“This is the reward for your bravery,” Bram said. “This is your rightful respect as king. Do not just expect obedience. Demand it. When they bow before you, do not heap praises upon them. They have done their duty. Their reward is their renewed honor in the eyes of their lord.”
“Surely the right path to be a beloved king,” Tarlak muttered.
“Says the honorless mercenary,” said Bram. “Do not pretend that you know how to rule. You control a pitiful few with coin. Nothing compares to being law and judgment for thousands.”
“Enough,” said Antonil. “They approach, and I don’t want them to see my friends squabbling amongst themselves.”
“Let them come to you,” said Bram. “Make them remember their place.”
Four men rode at the front of the great river of troops, dressed in exquisite armor no doubt handed down their family line for generations. Beside each of them rode a younger man wielding a banner. The colors and symbols meant nothing to Harruq, but he knew a lord when he saw one. They rode up to Antonil and then dismounted.
“Lord Hemman,” Antonil said, nodding his head slightly. “I am pleased to meet you again, this time in light of day.”
One of the men stepped closer and bowed. He was tall, and when he spoke, his voice was deep and firm.
“Only a few tried to stop us, and they backed away when we drew blood,” said Hemman. “We have come to offer our allegiance to the rightful king of Mordan. Antonil Copernus, will you accept my sword?”
He drew his sword, knelt, and offered it up. Antonil smiled.
“Of course,” he said, saluting with his own.
Hemman stood, but when he turned to go, he stopped and looked back over his shoulder. His deep voice dropped lower in volume, possibly the quietest the man could whisper.
“They know we have left,” he said. “All our families are in danger. Our name is nothing without you. Will we win? Tell me, Antonil. Let me hear the words. Can we win this fight?”
Harruq looked to Antonil, and he was not the only one. Tarlak crossed his arms and waited. Bram’s eyes narrowed, as if ready to judge the new king by his answer.
“Both the grave and the throne await me,” Antonil said. “And by my sword, the wings of Ashhur, and the magic of my friends, I will seek them out, and run from neither. Let the priest-king fear my name. I come for what is mine.”
Hemman nodded. Worry still filled his eyes, but the answer seemed acceptable. He turned to the other lords and let them introduce themselves as the thousands crossed the river. As they bowed to their lord, Tarlak took his Eschaton and left.
25
Village after village fell. At Thulos’s insistence, they made for the Corinth River, seeking an entrance into Mordeina and meeting with the rumored priest-king.
“If his allegiance is true,” the god told Velixar, “then the last of the angels stand no chance. At worst, we find them already dashed upon the walls. It would be a shame, though. My sword desires blood, and this world has proved rather elusive in providing worthy opponents.”
“At least you killed the daughter of the whore,” Velixar said, stepping out of the large tent.
“Just one of them,” said Thulos. “Another remains.”
Velixar glared but kept his mouth shut.
On and on they travelled until they reached the Bloodbrick. Thulos led the way, and he stopped before it to survey the area. On both sides he saw communal graves burned with fire. Blood soaked the bridge. High above hovered a legion of crows, no doubt having feasted well the week before. Many bodies still floated, caught against the rocks, their bodies pale and eaten away by the fish and the birds. Distressingly few bore the wings of Ashhur’s angels.
“Who fought here?” he asked.
“It must have been Ashhur’s men, for I see wing bones among the pyres. But against who? I don’t know. Perhaps an army from Mordan marched south, hoping to subdue Ker and her king.”
“Then they were defeated,” Thulos said. “An ill sign. We must continue on. If Mordeina has fallen, then our task grows that much greater.”
Their supplies thinned during the weeks following. The villagers who surrendered instead of joining Velixar’s dead told of how an army had come from Mordan and taken much of their food, and then even more on the way back. Ashhur’s army had given chase only days behind. Thulos’s mood soured at that, and they rushed after with even greater speed.
Through it all, Velixar poisoned the night with his words. Through it all, Tessanna brought Qurrah back from the edge during the day.
“You know he lies,” she told him while they travelled yet another day north toward Mordeina. “What is it he says to you that tortures you so? What lies could he possibly have that you cannot outright dismiss?”
Qurrah didn’t answer immediately, but Tessanna was used to this. Often now Qurrah took a moment or two to think. It seemed every question he felt duty-bound to answer truthfully, no matter how terrible it might make him seem. She waited him out, part of her dreading the answer, part hoping she might help him in any way.
“He sends me into my past,” he said. “He forces me to live the life I would rather forget existed. You say I am not my past…but how can I deny what I must endure every night? I feel the pleasure in the kill. I remember my pride, my power. All the guilt I feel, it vanishes as I hold myself above the wretched that I murder. It’s so heavy, Tessanna. So heavy…”
She took his hand in hers as they walked. It was cold, but she had grown used to it, as she had his awkward pauses, his deathly pale skin, and the horrible silence in his chest. His eyes, though, they still had life. His voice might be a hollow reminder of what he had been, but his eyes told her how much he still loved her. As long as she could hold onto that, as long as she could cling to it so tightly that pulling them apart would spray blood and kill them both, then she felt hope.
“After Aullienna died,” she said, hesitant. She had never told him this before, but perhaps it might help. “After…you know. I dreamed of it. I saw her plunge into the water. I could even see what she saw, these little faeries dancing about her in a world so beautiful. Every night I watched her die. It was peaceful, in a way. She never knew the danger, not even at the end. She saw something I could only see the faintest glimpse of, something golden and wonderful. And then all would go dark, her body just a shell floating in the water. Every night, Qurrah. And when I’d wake up I’d hate you for casting the spell, and hate myself for ever asking you to do it.”
Qurrah’s lower lips spread tight across his teeth. She knew that meant he was struggling to keep his emotions in check. If he still had a living body, perhaps he’d even be crying. She kept going, needing to tell him. Needing him to know.
“I nearly killed you while you slept,” she said. “I tried to convince myself I didn’t need you. I’d lived without you before, and while it was lonely, I never hurt. But you hurt me, so bad, so deep. I held my dagger in my hand and imagined your blood on my fingers. It didn’t excite me. It didn’t ease me in any way. I hated you so much, Qurrah, but I couldn’t do it. Despite the dreams, despite my horror, despite being afraid and lost and clinging to you so desperately…I couldn’t. I loved you too much. I tried to imagine my life without you, and I couldn’t.”
“Why are you telling me this?” he asked.
She clutched his hand in hers and stared up at him. A deep ache swelled in her chest as she wished to kiss him but could not. She couldn’t even stand the thought of feeling his lips against hers, now dry, cold, and lifeless.
“Because now you endure the same. Velixar forces you to relive the hurt. He tries to glorify what you regret. I held on because of you…and you…can’t you do the same? I thought, just maybe, you could love me. Maybe if you love me enough, you’ll endure. Can’t I help? I want to help, Qurrah. I want to feel that I’ve at least helped one life, because all I do is ruin. All I do is destroy. Mother made me broken, and all I do is break.”
She was crying, and she couldn’t think of a
nything to say. She felt she had a thousand things to tell Qurrah, to ask him, to beg for forgiveness or understanding. But instead she pressed her head against his bloodstained white robes and sobbed. All around them the soldiers of Thulos marched on, giving them strange looks but not daring to speak.
As she cried, she felt his hand gently rest atop her head. Part of her tensed, afraid of what he might say, afraid that he might be angry at what she had once thought. The other part was glad she no longer hid it from him, even if he had never known the secret existed.
“I don’t know if it will work,” he said. “But I’ll try. For you.”
“I love you,” she said. “Even like this.”
“I know,” he said. “How, I will never understand.”
She smiled and wiped at her tears with her palms.
“Maybe because I’m insane.”
Qurrah laughed. It sounded so warm, so alive, that she laughed with him and momentarily forgot the army about them, the demons above them, and Velixar marching ahead of them, just waiting for night to fall.
That night, as she lay down for bed, Velixar came to her.
“Come with me,” he said, his red eyes barely visible underneath the hood of his cloak. “Tonight, I want you to see what I have always known.”
“And what is that?” she asked.
He smiled but did not answer. She accepted his offered hand and followed him out of the camp, beyond the light of the campfires, and to a collection of runes carved into the dirt. Qurrah stood in their center, his head tilted back, his vacant eyes staring at the sky.
“What is going on?” she asked. Velixar pressed his finger to his lips and shushed her.
“He is lost in his memories,” he whispered. “Do not disturb him. I have chosen a very special memory, one I want you to see.”
“I don’t want to see it,” she said, looking away.
“But he is your beloved,” Velixar said, grabbing her jaw and forcing her to look at him. “He is the one you yearned for while you were with me. Should you not know everything about him?”
He pressed his fingers against her forehead. Images poured in, smoothly and expertly taking over her senses one by one. She found herself watching a frozen moment in time, that of a dark alley where the two Tun brothers stood before one another. Pain and anger covered their faces. She hovered between them for a moment, and then plunged into Qurrah. She saw what he saw, felt his emotions course through her. Time resumed.
“I will kill again,” Qurrah yelled. She felt pain in her throat, and a slight trickle of blood. “I will kill children, women, elders, elves, Tarlak, Brug, I’ll kill any I wish, whenever I wish. Aurelia, Aullienna, their lives are nothing to me, nothing to you. Have you grown too blind to see it?”
Aullienna…
The name echoed as time once more slowed. Beside her, a phantom of Karak’s prophet laughed.
“Do you feel his anger?” he asked. “Do you feel his honesty? Nothing to him. Nothing! Children, women, elves, Aurelia…Aullienna…does your name fall on this list? View your beloved as he truly is!”
He yanked her back and out, so that she stared at the brothers. Harruq was in mid-swing, the back of his fist ready to slam into Qurrah’s face. Still the name echoed. Nothing to me. Nothing.
Nothing.
“You clung to him in your darkest despair,” Velixar whispered. “But who is it you cling to? You bed a monster. You romanticize him into an ideal, a perfect master to fulfill your perverted desires. Look at him. Look at him!”
His face was curled into a sneer. Rage filled his bloodshot eyes. She still felt his emotions perfectly synced with hers. His absolute certainly nearly overwhelmed her. He meant it. Every word. The girl she adored, the one floating face down in the water…nothing?
“There is another memory,” Velixar whispered.
“No,” she said, terrified of what it might be. She wanted out. She wanted back to the now, to bury the past and think of it no more.
The world shifted and changed. She stood in their old home, her lover before her. Qurrah looked stunned and confused. Her hands moved of their own accord, her lips spoke with a mind of their own.
“What is it?” he asked. His arms moved about her, but the reaction was calculated, cold, a placating attempt.
“The girl is dead,” she sobbed, clawing at his chest. “I saw it, she’s dead. You killed her, you killed her!”
She felt herself tear into him. Her fingers passed through cloth and raked his chest. All her old anger roared to life, as absolute as Qurrah’s had been. She felt rage, pure, mindless rage. His blood ran across her fingers, and she thought of her words only hours before. His blood on her hands…and this time it did excite her.
The memory slowed, and she felt Velixar hovered nearby, laughing. Tears ran down her face, but then she felt anger, her own, not the memory’s. He was stopping the remembrance? Why? With her thoughts, she pushed ahead, surprising Velixar by the sudden willingness and acceptance of Qurrah’s torture. She felt her anger return, her clawing at Qurrah continuing, but then his arms tightened about her. He stood still, in total shock. Her thrashing stopped, and she pushed her head against his neck and sobbed. Despite the pain she’d inflicted, he stroked her hair. Still no words. What had they done? What horror had they committed?
Deep down inside her she felt a part of Qurrah connect, the part trapped there with her in the memories. He felt that same ache, that same communal pain. She could almost imagine his arms around her still as the memory twisted and turned a murky gray.
Not yet…
The words came from everywhere. She felt Velixar burn with rage, but now Qurrah forced his memories aside. Linked with Tessanna, they found another shared memory, though she had always thought it secret.
Qurrah stood outside their house, that same night Tessanna had felt Aullienna die. He stood with his arms at his sides, his hood pulled back. His hair blew in a soft breeze. With his head tilted back, he stared up at the stars.
Tessanna crept out of the house, careful not to make a single noise. Like an animal she crawled on all fours, almost wishing she could be a prowling cat, to live a life without complications and love. Closer and closer she came to Qurrah, watching him stand there like a statue. How could he be so heartless? How could he leave her there to weep alone in their bed? She should kill him. She had her dagger, and he was unaware, unprepared.
But then she was close enough to hear. The sound was strange. She almost didn’t understand it, and then when she did, she didn’t believe it. Could he?
Alone and broken, he stared at the stars and wept. Confused and scared, she watched, too cowardly to interrupt a moment that private.
Nothing? she heard the phantom voice of Qurrah ask. Is this nothing? Are these the tears I cried for nothing?
She felt Velixar raging against them. Once master, now he fought for control, lost in the world of Qurrah’s memories. She remembered those tears, and she felt Qurrah’s pain bleeding into her. He’d wept for Aullienna, but not just her. He’d wept for the loss of his brother. He’d wept for the pain he’d caused her. He’d bared his soul to the stars, because he trusted only the stars to understand, to not judge him, and to give him peace.
At last she returned to the house, crawled into the bed, and laid there for hours unable to sleep.
“You can’t steal this from me,” Tessanna whispered, feeling her senses returning. The dream world faded, and then Velixar’s cold fingers left her forehead.
He immediately struck her. Blood splattered from her mouth as her lips cut against her teeth. She fell, but Velixar grabbed her hair and yanked her back to her feet. His hand wrapped around her throat and squeezed. She grabbed his wrist and pulled, but she was nothing to him, nothing without her magic. As she gasped for air, she saw Qurrah standing in the center of the runes, watching.
“Do you think you will prove me wrong?” Velixar asked his former disciple. “Do you think a single weak moment of tears will wash away years of certa
inty? Enough of these stupid sentimental falsehoods. Is she why you remain terrified of embracing Karak’s perfection? Is she why you stumble? Always remove a thorn, no matter how deep. Those who make you stumble must move or be destroyed.”
Tighter and tighter his hand closed around her neck. Tessanna gasped, and she felt terror creeping up her spine. Was this how she would die? Strangled while Qurrah stood there, forced to watch, bound by Velixar’s will to remain still as she kicked and twisted until she suffocated? Spots floated in her vision, purple embers with red centers. His hand was cold, so cold…
And then it was gone. She landed some distance away, flung as if she were a dirty rag. As she retched, she looked back to see Velixar pressing his forehead against Qurrah’s, his hands wrapped around his neck as if they were lovers.
“I am no fool to your desires,” she heard Velixar whisper, just loud enough for her to overhear. “I feel them much the same. Do not let them control you. Do not let your pathetic mortal notions of morality and conscience decide your actions. It was her hand that took your life.”
He looked back to Tessanna, who glared.
“And it must be you to take her life. When you are ready, Qurrah. When you are ready for Karak’s true embrace, for you to fully understand…do the same to her. Take her life, and if you like, I can help you bring her back. She can join us in perfection, freed from the goddess’s taint.”
Qurrah stood still as a statue, but he had enough control to speak.
“Leave us,” he said.
Velixar smiled.
“Do the right thing,” he whispered, then returned to the camp. Tessanna ignored him, kept her eyes only on her beloved.
“Will he make you?” she asked as he stood there.
“He’s left me the choice,” Qurrah said. “For now.”
“Then will you?”
Qurrah walked over to her, fell to his knees, and then wrapped his arms around her.
“Never,” he whispered. “I never could. Please, Tessanna. Kill me now. While he’s gone, find a stone, a dagger, and tear out my heart. He’ll make me do it soon. I know him. His patience is almost gone, his mind with it. Don’t make me endure that. Please.”
The Half-Orcs: Books 1-5 Page 155
