A Sliver of Redemption (18 page)

A single cry from Veliana was his only warning. Haern leapt off a nearby building, soaring through the air as if a pair of wings stretched from his back. His cloaks flapped in the wind but made no noise. His sabers curled downward, ready to strike. Deathmask closed his eyes, continued his spell, and trusted Veliana to save his life.

He heard the sound of steel striking steel disturbingly close above his head, then the heavy thud of what must have been two bodies colliding. The conflict traveled to his right, where weapons clanged against one another with horrific intensity. He dared not sneak a peak, not when a single errant word would ruin his spell. Faster and faster he spoke, risking the delicate weave for sheer speed. Veliana cried out once in pain, and he nearly lost his concentration.

“No time!” he heard her shout. He looped his hands about, the spell near completion. She’d just have to find a way. She might have erred, but he would not look. He’d die with his eyes closed, ash about his face, trusting her with all he knew.

Something sharp sliced his wrist, but he continued.

Veliana’s firm body pressed against his back, and he felt her arms and legs jostle against him as the sound of melee combat rang deafening in his ears.

He continued.

At last, as he felt a saber curl across his face, looping down for his neck, he spoke the last word of the spell. The power rolled out of him, and clutching Veliana’s shirt, he fell through the ground.

They reappeared in darkness, and finally he opened his eyes. Veliana spun, her daggers still drawn. She was clearly disoriented, so he grabbed her in his arms and held a hand over her mouth.

“Not a sound,” he whispered. They were in deep shadow, but still potentially visible to Haern if they moved too much. He watched as the undead Haern kicked the ground where the shadow spell had been, then leapt to the rooftops to begin his search anew. His initial run took him south, the wrong direction. Deathmask breathed a soft sigh of relief.

“Mad,” Veliana said, cracking a smile. Blood dripped from her forehead and arm. She had a wicked bruise on her cheek, but she seemed so beautiful to him when she smiled.

“Let’s get out of here,” he said. “And you’re right. That was completely insane. I’ll wait at least a year before trying that again.”

They hurried north, deciding that perhaps Dagan Gemcroft’s estate would be a better choice that night.

15

M
ira walked with her arms huddled against her, as if afraid her beauty might attract the eye of a forceful and unfriendly man. She knew they were afraid of her; the men of Neldar had surely told them outlandish tales of her power…a power that was slowly fading. Celestia’s world was dying. Her mother’s heart had broken as her creations bled and died.

Very much a stranger at Theo’s camp, she knew only one man there. The rest were polite enough, offering her meals and thanking her for staying, though they stared too long at her hips or her breasts. Her face, though, they ignored.

My eyes,
she thought.
My eyes must scare them.

She searched for the only man she knew. At first she’d thought he’d be at the outskirts of the camp, in self-imposed isolation, but that was not where she found him. Instead, the half-orc stood near the heavy activity around the bridge. He stayed out of the way, but he watched intently at the construction. Mira slid beside him, saying nothing, only wanting to be in the presence of a familiar face.

“They don’t know how to defend against undead,” he said after several minutes passed in awkward silence. “And they know nothing about fighting creatures that fly on wings and wield lengthy glaives. Velixar’s magic alone will crush them, and who knows what the war god might do.”

“Do you wish you had gone with your brother?” she asked.

“I do,” Qurrah said after a pause. “Every minute of every hour, I do. But this is where I belong.”

“Then help them,” she said, gesturing to the bridge.

“What help can I be? They’d rather stick a sword in my belly than listen to my advice. My role is to give them a chance with my magic, and even that has turned against me. I once could devastate entire armies, yet now a simple spark of flame exhausts my mind.”

“Your magic has left you?” Mira asked. “How is that possible?”

“I turned against Karak,” Qurrah said. “That must be the reason.”

She shook her head, then grabbed his hand. He gave her a surprised look but she ignored it. She was used to people not knowing who she was and what she planned.

“Come,” she said. “Follow me.”

She led him to one of the outlying fields far from the camp. With a clap of her hands she summoned a fire, a tiny little blaze that danced on her palm. A flick of her wrist and it burned the grass but did not spread.

“Do the same,” she said.

Qurrah sighed. Had she not listened to a single word he’d said?

“I told you, I can’t.”

Mira crossed her arms and frowned. “Let me see for myself.”

He turned to the fire. For a moment he felt embarrassed, for he’d seen the tremendous power both Mira and Tessanna wielded. Compared to them he was but a child, and that was when he’d been blessed by Karak. But now?

“You asked for this,” he said, crushing his hands into fists. Words of the spell came naturally to his lips, but the power wasn’t there. He should have felt it pouring out of him, like water bursting through a broken dam. Instead the fire flickered, grew maybe an inch, and then shrank back down. He sighed, and his head ached as if he’d put it through a great strain.

“Is that it?” she asked.

“I’m not faking this,” he grumbled. “I’ve felt steadily weaker ever since I joined my brother. It’s to the point now where even a ruffian with a dagger could probably kill me. If Velixar saw me like this, he’d laugh his head off his bony shoulders.”

“It’s not that, Qurrah. I can sense the power still within you. But you’ve forgotten how to use it because of your reliance on Karak.”

Qurrah waved his hand, trying to summon a wall of fame. Only sparks flew from his palm.

“What would you know about it?” he asked. “You’re the daughter of a goddess.”

“Exactly. All my power comes from Celestia. As she weakens, so do I, but you aren’t like me. You need to rely only on yourself. Think, Qurrah. Think back to before Karak! When were you strongest? When did your power seem limitless?”

Limitless…

The word struck Qurrah like a hammer, then looped around him like a vice dragging him backward years through time. When had he felt limitless? When had he felt that reservoir of power within him at its greatest?

The night he’d first encountered Velixar. When he’d
challenged
Velixar, ripping away his control of the skulls that circled Veldaren while his orcs besieged the city. Qurrah had been stunned by the strength within him, by how his limits were in fact nothing but self-imposed delusions.

And now here he was, a shadow of that strength, wondering where his power had gone.

“Try to hurt me,” he said, snapping out of his introspection. Mira, instead of being surprised, only smiled.

“Fire or frost?” she asked.

“Both.”

She hurled a bolt of fire, following it up with a lance of ice. The two attacks shot for Qurrah, who had his hands held out before him. He kept his mind focused on that memory, on that one moment where he’d dashed Velixar’s magic and cut them like cheap threads. Within him, he felt something break. Shadows leapt from his hand, forming a barrier the fire and ice shattered against. He dismissed the barrier immediately. Sweat covered his forehead, and he felt like he might faint, but he’d done it.

“Like a muscle,” he said, gasping for air. “Like a sore, unused muscle.”

“Are you ready for more?” she asked.

He nodded. “Only one way to get stronger, right? We have only so long before Velixar arrives.”

Magic danced around her fingertips.“All too soon,” she whispered.

They trained for several hours, until Qurrah could hardly stand. That night, when they prepared for bed, he asked her to stay at his fire.

“For once, I’d prefer to not sleep alone,” he told her. “I don’t want to feel like a stranger to everyone.”

She knew what he meant, for she felt the same. She spread her bedroll and blankets out on the opposite side of the fire, which burned through his magic, not hers, and then they slept.

A
horrible unease woke Mira from her sleep. She lay still when she looked about, for she saw several men. They carried torches, and their light hurt her eyes. Her heart pounded in her chest. The men gathered around Qurrah, and they held naked blades that glinted in the yellow light. One man in particular seemed to lead them, for he stood directly before Qurrah and gestured to the others.

“Hold him tight,” whispered the man. In the poor light his face looked haggard and long, a man carved of shadows and world-weary flesh. “Don’t let him talk, and don’t let him waggle his fingers, either.”

Mira struggled for a course of action. They clearly meant to do Qurrah harm…was it right for her to stop them? Could she do so without harming them? And if she did, how would the others react? She couldn’t fight off half the camp if they thought she and Qurrah were a threat. Confused, she watched and waited.

“Now,” hissed their leader.

Two men lunged, each going for an arm. They yanked the half-orc from his blankets and pinned his arms behind his back. A third held a sword against his neck. Qurrah’s long hair fell across his face, and through it he glared at his attackers.

“Say anything,” insisted their leader. “A single word, and Rick here slices your throat. I hope you don’t, though. I want to do that. I want to pay you back for everything you done.”

Qurrah chuckled, so void of humor or fear that the others tensed. Mira ran a list of spells through her mind, trying to decide on one before the killing started.

“Payback for what?” Qurrah asked, unafraid of the blade pressed against the tender flesh of his throat. In response, their leader struck him, splattering blood from his nose.

“You got to ask?” the man asked. “You slaughtered thousands when you took over Veldaren, and you got to ask?”

“Make it hurt,” said Rick. “Real bad, Jeremy. Make it hurt bad.”

“Angels and kings have pardoned me,” Qurrah said. Blood trickled down his neck from the cut made from his talking. “Must I now beg forgiveness from every commoner in the land? How have I hurt you, Jeremy? In some way, I have hurt every single man and woman alive.”

Jeremy grabbed Qurrah’s hair and lifted his head so they could stare eye to eye. Mira shifted in her bed, angling herself better for a spell. Someone was to die soon. She felt it.

“You don’t deserve an answer,” said Jeremy. “I don’t care about kings. I don’t care about angels. I know what you done to me, and that’s enough. Don’t you get it? To me, that’s all that matters. And your blood’s going to pay for all of it.”

“Stop,” Mira said, lurching to her feet. Her voice was calm, but it had a power to it. All of them turned her way, and one of the men even dropped his sword.

“Stay out of this,” said Jeremy. “This has nothing to do with you.”

“He’s here to help you,” Mira said, ignoring his protest. “He stands with you, ready to die when the demons come. Are you so eager he beat you to your twin fates? Is your hatred so great you’d deny him any chance at redemption?”

“He killed them,” Jeremy said. “All of them. Don’t you get it? You…you’re just some witch; you’re an elf in human form. You don’t understand. You couldn’t possibly understand!”

He shoved the others aside and grabbed Qurrah by the front of his robe, and he pressed his sword tight against Qurrah’s neck. The half-orc refused to fight back, instead standing still and calm, though his eyes burned with anger and sadness.

“You wearing the white robes of an angel? A sick joke. I don’t care how many demons he helps kill, he’ll never atone for what he did!”

“Who was it?” Qurrah asked, his voice suddenly quiet. “Tell me.”

“My little girl,” Jeremy said, suddenly taken aback. “My wife, and…and Tasha. My little one. Butchered. Don’t you get it? All of you, don’t you get it? He deserves to die!”

He looked ready to kill. His hand shook, and tears streamed down his face. Mira felt her spells flutter in her mind, so great was his sorrow. Could she deny him? Their task was so hopeless, a fool’s stand against an unstoppable force, might it be better for that one man to have his moment of peace in the last remnants of his life?

“I deserve it,” Qurrah whispered. “You are right. I won’t run from what I have done, and I won’t pretend that your hatred is unjustified. But I will help you, if you let me, Jeremy. I will bleed and die beside you, all the while praying I might one day be worthy to stand in my brother’s shadow. But you will not kill the one you wish to kill. The monster that took your beloved is already dead. He died holding his own stillborn daughter.”

Everything slowed to a pause, a frozen moment in the night. Qurrah and Jeremy stared face to face, and there were tears in both their eyes. Slowly, the half-orc put his hand on Jeremy’s wrist and pushed the sword tighter against his skin.

“Do it,” he said. “Let this end. Every night I see a thousand faces come to haunt me. I have watched cities burn. I have watched loved ones of those dear to me bleed out by my hand. If your hatred is so great, then give me your blessing. Take it. If it’ll ease your suffering, cut now! If not, leave me be so I can face the one who turned me into what I was. Let me see if I can bring a thousand demons with me to the Abyss that most certainly awaits me when I die.”

“Fuck it,” Jeremy said. He yanked his hand free and pushed Qurrah away. “I don’t care how eager you are to die. You can wait like the rest of us.”

“Such a kind gesture.”

As the men departed, Jeremy turned back one last time.

“They claim you can summon the dead with a wave of your hand,” he said. “They say you can clap your hands and bury an army in fire. That true?”

Qurrah nodded. “It is.”

“Then prove you’re not who you were. Fight with us, and fight like one of the damned.”

Mira waited until he was gone, then put a hand on Qurrah’s shoulder. “They’re only…”

“I know what they are,” Qurrah said, brushing her aside. “And they showed me more restraint than I ever could. If anyone killed Tessanna, or had killed Teralyn should she have lived…not even the gods would find their corpse. All the more proof of how wretched I am compared to the rest of the world.”