T essanna watched the campfires flare to life across the plains with idle curiosity. The war demons were well practiced at their nightly duties, but this night they seemed tense. She knew they were approaching the lands guarded by Felwood Castle, but was it possible the creatures of battle felt nerves and doubt like everyone else?
She huddled closer to her own fire. She felt dirty and pathetic. What had happened to the goddess? At one time she had walked through the crowd of warriors proudly, almost daring them to lay a finger upon her pale skin. Now she quivered when they glared. She’d been afraid before, but not like this. She’d felt pain before, but not like this. She wasn’t master over her fear. Pain came and went whether she allowed it or not. Through it all haunted the specter of Velixar, watching with his red eyes, touching her with his dead flesh.
It’d been six days since she’d last eaten. The simple wooden band, the one she’d worn on her finger nearly all her life, she’d cast aside during their march. Its magic had allowed her to eat only rarely, and very little when she did. She didn’t want that anymore. Hunger stabbed her stomach, but she welcomed it. When she looked at herself, she saw a skeleton barely hanging on to life. Her hair was matted and unevenly cut. Not even when given the chance did she wash herself. She wasn’t killing herself, but it was close. She was killing her beauty.
But it hadn’t been enough.
“Your eyes,” Velixar said as he sat beside her. He kept his arms crossed, his hands thankfully not touching her. “I’ve seen that look in dead men and women. You are still alive. What haunts you?”
“Rest your silver tongue,” Tessanna said. “You know I don’t believe a word it says.”
“I never lie,” Karak’s prophet insisted.
“Your greatest lie of all.”
He chuckled, anger lurking beneath the sound. He touched her hair. She didn’t bother to hide her shiver.
“We are not far from Felwood,” he said, gently fondling the dirt-streaked strands that fell all the way to her waist. “There will be servant girls, baths, clothes fit for royalty. This rough travel does not suit you.”
“I am not your princess,” Tessanna snapped. “I’m not your whore, either. I’m nothing. Even the weakest of men could gut me with a sword.”
“I don’t want you for your power,” Velixar said. “A power that may or may not return.”
“Then what is it you want?” she asked. She hunched her shoulders and looked away, unwilling to see that look in his eyes. The look she’d seen in so many men, though not always as frightening or dangerous.
“I want to break you,” he whispered into her ear. “You were Qurrah’s, but he never deserved you. You are the greatest woman of our time. You belong to the greatest man of all times.”
“You are bones and rot,” Tessanna said, but her voice lacked conviction.
His fingertips brushed her neck, then slid around her like a serpent. She was thin, so thin…
“I could snap your neck right here,” Velixar said. Stars swam before her eyes. “I could strangle every bit of life from you, then raise you to be my queen. Qurrah is out there, my greatest failure. I will return him to Karak’s fold. I will show him his error. When I do that, my love, I want you there. I want you to watch as he falls to his knees and begs me for forgiveness. I want you to see his tears and hear his wretched brokenness.”
His grip relaxed, and she gasped in air.
He’s mad, she thought. Madder than me.
“Will you want him, then?” Velixar asked. “When he bows before me like a beaten dog, will you still view him as your husband and master?”
Words of a spell came to her, so simple, so common to her former life. She grabbed his wrist and whispered them. Nothing happened. No fire. No magic. Velixar heard them and sneered, his ever-changing face a fluid mask of hatred and lust.
“You’re abandoned,” he told her. “My god is a god of order, and you know what goes hand in hand with order? Control. I have years, Tessanna. I know you are starving yourself. Keep that up, and I will have my undead force rotted flesh down your gullet. I know you shred your hair and dirty your skin. Come the castle, you will clean yourself, or I will give you to the men of Felwood, all of them. Perhaps even the demons will wish to partake. When Qurrah sees you, I want him to see everything he lost in forsaking me.”
“He never lost me,” she whispered.
Velixar flung her to the cold earth.
“Open your eyes,” he told her. “You two are done. Should he beg for forgiveness and rejoin our faith in Karak, his first task will be to execute you. If he refuses Karak, then you will kill him for his blasphemy. There is no hope, not for either of you.”
Tessanna heard his words and could hold back no longer. She sobbed, feeling the weight of the passing months crashing down upon her. She begged for Qurrah’s arms, to hold Teralyn and feel life, to be a mother and a wife, to be powerful and beautiful. Nothing. She was nothing.
“Sleep alone tonight,” he told her. “I have prayers to make.”
He left her.
T essanna slept deep into the morning. The war demons were already preparing to march out when her eyelids flicked open. Groaning, she touched her throat and wondered how bad the bruise might be. Velixar’s words returned to her, and fearing his anger, she searched for something to eat. A couple of demons were rolling up their tent nearby, and she approached.
“Food,” she said, as if she were a child. The demons ignored her.
“Please,” she said. “I’m hungry.”
One of them reached into his pocket, pulled out a small piece of bread, and threw it to her.
“Enjoy it, whore.”
She caught the food and let the words roll off her.
“Thank you,” she said as she nibbled on one end, her nose crinkling at the smell. Her hunger was enough to overcome its foulness.
She wandered north, following the march of the lead forces. Her bare feet ached, and often they bled. As she walked she remembered that initial flight with Qurrah, just the two of them fleeing west from the Eschaton. She’d been naked then, nothing to cover her feet, but despite that she’d felt comforted by Qurrah’s presence. Only Aullienna’s death had tormented her, but no wrappings could heal that. Only time, and only barely. She wondered if Aurelia still felt the pain as acutely as she did. Perhaps. Perhaps not. Tessanna felt herself an open wound. She was blood, bad blood. Maybe Velixar was Dezrel’s leech, drawing her in, breaking her down, cleansing the world of her presence…
One by one the demons took to the air, until only the undead remained far ahead, having marched through much of the night to ensure they didn’t fall behind the aerial troops. With the plains now clear, Tessanna saw Velixar approaching from ahead, a sickly horse trotting beside him, its flesh pale and gray with faded black spots across its back.
“I found a farm not far from here,” Velixar said once he was close enough for her to hear. “This foal was let loose.”
“A foal?” Tessanna asked. She thought of Seletha, the magical steed she had ridden across the land. A fiery, majestic horse from the netherworlds. Yet she was to ride this…foal?
“Do not worry about it bearing your weight,” said Velixar. “Nor will it tire or disobey.”
Tessanna noticed how still the creature stood, lacking the in and out of its sides as it drew breath.
“You killed it and brought it back,” she said.
“Of course. It is more dependable this way.”
Tessanna mounted the beast, doing her best to hold in her grimace. Riding beside Velixar atop a dead foal? What else could be more appropriate?
“How will you keep up?” she asked.
“You will ride alone,” he told her. “I will catch up, but for now I have my prayers and my legs. The demons are tired of waiting for us. It was either this or ride in one of their slings. I prefer my feet on the ground. Sleep if you can, for we ride all day and all night until we reach Felwood Castle. And don’t think of hiding from me. The moment you leap off, I will know. Stay seated unless you’d prefer to die crushed underneath hoofs.”
“I’ll need to eat, pass water,” she said.
“Tell the foal,” he said, sending her on her way. “I’ll hear.”
And so she rode, and for the first time in what seemed like ages, she was alone. The northern plains passed by as the foal trudged along, silent as the grave it no doubt deserved to be within. She rode, and rode, stopping only
