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.
