The half-orc looked up at the stars, hating himself. He remembered the rows of marching dead. His brother would be amongst them, as well as his wife. Did they deserve such a fate?
He glanced back to the fire. Tessanna sat beside it, her dagger drawn as she viciously slashed into her arm. She was more nervous than she let on, he realized. Only the dripping blood revealed her worry. He thought of the scars that lined her arms, and the chaos that swirled behind her eyes. No, he thought, his brother might not deserve to walk among the rows of the dead, but his lover deserved the pieces of her mind to be made whole.
“I will help you,” he said at last. “And Tessanna will as well.”
Velixar clapped him on the shoulder, a smile creasing his face.
“I’ve always been proud of you, Qurrah,” he said. “And you have made me prouder still.”
“What do we do?” the half-orc asked, gesturing with the journal. “Should we begin?”
“Not yet,” Velixar said. “We must cast the spell where Karak and Ashhur first entered this world. That is where the barrier is weakest.”
“And where is that?”
The man in black grinned, a bloodthirsty hunger smoldering in his eyes.
“At the seat of the throne in Veldaren. I have not laid siege to it over the course of the centuries without reason. With its fall, we will be ready. But first we need an army. We go to the Vile Wedge.”
“You made the orcs fight for you before,” Qurrah argued, “but you cannot expect them to trust you now. You let them die upon the cities gates just so you could raise them as the dead.”
“I do not need trust,” Velixar said. “And I do not need obedience. The world is changing, Qurrah, and we are the catalyst. Once they were servants of Karak. It is time to restore the old order of things.”
The man in black offered his hand to Qurrah. The half-orc bowed and clasped it in his own two hands.
“My life for you,” he said. “And for her.”
“Sleep now,” Velixar said. “I will give you privacy. Come the morn, we ride.”
With a fading of black mist he was gone, and Qurrah knelt alone in the darkness. He returned to the fire where Tessanna sat with her dagger in hand. Tears streamed down her face.
“Shatter my mirror,” she said, the voice broken by the lump in her throat. “Not just that. Shatter everything, he says, shatter everything, and still you lie, still you hide, and Aullienna floats above it, floats, floats…”
“Shush,” Qurrah said, wrapping his arms around her. She rejected his comfort, instead shrieking and flailing at him with the dagger. He leapt back, narrowly avoiding the bloodied edge. The girl stared at him, wildness in her eyes.
“When this is over we leave,” she said, her lower lip quivering. “We leave Velixar. We leave your brother. We leave the gods and the goddess. We leave Dezrel, and we live together, just us. No plans. No destiny. No promises. You hear me lover? Will you come with me when all this is death?”
“I will burn this whole world to ash,” Qurrah told her as he gently pushed the tip of her dagger with his finger. “I will keep my promises.”
“How romantic,” Tessanna said, her tears flowing once more. The edge left her voice. “How romantic, and how insane. You’re acting like me, now, just like me. Just like me…”
She collapsed beside the fire. Sparks flickered into the air as the girl sang in a voice distant and lost.
“Run kitty-kitty,” she sang. “Big dog’s coming and he’s coming for you…”
With a vicious kick, Qurrah scattered the fire. He let the darkness consume him, consume them both. As his eyes adjusted he spoke to where Tessanna lay.
“Insane or not, I am damn tired of breaking my promises, Tessanna. So I will see this to the end, whatever that end may be.”
“I know,” Tessanna whispered. “I just fear the end we bring. Shatter my mirror. Shatter it down.”
Qurrah lay beside her and wrapped her in his arms. He placed his head on her neck and let his warm breath comfort her. The night would be cold without the fire, but they had blankets. He could deal with the cold, he just couldn’t stand the light. He didn’t belong in the light, not anymore. The light was for his brother.
“Forgive me, Harruq,” he whispered, not caring that Tessanna heard. “Forgive me for Aullienna, forgive me for your wounds, and now forgive me for this…”
He closed his eyes and dreamt of a dead world where the mindless occupants marched forever.
8
A t long last the Sanctuary appeared in view. Lathaar smiled, relieved at its sight. Curled in his lap lay Mira, her arms wrapped around his neck and her legs tilted to one side as she slipped in and out of dreams. He had done much to heal her wounds, but Krieger had left scars all across her body, and he dared not try to heal her mouth and tongue. The clerics excelled at healing. He would leave such miracles to them.
“We’re here,” he said to Mira even though she slept. “Praise Ashhur, we’re finally here.”
His joy faded as the Sanctuary grew closer. He could see the shattered remnants of the front door, and in his heart he knew who had come.
“Damn you, Qurrah,” he said, spurring his horse on. “Damn you to the Abyss.”
Jerico sat beside the door with his mace and shield at his side. He wore no armor. A long red scar ran from his ear to his chin. When he saw the two approach he waved and got to his feet.
“About bloody time,” Jerico shouted to the approaching couple. “I hope you had fun, because I had a…”
He stopped when he saw Mira’s wounds.
“What happened,” he asked, grabbing the reins of Lathaar’s horse.
“Take her,” Lathaar said, shifting the girl off his lap and holding her. Jerico reached out and accepted her frail form, his mouth locked in a frown as he scanned her wounds. Her lips were scabbed and bloody. Cuts lined her face and neck. Her fingers were swollen and red. All about her dress were torn holes in the fabric, and at each one was a fading wound. As he examined her, he fought a shudder at how similar she appeared to the girl who had scarred his face.
“By Ashhur, what happened to her,” he whispered.
“Inside,” he said. “Find Keziel. I’ll explain once she’s been healed.”
“I’m already here,” the priest said, emerging from the building. “And I think we both have stories to tell. We had a visitor, Lathaar.”
“The spellbook,” Lathaar said. “Tell me, was it taken?”
Jerico glanced at Mira’s wounded face, unable to meet the other paladin’s eyes.
“Yes,” he said. “It was taken.”
Lathaar shook with anger.
“Who…how…damn it all!” He slammed his fist against the Sanctuary. Jerico put the girl down on the grass and let Keziel kneel beside her, healing magic already glowing on his hands.
“Watch your anger and your tongue,” Jerico said. “Now tell me who did this, and then I will tell you who came for the book.”
Lathaar told him of how he had found Krieger, and then of their battle. He skipped nothing. When he finished, Jerico smacked him across the shoulder.
“He sounds a lot tougher than most dark paladins,” he said. “Don’t worry. Mira’s still alive, and that’s what matters. As for your book, well…”
He glanced at Mira and pointed.
“Two nights ago, her twin showed up with a necromancer dressed in black. They attacked while we slept. I held them off, at least until most of the clerics could escape in the back. You think you did poorly in your fight?” He pointed to the scar across his face. “I passed out mere feet away from where the priests hid. One of them did this to me as I lay there, but did not kill me. Looks like it hasn’t been a good few days for either of us.”
“Amen to that.”
The two stopped their discussion and looked to Keziel, whose back popped several times as he stood.
“She’ll be fine,” the cleric said. “She’s already healed a remarkable amount, no doubt thanks to Celestia’s power. Give her a day or two and I wouldn’t be surprised if even the scars are gone.”