Tessanna stunned him by leaning forward and kissing Delysia’s lips. Her dagger trailed upward, drawing a thin red line from the bottom of Delysia’s neck to the cleft of her chin. She licked the blood from her dagger and giggled.
“I could get used to this.”
“Enough,” Qurrah said. “Send her back.”
“Why?” she asked. “Do you care for her? She worships a false god, and even worse, lets such a perfect body go to waste.”
The half-orc grabbed her wrist and held it firm. He glared at her, every part of his being refusing to back down.
“You have killed enough of those close to my brother,” he said. “No more.”
He was not prepared for the rage that seethed inside his lover. When she spoke her voice was calm, but her entire body shook and quivered.
“I have killed?” she said. “Is that how you see it? I killed Brug. It was my desire, my idea, that killed Aullienna. Is it? Is that how you sleep at night? Is that how you banish your guilt, by casting it to me?”
She yanked her arm free from his grasp. The love they shared just an hour ago seemed ancient and lost to Qurrah. Even worse, her words tore at his guilt-wracked mind. Again he thought of an undead Harruq marching at his command and felt his heart split.
“You don’t understand,” he began, but Tessanna cut him off by thrusting the hilt of her dagger into his open palm.
“Take it,” she said. “Take it and listen. We are condemned by our actions, or we are free of them. We are murderers, or we are victims. You will kill again. Will you feel its guilt only for those you know? A life taken is a life taken, Qurrah. Will you succumb to guilt or not?”
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.
Harruq 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 hi
s 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.”
“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.
For 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 w
e 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.”
“It’s not Qurrah,” Harruq said, stealing attention away from the paladin condemning his brother. “It’s Velixar. That’s his army. He’s done this before, several years ago.”
“Doesn’t matter who,” Tarlak interrupted. “The priests were there to soften the city for the attack, and they did a damn good job, too. Do what you can. That army will be here by the dawn.”
Haern grabbed Tarlak’s arm and stopped his casting of a portal.
“Where are you going?” he asked.
“To warn Antonil,” Tarlak said, glaring at the hand on his arm. “And then grab a moment of rest. I’ll be worthless without it.”
He yanked his arm free and finished his spell. He entered the swirling blue portal without another word. The rest watched him go.
“I’ll start rallying troops,” Jerico said, glancing back to the city. “We might have a chance if we hold the two gates. Karak’s image in the sky will have shaken most of the guard’s faith. We need to restore it.”
“Ashhur be with us all,” Lathaar said, bowing to the others. The two paladins ran back to the city. Mira followed.
The Half-Orcs: Books 1-5 Page 79
