The Shadows of Grace

4

J erico stretched to pass the time. Tessanna had bound his ankles and wrists with rope, and after a few hours of pulling and scraping them against sharp corners in the room, he was certain of their magical enchantment. So he stretched, lying flat and lifting his feet into the air, or switching to his stomach and arching his back while twisting his elbows. He didn’t know if he’d have a chance to escape, but if one presented itself, he was determined to be ready. The last thing he needed were cramps while running for his life.

The stretching also kept him warm, something that had become an obsession. The castle was freezing, and all he had were the remnants of his armor. They did a poor job holding in heat. He found rolling on the floor helped a bit, as did his stretches. At one point he had pulled the blankets off the nearby bed and curled up inside them, but Tessanna would have none of that. She had ignited the blanket while he was still wrapped inside. His face and hands itched from the burns. Scratching them had also become an obsession, one he fought as best he could.

All this was a wonderful distraction from thinking about what really frightened him: what Tessanna or Velixar might do whenever they arrived.

The door opened, and Jerico grunted.

“Be you woman or dead thing?” he asked, not bothering to look.

“Woman,” Tessanna said. “And get up. We’re leaving, so I have a task for you.”

He glanced at her and raised an eyebrow. “Not sure I’m in the working mood. What help can I be anyway, unless you have something that needs rolled across? Then I’m all for it.”

Tessanna snapped her fingers. The bonds slackened, and with a grunt of pleasure Jerico freed his wrists and ankles.

“That’s a step in the right direction,” he said.

“You’ll be taking far more than one,” Tessanna said, smirking.

“Excuse me?”

She didn’t answer, instead grabbing him by the throat and pulling him out to the courtyard. There he found his task waiting for him: a small wooden carriage. Tessanna stepped inside, then gestured to the thick ropes attached to the front.

“I made it just for you,” she said.

“You’re too kind.” Jerico crossed his arms and shook his head. “Sorry, but I’m not pulling you anywhere.”

“Yes, you are,” Tessanna said. “Unless you want to bleed out your eyes, you’ll do as I say.”

The paladin prayed to Ashhur, searching for the right answer. No matter what he did, she would torture him. Perhaps it was time to be practical.

“So be it,” he said. “If this is my burden, then I will bear it, but I will bear it silently.”

He walked over to the ropes and stooped down. Tessanna frowned.

“Take off your armor,” she said. “And your shirt.”

Jerico shrugged. Without a word he cast aside the rest of his armor, followed by the undershirt. He shivered in the cold. At the sight of his muscled chest, Tessanna shivered as well. The paladin grabbed the ropes, wrapped them around his arms, and then waited. Tessanna stepped inside the carriage, giggling at the thought of herself as some royal princess. She was dressed as one, and she bedded a warlord. Perhaps it wasn’t that much of a stretch.

A few blankets rested upon the bench in the carriage, which Tessanna wrapped around herself. “Take us outside the city,” she said. “I wish to see my lover.”

Jerico acknowledged her by tensing his muscles and stepping forward. The carriage creaked a bit, but as he took another step, the wheels ceased their grinding. He took another, his task growing easier as the carriage gained momentum. They rolled down the street, straight for the southern exit. They passed by demon soldiers and the tested, and he felt shame claw at his gut as they stared. He fought it down. He would not feel shame, he told himself. Not from the looks given by fanatics and war demons.

“This isn’t so bad, is it?” Tessanna asked him. He said nothing. She crinkled her nose as she realized what he was doing.

“Stop being such a child,” she said. “Your tantrum will accomplish nothing.” Still, he remained quiet. The girl with blackest eyes glanced about, and she saw the whispering among the Karak faithful. They knew what Jerico was, she realized. They stared at him with mindless anger. Tessanna bit her lip, suddenly uncomfortable. She was better than them, she told herself. They hated Jerico because they were told to. She hated him for the hypocrisy he represented, for the hurt his kind had done to her. Hers was not mindless. She looked at the rippling muscles of his back as he pulled her and wondered. What might be if, just perhaps, her hatred really was mindless, and therefore could be cast aside…?

“What nonsense is this?” a raspy voice asked, pulling her from her thoughts.

“Oh, Qurrah,” she said, smiling down at her lover. Jerico had stopped just beyond the southern gate, where Qurrah stood with arms crossed, a frown on his face.

The half-orc gestured to the carriage. “A unique mode of travel,” he said.

“I am a pregnant woman,” Tessanna said, pulling her blankets tighter around her. “Did you think I would walk, or risk the bucking of a horse?”

“I suppose,” Qurrah said, eyeing the paladin with disdain. “But what of this horse? What happens if he bucks the reins?”

“Then I buck him back,” she said, giggling. Qurrah was not amused.

“He is dangerous,” he said. Jerico smirked at this.

“We will be fine,” Tessanna insisted.

“Many want him dead, Tess,” Qurrah said. “Be careful.”

“When am I not?” she asked. She clicked her tongue, and onward Jerico pulled them.

Hours later, he collapsed to his knees, gasping for air. His whole body shivered. His exposed skin was a bright, angry red. Above him the stars shone bright, a meager comfort. Pulling Tessanna through the city had been one thing, but across the hard earth and dying grass was another matter. His arms felt ready to fall off, and the center of his back screamed in agony. Most of his face and extremities were numb. He’d give anything for a fire to curl before, but he doubted he’d get one. Tessanna was punishing him.

“Come now,” she said, climbing out of her carriage. “You think you can hurt me with silence? Disturb me somehow?”

Velixar’s army stretched for half a mile all around them. Almost a thousand undead marched under his command, forming two columns on either side. The tested marched between, singing worship to Karak. Within them marched the war demons, preferring the ground over the biting air. They were in no hurry. The world was already theirs. They just needed to claim it.

One by one, tents popped up about the camp and fires roared to life. Jerico stared at a fire in the distance, wondering if he could throw himself in before Tessanna stopped him.

“I wonder,” Tessanna said as she drew out a knife, “just how sensitive your skin is right now. It looks numb, but maybe…”

She ran the tip across his shoulder to the back of his neck. He tensed, waiting for the stab, but none came.

“Tessanna,” he heard Qurrah say. The dagger left his neck.

“Yes, lover?” she asked.

He glanced around to see Qurrah shivering in his robes.

“Come,” the half-orc said. “I need your warmth by the fire.”

“Ruin all my fun,” she said, but she was smiling. She tucked the knife into her sash and knelt beside the paladin. “Some other night,” she whispered before kissing his scarred cheek. He jolted at her touch. Qurrah darkened visibly, but kept his rage in check. He took his lover in his arms and guided them back to his fire.

Still naked from the waist up, Jerico closed his eyes and did his best to pray as the temperature slowly fell. If he was lucky, he thought, the cold would take him in the night, without pain or torture. As Qurrah and Tessanna made love by the fire, Jerico heard the soft, quiet voice of Ashhur. It offered no warning, no promises, nothing intelligible. But it was there, and that comfort was enough.

A sharp pain to his gut woke him halfway through the night. Through blurry vision he saw several people standing around him, wearing faded robes of brown and gray. The stars glittered high in the sky.

“Get up,” one said. “Get up and defend yourself.”

Another sharp pain pierced his gut. Two more spiked his back. They were kicking him, his groggy mind realized. Why were they kicking him? A heel crushed his ear, waking the nerves within. He grunted in pain, then pushed away the foot. He sat up, brushing away his long red hair and glared at his harassers.

“Karak has given us gifts,” one of them said, holding up his new hands. “And we plan to show our gratitude.”

Jerico’s stomach heaved at the sight. All around him were the tested, and new hands had grown to replace their old, lost pairs. Bones protruded out the stubs of flesh that had been their wrists, locking together into fleshless, nerveless fingers. Soft whiffs of smoke rose from the bones, so that when they swung their hands they left faint trails that slowly dissipated.

“Defend yourself, paladin,” one of the tested said. “State your faith so we may kill you with dignity.”

Jerico stood, his head sagging and his arms limp. He smirked at the fanatical men and women around him.

“Will you not say anything?” another asked. “Or have you lost your faith?”

Jerico tilted his head to one side, grunting as his neck popped. Then he lashed out, grabbing his first accuser’s head with both hands. Before the others could react, he smashed his knee into the man’s face, shattering his nose and splattering them both with blood. He used the body as a barrier, shoving him aside as he lunged for the nearby carriage. He had a hunch about Tessanna, and seeing his shield on the carriage floor confirmed it. He hooked his arm through the tethers and spun about.

The tested screamed as their bone hands smacked against his shield, and screamed even louder as brilliant white light erupted from the metal, blinding their eyes. Those that touched the shield watched in horror as their hands exploded like chalk. The throng of tested shouted in a chorus of anger and vengeance.

Jerico laughed at them, then tossed his shield to the dirt. He had given them his answer. He still had his faith, and he was not afraid.

“Kill him!” shouted the tested whose nose Jerico had broken. They swarmed him, lashing out with their hands. He felt the bones smack against his exposed skin and held in vomit at their touch. He had a sudden idea that now he knew what Karak’s minions felt when they touched his shield, and he laughed. His laughter infuriated the tested all the more. Jerico collapsed to his side as they kicked and beat him. Both his eyes were already swelling, and his cracked lips spat blood.

“What are you doing?” Tessanna shouted, her voice carrying the power of thunder. A bolt of red lightning tore through the tested, scattering them. Tessanna followed, glaring with her deep black eyes. Magic danced about her fingers, daring any of them to say a word. The tested swore at her and the paladin, but none moved.

“Traitor!” one woman shouted. Tessanna struck her dead with an arrow of acid that dissolved her face into goo. The rest held their tongues. Tessanna knelt next to Jerico, who was busy coughing and retching.

“They hurt you,” she said, stroking his face. “They can’t do that. Only I can hurt you.”

She turned and stood, scanning the crowd for the one she knew was among them.

“Who can speak for your idiocy?” she asked. “Which among you can justify your stupidity?”

“Idiocy? Stupidity?” Preston said, wringing his hands as he emerged from among the throng. “The death of a paladin of Ashhur is never such. It is just. It is wise. It is needed.”

Tessanna shook her head. If Velixar was right, Karak was letting Preston roam free to test his priests’ faith. Tessanna, however, could not care less. She hurled a bolt of lightning at him. Preston crossed his arms and braced his legs. Thunder sounded in the valley. The lightning parted, its strength gone. The high priest shook his head.

“You will suffer for such audacity,” he said.

“She will not,” Velixar said, pushing his way through the tested, Qurrah following after. “And you are a fool if you think you have the ability to harm a single hair on her head.”

“You protect her?” Preston asked, incredulous. “After what she has done?”

Velixar frowned. He could see more priests filtering their way through the crowd. For once he was being tested, and not the other way around. Karak’s prophet was far from happy. If he protected Tessanna, even after she murdered several of the tested, Preston would have ample fuel for his rants against him. So be it, he thought. The girl was far more important.

“Jerico is hers to torture,” he said. “He is hers to kill. You had no right to send the tested after him.”

“They did only what they felt was needed,” Preston said. “And to have a paladin survive while surrounded by so many of us faithful is a blasphemy!”

“Blasphemy?” Velixar roared. “You challenge the voice of Karak, then speak of blasphemy? We march to victory, to our god’s very freedom, and you think Karak finds such horrible insult in a broken man shivering in the cold as he pulls a cart like a beaten donkey?”

Qurrah felt his whip writhing around his arm. It wanted blood, and it seemed to share his disgust with Preston. If it ever came to that, the half-orc decided, he would make sure the whip got the killing blow.

“You play dangerous games,” Preston said. He glanced about, making sure enough of his priests were nearby. “And you suffer our enemies to live. You appoint yourself leader without peer, without proof. Perhaps Karak’s voice is not so loud in your ear as it once was.”

“You damn yourself with such words,” Velixar said, his deep voice rumbling with anger. “But how many will damn themselves with you?”

Preston did not answer. He left, calling for his priests to follow. The tested went with him, resuming their songs. Their wild voices chilled even Velixar, for the worship was not to Karak like it should have been. They sang in near insanity, enjoying the power and certainty of their fanaticism. It pained him greatly to think that Karak was not with them.

“He needs to be dealt with soon,” Qurrah said when they were gone.

“You’re right,” Velixar said, pointedly glaring at Jerico. “He does.”

J erico slowly curled onto his side, ignoring the flares of pain in his shoulders. He lay on dying grass, without a blanket for warmth. They were a week out from Veldaren, and after the fourth day, when it became clear he did not have the strength to pull her carriage, she gave him his shirt and granted him permission to sleep beside their fire. His back had been to them, but he was curious about the sounds he heard. Rolling about, he peered through the flames. Tessanna knelt, one hand shakily supporting her body, the other holding back her hair.

“Breathe,” Qurrah told her, who knelt beside her with a hand on her shoulder. “Deep breaths. The nausea will pass.”

Tessanna heaved, but only tiny bits of spittle and acid came out. Jerico frowned, remembering a comment she’d made to Qurrah as they left Veldaren. She was a pregnant woman. He had been so focused on the carriage and remaining silent, he’d let the comment pass right over him, but now he truly pondered its greater meaning. The girl with blackest eyes was with child, most likely the half-orc’s.

How dangerous a spawn, he wondered. But Keziel said daughters of balance never bore children…

He focused, for they were talking again.

“I don’t think it wise to keep him much longer,” Qurrah said when her heaves were gone. Tessanna stared at the earth, her lips quivering and her breathing raspy and uneven.

“What other mode of transport do you suggest?” she asked.

“You have your horse.”

“Too jarring. You know that.”

Qurrah stood, pulling her to her feet with him. “Then have a tested pull your carriage, I don’t care.”

“I don’t like them,” she said. “They’re like dogs with rabies. They’ll bite us soon.”

The half-orc fell silent. So far neither knew Jerico watched, and for that he was glad. Surely one of them would gouge his eyes out if they realized.

“Forgive me, Tess, but you two worry me,” Qurrah said at last. He seemed almost ashamed to admit it. To this the girl crossed her arms and suddenly turned shy and quiet. Jerico had to strain to hear her words over the crackling of the fire.

“He confuses me,” she said. “And he excites me. But he also makes me angry, very angry, Qurrah. I want him to fuck me, and then I want to kill him. He is something that this world no longer needs, and I want to prove it.”

The half-orc swore and looked away. Jerico swallowed, his mouth suddenly very dry. He knew his life hung by a thread, but never realized how fragile that thread was.

“You’re mine, and mine alone,” Qurrah said. “Torture him however you wish, but do not let him take you. Promise me that.”

“I will be the one doing the taking,” Tessanna said, the shyness all but gone.

“Promise me.”

He turned back to her. She met his gaze, unafraid, unwavering.

“I will do as I desire,” she said. “That is all I know how to be.”

Qurrah shook his head and muttered something Jerico could not hear. Still muttering, he left their camp. Tessanna followed, drawing her knife and calling her lover’s name. She was furious, that was obvious. Hidden well, however, was her fear, but Jerico saw a tiny spark of panic when Qurrah had left.

As he was pondering ways to use the situation to his advantage, he heard footsteps behind him.

“Do you now understand?” Velixar said as he sat beside the fire. “You are nothing that you wish to be.”

The paladin remained silent, still holding onto his original plan. Velixar shrugged, not bothered in the slightest.

“You wish to be a light in the darkness,” the prophet said. “But to Tessanna you are a temptation. To Qurrah you are a threat. To the rest in this camp, a nuisance. To no one are you a beacon. To no one are you an example. This is what our world shall be. What role do you have within it?”

Velixar crossed his arms and leaned forward, knowing he would receive no answer.

“I do not share the blind hatred of my brethren, Jerico. You are not an animal needing exterminated. You are strong, intelligent, and carry enormous faith. But you are wrong. When you boil it all down, you are wrong. About this world. About mankind. About your faith. It is not too late to rectify that error.”

Jerico sat up and shifted so that he and Velixar faced each other on opposite sides of the fire. He watched the features slowly change on Velixar’s face, the shifting barely perceptible.

“Your face,” Jerico said. “Is it true, or is it a lie?”

Velixar tilted his head to one side, caught off-guard by the question.

“It is as true as anything in this world,” he said at last.

“Then my faith is no error,” Jerico said, a great weight leaving his chest. “Not if that is your truth. A shifting, liquid truth is something I want no part of. You call me obsolete. You say the world has moved on. So be it, for that means Ashhur has never moved. We moved from him.”

Velixar shook his head, saddened.

“Such faith and wisdom,” he said as he stood. “Wasted.”

He waved his hand and whispered a spell. Velixar’s frown was the last thing Jerico saw before his eyes closed and a deep sleep took him.

J erico endured the following weeks in silence. In spite of the pain in his legs, the ache in his arms, and the hunger in his belly, he no longer felt abandoned by Ashhur. It wouldn’t be long, he thought, before he went home. A few more days of pain were nothing compared to an eternity of glory. The war demons looked upon him with disgust, the priests and the tested with rage, but he endured.

Whenever he pulled the carriage, Qurrah was nowhere to be found, and whenever they stopped, he would always be there. It was a strange game they were playing, Jerico figured, and he didn’t know the rules, just the pieces. Tessanna spoke little to him, and he never responded in kind. It seemed much of her fun with him was gone, and he wasn’t sure if that was good or bad. One night, however, he received a very clear answer.

He lay beside the fire, struggling to sleep. He had begun worrying that one of the tested would try to strangle him while he slept, and it made resting rather difficult. He had no problem with dying, but he didn’t like the idea of those skeletal hands touching his skin. When a finger touched him he startled, for he had heard no steps, no approach.

“Jerico,” Tessanna said. He opened an eye and looked at her.

“Hrm?” he grunted.

“Qurrah’s gone,” she said. Her bottom lip quivered. “His sleep is deep. I need comfort.”

He closed his eye and tried to turn from her. She grabbed his chin and pulled him back.

“Comfort,” she said. He opened his eyes and saw the wildness in hers. “Isn’t that what you offer this world?”

“Go to your husband,” he said.

She laughed at him. “You finally speak, and that’s what you say? You’re a fool.”

With that she grabbed his hair, pulled back his head, and kissed him. Too shocked to react, it was only when she thrust her tongue into his mouth and moaned that he pushed her away.

“Your husband,” Jerico said, breathing heavily. “Go to him. Now.”

He was not prepared for the hurt that suddenly crossed her face. Tears grew in her eyes.

“I can’t,” she said, her voice cracking. “He doesn’t trust me. He loves me, but he doesn’t trust me.” The tears ran down the sides of her face as she crawled closer.

“He blames me for everything,” she said. “His brother. Aullienna. Brug. Even Delysia. He hurts, and it’s my fault, Jerico, all my fault. He wants me to be something I’m not, something I can’t ever be, and he wants us to escape to a place we can never go.”

Her quaking hand brushed the scar on his face. He felt her hurt washing over him, her sadness breaking down his resolve. She was pitiful, she was hurt, and she was beautiful.

“What is wrong with me?” she asked. “I want someone to love me, but I hurt everyone…”

She kissed him again, and this time he did not resist.

“Everyone,” she whispered into his ear as she crawled atop his lap. She pulled off his shirt, and cursing himself, he let her do it. She wrapped her arms around his neck, and hating himself he let her slowly grind against him. She kissed his neck, and in near disbelief, he let her mark him.

“There is no wrong in this,” she whispered as she let her dress fall from her shoulders. “No sin. Just warmth.”

Velixar’s words echoed in his head. Just a temptation to her…

“No,” he said, grabbing her shoulders. His whole body shook, and he felt his resolve teetering on a knife-edge. “I won’t do this. It will only hurt you more. Put on your dress.”

She backed away, doing as she was told. She stared at him with dull eyes, all her lust and life dissolving into a single look of apathy.

“Why?” she asked, as if she really didn’t care for an answer.

“Because how can I show you grace, how can I teach you love, if I accept your definitions of them?” he asked. “You would see only its shadows when you deserve so much more. Go to your husband.”

He put on his shirt and stared. She chewed her lip, and by the way she looked at him, he was certain his life was about to end. She drew her knife.

“I hate you,” she said. A wave of her hand and he felt magic closing around him, tightening his muscles and denying him the ability to move. She buried the knife into his gut. His blood poured over her hands.

“Warmth,” she said, twisting the knife. “One way or another.”

He would have screamed, but his jaw was locked shut. She stabbed again. And again. She washed her hands in his blood and then ran her fingers from her eyes to the swell of her breasts.

“They hurt,” she said. “They hurt because Karak made me with child. And Qurrah hurts because he’s scared. You will hurt because I want you to hurt. You’re not that good. You’re not that pure.”

Again he tried to speak, but her spell held him firm. Through the night she cut him, needing no sleep, no rest. Slowly, carefully, her knife did its work. All the while, he prayed.

M ore weeks passed. The army moved with brutal efficiency. The tested ate little, and Velixar’s undead not at all. The war demons carried their own rations, a foul smelling gruel they ate in small bites every few hours. The first few towns they encountered when leaving Veldaren had been empty, but now Jerico saw more and more with stragglers, either unaware or unbelieving of the warnings they received from neighboring towns. After two months of traveling, Velixar had taken Jerico from Tessanna and brought him to the front of the army.

“Look upon the village before you,” Velixar said. The man in black had not bound him, and Jerico could not decide if it was because of arrogance, confidence, or trust.

“They’re preparing to flee,” Jerico said. He saw people running about the streets, a few going house to house while others fled west without a single bit of provisions. About two hundred people total, he guessed. All about to be butchered.

“I will make you a promise,” Velixar said. “Admit that Ashhur has failed these people, left them without protection against my army, and I will spare their lives. Here is your chance for atonement, paladin. Hundreds of people you may save.”

“You ask for blasphemy,” Jerico said.

“I ask you to speak the obvious,” Velixar replied. “And there is more. I will let you stay with them. You can save your life, and the lives of so many others, just by admitting what is clearly true. Are you so afraid of the truth?”

Jerico crossed his arms, feeling every wound Tessanna had carved into his body. He could escape it all. The temptation was there. But he also felt shame at the way he had reacted with her, how close he had been to succumbing. He knew if he said yes, he would feel that shame the rest of his life.

“I can’t,” Jerico said. “And I won’t. It is you who will kill them, Velixar, and that is where the blame falls.”

“We shall see,” Velixar said. He turned and gestured to the crowd behind them. Krieger stepped forth and saluted.

“Send in your paladins,” the man in black told him. “Slay many, but bring me some women and children. Bring them alive.”

“As you command,” Krieger said with a bow.

“You’re a monster,” Jerico said, watching the village with a heavy heart.

Velixar smirked. “Perhaps.”

The dark paladins rode into the village, waves of undead at their heels. Screams of pain and terror traveled through the crisp morning air. Each one was a stab at Jerico’s heart. True to Velixar’s orders, Krieger returned, his blade dripping with blood. A woman rode with him, crying as he held her with one arm. Two other paladins rode beside him. One held a young girl, the other, a boy no older than three. They halted before Velixar and saluted. The prisoners they tossed to the ground.

Velixar knelt before the woman, who cowered on her knees, her head low and her hands clutching the dirt.

“Do not be afraid,” Velixar said, lifting her face with his fingers. Tears ran down her cheeks. She was plain, but she had startling green eyes. She did her best to halt her sobbing.

“Who do you worship,” he asked her. “Who is it that your heart prays to for guidance?”

“Ashhur watches over us,” she said, staring at Velixar’s shifting face in horror.

“Even now?” he asked. She nodded. Velixar smiled. He rammed his fingers into those beautiful eyes. His other hand muffled her scream.

“Watch her die,” Velixar said, his voice trembling as he glared at Jerico. “Blinded in life by your god’s falseness, so blind she dies. Watch her, Jerico! You could have spared her, you damn coward.”

He rammed his fingers in deeper, until her screams died, and her body ceased its frantic twisting. Velixar dropped her, still seething with rage. Nearby the two children bawled, horrified.

“Bring me the boy,” Velixar said.

“Don’t,” Jerico said, desperately searching for something, anything, to spare them. “Please don’t, there is no need for this.”

“You made your decision,” Velixar said. “You agreed to let them die, all so you could claim Ashhur still watches over their souls! Is he still watching? Does he weep yet?”

“If they’re to die,” Jerico said, gut churning as he said the words, “then let it be by my hand, without pain or torture.”

At this Karak’s prophet crossed his arms, suddenly intrigued.

“You would murder innocent children?” he asked. “Your priorities confuse me, paladin.”

“Give me a weapon,” Jerico said, ignoring him. “If the blame is mine, then let me spill the blood.”

“So be it.” Velixar held out his hand, and one of the dark paladins handed over his sword. Jerico took it, running a finger over the blade. It was sharp and well-cared for. He approached the two children, who huddled together as they cried. Jerico felt many eyes upon him, and he knew his time was short.

“Shush now,” he told the two. He knelt before them, his sword laying across his knee. “Shush, and listen to me.”

The older girl stopped her sniffling, while the little boy buried his face into the girl’s skirt.

“They killed mom,” the girl said. “They’re going to kill us too.”

“Put that away for now,” Jerico said, his voice just above a whisper. The less the dark paladins heard, the better. “I want to ask you something, something important. Have you prayed to Ashhur before?”

“A little,” she said, nodding.

“Good,” he said. “Now I want you to pray he’ll watch over you. Pray he forgives all your wrongs, and that you accept the love he gives you. Can you do that?”

Again she nodded. He put his hand on top of the boy’s head and prayed just that for him as well.

“Whatever you do,” he told the children. “Don’t move.”

He stood, gripping the large sword with both hands. He raised the weapon to strike.

“Guide my blade,” he prayed to Ashhur, then spun. He cut the first dark paladin’s throat, and in a smooth motion, took two steps and buried half his sword in the other’s stomach. Krieger yelped in surprise, just barely drawing his sword in time to block Jerico’s strike. He blocked the next two hits as well, and then Jerico leaped back, searching for Velixar.

Two snakes made of shadow sprung from the earth and bit his ankles. Their vile poison seeped into him, immediately turning his world into tumultuous disorder. He saw a twisting, swirled version of Krieger lunge, and then something hard smashed against his face. Blood splattered from his nose. He fell back, still searching. He caught glimpse of a black robe. Without hesitation he turned and swung. He felt his sword connect. He swung again. Laughter met his ears, and then stabbing pain filled his back. A fist slammed his head, and down he went.

“You damn fool,” he heard Velixar say. Jerico sighed. He should have known the retched man would never die. Velixar grabbed him by his hair and lifted his face.

“Look at what you’ve done,” Velixar said. Through blurry eyes the paladin saw the bodies of the children, crumpled together and soaked with blood.

“You killed them,” Velixar said. “Children. Are you still so holy, paladin?”

“The heart is all that matters,” Jerico said, a grin on his bloodied face. “And I will not weep for them. Ashhur has them now, not you.”

Krieger kicked him in the chin, hard enough Jerico thought he’d bit his tongue in two. Blood poured from his mouth. Velixar took the sword from his hand and stood.

“Kill him,” he told Krieger.

“With pleasure,” the dark paladin said.

“You will not!”

Jerico glanced to his right, to where Tessanna pushed her way through the rows of undead that surrounded them. He wondered how long she’d been watching.

“He is mine,” she said, purple smoke swirling about her fingers. “Not yours. You will not kill him.”

“He has killed two of my men,” Krieger said, his sword wreathed in black flame. “I have every right to slay him.”

“I will kill you if you try,” she said. The dark paladin looked to Velixar.

“You are the stronger,” Krieger said. “It is our laws that govern now. The paladin must die. Give me the order.”

Velixar’s face darkened, and his shifting features quickened their dance. Standing a few rows behind Tessanna was Qurrah, watching the proceedings with quiet intensity. They were both sorely taxed by keeping the portal open in Veldaren. Could either stop Tessanna if they tried? He didn’t know. And he didn’t know how Qurrah would react. No doubt he wanted Jerico dead, but at the cost of Tessanna’s life? Definitely not.

“No,” Velixar said at last. “I gave my word. Jerico is Tessanna’s to kill.”

Krieger slowly sheathed his swords, furious.

“Bloody and painful,” he said, glaring at Tessanna. “If it isn’t, and soon, you’ll have my blades to worry about.”

She smiled at him.

“I never worry,” she said. “Not about one such as you.”

As the dark paladin stormed off, he gave a look to Velixar, one the man in black well understood. Krieger’s confidence in him was broken.

“Take him and go,” Velixar said to Tessanna. “Twice now I have put my trust in you, girl of the goddess. Do not make me a fool.”

He left for the village, determined to add more to his ranks of undead. Karak’s servants followed, leaving Qurrah and Tessanna alone with the bloodied paladin.

“Is he worth that much to you?” Qurrah asked her.

“He is my toy, my plaything,” she said, tucking her hair behind her ears.

“Is that all?” he asked. He left without giving her a chance to answer.

T hat night, Tessanna stirred Jerico from his fitful sleep. He sat up, crossed his arms, and stared.

“What?” he asked, his body rocking side to side. She was sitting cross-legged before him, a strange look of contemplation on her face.

“I asked you once if everyone deserved forgiveness,” she said. “You couldn’t answer. Now you can. You’ve seen what I’ve done, what we do. Do I deserve forgiveness?”

Jerico swallowed, ignoring the pain it caused his swollen tongue.

“No,” he said. “You don’t.”

She frowned at him. “But you offered it to me anyway.”

He nodded. “Aye. I did.”

“Why?”

At this he chuckled. “That’s what we call grace.”

“I’ve killed people,” she said. “Tortured them. Stole the blood from their bodies. I am everything Ashhur hates.”

“Listen, Tess,” Jerico said. “Either everyone deserves grace, or no one. There’s no rankings, no greater and lesser sins. Either we do Ashhur’s will, or we don’t. Either we love him, or we don’t. That is the simple truth I offer. And you can accept it or reject it. Your choice. If Ashhur forgives you, then I must as well. I don’t have a choice in the matter.”

She looked down at the scars on her arms. She ran a hand over them.

“My father,” she said. “You say I should forgive my father?”

“Yes,” he said.

“You don’t know what he did,” she said, her voice growing soft, quiet.

“It doesn’t matter.”

She looked up at him. The soft voice vanished in the blink of an eye.

“I’ll tell you anyway,” she said, standing. “He raped me. Just a child, but I was his toy. You want me to forgive that?”

She drew her knife. Jerico closed his eyes and lay back down. He had seen this before, granted not in someone so wild and dangerous.

“I killed him,” she said as she approached. “Shoved glass down his throat and sewed his lips shut. Think he’ll forgive me?” She giggled, but it was joyless and frightened. She knelt beside him, the knife edge resting on his neck.

“Your hurt is great,” Jerico said, his eyes closed. “You let it shape you, justify what you are. Who would you be without it, Tess?”

She leaned down, and he felt her hot breath on his ear.

“I wouldn’t be me,” she whispered. “And I like me.”

The knife cut into his skin.

“I like me a lot.”