“Tarlak,” Dieredon said. His voice chilled the room. The smile left Tarlak’s face. Aurelia stood at the door. There were tears in her eyes.
“Karak’s forces took the city,” Dieredon said. “Their numbers were greater than we could withstand. Haern died saving my life. I’m so sorry.”
For a moment, Tarlak only stared. His mouth dropped open.
“No,” he said. He felt his hands shaking, and he couldn’t stop them. “No. He can’t. He’s the last. Brug, Delysia, now…but now…”
He stumbled back to the bed and buried his face in his hands. Aurelia was there, her arms around him, her own wet face pressed against his neck.
“It’ll be all right,” she whispered as she held him. “We’re here for you. We’re here.”
Tarlak tried to get it together. He tried to remember his friends, his newcomers, Harruq and Aurelia and the paladins. He tried to pretend the Eschaton mercenaries weren’t dead and gone. He tried to stop his tears.
He failed.
“H ow is he?” Dieredon asked once Aurelia stepped out.
“As well as could be expected,” Aurelia said, tucking strands of her hair behind an ear. She blushed a little, realizing how terrible she must look with her eyes puffy from her own tears. At her blush, Dieredon gently wiped below her eyes with his thumb and smiled.
“I need to tell Harruq,” she said. “I don’t know how he’ll take it. They spent so much time training. Haern was always hard on Harruq, but only because he expected so much out of him. Seemed a little unnecessary at times, though. But those were happier days.”
“It seems all the times of happiness are long lost to the past,” Dieredon said.
“There is still happiness in each other,” she said, accepting his embrace.
“He still loves you, and treats you well?” Dieredon asked.
“As best a half-orc can.”
“Better than an elf?”
Aurelia elbowed him hard in the chest.
“Keep comments like that to yourself. He doesn’t know about all that.”
Dieredon chuckled.
“Secrets between husband and wife? As if your marriage wasn’t shameful enough.”
“Nothing shameful,” she said. “You’ve thrashed him with that bow of yours. If Harruq thought he had to compete with you in anything else, especially that, he’d never have enough confidence to make it through the day.”
“So does he compete?”
She elbowed him a second time, then pulled him close so their heads could touch.
“I missed you,” she said, the momentary playfulness unable to last with the grief lurking behind the door to Tarlak’s room. Her chest felt hollow and numb. Too much grief, even for her, who had lived through the exodus of her entire race from fire and swords.
“I have much to do,” Dieredon said, gently pushing her away. “I need to talk with this new king here, as well as Antonil, so they know that no help remains for them from the west. I must also make haste for Quellassar. If Neyvar Sinistel won’t give me the Ekreissar to fly against Karak’s forces now, nothing will ever convince him to.”
“Will it be enough?” Aurelia asked.
Dieredon kissed her forehead.
“Pray to Celestia it is,” he told her. “Because without her help…No, I don’t think it will be enough.”
He left for an audience with the two kings. Aurelia leaned on the wall opposite Tarlak’s door, her arms crossed. She chewed her lip as she thought of what to do. Harruq was outside the castle with Qurrah. She wondered if he’d seen Dieredon’s approach, as well as how he would react. Poor Haern. He’d always been so kind to her, treated her like a beautiful princess. Dead and gone, and by Dieredon’s own arrow. That part Aurelia had insisted Dieredon leave out of his tale to the wizard. The last thing they needed was Tarlak blaming yet another friend for the death of a loved one.
Time slipped away. She almost returned to their bedroom, but something kept her still. She wanted to be there in case Tarlak needed her. Her feet ached, so she sat, her arms across her knees, her forehead resting against her wrists. Eyes closed, she quietly cried.
“Aurelia?”
She looked up.
“Oh, Harruq,” she said. She didn’t bother faking a smile.
“What’s wrong?” he asked, sitting down beside her.
“It’s Haern,” she said.
That was enough. He wrapped his arm around her and leaned her weight against him. Her hair spread across his chest. The weight of his body comforted her, along with the gentle touch of his fingers rubbing her temples. She kept her eyes closed as they talked.
“Who was it?” he asked after awhile.
“A priest of Karak. A powerful one, like Velixar.”
“Did he suffer?”
Aurelia shook her head.
“No.”
The half-orc sighed.
“At least we have that. I hope he killed a hundred of them before he died. No, a thousand. No one could beat him, not when he was lost in the dance, the cloak dance…”
He ran out of words. She took one of his hands and kissed his palm.
“Why do we do this?” he asked.
“What do you mean?”
“This. All of this. What do we have left? What are all of us dying for? This world is Karak’s. We’re the last tiny sliver of hope. Sometimes I just wish it was over, Aurry. I wish I could put away my swords and run away, just you and me.”
“Live in hiding while the world burns?”
She heard him chuckle.
“You can’t blame me. We’ve bled for this. We’ve given them everything. But Velixar’s still out there, lurking, plotting. He’s the last remnant of my old self, and until he’s dead and gone I’ll keep fighting. I just…I love you, Aurry. I’m terrified it’ll be me next. That you’ll be somewhere and Dieredon or Tarlak will show up to tell you…”
Aurelia kissed him to shut him up.
“Stop it,” she whispered when their lips parted. “Just stop it. We do as we must. We helped create this war, and we’ll help end it. And so you know, I’ll kill you if you die without me somewhere.”
He kissed her again.
“Sure thing,” he said. He nodded toward Tarlak’s door. “He going to make it?”
The elf frowned. “I hope so.”
“No sense sitting here. Floor’s freezing my butt numb. Let’s go.”
Just before they left, Aurelia knocked on the door, then slowly pushed it open. When she poked her head inside, Tarlak lay on the bed, his arms behind his head, his eyes absently staring at the ceiling.
“Get some rest,” she said. “If you need anything…”
He didn’t respond, didn’t look at her. She left.
D espite his exhaustion, Harruq slept little that night. Memories of better times haunted his tired mind, and horrible nightmares plagued his sleep. Before the sun had even crept above the horizon he was up and about. He dressed in full armor, anticipating yet another long day of practice. He made his way to the courtyard, stopping only to grab a chunk of bread and wedge of butter from the mess hall. Once he finished eating, he swung his swords in lazy arcs.
After ten minutes, a commotion alerted him to the arrival of several men, all of them leading horses from the stable. One of them was King Theo, the others his private guard. Upon seeing Harruq, the king said a few words
