sent a thousand undead carrying torches in a single wave. The elves stopped many, but not all, and throughout the day war demons had flung pitch and torches from above. They’d started early in the morning, and after a day they’d burned hundreds of miles. As night approached, the fire only grew, devouring more and more of the forest. The elves couldn’t fire their arrows due to the in
ferno between them and their enemy, and their swords meant nothing to the flying war demons and the patrolling archers on horseback.

  “Look,” Velixar said, pointing to the south-west. “Do you see the clouds? What spellcasters the elves have must be creating rainfall to protect Nellassar. The distance is too great, though, and they have too few. The fire will curl about them and destroy their great city. So beautiful. Tell me, Tessanna, does the goddess weep for the death of her children?”

  “Mother doesn’t speak to me anymore,” Tessanna replied.

  “A shame.” Velixar smiled in the abyssal light and enjoyed the burning. “Perhaps your goddess is dead, and this night, we strangle the last remnants of her life.”

  Tessanna didn’t answer. She only watched as yet another part of the world died.

  Thulos’s forces followed the forest to the south, rekindling fires where they dwindled and setting flames anew when they curled around the lower segments that had been beyond their original formation. They kept the task of burning to the undead, unwilling to sacrifice any fighting soldiers or demons to the suicidal task. After that first day, no elves dared attack. Velixar was certain they’d retreated back to their capital, and told Tessanna so. She said not a word back.

  “I believe Jerico tried this trick on you,” Karak’s prophet said when he realized she was staying silent. “I don’t remember it working too well for him.”

  Tessanna smiled bitterly.

  They marched amid the thousands of troops taken from Felwood. Thulos had given Velixar command of them all, which he took to with eager joy. Before any drills or sparring, he enforced ritual prayers to Karak. The vast bulk said them without truthfulness or feeling, but he knew the frailty of men. Given time, they’d believe what they thought were lies. Given time, their souls would belong to Karak.

  The collective army of Thulos halted for two days when it reached an ancient wall of rocks barely knee high, which marked the entrance into the Ramere. Tessanna was kept away from the proceedings, but Velixar always told her what transpired afterward. She couldn’t decide if he was hoping to win her over with honesty and conversation, or if he were simply so confident of their success he wanted to gloat before it even transpired.