A Sliver of Redemption

13

A ntonil’s and Theo’s men passed over the eastern of the Gods’ Bridges, into the delta, and then camped before the western bridge, just outside the limits of Ker. There they trained and waited, waiting for confirmation from King Bram to enter. Two weeks later Theo received the order he’d been hoping for: prepare the defenses. The bridge was theirs to hold.

“T his is hopeless,” Harruq said to Tarlak as they watched Theo’s men dig trenches on both sides of the bridge. “Surely you see that.”

“That’s a mean thing to do, calling our only hope hopeless,” said the wizard. He removed his hat and scratched the top of his head. “Shame you’re right. I’ve been working on Antonil, but he’s starting to get a bit of that noble calling in his blood. I think he’s worried that, should everything go well, Theo will take all the glory and leave him looking the coward.”

“Or Theo will die like we know he will, hardly slowing the demons.”

Tarlak shrugged. “Yeah, that’s likely. What’s worse is we don’t have a clue when this Thulos will even show up. Would be rather embarrassing if Theo’s provisions ran out and he starved to death waiting to make his glorious last stand.”

Past the bridge was a small cluster of trees that could just barely be called a forest, and the two Eschaton leaned against the trunks while watching the preparations.

“Been thinking,” Harruq said. “You know we’ll never get paid for all this. We’re the lousiest mercenaries ever.”

“Says you. I plan on marrying Antonil’s daughter and becoming heir to the throne.”

“Antonil doesn’t have a daughter.”

Tarlak gestured to the soldiers everywhere.

“If I can haul us from one side of the world to the other in hopes of surviving a horrendous war without having yet been paid a single coin, I think I have the patience to wait on Antonil to marry and have himself a daughter of suitable age. Either that, or get one disgustingly large tract of land donated to me after we retake Neldar. I might be all right with that.”

Both shared a chuckle while the preparations continued. Harruq pointed to the ditches.

“Those won’t do much against flying enemies.”

“You feel like going and telling them that?” Tarlak asked.

“Not really.”

“Telling them what?” asked Antonil as he joined them. He wore simple clothing, lacking his filigreed armor and helm.

“That this fool’s errand will get us all killed,” Harruq said.

“I disagree,” Antonil said, crossing his arms and standing beside them. “They’ll need to use this bridge if they’re to march any soldiers into Ker. And even if they don’t, they’ll still try to crush them. He can’t leave them at his backside, disrupting any possible supplies and threatening raids. Besides, I know a thing or two about pride. King Vaelor would never have let such a challenge go unmet, and I can’t imagine a god having less pride than a man, king or not.”

“A hard gamble to risk the lives of so many on,” Tarlak said.

Antonil sighed. When he spoke, his voice had softened.

“I know. Which is why I will not make that gamble. My soldiers are going with the angels to Mordan. Those who wish to can stay, but I must retake Mordeina. Queen Annabelle entrusted me with the lives of her soldiers in hopes of saving my country, and in return her own city was conquered, her life taken. I owe her and her people much…more than I can ever repay. Let Hensley die, or even become a hero to be worshipped for all time. I just don’t want to be known as a failure king, the one who left and lost his throne while suffering defeat after defeat…”

Harruq put his hand on Antonil’s shoulder and shook him.

“Enough depressing chatter,” he said. “We’ll do what we can. That’s all we can ever do, right? But I’ll go with you, and if the world hasn’t forsaken us yet, we’ll plant your butt on that throne in no time.”

“I’m going too,” Tarlak said. “Can’t let you get too far away, not with how much gold you owe me.” He smiled a painful smile. “Besides, someone there killed Haern, and I want to make him pay. Fire. Lots of fire. Sound like a plan?”

Antonil stared into the distance, seeing nothing of his surroundings, just a horrific image of them trying to assault the enormous walls of Mordeina while priests and undead fought against them.

“Good a plan as any we have,” he said.

A ntonil’s men packed up their tents and bundled their belongings. Mira had little of her own to prepare, so instead she watched, strangely fascinated. Most looked relieved, though a few exchanged worried looks, always with others that were preparing to stay. Her path through the camp took her to the soldiers of Omn. There she heard whispers, curses, comments that confused her all the more.

“Cowards.”

“Snake bellies.”

“Why would you be a soldier if you’re scared to die?”

“Antonil’s not a real king. Wasn’t born into it. Theo, he knows a king’s true responsibility…”

Shouts reached her ears, and she turned to them. Several men had broken into a fistfight, and no one seemed eager to stop it. She thought of doing so herself, but then Ahaesarus arrived, thrusting the men apart and calming them with a word. He remained when the others separated, so Mira joined his side before he could fly away.

“They’re so scared,” she said to him. “Yet so many are angry as well. I don’t understand.”

Ahaesarus put a hand around her shoulder and smiled.

“They are right to be scared, and their anger is born out of that fear.” He led her away from the noise and the shouting, toward the edge of the Rigon River. The water lapping against the sides as he folded his wings and sat.

“Why?” Mira asked, sensing he was ready to talk.

“Because those who stay behind expect to die, and those who leave know they are escaping that death, though they go on no less dangerous a path.”

“And where am I to go?”

Ahaesarus seemed amused by the question. “Why, what you choose to do, as it is in all things.”

Mira frowned. It seemed simple, but it didn’t answer her question.

“The men who stay, are they truly doomed to die?”

The angel sighed. For a long time he stared across the water, as if mesmerized by something on the far side.

“Yes,” he said.

“Why?”

“Because as long as Thulos is there, they will die. He is far too strong. Perhaps if my brethren stayed, we’d have a chance, but I do not wish to make this our final battle. If Thulos wants to conquer Dezrel, he will have to bring his spears to Avlimar.”

Mira glanced back at the camps.

“If they know this, then why do they stay?”

“Because they hope to win, however little the odds. They are sacrificing everything in an attempt to hurt Thulos’s army. Theo thinks they will slaughter so many men and demons that he will be named a hero, a legend of his time. If he breaks the army, forces them to stall or retreat, then Antonil might retake Mordan and muster enough men to defeat Thulos.”

Mira thought of the men she’d seen in Veldaren, who had cheerfully given their lives to delay the attack of the orcs. It had been just a few, but they’d held a line, defiant against their certain deaths. This was the same, only grander, on a scale she’d never seen before. They would give meaning to their lives. Purpose.

“But that won’t happen,” she said, suddenly worried. “If the war god attacks, you are certain they won’t succeed?”

Ahaesarus shook his head.

“Thank you,” she said, kissing him on the cheek. “I think I do know which way I will go.”

She rushed to tell Lathaar.

“B etter get a move on,” Harruq said to his brother. “I don’t think too many will wait for you if you fall behind.”

Qurrah’s smile lasted only a fraction of a second before fading. They sat in what had been their combined camp. For once Qurrah had been willing to stay among the soldiers, and though he’d received many glares, none had confronted him. Progress, as the wizard would have said.

“Actually, I won’t be going.”

Harruq laughed, certain it was a joke. His brother’s face immediately cleared up that assumption.

“What? Why?”

Qurrah crossed his arms and looked away.

“You know she’s with them. This is my chance to see her.”

“Well, yeah, but…but on the other side of the battlefield. You can’t do this. You’ll get yourself killed.”

Qurrah nodded. “Perhaps.”

Harruq flung what he’d been holding to the ground and grabbed Qurrah by the front of his robe.

“No,” he said. “I just got you back. Tessanna isn’t the only one that’ll be there. Thulos, Velixar, and those winged demons, too. You’re still weak. You’re still confused. What are you hoping to do? What miracle do you think will happen to save you both?”

“The same miracle that brought me from Velixar’s side to yours while demons and angels bled in the sky.”

Harruq kicked a stone but had no reply. Qurrah stepped closer, and then awkwardly hugged him. Shocked, it took Harruq a moment to return the gesture.

“I must do this,” Qurrah said, stepping back. “So much of this is my fault. If there is any chance of finding redemption, it is here, standing against him.”

“You better live,” Harruq said, his lower lip quivering.

“Same goes for you,” Qurrah said. He smiled. “I’ll be coming after you as a hero. Try not to disappoint me. Now please, you need to hurry. I don’t think anyone will wait for you to catch up either, though you’re a bit more loved than I.”

Harruq grabbed the rest of his things, scooping them into a random pile in his arms.

“You’re a bastard,” he said.

“I know,” Qurrah said.

They shared a laugh, and it felt good despite the sadness lurking behind both their smiles.

S ince the men of Omn had no priests or paladins of Ashhur, Lathaar and Jerico led groups of them in prayer. They formed small circles, six or seven at a time, and prayed for strength, guidance, and the will to conquer fear. Mira walked upon the scene and stayed back, feeling like a trespasser. Men and women came and went, yet she lurked on the outskirts, willing to wait. At last Lathaar noticed her and smiled.

“Mira!” he cried, hurrying over to her. “Just trying to get a few last prayers in before we have to leave. They’re good people, real good. This’ll be tough. Is there something you need?”

She stretched on the tips of her toes, put her hands on his shoulders, and then kissed him. He stood shocked still as the kiss lingered, until at last he put his arms around her.

“I’m staying,” she said when the kiss ended.

“What do you mean?” he asked.

“Thulos will kill all of these people if he comes here. Their valiant stand will mean nothing, no meaning or purpose. I can’t let that happen, not when I can change it.”

“What are you talking about? Mira, don’t…”

“Please,” she said, leaning her head against his chest. “Don’t try to stop me. I saved myself once because of you, and now the whole world suffers. If you try, if you tell me you love me, I’ll do it again. Please don’t. Let me stay. Thulos hates me, hates mother. I will give him his chance to do something about that hatred.”

Lathaar shook his head, and a thousand objections raced through his mind.

“He’ll kill you,” he said at last.

“A thousand times I’ve seen people risk their lives for others,” she said. “It is only right I do the same.”

“Please…”

“Don’t ask me,” she said. “If you love me, you won’t ask me.”

He kissed her, held her close.

“I won’t ask you,” he whispered into her ear. “And I do love you. So much, Mira. If there’s any other way, you come back to me. Do you understand? You come back.”

She was crying when she pulled away from his arms, and she wiped away the tears with her fingertips.

“Goodbye, Michael,” she said, using the name she’d first learned from him deep in the Stonewood Forest, when she’d been a scared girl and he was a paladin of lost faith. A twirl of her fingers and she vanished, a spell stealing her away, far away, to where she could cry and no one would see her tears. In his mind, Lathaar felt her presence linger, and the ache nearly crushed him.

“Damn it,” he said. He looked back to Jerico leading the prayers, and suddenly he felt like he had more pressing matters to attend. The thought of kneeling down in worship seemed unbearable now. Not with Mira going to her death. Not with him forced to let her.

“Damn it all to the Abyss.”

Q urrah did his best to get out of the way after informing Harruq of his plans. He’d fled to the small nearby forest, hoping for privacy amid the trees. By no means was he looking forward to enduring without his brother, but he saw no other way. His time of isolation did not last long, for an angel flew low and landed. The half-orc recognized him as their high priest.

“Come to offer me a prayer for good luck?” Qurrah asked, a bitter smile crossing his face.

“No,” Azariah said. “I come bearing gifts, instead. Harruq told me of your decision. I find your choice admirable.”

He gave Qurrah the bundle he held in his hands. The half-orc unwrapped it and held it up. His forehead creased as he looked back to the angel, obviously confused.

“It doesn’t seem proper that you make your stand against Velixar wearing his former robes,” said the angel. “You are no longer a servant of Karak, and you shouldn’t dress as one. We have lost many of my brethren since coming here, but only one priest, a wonderful soul whom I loved dearly. I feel he would be honored for you to wear his robes.”

Qurrah didn’t know what to say. The thought of him wearing white, and not just white, a sparkling white shining with such purity…

“This isn’t me,” he said, offering it back to Azariah, who only shook his head and smiled.

“It could be, if you wished it.”

Qurrah looked down at his dark robes, remembering how he had taken them from Velixar after Dieredon had temporarily defeated him and his undead. He’d felt betrayed then, determined to be stronger than his teacher. Did he still feel that? Was that who he still wanted to be?

He shook his head. Of course not. Not anymore.

He shed Velixar’s old robes and donned the white. Azariah picked them up and folded them tight.

“When you feel ready, burn them in a strong fire,” the angel said. “Let that end the last link Karak’s prophet has with your soul.”

Qurrah accepted them but held in his thoughts. No, the robes would not be the last. Tessanna was the last. As long as she remained at his side, he could never be free.

“Thank you,” he said, bowing.

“Show the world who you really are,” Azariah said. He kissed the half-orc’s forehead and then took to the sky.

T he angels led the way. Antonil rode horseback ahead of his men, who he encouraged the best he could. Aurelia found her husband waiting, watching the bridge and the men working at a feverish pace to improve its defenses.

“Will you be all right?” she asked him.

“It’s like we’re cursed to never be happy,” he said. “Never to be together. Never to be peaceful and content.”

“It does seem like that,” she said. The dour look on his face hurt her, and she pursed her lips as she thought a moment. She had something to tell him, something she felt he should know, but wasn’t sure how he would react.

“Harruq,” she said. “I’ve been meaning to tell you…”

“Hmm?” He looked at her, but he wasn’t really seeing her. His eyes were red, and he looked like he carried an anvil on his back.

“Never mind,” she said. “Now is not the time.”

He pulled her close and kissed her.

“Care to give me a bit of time alone?” he asked her.

“If that’s what you need.” She kissed his cheek. “I’m here if you need me. I always will be. You know that, right?”

He smiled at her. “Yes, I know.”

She gave him his privacy.

The rest of the army moved on, but as Harruq watched, he was surprised to see he wasn’t alone. Lathaar neared, lagging far behind the rest. He constantly looked back, as if hoping to see a glimpse of someone who was never there. Harruq changed the angle of his walk so that he neared, and eventually walked beside the paladin.

“Lose someone?” he asked, chuckling.

“I think I did,” Lathaar said, and his tone showed he didn’t think it a joke.

Harruq glanced back the same time Lathaar did, and he sighed when he thought of Qurrah. No, it wasn’t much of a joke, was it?

“Sometimes life is a real bitch,” he said.

“Amen,” said the paladin.