When did they stop coming? When did the rituals of old lose their power?”
“The world is losing faith in rituals and gods,” Krieger said. “Even those who follow our ways are losing perspective. It’s been so long since Karak and Ashhur walked this world that doubt has grown like a plague.”
The bowing man nodded in agreement.
“I do not blame the commoner,” he said. “We are responsible for shaping their minds. They will believe what we tell them, if our faith is strong. Truth comes from faith.”
“I seek aid,” Krieger told him.
“For your wounds?”
“I am no weakling needing aid of a healer,” the dark paladin said, harsher than he meant.
“Neither am I,” the other man said. He stood, kissed his fingers, and then pressed it against the nose of the lion. “Watch your anger. It gives you strength in battle, but you do not war against me.”
“Forgive me, I would never insult the hand of Karak,” Krieger said.
“That is a name I have not known in many years,” the man said, turning to face the dark paladin. His eyes glowed a fierce red, and his face continually shifted its features so that every time Krieger blinked he would be unsure of what had changed and what had remained. Everything but the eyes. They never changed.
“You are the hilt,” Krieger said. “The hand of Karak and his eternal prophet. What name do you prefer?”
“Velixar,” the man with the ever-changing face said. “Velixar will suffice.”
“Forgive me then, Velixar, but I do not need healing. I will bear the scars of my failure willingly.”
“You’ve faced Lathaar many times. I expected him dead by now.”
“The girl interfered,” Krieger said. “That is why I come.”
Velixar pulled his hood tighter about his face as the sun continued its rise.
“The daughters of the whore are well known to me. If you are asking me to kill her, then I must decline.”
“She aids Ashhur,” the dark paladin insisted. “The balance is tilting to our favor, and she has already stopped it once by slaying Darakken.”
“Darakken was a reckless whelp,” Velixar said, his deep voice rumbling in anger. “He deserved his fate. And you did not listen carefully to me, Krieger.”
“You said the daughters were…daughters? There’s more than Mira?”
The man in black laughed, a wicked gleam in his burning eyes.
“There is another by the name of Tessanna. That is why we let them be. The balance is not just threatened, my dear friend, it is spiraling out of control. The two still have their parts to play. Mira and Tessanna have intertwining destinies, and I will not act until I know how they will end.”
Krieger kneeled and crossed his arms over his chest. “Very well. What would you ask of me?”
“Stay at my side. There are two I wish for you to meet.”
“Who are they,” Krieger asked, standing out of his kneel.
“The other daughter,” Velixar said. “And my apprentice. He is the one, Krieger. With his aid, we can open the portal and free Karak from his prison.”
“I would be honored,” the dark paladin said. The man in black laughed, his deep voice an ugly contrast to the beauty of the morning. Amid the stones and the pile of ash he seemed as if he had always belonged.
Q urrah had slept little since obtaining the journal. Tessanna remained quiet, trusting her lover to inform her of what she needed to know. She wondered absently if he would still possess the ability to heal her mind. Perhaps he would, perhaps he wouldn’t. It didn’t bother her much, but she knew it would upset him, and she preferred him happy.
They prepared a fire, not at all worried that Jerico or the priests might be giving chase. Other than Tessanna’s wound, which had healed into a faded scar, they had thoroughly dominated the followers of Ashhur. Besides, Qurrah’s desire to read overwhelmed caution and stealth.
“Unbelievable,” Qurrah said at last. He placed the journal upon his lap. “Just…unbelievable.”
“Is it what you wanted,” Tessanna dared ask him. He nodded, not understanding her question.
“Velixar lied to me. He claimed that Karak and Ashhur came here to make a better world than their own. He never mentioned they were fleeing like cowards.”
Tessanna snuggled against his side, locking her arms around his side and resting her chin on his shoulder.
“Tell me,” she said.
“There were more brothers,” Qurrah said, staring at the cover as he tried to process all that he had learned from Velixar’s own quill. “Karak was the god of Order, Ashhur of Justice. Then there was Thulos, god of War. They were to keep him from overstepping his bounds. They failed miserably. Thulos slaughtered the other gods and seized control of their world. Karak and Ashhur fled to Dezrel, hoping in its calm they could atone for their failure.”
“Instead they warred against each other,” Tessanna said, closing her eyes and sighing as she cuddled her lover. “It seems a bit of their brother’s blood got into theirs.”
“Evidently Thulos’s war demons began going to other worlds, conquering all who would oppose. Even now they conquer, but Velixar seemed sure they could not make it here.”
“Why not?” the girl asked.
“Something Celestia did after the other two gods arrived. I still have much to read, but he refers to it as the great secret. ‘Only in absolute emptiness is there order’ is the mantra he recites, but that is what he calls the truth. The great secret is the quest. I don’t know what it is, for Velixar does not say. He claims Karak learned of it a few years after his imprisonment by Celestia.”
“Karak’s desire has always been to be freed,” Tessanna said. “You know that as well as I do.”
“But why keep the secret hidden?” Qurrah asked. The girl shrugged.
“Perhaps he’s found a way, one he doesn’t want put at risk?”
The half-orc scratched his chin.
“It would make sense,” he said. “I’ve recently found where Velixar talks about his apprentices. They aid him in the quest, though he does not say how, only that Celestia must be weakened. His apprentices needed to possess enormous power to succeed.”
“You were one of them,” Tessanna told him. “One of his apprentices. Shame he is dead now. He could explain what it was he wished you to do.”
“Yes,” Qurrah said, feeling a darkening in his heart. He glanced at his lover. “Tessanna,” he said. “I’m not so sure he remains dead.”
She kissed his lips. “He’s lived a long time. I wouldn’t be surprised if he still does. You’ll introduce me to him, won’t you?”
Qurrah laughed. “If we do somehow meet him, yes, I would introduce you as my lover and as my wife. Will that suffice?”
The girl batted her eyes and shied away from him.
“I’ve always wanted to meet him,” she said. “He always sounded like someone I would like.”
“If he hadn’t died, I never would have met you,” Qurrah said.
“Then he died at the perfect time. Maybe he’ll live again at the same perfect moment.”
The idea seemed so simple it horrified him. Tessanna saw this and only laughed and crawled into a ball beside the fire to sleep. The half-orc watched her, realizing just how tired he was. The secrets of the journal could wait, he decided. He lay in the grass beside her, his arms curled about her waist. Together they slept as the sun rose higher into the sky.
Q urrah recognized the feeling, a cold sensation of being seen and judged. His dreams crumbled and broke. He startled awake, his heart beating at a furious pace. Tessanna sat beside him, tracing images in the grass by charring it with her fingers, which sparkled crimson with magic. The sun was high in the sky. He shook his head, clearing the sleep from his mind while his lover began to talk.
“He’s almost here,” she said, her eyes not leaving her carving. “It can’t be anyone else. The man without a face.”
“I will not cower before him,” Qurrah said, clutching the journal to his chest.
Tessanna glanced up at him, her face calm. “I know. Prove how strong you are.”
The half-orc shifted the journal to one arm and prepared his whip in the other. As he stood there, staring
