The Shadows of Grace

7

S outhward, the demon army followed the Kingstrip road, the undead lumbering at the lead, flattening a huge swath to each side of the beaten wagon path. Fallow fields stretched as far as the eye could see with harvest long past. So deep into winter, there was little to scavenge. The war demons relied on hard rations that seemed impervious to rot or mold. Jerico ate little of it, the taste of the meat foul and salty.

As weeks passed, their path gradually turned west. Upon reaching a fork, the army camped for a day. The southeastern path led toward the elves of the Erze forest as well as the Lords in Angelport along the coast. To the west were Antonil’s forces. Jerico assumed they discussed strategy, but he was privy to none of it. His days and nights were one long march, undead before him, fanatical tested and dark paladins behind, and flying demons above. He felt cold and alone, and with each stare of Velixar’s eyes, he felt his faith eroding. At last, the army seemed to reach its decision. At daybreak they continued west, resuming chase of Antonil’s forces.

They pillaged as they traveled, though the spoils grew ever scarce.

“Like rabbits,” Qurrah had muttered after veering off the Kingstrip to ransack a small farming village. They’d found little supplies and no residents, only scattered remnants of chaos.

“Look west,” Jerico said, mocking as a bit of his old self flared up. “I’m sure you’ll see their cotton-white tails.”

Tessanna punished him severely for that.

Pulling her cart had at least one benefit, and that was exercise. If he had been bound and carried, Jerico feared his finely honed muscles might have withered and decayed. Instead, he found them growing stronger, though his flexibility suffered. Every night he lay down with bare earth for his bed, cold grass for a pillow, and a night sky his blanket. Sometimes Tessanna came with her knife. He’d begun to appreciate her subtle skill. He could deal with physical pain. It was Velixar’s taunts that cut deep.

The days and weeks melded together, so that the paladin lost all track of time. His throat was forever parched, his lips cracked and bleeding. Scars lined his shoulders and chest, which was sometimes bare in the cold, sometimes not. Qurrah watched with distaste. The rest of the army, seething glares. But one night, as Jerico lay shivering, his legs curled up to his chest and his arms around his ankles, he heard footsteps approach. They were steady and light.

“It seems winter is Karak’s time,” Velixar said. Jerico kept his eyes shut, hoping sleep might steal him away. The prophet continued, as if he didn’t care whether the paladin slept or not.

“The light is failing. The stars themselves dim. The elves see their goddess in the stars, did you know that? Even Celestia loses her luster within the cold. But Karak remains strong. The darkness comforts. It does not blot out the beauty of the stars, only enhance it. Do you feel the light touch on your skin, Jerico? It has begun to snow.”

Jerico stirred from an uneasy doze. He felt numb, yet strangely warm. With blurry vision, he saw a thin layer of white across his body. Velixar chuckled.

“Were you hoping for an easy death? You will not pass away in your sleep. I am death’s most comfortable friend, and I do not sense it about you. Get up and seek a fire, paladin.”

Jerico sat up but did not leave his spot. He brushed snow off his shoulders and curled his knees to his chin. His jaw chattered as his body reawakened to the cold infusing itself deep within him.

“I will find no comfort here,” he said.

“Not even the comfort of another’s body?” Velixar asked. “Tessanna would give it to you, if you would only accept the offer. What harm would there be in it? Do you think Ashhur would prefer you to die?”

Jerico chuckled through his chattering teeth.

“I thought vipers were cold-blooded,” he said. “Yet you seem quite lively in winter.”

Velixar’s red eyes sparkled with humor.

“Such a strong spirit. You waste it, Jerico. Your fanatical allegiance will mean nothing, not with it devoted to the wrong god.”

“Funny. I’ve always thought the same of you.”

Velixar grabbed Jerico’s neck and lifted him off the ground. A steady heat spread from his hand, melting the snow and filling his chest with a burning pain. His chills faded, and as much as he hated it, he felt thankful. Setting him on his feet, Velixar grabbed the paladin’s wrist and led him west. A ring of soldiers ordered them to halt at the edge of the camp, but realizing who it was that approached, lowered their weapons.

“Where are you taking me?” Jerico asked, once the camp was far behind. He thought of escape, but his body was sluggish, his reactions slow. He had no chance against the dark power of Velixar.

“I want you to see something,” Velixar said, as the snow gathered atop his robes. The white seemed appropriate somehow, as if it were a burial shroud atop a being that should have been long dead. They traveled across ground that steadily turned rockier, until at last they climbed a hill that seemed almost solid stone. At the top, Velixar gestured outward. In the far distance, blurred only by the swirling lines of snow, was a great city.

“That is the city of Kinamn,” Velixar said. “The Jewel of Ker. Do you see its walls? They are thin, paladin, and they are not tall. Its gates have more wood than iron. Do you see its castle? There are many windows, and through each one will fly a demon of Thulos. There are thousands sheltered before you, huddled together in their homes and sleeping close to dwindling fires. Do you know what will happen to them? To every… single… one?”

Jerico fought to look away, but he could not. Velixar latched onto his face with his frozen hands. His stomach lurched at his touch. Jerico looked upon the city as Velixar hovered within his vision, his eyes burning, his mouth scowling.

“They will die,” Velixar said. “And they will serve me. It is inevitable. This whole world will soon share its fate. I will be a god, for what else would I be when every living thing obeys my command? I will build a tower of flesh and bone, whose very walls will shift and wail. My throne will be the twisted spines of a thousand children. To your god, I am the greatest abomination, a creation so vile and sinful your soul aches in my presence.”

“Why am I here?” Jerico asked, his voice shaking. The cold was returning, and Velixar seemed to have no intention to rekindle the warmth that had awoken in his breast.

“Answer me this question,” Velixar said. “Tell me truthfully and I will let you go free. You may warn the people of the city, or perhaps flee like a coward and leave them to their fate. I don’t care. All I want is my answer. Do you disagree with all I have said? Do you disagree with what I know I am?”

Jerico looked to the city, seeing hundreds of torches and fires, just tiny dots in the distance. So many lives within. So many to die.

“You are what you say,” Jerico said. “A most hideous abomination.”

Velixar laughed, as if he took pride in the label.

“Then why? ” he asked. “Why does Ashhur let me live? Protector of the weak, slayer of the darkness, beacon to the lost… why do I still walk this earth to mock your god? Why will that city die, even though you say Ashhur will weep for its destruction?”

He lifted his arms, his palms open in worship toward the heavens.

“Strike me with lightning,” he cried. “Burn me with fire! Send down your wrath, Ashhur! In the open I am, and I call your power false. Will you endure such blasphemy? Kill me! Give me peace in death, and an eternity in my god’s bosom.”

The snow fell, and other than a soft gust of wind, the night remained silent.

“You have heard me,” Velixar said, turning toward the paladin, who had fallen to his knees, clutching his arms to his chest and rubbing them for warmth. “What is your answer?”

“I have none,” Jerico said. “For my heart wishes for lightning and fire from the heavens. I would give anything to see you burn.”

“You don’t know,” Velixar said, shaking his head. “You have no answer for me, yet you still cling to him in faith. Why? I don’t understand.”

“Because your words are empty,” Jerico said. He closed his eyes, summoning the memories of a hundred people in prayer he had knelt beside. “No matter the death you spread, I have seen souls give of themselves for an eternity of joy. I have seen grace strike down the evilest of men and turn them into something pure. Burn this world to ash. We’re here for only a little while. This is not our home.”

Velixar laughed.

“You say that?” he asked, grabbing Jerico by the neck and lifting him so they could stare eye to eye. “Such confidence. Such lying. You think what I do will have no effect on your faith, my actions no bearing on your meager justifications of your religion? You are in for a fall, paladin. Your faith is glass, and I am the hammer. When you break, I will be there. When you finally surrender, when you are ready to accept a faith that has meaning in this wretched world, I will be waiting.”

“I hope you’re prepared for a very long wait,” said Jerico.

Velixar’s grip tightened around his neck. Spots swirled before his eyes as his heart pounded in his chest.

“I have lived for centuries,” Velixar said. “To see a paladin such as you broken would be one of my greatest triumphs. I will wait as long as it takes.”

Tighter and tighter. Jerico felt his legs go limp. His body hung lifeless from that single strong hand. Darkness overtook him. Just before it did, just as his vision was a swirling chaos of red and yellow, he heard Velixar’s mocking laughter. It continued on and on into the foggy state his mind succumbed to, laughing. Laughing and condemning.

When he awoke, he was beside a healthy fire. Tessanna sat nearby, her legs crossed and her dagger slowly tracing runes into her skin. He grunted as pain sprang to life in a hundred places throughout his body. Every breath seemed to cause him terrible pain.

“You’re awake,” Tessanna said, her voice quiet but happy. No doubt the carving of runes was a large reason for that.

“Seems like it,” Jerico said, putting a hand over his eyes and praying to Ashhur for strength. The words felt hollow, but he forced through them anyway. At last he pulled his hand away to see Tessanna standing over him, a curious look on her face.

“What did he speak to you of?” she asked.

“Who?”

“You know who.”

Jerico sighed.

“The usual. I’m dirt. He’s a god. Karak’s the only truth. I’ve heard it all before.” He chuckled. “Must admit, he’s found damn good ways to retell it.”

Tessanna handed him a small piece of the demons’ meat rations. He accepted it, thanked her, and then took a bite. The girl watched him eat, her arm out and dripping blood onto the fire.

“He wants you brought to him when we start the siege,” she said. “I don’t know why. I think he’s to make you watch. Many will die today.”

“Innocent life,” Jerico said as he winced through a swallow of the dry, salty meat. “You know that as well as I.”

“Does it matter?” Tessanna asked. “Beauty is fading from this world. I want away, to escape from all this. Let them die and go to Ashhur, if his eternity is so bright and pure.”

“You don’t believe that,” Jerico insisted.

Tessanna smiled sadly.

“What I believe doesn’t matter. Qurrah is all that matters. And my child. My daughter. I’ve decided a name for her, Teralyn. A pretty name, don’t you think?”

“It is beautiful,” Jerico said. “Though I weep for the world you will birth her into.”

Tessanna’s shy happiness faded at that. With cold eyes, she yanked him to his feet and shoved him westward.

“Let’s go,” she said. “Velixar is waiting.”

She led the way, glancing back occasionally to make sure he followed. The camp was surprisingly vacant. Jerico rubbed his arms and wished for something warmer for his feet than his broken boots. The army’s tents remained pitched, little banners at their tip waving gently in the soft breeze. The great city was much easier to see with the snowfall ended. War demons flew about, forming their own cloud above the city. The undead had already marched as well, forming a dead black line beyond the walls. Scattered among them were the tested, shouting songs to Karak in their fervent joy.

Standing alone, watching the coming battle from atop a hill overlooking the city, was Velixar.

“Where is Qurrah?” asked Tessanna as they approached.

“He has joined the priests in sundering the walls below,” Velixar said, his gaze lingering on the city. He glanced over at the paladin. “He carries my most important orders. Jerico has proven stubborn, but today, I believe he will finally see reason.”

“Good luck with that,” Jerico said, hopping up and down to increase his circulation. He thought of asking for a fire, but given who stood with him, he decided the risk too great they would set him afire instead of a nearby pile of wood. Tessanna stood beside Velixar and pointed to where the priests gathered.

“Is that where Qurrah is?” she asked. Velixar nodded.

“They will frighten the city, then break its walls so my undead may enter.” He pointed to a distant hill, long and sloped and covered with snow, “There is where Krieger hides with his paladin brethren. When the undead have softened the defenses, they will storm through.”

“What of the demons?”

“Ulamn wants to keep his casualties light. They’ll harass the archers and assault the castle directly while the bulk of the forces are at the walls.”

“Destroying this city only makes you that greater a murderer,” Jerico said, kicking aside snow to form a bare spot of earth to sit upon. When finished, he plopped down and curled tight to save his warmth.

“It furthers our conquest,” Karak’s prophet said. “And do not presume to know my games. You are an ignorant pawn, nothing more.”

“I thought I was to be your prized conquest,” Jerico said.

Velixar paused a moment, then grinned. Jerico thought he saw maggots crawling between his teeth, but just as quickly they were gone.

“Should that happen, you will be revered among the dark paladins, perhaps even lead them after Krieger. Until then, you are a worm.”

Jerico clenched his teeth to stop their chattering.

“I think I’ll die a worm,” he said, his voice hissing through his clenched teeth.

Tessanna sat next to him, not bothering to clear away the snow. It seemed her pale skin was impervious to the cold. She brushed his exposed skin with her fingertips. Her touch was ice.

“Let’s watch the show together,” she said, smiling. She tilted her head forward, letting her hair cascade down across her face. “If you want me, that is.”

Her touch turned to fire, seeping into his skin and chasing away the cold. His shivering stopped. His teeth stilled.

“Stay,” he said, his voice hoarse.

Pleased, Tessanna curled her knees to her chin and rested her head. The three watched as the distant people, like ants, swarmed about the streets. Even at their distance they could hear the soft ringing of alarms.

“Summon the lion,” Velixar rumbled.

The priests raised their arms to the sky. The clouds swelled with thunder and a red shape burst through them, that of a feline skull with teeth dripping blood. The drops fell from the sky and onto the city, dissipating like smoke as they struck the rooftops. Its mouth opened, and when it roared, the very walls of the city shook. Amid the noise, Velixar laughed.

Tessanna gently touched Jerico’s face, but when he glanced over, she pulled away.

“You’re beautiful in the snow,” she said.

Archers fired arrows from their walls as the undead army marched toward the center gate. As if signaled, the legion of war demons swooped down from the sky, heading straight for the men atop the walls. Without armor or significant weaponry other than their bows, they died quick deaths, many plummeting off either side to crumple into piles at the foot of the wall.

A great cry rolled over the snow with such force that snowflakes lifted into the air, creating a white mist across the plains.

“ Karak! ” it shouted, the collective force of the priests and their faith. The gates to the city crumpled, and a great gash in the earth stretched all the way from the priests to its center. The undead smashed against it, breaking wood and tearing metal. In less than a minute they were through, hacking and biting at the beleaguered defenders.

For a while the city held. The undead, while vicious and unshakable, were not skilled and wielded no weapons. Then a trumpet sounded from the hills and out came the dark paladins. They marched in rows of five, and they lifted their swords above their heads, letting the black fire burn toward the city. Their voices lifted in song.

“So beautiful,” Velixar said. His smile was ear to ear. The changing of his features quickened so that his nose sunk inward, his forehead stretched outward and his lips thinned, all in the span of seconds.

Jerico closed his eyes and said a prayer for those still within the city. In the middle of it he felt a hand gently touch his lips. He looked to see Tessanna kneeling beside him, her eyes wide, and her hand still against him.

“Not now,” she whispered. “Be silent.”

She slid closer, her left arm curling around his waist and her head gently resting on his shoulder.

The war demons flew to the castle as the dark paladins entered the gate. They crushed the defenders, fighting with skill and certainty of victory the city’s soldiers could not hope to match. When they broke, the war demons were already there, landing behind them in tight lines. The soldiers died, crushed between two forces while the rest of the demons flooded the castle through high, unguarded windows.

“The city is ours,” Velixar said. “Karak be praised.”

Jerico felt a sinking in his gut. He’d known the outcome, but he’d hoped anyway. It’d been in vain. The city had fallen in less than ten minutes. Against such a display, he wondered if even the supposed majesty and strength of Mordeina could stand against Karak’s army.

“Where is Qurrah?” Jerico asked. He saw Tessanna suddenly pull away from him as if stung.

“Entering with the priests,” Velixar said. “He has my orders. To your feet, paladin. It will not be long now.”

Jerico shrugged, then stood. He could not see the city well enough to know what Velixar had in mind, but he knew he was not going to like it. Undead swarmed through the streets, and the dark paladins hunted for any surviving defenders. The first of many fires spread. Feeling tired and distant, Jerico wondered just how much of the city would remain come nightfall.

Then Qurrah stepped outside the gates, the fiery whip in his hand distinct even at such distance. A large line of people exited the city in single file, heading straight at them. Half of the dark paladins traveled with them, guarding either side so they might not flee. Jerico felt his heart pound at the sight. Was Velixar to kill them all in front of him? Make him watch their return as undead? He prayed not, but he knew otherwise. Velixar turned and smiled, terribly amused.

“I know what you think,” he said. “You are almost correct, but not quite. You have become calloused to the pain of this world. I must awaken it in you.”

The survivors of Kinamn approached, some bundled warmly, others wearing only thin robes or breeches. Most sobbed or clutched one another as they walked. The dark paladins sang a song of triumph as they herded them along. When Qurrah arrived, leading the procession, he bowed to his master.

“I have done as you asked,” he said.

“As I expected,” Velixar said. He reached out his hand to Krieger, who handed over his sword. The black fire faded away, replaced by a soft rising of purple smoke. He gestured for the first of many to be brought forward.

“All I ask is that you do not lie,” Velixar said to Jerico. “I work with truth, for the truth is sufficient. Speak these words as long as they carry meaning.”

“What words?” Jerico asked, a knot in his throat.

“Ashhur loves you.”

Jerico’s lower lip trembled. He looked upon a young maiden, not yet twelve. Tears ran down her face, and she clutched her left arm to her chest. Fresh burns covered it. The paladin looked to her, tried to let her see the strength in his eyes and the conviction of his faith. She was scared, and so desperately he wished to comfort her, to save her.

“Ashhur loves you,” Jerico said to her, meaning every word.

Velixar cut her down.

Two dark paladins were there immediately, dragging away the body and pulling another to the front. The crowd stirred, their fear multiplying. Any thoughts of running died as the undead swarm returned from the city, surrounding them in a wall of dead flesh. A few still tried, and they died horribly, their bodies ripped to pieces and their organs strewn red across the white snow.

Next was a mother clutching a babe in her arms. Her hair was matted with blood.

“Ashhur loves you,” Jerico said.

Then another, this an elderly man with a short beard and dull gray eyes.

“Ashhur loves you.”

A young girl and her sister, holding hands and crying.

“Ashhur loves you.”

The blood spilled at his feet, melting the snow and spreading a red haze across the hilltop. Jerico felt his hands and legs go numb. Tears ran down his face, freezing hard to his skin. If he ever tried to look away, Velixar was there, clutching his neck with his horrific hand, forcing him to look. A husband and wife, arm in arm, trying to be brave. A wounded soldier, gore covering his armor. One after another, he spoke the words, the conviction in him dying with each cut of Velixar’s sword. He no longer tried to give them his strength. He had none to give.

The line seemed unending. Over a hundred died before him. His words were the last they heard. His eyes were the last they saw. He tried to give them something, a hope to cling to, but instead the words became a death knell. The words felt sick on his tongue, a terrible perversion that pierced his heart.

When Velixar missed a cut, Jerico could take it no more. He fell to his knees and sobbed as the woman collapsed before him, her arms and legs twitching as she gasped in air through the hole in her throat. It took her almost a minute to die, and Velixar made no effort to hasten it. Behind them the line of refugees sobbed and pleaded for mercy. The light in Velixar’s eyes burned brighter.

An old man was next. He wore plain robes of gray, and half the hair on his head was missing, taken by old age. Jerico looked up to him and tried to say the words. Velixar had cruelly told him to never speak a lie, and now he wondered if he could. He didn’t know the meaning anymore. He could hardly tell what he was saying. The old man looked back, and then he reached out and put a hand on Jerico’s shoulder.

“Ashhur loves you,” the old man said, just before Velixar cut him down. The man in black seethed, kicking the body.

“Get him out of here,” he said.

The next was an elderly woman, and the way she looked at the old man’s body she was most certainly his wife. Tears wetting her face, she smiled at Jerico.

“Ashhur loves you,” she said to him.

Velixar killed her as well, this time not with a blade but a spell. She collapsed, her heart bursting. The dark paladins could not carry her away fast enough. A boy with red hair and a shadow of whiskers on his upper lip approached. He’d seen Velixar’s rage, had seen his disapproval. He looked to the paladin and said the only words he could say, the only blow he could strike against his conquerors.

“Ashhur loves you,” he said just before he died.

As did the fourth. And the fifth. The line had seen his torture. They had heard his words. Suddenly it was they offering themselves to him, speaking the words he’d been forced to say, removing the condemnation he’d been forced to give.

After the seventh, Velixar snarled. He’d had enough. Far in the back, several had taken up worship songs of Ashhur, singing them loud with tears running down their faces.

“Kill them all,” he said to his minions.

The undead tore them to pieces. Jerico sobbed amid their shrieks.

“Do you yet understand?” Velixar asked.

“Even in darkness,” the paladin whispered amid his cries. “Even in darkness…”

Velixar didn’t understand, but he knew he’d brought Jerico to the very edge, then somehow lost him.

“Burn the rest of the city,” he said, turning away from the carnage. “All but the bodies. Bring them to me. I have need of them.”

“Ignore that order,” Ulamn said as he landed with a heavy gust of wind. “We will need the supplies within, as well as maps. Besides, my men would appreciate a roof over our heads while we ponder our next move.”

Velixar waited a moment, the silence thickening as he stared at the powerful war demon.

“So be it,” Velixar said. “Leave them where they lie. I will summon the dead myself. Stay the fires.”

Jerico sat up as several more demons landed, their weapons dripping blood. Tessanna put her hand on his and glared at the rest, as if reminding them that the paladin was hers and hers alone.

“Your orc approaches,” one of the demons said, his deep voice full of contempt.

“Then leave me alone to greet him,” she replied. Ever since Velixar’s display, she had grown somber and quiet, and when she spoke her voice quivered. “You have your orders. Go pillage and rape and do whatever it is you do.”

Velixar was long gone by then, walking toward the conquered city with a trail of undead behind him. They were alone, the demons and Tessanna. The thickness of the air refused to thin. Jerico squeezed Tessanna’s hand and then stood. The demons bristled, and one laughed.

“Does the paladin seek death?” the war demon asked.

Tessanna’s eyes flared wide, but Jerico shot her a look. Her face darkened, and she lowered her face so her long black hair fell across her eyes. Her tongue stayed still.

“You seem so eager to kill me,” Jerico said. “So much for war. You’re cowards, vultures. Where is my armor? Where is my mace? Would you butcher a child and then shout your victory to your kin?”

The demon pointed his bloody sword toward him, the tip hovering an inch before his neck.

“A paladin of the coward god is always a treasured kill,” the demon said. “You seem to have lost your allure as a pet. The girl no longer cuts you at night. Or does she do other things? Has she found better way for you to entertain her?”

Jerico let a smirk curl his lips.

“A treasured kill,” he said, ignoring the latter comments. “So apt to describe yourself as well.”

He stood to his full height. He stretched out his arms. Even though the sword tip hovered before him, he showed no fear in his bloodshot eyes. His face was wet with tears, yet still Jerico smiled.

“Strike at me, you’ll die,” he said. “You have your orders. Be gone from us.”

The demon looked from Jerico to Tessanna, and he saw the swirling frost that surrounded her fingertips.

“The girl has stripped you of your pride,” the demon said. “You are just a dog. One of these days, it will be the master that kicks you dead, not us.”

They took flight toward the ruins of Kinamn. Jerico let his arms fall, and he closed his eyes to hide his weakness. He had almost hoped for death. After that day, he felt ready for it. Footsteps approached, he heard them clearly, and it took little guess to whom they belonged.

“What nonsense was that?” he heard Qurrah ask.

Jerico felt the leathery whip lash out and wrap around his neck. So far the fire remained dormant, and he kept his eyes closed and his body still.

“The demons grow bolder,” Tessanna said.

“Come,” Qurrah said. “We must set up camp within the castle. I will not be left out of their plans. They will not diminish my role so easily.”

“You’re just a damn doorway to them,” Tessanna said. “They’ll ride you like a horse until your legs break and your sides burst. They’ll expect me to dance on your corpse, but they’re fools, all of them. Fools.”

The bitterness in Tessanna’s voice startled Jerico’s eyes open. The whip slid free from around his neck, for Qurrah was just as surprised and confused.

“We must go,” Qurrah said, clearly unhappy Jerico was there to witness their conversation.

“No,” Tessanna said. “I will camp here. Jerico too. Stay here with me or go to the castle. Where is it you belong, my lover?”

Qurrah’s lip curled into a sneer.

“Sleep well on the grass,” he said. Furious, he started to say more, then stopped and stormed back toward the city. Jerico watched him go, a numbness coming over him. He sat on his knees and wiped the tears from his face. He looked to the great pile of carcasses left Velixar, their bodies so mangled and torn they were useless as undead. He felt oddly detached now, as if the trauma had shaken something loose in his head. One day it would hit, overwhelm him, but for now he felt so terribly numb.

Tessanna sat next to him and took his hand again. His wariness returned, for he knew what she wanted of him, but for the moment she only held him tight. If she were drowning and he were offering her safety she might not have gripped any harder.

“I don’t hate you anymore,” she said. “Do you care?”

He said nothing, so she continued.

“I tried so hard. I still want to hate you. I thought nobody could be so perfect. You held on against my touch, my pain, my knife. It seemed nothing could break you, but something finally has. Do you know what broke you, Jerico?”

“What?” he asked, his throat dry and his skin cold.

“Your love broke you,” she said. “For the ones that died before you. People you didn’t know. People you couldn’t help. People doomed to die. You loved them anyway. I don’t know about Ashhur, I don’t know if he loved them before Velixar’s sword fell, but I know you did. You loved, and loved, until it was ready to break you, until you were on your knees sobbing, your mind a shell drained dry. I know that feeling, gods I know, I know it… I know it…”

She leaned closer to him, her forehead resting against his neck. The first of many sobs broke loose from her lips. For a long while she cried, her tears wetting his neck. She never tried to speak. Gently he wrapped an arm around her shoulders and held her close. At last her tears slowed, and she sucked in weak gasps of air.

“I’m so tired,” she cried. “It hurts so bad, but I try to keep together, to be whole for him. I must be strong. I can never be weak, not with him. He’ll break without me. But you’ve never cared. You broke loving them, and then were made whole when they loved you in return. I’ll never be made whole. I’ll never be good enough. Mother will crush me, the gods will forsake me, and Qurrah will forever blame me.”

Jerico struggled with what to say. So much of her struggle was beyond him, but her grief was real enough. He offered the only thing he knew he could give.

“I could pray for you,” he said, his voice a whisper.

She leaned away from him, sniffing and rubbing her nose with her arm.

“No,” she said, looking so sad and terrible and beautiful. “Not for me. For my daughter. For Teralyn.”

Jerico opened his mouth to speak, then closed it. He nodded. Slowly Tessanna leaned closer toward him. Her fingertips traced along his arm, then wrapped about his neck. Her head tilted. Jerico closed his eyes. Gently her lips pressed against his, and as his mouth opened he felt her tongue pressed between his teeth.

The kiss ended.

“I’m scared,” she whispered, her voice shaking. “I should hate you. I don’t, and that scares me so much, so very much…”

“This is wrong,” Jerico whispered back. “You have to know that.”

“I do,” Tessanna said. “I don’t care.”

She sat atop him, her legs straddling his waist. Her arms encircled his neck. Jerico tried to remember the wild look in her eyes, how she’d thrust her dagger into his flesh, how she’d twisted and cut and bled every bit of pain out of his body. The memories were dull, like his flesh to the snow.

“I need comfort,” she whispered. “Qurrah judges me, but you don’t judge, you don’t hate, you’ve loved me all this time and now I want to love you.”

The vows he’d made screamed protest in Jerico’s mind. Love. She didn’t know. She couldn’t know.

Damn it all, Jerico thought. Stop yourself, Jerico. Stop yourself. Stop. Now.

He didn’t. Arm in arm, she gently rocked back and forth. Tessanna laughed as she cried. At his climax, she gasped openmouthed, then smiled as the tears curled toward the edge of her lips. Jerico gently lifted her off and fixed his clothes. He sat hunched over, as if a great burden sat upon his shoulders.

“Never again,” he said, refusing to look her way. “We can’t do this ever again.”

“You know you will,” she said. “With you, I’m…”

“No,” he said. “Just stop. I can’t do this. I can’t fail you like this. I’m sorry, Tess. I’m so sorry.”

No matter what she said, he kept his eyes to the ground, and long into the night he stayed awake and miserable, staring at the fires burning in the conquered city, for once feeling like he deserved the miserable cold as more snow fell from the sky and bit into his flesh.

They stayed a week, gathering supplies and setting up a small garrison to hold against any of the rival lords that still remained in the land. Fresh with rest, food, and sleep, the army marched out of Kinamn, once more giving chase after the remnants of Neldar.