A Sliver of Redemption

7

T essanna watched the campfires flare to life across the plains with idle curiosity. The war demons were well practiced at their nightly duties, but this night they seemed tense. She knew they were approaching the lands guarded by Felwood Castle, but was it possible the creatures of battle felt nerves and doubt like everyone else?

She huddled closer to her own fire. She felt dirty and pathetic. What had happened to the goddess? At one time she had walked through the crowd of warriors proudly, almost daring them to lay a finger upon her pale skin. Now she quivered when they glared. She’d been afraid before, but not like this. She’d felt pain before, but not like this. She wasn’t master over her fear. Pain came and went whether she allowed it or not. Through it all haunted the specter of Velixar, watching with his red eyes, touching her with his dead flesh.

It’d been six days since she’d last eaten. The simple wooden band, the one she’d worn on her finger nearly all her life, she’d cast aside during their march. Its magic had allowed her to eat only rarely, and very little when she did. She didn’t want that anymore. Hunger stabbed her stomach, but she welcomed it. When she looked at herself, she saw a skeleton barely hanging on to life. Her hair was matted and unevenly cut. Not even when given the chance did she wash herself. She wasn’t killing herself, but it was close. She was killing her beauty.

But it hadn’t been enough.

“Your eyes,” Velixar said as he sat beside her. He kept his arms crossed, his hands thankfully not touching her. “I’ve seen that look in dead men and women. You are still alive. What haunts you?”

“Rest your silver tongue,” Tessanna said. “You know I don’t believe a word it says.”

“I never lie,” Karak’s prophet insisted.

“Your greatest lie of all.”

He chuckled, anger lurking beneath the sound. He touched her hair. She didn’t bother to hide her shiver.

“We are not far from Felwood,” he said, gently fondling the dirt-streaked strands that fell all the way to her waist. “There will be servant girls, baths, clothes fit for royalty. This rough travel does not suit you.”

“I am not your princess,” Tessanna snapped. “I’m not your whore, either. I’m nothing. Even the weakest of men could gut me with a sword.”

“I don’t want you for your power,” Velixar said. “A power that may or may not return.”

“Then what is it you want?” she asked. She hunched her shoulders and looked away, unwilling to see that look in his eyes. The look she’d seen in so many men, though not always as frightening or dangerous.

“I want to break you,” he whispered into her ear. “You were Qurrah’s, but he never deserved you. You are the greatest woman of our time. You belong to the greatest man of all times.”

“You are bones and rot,” Tessanna said, but her voice lacked conviction.

His fingertips brushed her neck, then slid around her like a serpent. She was thin, so thin…

“I could snap your neck right here,” Velixar said. Stars swam before her eyes. “I could strangle every bit of life from you, then raise you to be my queen. Qurrah is out there, my greatest failure. I will return him to Karak’s fold. I will show him his error. When I do that, my love, I want you there. I want you to watch as he falls to his knees and begs me for forgiveness. I want you to see his tears and hear his wretched brokenness.”

His grip relaxed, and she gasped in air.

He’s mad, she thought. Madder than me.

“Will you want him, then?” Velixar asked. “When he bows before me like a beaten dog, will you still view him as your husband and master?”

Words of a spell came to her, so simple, so common to her former life. She grabbed his wrist and whispered them. Nothing happened. No fire. No magic. Velixar heard them and sneered, his ever-changing face a fluid mask of hatred and lust.

“You’re abandoned,” he told her. “My god is a god of order, and you know what goes hand in hand with order? Control. I have years, Tessanna. I know you are starving yourself. Keep that up, and I will have my undead force rotted flesh down your gullet. I know you shred your hair and dirty your skin. Come the castle, you will clean yourself, or I will give you to the men of Felwood, all of them. Perhaps even the demons will wish to partake. When Qurrah sees you, I want him to see everything he lost in forsaking me.”

“He never lost me,” she whispered.

Velixar flung her to the cold earth.

“Open your eyes,” he told her. “You two are done. Should he beg for forgiveness and rejoin our faith in Karak, his first task will be to execute you. If he refuses Karak, then you will kill him for his blasphemy. There is no hope, not for either of you.”

Tessanna heard his words and could hold back no longer. She sobbed, feeling the weight of the passing months crashing down upon her. She begged for Qurrah’s arms, to hold Teralyn and feel life, to be a mother and a wife, to be powerful and beautiful. Nothing. She was nothing.

“Sleep alone tonight,” he told her. “I have prayers to make.”

He left her.

T essanna slept deep into the morning. The war demons were already preparing to march out when her eyelids flicked open. Groaning, she touched her throat and wondered how bad the bruise might be. Velixar’s words returned to her, and fearing his anger, she searched for something to eat. A couple of demons were rolling up their tent nearby, and she approached.

“Food,” she said, as if she were a child. The demons ignored her.

“Please,” she said. “I’m hungry.”

One of them reached into his pocket, pulled out a small piece of bread, and threw it to her.

“Enjoy it, whore.”

She caught the food and let the words roll off her.

“Thank you,” she said as she nibbled on one end, her nose crinkling at the smell. Her hunger was enough to overcome its foulness.

She wandered north, following the march of the lead forces. Her bare feet ached, and often they bled. As she walked she remembered that initial flight with Qurrah, just the two of them fleeing west from the Eschaton. She’d been naked then, nothing to cover her feet, but despite that she’d felt comforted by Qurrah’s presence. Only Aullienna’s death had tormented her, but no wrappings could heal that. Only time, and only barely. She wondered if Aurelia still felt the pain as acutely as she did. Perhaps. Perhaps not. Tessanna felt herself an open wound. She was blood, bad blood. Maybe Velixar was Dezrel’s leech, drawing her in, breaking her down, cleansing the world of her presence…

One by one the demons took to the air, until only the undead remained far ahead, having marched through much of the night to ensure they didn’t fall behind the aerial troops. With the plains now clear, Tessanna saw Velixar approaching from ahead, a sickly horse trotting beside him, its flesh pale and gray with faded black spots across its back.

“I found a farm not far from here,” Velixar said once he was close enough for her to hear. “This foal was let loose.”

“A foal?” Tessanna asked. She thought of Seletha, the magical steed she had ridden across the land. A fiery, majestic horse from the netherworlds. Yet she was to ride this…foal?

“Do not worry about it bearing your weight,” said Velixar. “Nor will it tire or disobey.”

Tessanna noticed how still the creature stood, lacking the in and out of its sides as it drew breath.

“You killed it and brought it back,” she said.

“Of course. It is more dependable this way.”

Tessanna mounted the beast, doing her best to hold in her grimace. Riding beside Velixar atop a dead foal? What else could be more appropriate?

“How will you keep up?” she asked.

“You will ride alone,” he told her. “I will catch up, but for now I have my prayers and my legs. The demons are tired of waiting for us. It was either this or ride in one of their slings. I prefer my feet on the ground. Sleep if you can, for we ride all day and all night until we reach Felwood Castle. And don’t think of hiding from me. The moment you leap off, I will know. Stay seated unless you’d prefer to die crushed underneath hoofs.”

“I’ll need to eat, pass water,” she said.

“Tell the foal,” he said, sending her on her way. “I’ll hear.”

And so she rode, and for the first time in what seemed like ages, she was alone. The northern plains passed by as the foal trudged along, silent as the grave it no doubt deserved to be within. She rode, and rode, stopping only to urinate or eat the occasional berries growing low on rare clusters of bushes. Without a saddle or stirrups, she had to clutch her hands about the dead foal’s neck. The smell made her sick. The touch made it worse. Her fingers ached, and her back screamed in protest.

And she rode, and rode.

T wo nights later the foal stopped. Tessanna more fell than climbed off. The contact with the ground knocked the air from her lungs, and quietly moaning, she waited for her breath to return. Her back and fingers were a constant throb of pain. She stank of rotting skin and decaying horse hair. The plains were coming to an end, breaking into soft hills and trees that grew tall, their leaves a green so deep they seemed wholesome. She had touched them whenever possible, clutching them to her chest as the undead foal cantered on. They had a pure scent, a temporary counter to the stench of her mount.

“You’re a bastard,” she said, knowing Velixar could hear her. She wondered where he might be, how many miles away. The foal remained perfectly still, not even swishing its tail to scare away the flies that buzzed about.

The nights were uncomfortably cold, a fire not needed to survive but needed to sleep well. So far, she’d had no fire, but now she saw the faint glow in the distance of many such campfires. The war demons were close. She’d kept up with them through the constant ride. Velixar had let her sleep only a few hours each night before the foal would wake her by pressing its snout against the back of her neck and nipping at her skin. The very thought of the creature’s teeth touching her sent a shiver down her spine.

One of her favorite ways to start a fire, back when she still possessed her power, was to cut her flesh and set her blood aflame as it dripped upon the kindling. In memory of that, she clawed at her wrist with her ragged fingernails, feeling a burst of pleasure at the pain, pleasure that heightened when she saw the desired crimson flow begin. She had no real kindling, just a few twigs scattered about, but she piled them anyway. Drop by drop dripped down, and she blew upon them as they fell. No magic. No fire. Her tears ran down her face like the blood down her wrist.

A strange sound reached her ears. She looked up, and was mildly surprised to see Velixar flying toward her, a dark specter of the night. Giant bat wings stretched from his back, shimmering in their blackness. Her chest ached as they faded away like smoke. She’d once possessed wings like that…

“So much for your legs,” she said.

Velixar stroked her face with his fingertips, a gesture that would have seemed loving if not for the wicked smile on his face.

“We reach Felwood sometime before tomorrow night,” he said. “Thulos tells me a few scouts have spotted our approach, yet no army marches against us. They plan on hiding in their castle, which is perfect for us. The fewer casualties means the greater our army when they join our side.”

“You seem so certain they will turn,” Tessanna said. She tilted her head to one side and watched the blood drip down to her elbow. A curious look on her face, she licked it, then spat, unsatisfied.

“Your old ways are dying,” he said. “Celestia has abandoned you. Your blood, your pain, it no longer satisfies. In time, you will realize your desire for something strong. Something controlled.”

“Assuming Qurrah doesn’t kill me.”

Velixar narrowed his eyes.

“No matter what happens,” he said, “I will treasure such a moment. You should as well.”

She tried to turn away from him, but he grabbed her wrists. From her sitting position, she could do nothing as he forced her to the ground. He towered over her, the stench of death rolling down. Her heart hammered in her chest. His legs forced her knees apart. So cold, he was so cold…

“I will take you,” he whispered. His face was beside hers, but no air moved across her. He did not breathe. There was no life in that being pinning her to the hard ground. “But when I do, it will be everything you could despise. It will be everything your fantasies cannot abide. Most of all, Tessanna…it will be willing. ”

“Never,” she whispered back, tears running down the sides of her face. “I’ll never.”

“There are so many pieces of you,” he said, rubbing his cheek against hers. “And how badly they’ve broken. Where is the animal? Where is the whore? And what of the child? You’re more whole than you’ve ever been, Tessanna. Don’t you realize that? I am what you need. I am the way to your salvation. Not Qurrah, and most certainly not the pathetic god he has turned to in his weakness.”

Tessanna sobbed, thinking of the way Jerico had looked at her after she’d ridden him. All his love and mercy had turned to shame and disgust. She’d done that to him. By the gods, why had she done that to him?

“I hate you,” she said. She felt her personalities swirling, a thousand colors blending together into some shapeless indecipherable smudge. Every single instinct inside her screamed to fall within, to retreat to another-the child or the being of apathy. But she couldn’t. They had left her. Velixar’s grip was tight, and her hands turned numb. She arched her back and screamed, once.

Karak’s most loyal prophet struck her with his fist. The pain shocked her quiet. He glared down at her, an angered master, a ruling king upset with his servant.

“Thulos will make the men of Felwood cower to his name,” he told her. “That is our way. Those who are strong will become weak, and their strength will serve that which they hoped to destroy. Your hatred means nothing. Your revulsions are pathetic. Go sleep in the cold.”

And like a beaten dog, she did as she was told, crying herself to sleep and wishing she were in Qurrah’s arms.

V elixar woke her early that morning, the sun only a golden hint on the hills.

“Get yourself ready,” he said. “I want to be there when Thulos reveals his godhood to the defenders of Felwood.”

She urinated behind a tree, straightened her hair with her fingers, and then returned to him. He gave her nothing to eat. Instead, he nodded to the foal. After she climbed on, he joined her. If alive, the creature would have easily tired within moments, but its blood was still, and its strength dark in origin.

“Do not be scared,” he told her as he wrapped his arms around her waist, so gently as if last night had never happened. “Time is of the essence. Let us see what this steed is capable of.”

The foal galloped and Tessanna clutched its dead mane, every part of her trying to ignore the cold feel of Velixar’s touch. The foal galloped at a startling pace, the wind blowing through their hair. The ride was brutal, nothing absorbing the shocks of the occasional uneven step. A miserable hour passed. Tessanna felt certain the foal would fall to pieces after a day or two of such riding, but all they needed was a few more hours. At the summit of a hill, she looked down into a valley filled with fog that appeared to creep out from the forest at its far edge. The war demons massed in the center of the fog, marching instead of flying. Tucked against the forest, its walls weaving through the trees, was Felwood Castle.

“They have rigged every tree to collapse,” Velixar said as the foal slowed. “The ivy on the walls hides a thousand razors, deadly sharp. I once had a troop of orcs attempt to climb them. They bled out before reaching the top.”

“Sad for them,” she said, her voice an emotionless droll.

They rode into the demons’ camp, then dismounted. After Tessanna leapt off its back, the foal collapsed. A wave of Velixar’s hand and his magic left it nothing more than a long-decaying corpse.

“Come,” he said, taking Tessanna’s hand. “Let us find Thulos.”

She fantasized plunging her hand into a fire to burn away his touch as she followed him.

Thulos sat on his throne, the fog swirling about him, hiding the feet of the chair and making it seem like he was floating. His armor shone even in the dim light, immaculately polished. He nodded to Velixar as he approached.

“I was hoping I would not have to wait for your arrival,” he said. He tilted his head back, as if suddenly revolted. “Your relationship with that woman is baffling, prophet.”

Tessanna felt her cheeks flush at being spoken of as if she were not there. It made her feel insignificant, invisible.

“One that should be of no interest to you,” Velixar said, letting go of her hand.

“The girl is a daughter of the whore,” Thulos said, looking to the castle. “She is powerless now. We would all be safer with her dead.”

“Since when did you care for safety? Does conquest not have its risks?”

Thulos chuckled.

“So be it. I need your undead to circle the castle just outside the range of their arrows. Do not have them attack. Their presence is all I need.”

“Fear is a powerful weapon,” Velixar said.

Thulos looked over at him, then shook his head as if disappointed in a child.

“Fear? I will not cow them with fear. I will show them reason. Death, or honor. Serve me in life, or serve me in death. Temptations work better than threats, and it is all the better when they can see what happens should they resist that temptation.”

“I bow to your wisdom,” Velixar said.

“Just do your part, and quickly. I wish to start before the sunrise.”

With a wave of his hand he dismissed them.

Velixar grabbed Tessanna’s wrist and led them toward his undead, which were already marching into position circling the front of the castle. Fires burst to life along the walls, giant cauldrons of oil and pitch. Torches ran to and fro, held by frightened hands. Velixar could smell the fear even from his distance.

“Thulos is a fool,” Tessanna said as she watched. “What could he possibly tempt these people with?”

“You dare call a god a fool?” Velixar asked, surprised.

“I do,” she said. “And I call yours an abomination.”

His punch split the inside of her lip. On her hands and knees, she spat blood and did her best not to cry.

“One more remark,” he said. “One more blasphemy against Karak and I will make you an abomination so horrid men will pale at the very sight of your mutilated corpse.”

She looked up at him, blood dribbling down her chin, and smiled.

“Yes, master,” she said, but there was a wickedness in her tone. Velixar clearly didn’t like it one bit.

They stopped before the front row of the undead, the castle gates looming ahead. It seemed the entire wall bristled with spears and torches. Tessanna was stunned by the amount. When they’d assaulted Mordeina, she’d thought the numbers impressive. It turned out that was nothing. Before her was a true army, one recruited with time and coin. At least a thousand men guarded the walls, and who knew how many more filled the interior courtyard.

“They will kill many before dying,” she said.

“They won’t kill a single demon,” Velixar told her. “Show some faith.”

She snickered again. A communal roar washed over her, the result of thousands of war demons shouting the name of their god.

“THULOS!” they cried as they took flight. In perfect formations they spread across the skies, carrying banners of the bloody fist. Thulos rode atop his throne, which the demons set down just beyond reach of the defenders’ bows. The god stood. He’d timed it perfectly. The sun poured over the hills and shone upon his armor. He raised his sword high, and before the castle he seemed mighty, unbeatable. When he spoke, his voice thundered across the valley. It was as if storm clouds had settled above the castle and given their thunder to the giant before the gates.

“Warriors of Felwood,” he said, so deep that Tessanna felt her heart quiver in her chest. “I come here bringing not destruction but instead the greatest treasure of any true warrior.”

He pointed his sword south, and it was no accident he held the enormous blade with only one hand. It looked as if it weighed more than a man, yet he handled it with ease.

“By now you know of Veldaren’s fate. By now you hear whispers of the men with red wings, war demons who burn and slaughter. What you hear are the childish cries of fear. You hear ignorance and cowardice. You are men of the sword and the spear.”

He slammed a fist against his breast and then held it out to the castle.

“You prepare to fight,” he said. “You prepare to die. I honor you! But your eyes are upon the ground, when you should instead look to the skies! There are a thousand worlds beyond your own. I speak no lie, for where else have I and my soldiers come from? Every single one offers a chance for glory. In battle you mortals find meaning. In war you understand life. List your vice. I will grant it to you! Gold, women, land, food, spice, drink…these are the spoils of war, and we are the Warseekers! Come down from your walls. Throw open your gates. Do not die here in a noble but shallow gesture. Reach higher. I offer you a life worth living.

“Think on my words. This world is ending. Do not end with it, but instead embrace a fate greater than any normal man’s. In killing another, you assert your will. You declare to the heavens that you are greater. I offer you worlds to kill. A thousand men will die to each of your blades. Prove you are worthy. Show your power. Show your strength.”

He held his sword with both hands and lowered his head. Tessanna watched, enraptured by his speech. Even she, a powerless captive, felt his words stir her heart. For a moment she imagined having her magic returned to her, and marching at Thulos’s side as his queen, god and goddess. With a wave of her hand she would destroy thousands, burning them with fire and crushing them with ice…

“Most impressive,” Velixar said. “His words themselves are magic. I can feel them weaving about me, like spider webs.”

Light collected around Thulos’s sword, the blade shaking as if it would explode from the energy within. His hair blew in an unnatural wind that swirled around him. It seemed the elements bent to his will. And then he swung his sword.

The shockwave sundered the castle doors, blowing chunks of wood and metal further within, filling the air with splinters. The crack echoed in the silence, breaking the spell Thulos’s words had weaved. Now Tessanna felt fear and abandonment, and even knowing it was just the after-effects of the spell, she still struggled to dismiss it.

“The way is open to me,” Thulos said. “All who would conquer, come forth. Kneel, and accept a lifetime of blood and honor.”

“Unbelievable,” Velixar said, total admiration across his ever-changing face.

They came by the thousands, kneeling in uneven lines. They were peasants and soldiers alike, and those with swords or spears cast them at their feet. Thulos stood before them, saluting. The troops atop the walls thinned, then altogether vanished. The god neared, and he paced as if inspecting them.

“Where is your lord?” Thulos asked.

“Lord Gandrem remains behind,” said one of the soldiers. “He would rather die than serve.”

“No,” Thulos said, his voice a whisper, yet the magic in his voice ensured all heard for miles. “ I am your Lord, and I stand before you.”

He lowered his sword. The waves of war demons descended, the walls meaning nothing to them. Velixar thought to send in his undead, but Thulos turned and shook his head.

“Let my demons drink the blood of the unwilling,” he said.

Tessanna listened to the screams of the dying who remained within the walls.

“Monsters,” she whispered.

“Such hypocrisy,” Velixar said, having heard her. “You aided me in conquering Veldaren. You watched as Kinamn fell. And here, we have granted reprieve, and life. Do you think the orcs spared any when they stormed through the streets at Veldaren? Yet now you pale and call us monsters. How is this so different?”

It wasn’t different. He was right. The realization struck Tessanna like a thunderbolt. The last remnants of her apathy crumbled. The wildness inside her thrashed in its death throes. Her and Qurrah, they’d killed…they’d killed…

So many.

So very many.

She cried as the men and women of Felwood raised their arms to the sky in tentative worship of their new god.