“Be healed,” Jerico told her as he removed his hand. Both men observed his work. The shape of her jaw was back to normal. Amid the drying blood ran a single scar from ear to chin. When she opened her eyes, even the burst vessels had closed.
“Good man,” Qurrah said. He waved his hand. A wall of energy slammed into the paladin, throwing him across the room. He collapsed in a heap of armor and muscle. The half-orc knelt beside his lover, his pale hand slowly tracing the scar.
“How do you feel?” he asked her. The girl looked up at him and smiled.
“I feel awful. I dreamt my daddy hit me. Did he?”
“No,” Qurrah said, kissing her lips. “Just a dream. You’re fine now.”
The paladin rolled to his side, eyeing a door a few feet to his right. Beyond it was the deepest parts of the Sanctuary where the clerics of Ashhur had hid. If he could reach them… He tried to stand, but his entire arm remained numb. He could see blood pooling underneath his body. He would die if he lost too much more. The wound needed closed, and he lacked the strength to do it.
With his good arm he pushed, grinding his teeth to focus against the pain. He stood.
“Where are you going?” Qurrah asked, sounding amused.
“Forgive my rudeness,” Jerico said, touching his shield with his other hand. “But I should go.”
The light from his shield flared a brilliant white, blinding the half-orc. He shielded his eyes with his arm, but it did no good. When the light ended, the door was open and the paladin was gone. Qurrah stood to chase but Tessanna grabbed his ankle.
“No,” she said. “Let him go. Take what we came here for.”
Qurrah rubbed the tears from his eyes, blinked a few times, and then accepted the girl’s request.
“Very well. The book is very close, hidden where…”
He stopped when he saw the burning fire. A smile crossed his face.
“Clever,” he said. “Very, very clever.”
A wave of his hand scattered the logs. They rolled across the floor, spilling ash as their flame died. Qurrah reached into the black pile where the fire had been, ignoring the heat that burned his fingers. Deep within the ash he felt it. Excitement sparked inside his heart. With a cry of victory, he tore the tome free.
“The fire?” Tessanna asked.
“The book is impervious to it,” he explained, wiping ash off with his blistered fingers. “Otherwise the priests would have burned it themselves.” He stared at his treasure. It was large, but that seemed its only special quality. The bindings were plain leather, with a strap connected to an iron buckle to keep the pages closed. But within…
“Let’s go,” he said, offering his hand to Tessanna, who took it and used his strength to stand. “I must begin reading the pages. So many mysteries inside…”
Tessanna kissed him on the cheek.
“Go on without me,” she said. “I’ll be right there.”
Qurrah, so enamored with his prize, nodded and let her go. Through the door she went, heading after the fleeing paladin.
J ust your wrist,” Jerico muttered as he staggered down the hallway. “You’ve been stabbed how many times, and you’re going to…going to bite it from a silly wrist cut?” Silly or not, he could see the veins pulsing in his arm, and the blood pouring from the grievous wound. He kept his left hand clamped just above the wound. If he had the time, he would have asked Ashhur for the power to heal it, but he dared not stop his frantic running.
The walls abruptly changed from wood to stone. The hallway turned a sharp left before descending five feet of stairs. Jerico, staggering along as he was, did not notice the change. His foot hit air where stone should have been, and then he was falling headfirst. He had a brief moment to swear a multitude of punishments against Lathaar before his head cracked against the cold stone at the bottom, knocking him out cold.
Tessanna found him there, his arms and legs sprawled about and his head atop a pool of blood. Not far from the bottom of the stairs was a solid wooden door, barred from the inside. The clerics hid within, she knew. She could smell their fear.
“So close, yet none dare come to your aid,” she said, kneeling beside his unconscious form. “Did they hear you come? Do they know it is you here?” She took his bleeding wrist in her hand and blew across it. Fire burned within her breath, sealing the wound. Finished, she smiled and kissed his cheek.
“Qurrah didn’t tell me, but you fixed my face,” she whispered into his ear. “But you also broke it. You’ve left me a scar, paladin, so I shall leave you scarred as well.” She kissed his face, her tongue flicking against his skin. As she pulled back her lips her tongue remained. The flesh underneath it blackened and burned under its touch. She ran her tongue across his face, so that a long black line marred him from ear to cheek.
“My scar will fade in time,” she whispered. “They always do. Will yours?” She kissed him on the lips, thrusting her tongue into his mouth. It did not burn him. The girl sighed as she tasted blood. Reluctantly, she pulled back and climbed the stairs.
“May we meet again,” she said, then glanced at the sealed door, all life draining from her face. “Your champion is dying at your door,” she shouted. “Are you so cowardly you will hide within while he perishes?”
She turned and left, not caring if they emerged.
Qurrah was waiting for her at the entrance to the Sanctuary.
“Is he dead?” he asked her. Tessanna glanced at him, and then at the book he carried.
“Does it matter?” she asked.
“No,” Qurrah said. “I guess it doesn’t.”
They left as the last few undead under their command collapsed into lifeless piles of bone, flesh, and rot.
T he Stonewood Forest was a thoroughly unwelcoming sight. The trees were black as coal, and stubborn against any fire. The branches stretched high, interlocking into a thick canopy above. Lathaar knew that come nightfall not even the stars could penetrate the thick blanket of leaves. Deep within the forest loomed Elfspire, which had once been the tallest of the nearby mountains. Now it was a cracked and broken sight, rent in two by the release of the demon, Darakken. Much of the Stonewood Forest had been destroyed in the ensuing battle. The outer edges remained, and it was there Lathaar hoped Mira waited.
He dismounted upon reaching the forest’s edge. He had ridden as fast and as far as he dared, and he was proud of his mount. “Go rest,” he told her, patting her neck. The horse neighed and then trotted away, wanting no part of the forest. The paladin drew his sword and held it before him.
“Mira?” he asked, his eyes closed. “Mira, can you hear me?”
Lathaar?
“I’m here, just outside the forest,” he said. “Are you hurt?”
He’s been waiting, don’t come, don’t…Lathaar!
Her voice silenced in his mind. What Keziel had told him haunted his thoughts. “Every daughter of balance has died horribly,” the Priest had said. “They are not meant long for this world.”
“Survive a little longer, Mira,” Lathaar said, cutting away the first of many branches in his path. “Not you, not yet.”
He had six hours before dark. He could make it if he hurried.
S illy girl,” the big man said, his plated boot still resting atop of Mira’s head. “I can tell when you’re talking to him. Right outside this forest, is he?” The man tossed another log onto their fire. They were outside Mira’s meager home, which was a small hut built around the top branches of a tree. There appeared to be no markers or paths leading to where they were, but that didn’t worry him. He knew Lathaar well, and he knew that he would do all he could to arrive before the sun fell below the mountains.
“He beat you,” Mira said. Her voice was slurred as if she were drugged. She lay just inches from the fire, her hands tied behind her back with a barbed piece of metal. The man laughed, the sneer on his face vile.
“Did he? He never even drew blood, dear girl, so I’d hardly call that a loss.”
He tapped his fingers against the sides of her face, pointedly reminding her of the tongue trap he had placed within her mouth. It was made of two pieces of metal. One lay horizontal, and was split in the middle so that her tongue could be pulled through. Its interior was lined with sharp teeth. The ends of the piece were two sharp spikes that dug into the sides of her cheeks. A second strip of metal wrapped around the first, the lower end designed to shred her tongue’s sensitive underbelly while simultaneously digging into the bottom of her mouth. The other end
