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?”
