The Cost of Betrayal

20

W hat happened?” Harruq asked. He saw blood everywhere, and Tessanna’s face was a deathly white.

“Just help me,” Qurrah shrieked. Everything inside him broke. He buried his face in her hair and cried. The rest of the Eschaton mercenaries arrived, stunned and confused.

“Let me see her,” Delysia said, rushing past the others. She put a hand on Qurrah, only to have him shove her away. When he looked up his eyes were a bloody red. The priestess saw the wound on Tessanna’s stomach and gasped.

“Help her,” Qurrah said, realizing who it was. “Please, I know you, what you do. Please, help her.”

Delysia put her hand on Tessanna’s neck, and another on her breast. For a quiet moment, she closed her eyes, and when she opened them again, her look contained only sorrow.

“She is dead, Qurrah,” she said. “Her heart is still. Her breath is gone. I’m sorry.”

“She’s not dead,” he cried, staggering to his feet. He held Tessanna’s body close. “You have healing spells. Cast them on her!”

“Qurrah, it will do no good.”

“Do it,” Harruq said, his face solemn. “Please, just do it, anyway.”

Delysia glanced to him, and then to her brother. Tarlak nodded his approval.

“Very well. Qurrah, give her body to Harruq. We need to get her inside.”

Qurrah reluctantly obeyed. Harruq lifted her in his arms, grunting at how light she was, and he shuddered at the strange ways her tightened muscles resisted movement. He laid her body on the long table inside. Everyone gathered about, watching in silence, except Tarlak, who moved to Qurrah’s side.

“Who did this?” he asked.

“A giant half-orc,” Qurrah said. “He wielded a greatsword, and had many men with him.”

“Karnryk,” the wizard said. “He posted a bounty for your whereabouts months ago. What did you ever do to him?”

“About a year back,” he said, watching Delysia preparing her healing rituals. “When Dieredon came to speak with Aurelia. They were sneaking through the forest toward the tower. Their intentions were ill, so we struck them. Only Karnryk survived, somehow…”

Tarlak nodded, stroking his beard in thought. Suddenly he stopped.

“A year ago?” he asked. Qurrah gave him a quizzical look, but Tarlak shook his head. He would inquire about it later. Pure white light enveloped Delysia’s hands. She put them across Tessanna’s chest, letting the healing magic flow into her body. Nothing happened. She cast another spell, plunging the light deep into her wounds. Nothing happened. She cast a third spell, a fourth. Nothing happened.

“She’s not dead,” Qurrah said, watching her. “Please, keep trying.”

Delysia glanced up, her eyes filled with pity.

“I will try, for you,” she said. Sweat covered her brow, and her head hung heavy. All were silent as she worked. Every spell of healing she could cast, she did. When finished, and still no change had taken place, she rest her arms on the table and gasped for air.

“I am sorry,” she said. “I can do no more. She is gone, Qurrah, beyond all that I can do.”

“No, you must, you must keep-”

“She is dead, Qurrah!” Delysia shouted, her exhaustion overruling her kindness. “You are no fool. You know this, just as well as I.”

The two glared at one another, neither backing down.

“Um, guys,” Harruq said, drawing their attention to the body. “What’s going on?”

A tiny light hovered above Tessanna’s breast, shining a myriad of faint colors. The room darkened, as if the tiny ball of color sucked in all available light. The seven were lost to bewilderment as feminine voices filled their ears, singing softly. Faster the colors changed, pulsing with an eerie power. Louder grew the singing, an ominous throng tinged with triumph and victory.

The singing ended. The light plunged into her chest. The darkness of the room faded.

Tessanna coughed.

“Tess,” Qurrah said, rushing to her side. He latched onto her hand and kissed her face. Delysia stared at the woman’s waist, where the vicious wound was all but gone.

“Thank you,” the half-orc said, his face pressed against his lover’s as tears streamed down his cheeks. Delysia turned to Tarlak, who stared at her in wonder.

“What did you do?” he asked.

“That was not me,” she said. “Whatever that was, I do not understand. Not my work, Tar, not my miracle.”

“We should find out,” Tarlak said, wrapping an arm around his sister as he watched Tessanna stir as if from a long slumber. “Riddles are interesting only when people are not involved.”

T arlak placed a cot in his room, reluctantly agreeing to let Delysia sleep there. Their two guests slept in his sister’s room.

“As long as she behaves, she can stay,” the wizard told Qurrah. The half-orc stayed by Tessanna’s side long after she sank into sleep. When he felt certain the rest of the tower slept, he crept down the stairs. Harruq, however, waited for him at the bottom, leaning against the door.

“Where you going?” he asked.

“Outside,” Qurrah said. “What is it you want?”

“Just to talk to my brother,” he said. “Haven’t seen you in forever.”

“I would hardly call a month forever,” he replied. His voice ached with exhaustion, his ragged whisper painful to hear. Harruq crossed his arms and blocked the way when Qurrah tried to leave.

“A month?” he asked. “Try eighteen. Aullienna is almost two. You didn’t even come to celebrate her birth.”

Harruq was not ready for the shock that came over his brother’s face.

“Eighteen months,” he said. His eyes grew distant as he remembered the magic that had encapsulated them. What was it the Center had said? Even time itself would protect her. “Could it be that long?” he wondered aloud.

“What now?” Harruq asked.

“Time,” Qurrah said, dismissing the thoughts with a shake of his head. “It is amazing how fast it moves when you least expect it. My apologies for our separation.” He beckoned to the door. “May I leave, or am I held prisoner?”

“Only tonight,” Harruq said. “You look like you can barely stand. Go to bed. Do whatever you want to do after a good night’s rest.”

“Ever the protector,” Qurrah said, a smile growing against his will. “I guess I will submit, this time. Good night, Harruq.”

“Nighters, Qurrah.”

The half-orc slunk back up the stairs, into Delysia’s room, and under the covers next to Tessanna. He wrapped his arms around her waist, relishing the soft feel of her flesh. Succumbing to sleep, his last parting thought was how he could still feel the blood drying on his hands.

W hen he awoke, the night was deep, and a single candle lit the room. His arms were empty.

“Tess?” he asked, rising on one elbow. The girl sat at the edge of the bed, blankets huddled about her.

“I hurt you, didn’t I?” she asked. Her shoulders trembled, and Qurrah thought he heard crying. “I always do. Always.”

Qurrah rubbed the sleep from his eyes and looked at the length of her hair. “You did not hurt me, Tessanna. You protected me. Come, lie down.”

She glanced back, her eyes voids unfilled in the dark. Tears ran from them. “Are you sure? Really sure?”

The half-orc threw off his blanket and stepped on the cold stone floor. He groggily walked before Tessanna, who looked away. His hand took her chin and forced her to face him.

“I would go to the abyss and back for you,” he said. “And then do it once more to ensure peace in your mind.”

She smiled, briefly.

“I heard the singing again,” she said, her tears continuing. “It was so beautiful. They were talking to me, and their voices so sweet, but the words, please, why did they have to say those words?”

“What words?” he asked, resting her face in the palm of his hand.

“They called me something. They called me daughter. They called me balance. And then…and then…”

She shrieked, tearing at her face with her fingernails. Qurrah grabbed her wrists, fighting her wild thrashing as blood flecked the white sheets. She clawed at her flesh, howling like an animal.

“Cease this!” Qurrah snarled. Thankfully, she did. She slumped into his arms and sobbed.

“They said I am broken so I may fix that which is breaking,” she whispered in between sobs. “They said I am to kill…but my purpose…my purpose…”

“Don’t talk, love,” Qurrah said, holding her tight. “Not if it pains you this much.”

“No,” she said, shuddering. “Please, let me say it so I may forget it. You remember it for me, alright?”

The half-orc nodded. “I will.”

“They kept singing, all these voices, did you hear them? Their voices were pretty, but they sang ugly things. Forgive me, my daughter. Forgive me, my child. Your path was done before you were born. Forgive me, for you are to destroy. All that is beautiful, you will ruin. All that is golden, you will tarnish. Shatter your reflection. Let the balance go on eternal.” Tears streamed down her face as she finished. “Forgive me, for your time was unkind, but all is how your mother decreed it be. ”

She fell into silence. Qurrah pondered over the words as he held his love tight.

“You are not meant for such things,” he whispered to her. “You will not destroy. You will not bring ruin. The voices are wrong.”

“I don’t want to hurt people,” she whispered back. “Not those who are kind to me. I never mean to. I hurt them, I never know why, but now maybe I do know. Mother wants me to hurt them. I shouldn’t disappoint her.” Mad giggles interrupted her crying. Qurrah felt the hair on the back of his neck stand erect as her body shook with laughter.

“Mommy wants me to kill. I should be a good daughter and obey. Who does she want dead, though? Good daughters should obey without question, but I’m not that good. Who to kill? Who to kill?”

“Snap out of it, Tess,” the half-orc said.

“Perhaps, you? Perhaps, Tarlak? Your brother?”

She leapt from the bed and danced in the loose dress she wore. Dried blood still covered it, and there was a gaping hole in the cloth where Karnryk’s greatsword had punched through. “Is it Delysia? Ooh, I just felt my skin shiver. Maybe it is her. But no, someone else, mommy says it’s someone else. Someone just like me. Shatter my reflection, she said. I should obey. All good girls obey, right Qurrah?”

Qurrah stood, his fists clenching. Tessanna ignored him, turning to the simple dresser carved from stained oak. A small circular mirror hovered above it, held by twin supports carved in the shape of doves. The girl pranced over, cackling. She smashed it with her forehead, showering the dresser with bleeding shards. She smiled back at Qurrah, blood rolling down her face and around the corners of her lips.

“I did it,” she giggled. “And it felt good.”

The half-orc said nothing as he crossed the room. He put his left hand on her shoulder and held her firm.

“I love you, Tessanna,” he said.

“I love you too, Qurrah,” she said.

Qurrah struck her across the face. Hard. The girl slumped to the ground, unconscious. For a long while, he stood there, taking in great, shuddering breaths, as he prayed for his heart to slow.

“Forgive me,” he said to her, pulling her onto the bed. He covered her with blankets, tucked them in, and then retrieved a cloth and a bowl of water. Carefully, he removed the pieces of the mirror and cleaned the blood from her face. When finished, he kissed her forehead. Tired beyond reason, he sat on the bed, pondering what it meant for Tessanna to be a daughter of balance.

A s all of Veldaren slept, a man slipped through the shadows. His torn clothes were stained and stunk of feces. He wore no shoes. His scabbed hands clutched the shutters of a window. His eyes gazed inside, seeing a small child. He smiled as he drew his dagger. In daylight, he was mocked and scorned. In daylight, his mind was a shattered, broken frailty. In the darkness, he was the reaper.

The child cried out only once before the dagger plunged. His father staggered in from the other room, a club in his hand.

“What’s going on?” he shouted.

The bed was empty. The room was empty. The window was open.

Two hours later, a guard patrol found the body. Pieces of it were missing. Others were in the wrong place. So appalling were the remains that within the hour a bounty was already posted, offering two hundred gold pieces for the capture of the Veldaren Reaper.

Q urrah and Tessanna were the last to come down for breakfast. Aullienna ran about the room, playing with small wooden toys Brug had carved. As they took their seats, Qurrah held in his shock. The last time he had seen her she had been a tiny thing in a cradle, yet now she jumped, stumbled, and prattled nonsense that could almost be words. Qurrah ate with the feeling of being a trespasser.

“How long will you be staying here?” Tarlak asked as the meal neared an end.

“We will be gone by tomorrow’s eve,” Qurrah said. “We would hate to be a bother.”

“Nonsense,” Harruq said. “You’re more than welcome here. Can you at least stay another week?”

“You ask the wrong person,” Qurrah said with a chuckle. “It is Delysia’s room that we occupy.”

“I don’t mind at all,” Delysia said, feeling multiple sets of eyes on her. “Stay as long as you wish. My brother is not as great a nuisance as he seems.”

Brug let out a satisfied belch, leaned back in his chair, and looked at Qurrah.

“So, your scorpion working right?” he asked. In response, the half-orc reached into his cloak and retrieved the token. It immediately sprang to life and crawled up Qurrah’s arm, snuggling into the cloth on his shoulder.

“I believe it is quite fond of me, if such emotion is possible for it,” he said.

“It might be. Tried to make the thing lifelike as possible. Glad to know it ain’t keeled off.”

Harruq watched the scorpion, a slight grin on his face.

“So that was your pendant?” he asked. Qurrah nodded. Harruq pulled out a similar looking scorpion on a chain.

“You ever see mine?” he asked. He held it out for his brother, who briefly examined it. Like everything else of Brug’s workmanship, the piece was perfectly and intricately carved. Just by touching it, Qurrah could sense the magic flowing within.

“What does it do?” he asked.

“Makes his swords stronger,” Brug answered, obviously pleased. “He can cut through stone if he swings hard enough. Considering the magic inside those swords already, shoddy blades just shatter against his.”

“Quite a gift,” Qurrah said.

“Yeah, I thought you might…”

“Someone is coming,” Tessanna interrupted, saying her first words of the day. She glanced about, her face ashen and her voice emotionless. “He won’t like me. I know it. He kills people like me.”

“Who?” Tarlak asked, rising from his chair. The rest of the mercenaries stood as well, preparing their weapons.

“He’s here,” she whispered. Two loud thumps came from the door, the sound of a fist smashing the wood.

“Aullienna, come here,” Aurelia said. The girl sensed the urgency in her mother’s voice and frowned. She dropped her toy and rushed over, taking her mother’s hand into hers.

“Haern?” Tarlak asked.

“I will see,” the assassin said, pulling his hood low. He drew his sabers and approached the door. Again, the stranger knocked twice. As the second knock ended, Haern flung open the doors. The stranger staggered back as the curve of Haern’s blade pressed against his neck.

“Your name,” Haern whispered.

“Lathaar of the Citadel,” the man answered, bowing even though the sword remained against the soft skin of his throat. “May Ashhur grant you peace.”

All the worry rapidly melted away from Tarlak’s face, replaced with joy.

“Lathaar!” he exclaimed, rushing past Haern to embrace the man. Delysia was right behind him with a chaste kiss on each cheek. Tessanna slunk to the back of the room, even as the others warmly welcomed him. Brug pumped his arm, and Haern exchanged a bow.

“Everyone, I want you to meet my best friend,” he said, letting the man into the tower. “May I present Lathaar, paladin of Ashhur.”

The man bowed, deeply and gracefully. Long brown hair was carefully trimmed. His eyes twinkled, also a soft brown. His nose was a bit too large, and his cheeks, too thin, but his smile lit up his face as well as the room.

Qurrah felt his whip seethe and curl, itching for his hand to take its hilt. He fought it down with effort.

The paladin took Aurelia’s free hand, extended his right leg, and then bowed deeply, kissing her hand at his lowest point. Aurelia blushed, immediately smitten. Harruq, seeing her swooning, had to resist his temptation to punch the man in the face.

“May I have your name, precious gem of the elves?” he asked.

“Aurelia Tun,” she said.

“And the child?” he asked. Aullienna hid behind her mother’s leg. She had a round face, and rounder cheeks. Her sharp nose was reminiscent of her father, while her tiny ears were clearly Aurelia’s. Lathaar knelt down and reached into his pocket. With a disarming smile, he pulled out a small object wrapped in paper and offered it to the girl. When she did not take it, he removed the paper, revealing a hard piece of candy.

“Her name is Aullienna,” Aurelia answered, gently urging her daughter forward. The shy girl reached out, took the gift, and then retreated, sucking noisily.

“Adorable child,” Lathaar said, rising to his feet. “And the father?”

“That would be me,” Harruq said, crossing his arms. The paladin did not miss a beat. Instead, he grinned, gesturing once more to Aullienna.

“Her shyness certainly did not come from you. Greetings, half-orc.” He outstretched his hand. Harruq stared at it, then yielded after a fierce jab from Aurelia’s elbow.

“I’m Harruq Tun,” he said, using all his strength when they shook hands. To his surprise, the man’s grip was just as strong, and his smile never wavered. He glanced about the entry room with a look of nostalgia. When his eyes swept across Qurrah and Tessanna, however, his smile faltered for the first time.

“By Ashhur,” he whispered.

“Lathaar, meet the two newest additions to our little family,” Tarlak said, sensing the atmosphere tighten. “The half-orc is Qurrah Tun, and the lovely lady, Tessanna Delone.”

Lathaar did his best to recover. He extended his hand, but neither accepted it. He brought it back down with no sign of insult.

“You say you are of the Citadel,” Qurrah said. “Yet I hear the Citadel has fallen.”

“I am still of the Citadel,” Lathaar said, his grin faltering. “Whether it has fallen or not.”

“Anyway,” Tarlak said, trying to change the subject. “Come on upstairs. We’ll find a room for you, with Haern, perhaps. I haven’t seen you in…well, how long has it been?”

“Three years,” the paladin replied. The two approached the stairs, followed by a rather large procession. Only Qurrah, Tessanna, and Harruq stayed on the bottom floor.

“He won’t hurt you, Tess” Harruq said to the girl, who remained at the corner of the room.

“His kind is the bane of what we are,” Qurrah said. “You are quick to side with your friends, Harruq.”

The warrior snorted. “You’re just paranoid.”

He joined his wife upstairs, feeling the cold stare of his brother as he went. When they were alone, Tessanna pulled her robe tight and peered at her lover with childlike eyes.

“I’ll try to be good,” she said, her voice just above a whisper. “While we’re here. While he’s here. I’ll try to be good. Is that good, Qurrah? Is that what I should do?”

The necromancer sighed, feeling the whip slacken on his arm.

“Yes, Tessanna. For now, that is what must be done.”

T hat night, Lathaar sat with Tarlak by the fire, a glass of wine in Tarlak’s hand, flavored water in Lathaar’s. He looked much more relaxed without all his armor. With his hair brushed and his face cleaned, he looked all the more handsome. The rest of the Eschaton were in bed, at least, as far as they knew.

“So where have you been the past few years?” asked the wizard. “I was worried sick, especially with all those dark paladins crawling around. Vultures, they are.”

“I never meant to be gone so long,” Lathaar said, rolling the water across his tongue to guess the flavor. He had tasted grapes once, and intermixed with them in the water, he swore he detected a hint of peach. “I crossed the river into Mordan, seeking refuge in the Sanctuary. The priests there were kind, and I learned much from them, but their way is not mine. They focus on healing and prayer. The edge of my sword needs neither.”

“Never been much for the softer side of your profession,” Tarlak said with a grin.

“Blame Mornida. Lolathan was the strongest of our casters but he…” The Paladin sighed. “Tarlak, I have long meant to ask you. I have seen things in dreams, and they trouble me. I think it a memory I lost long ago. It is about your teacher.”

Tarlak frowned, placing the wine down on a small table next to him. “You have your stories, and I have mine. Madral is dead now, Lathaar. He died by my hand.”

Lathaar nodded, glad to know such a powerful servant of Karak had been eliminated. “He killed Lolathan,” he said. “Right before my eyes, and then bid me forget it with his magic. Sorollos brought down the Citadel, but Madral helped him rise to power.”

“Such things will be made right again.” Tarlak sipped his wine. “Ashhur does not slumber. I am sure your path was set for a reason.”

“A reason I have already seen,” Lathaar said, chuckling. “By any chance have you heard of the mountain of gold?”

Tarlak nearly choked on his wine. “You found it?”

“Found it?” Lathaar laughed. “Aye, I did, and I walked through its tunnels, which glittered like the gates to the Golden Eternity. It was all a ruse, Tarlak, a ruse my friend Malik fell susceptible to. Do you know what is buried beneath?”

“The demon Darakken is supposedly sealed inside,” Tarlak mused. “Please, tell me, where is this mountain?”

“It was Elfspire,” Lathaar said. “Right there, deep in the Stonewood Forest.”

“You jest!”

“There is too much to tell, but two protected the mountain. One was a mimic of a servant of Karak, a rather frightening creature. Mira told me the name of their kind… Doru’al?”

Tarlak nodded. “Creatures of purest dark. They cannot survive in the daylight. Claws like longswords, teeth sharp as knives. You fought one?”

“I did, and it is a battle I would prefer to never fight again.” Lathaar leaned forward, and his voice dropped in volume. “But there was another with the creature, a girl named Mira. The one beside Qurrah, with the black eyes and hair. Does she have a sister?”

“A sister?” Tarlak shook his head. “I hope not. One is enough for Dezrel.”

“But there is more than one,” said the paladin. “Of that I am certain. Mira could be her twin. Even their voices are similar. This girl…”

“Tessanna.”

“Tessanna… does she possess powerful magic?”

The wizard frowned, obviously troubled. “Yes, she does. Very powerful, from what I sense.”

“Mira is the same,” Lathaar said. “Almost like a goddess. I thank Ashhur that I now count her as a friend, for the darkness I sense from Tessanna worries me.”

“Anyway, back to Darakken,” Tarlak said, urging him on with his hand.

“Against my wishes, Malik obtained a small army from the King of Mordan, and they marched upon Elfspire. To fight them, Mira created more of the Doru’al, sacrificing elves to do so. The conflict was brutal. Many men died, most to Mira’s magic. The mountain was spared.”

“I take it Malik did not know what was in the mountain?” the wizard asked.

“None of us did. I learned only after, when Mira showed me. The Council of Mages received word of the battle, and they came, seeking Darakken’s spellbook.”

“It’s a powerful item,” Tarlak said, gulping down the rest of his wine. “Rumored to be the oldest of magical tomes of all Dezrel.”

“The Council released the demon,” Lathaar continued. “A giant thing with charred flesh and ebony claws. It had these enormous wings stretching twenty feet to either side, I swear. The sword it wielded was longer than I am tall. The spells it cast…”

Lathaar stopped, drank some of his water, and pondered for a time.

“We banded together with the surviving Council members. I still am in awe of the spells, ice boulders, streams of fire bigger than houses, magical missiles by the hundreds. You should have seen it, Tarlak. The eldest of magics, it shrugged off.”

“Too bad I wasn’t there,” the wizard chuckled. “A few of my spells and he’d go down like a baby.”

“Sorry, Tar, but a few of your spells might have tickled it. Only Mira could match its power.” His eyes twinkled with wonder. “She looked like a goddess then, Tarlak. When I saw her, that’s what I thought. I was staring at the power of a goddess. Even still, she faltered, and Darakken nearly killed her.”

“What happened then?”

“Ashhur granted me strength to fight it. My blade became an Elholad, and I battled it as best I could.”

“Elholad?” Tarlak asked. “Come now, don’t jest with a wizard. We dish out well, but are terrible on the receiving end.”

Lathaar stood and drew his longsword. Bright light enveloped it, its strength mirroring the faith of its wielder. The paladin closed his eyes, whispered, and then held the blade high, calmly saying the word ‘Elholad’. All traces of metal from the sword vanished in a great flare. The weapon became a perfect creation of light, shimmering with blue and gold. He cut the air twice, displaying its incredible lack of weight. The light vanished when Lathaar sheathed it and returned to his seat.

Tarlak whistled.

“That is a rare gift of Ashhur,” the wizard said. “Few paladins in all history wielded such a blade.”

“Ashhur knew I needed it,” Lathaar said, his grin fading as he sat back and looked to the floor. “Even then, my strength was not enough. I faltered, in both heart and mind. By the grace of Ashhur, we were saved, for he answered my prayers with an angel. I’ve seen so much these past few years, but none surpasses its beauty. I can only remember it vaguely, as if in a dream, but there is no white on this land that matches the hue of its robes, and no armor made like that which adorned its chest and shoulders. It did not kill Darakken. I believe it waited for me. When I stabbed Darakken’s leg, the creature reared back in pain, and then the angel beheaded it. The energy of its death knocked me unconscious for several hours.”

“You killed Darakken?” Tarlak said, thoroughly amazed. “An army of elves could not strike it dead. You don’t look stronger than an elven army.”

“No disagreement here.”

“The spellbook,” Tarlak said, “I must hear of the spellbook. Did it remain upon the demon’s death?”

Lathaar’s face grew dark. “Aye. There is no way to destroy it. We debated what to do. I even considered bringing it to you.”

The wizard visibly sickened. “The words in that tome would cry against my very being, Lathaar. Ashhur keep me from ever looking upon its pages. So what became of it?”

“I took it to the Sanctuary. You’re one of few I have told of its existence. If we are lucky, the book will pass to myth and legend.”

Tarlak poured himself another glass of wine and drained half of it in one gulp. “So why is it you come here? Did you miss me?”

“Actually, I did.” Lathaar let out a hearty laugh. “Here is as much of a home as I have anywhere. I decided it had been too long, I would come here to visit. And propose an idea.”

Tarlak grinned. “Knew there was a reason. Out with it, my friend.”

“I want to rebuild the Citadel,” Lathaar said. “I need money, I need men, and I need a designer up to the task.”

The wizard sighed. “Far beyond me. Money I have, and I do know influential people, but not enough for such a grand undertaking. Can’t the Priests of Ashhur help?”

“I am here to speak with them as well. I cannot let Karak claim victory. I refuse to be the last paladin of Ashhur.”

“We’ll discuss this more tomorrow,” Tarlak said, finishing his glass. “Let me sleep on it, alright?”

“Many thanks,” Lathaar said. The two stood and embraced. As they headed for bed, Qurrah dashed upstairs having heard every word.