“I’d prefer an honest answer, not the expected one.”
Lathaar pressed his face into his palms and rubbed. He looked so exhausted…
“Ever since Mira died, I’ve found myself doubting. Where is Ashhur’s strength? Where is the god I have put so much faith in? Our order is destroyed, with only you and me remaining. Everywhere his priests have been butchered. Hundreds of thousands have died in the past few years alone. So much death. So much loss. How do I trust Ashhur to protect me in the face of such tragedy?”
He fell silent and waited for his answer.
“I don’t know,” Jerico said at last. “Do we judge him by this world’s failings? Is Ashhur wrong to ask us to forgive? Is he wrong when he asks us to help others? I know he’s not, for a world where kindness and mercy are seen as weakness and folly…that is a world I don’t want to live in. So I fight for the one I know. I fight for the one I love. We know little of the past and nothing of the future. In this bleak darkness, we must be a light even when others would fade. Don’t blame yourself for doubting, Lathaar. Your question is honest, intelligent, and true. I wish I could give you a better answer.”
Lathaar leaned closer toward the fire and stared at the burning embers.
“Yours will do for now,” he said.
T arlak scanned the distant walls of Mordeina with eyes magically enhanced by a spell. When Ahaesarus spoke beside him, the disorientation made him stumble, and with a quick jerk of his hand, he ended the spell.
“You will see nothing on the walls to prove your plan brilliant or folly,” the angel said, offering the wizard a piece of bread. “But I think a warm bit of food will do you wonders.”
Tarlak accepted it with a smile.
“Thousands of men about the camp, yet you come to me. Should I be flattered?”
“If it would make you feel better, then yes.”
Both laughed.
“You seem remarkably human, once you get used to the wings and the fact that your arms are as big as tree trunks.”
Ahaesarus smiled. “We were men, Tarlak. Being here on Dezrel…it brings back many memories, not all of them good, but most. I’m reminded of my sins as much as my triumphs. Truth be told, I miss the Golden Eternity. This world is cold and painful.”
“I can imagine.” Tarlak took a bite. “I bet the food is worse down here, too.”
The angel tilted his head a moment, then nodded. “You’re right. It is. Perhaps I think too much, and merely miss eating well.”
Tarlak chuckled. “Good to know I’ll still get to eat after I fall off this mortal coil. Wine, too? I mean, what’s the point of eternity if I can’t get tipsy every now and then?”
“Is this the closest you come to discussing theology, Tarlak?” the angel asked.
“Probably.”
He broke the bread in half and shared it with Ahaesarus. As they ate, Tarlak stared once more to the north, remembering the walls he’d seen, the many torches and guards.
“It doesn’t look good,” he said. “Starting to think I’ll be seeing my sister by tomorrow’s end.”
Ahaesarus put a hand on Tarlak’s shoulder.
“I hope you do not mourn for her still. She is much beloved, and many she touched were there to greet her upon her arrival.”
Tarlak’s cheek quivered, and he no longer brought the bread to his lips, his appetite gone.
“You met her?” he asked.
“I did. She’s beautiful, Tarlak, the kindness within her shining bright in a way your earthen eyes cannot see, nor understand until you’ve been there.”
“If you die before me, I want you to tell her something. You owe me that. I want you to tell her how much I miss her, and that I can’t wait to see her. And I want a hug when I get there, damn it, and I…”
“Enough,” Ahaesarus said, gently shaking him. “You’ll tell her yourself, dear friend. A day from now, a year, or twenty, it matters not. You’ll tell her.”
Tarlak forced himself to smile.
“It might not matter, but between you and me, I’d still prefer it to be twenty years from now rather than a day.”
“G iven how many of my own men are risking their lives, it seems inappropriate I be left out of your planning,” Bram said to Antonil as they marched through their ranks. They offered shallow compliments as they passed, hoping to use their presence to keep morale high before the coming battle.
“I gathered with my friends, nothing more,” said Antonil. “Our plans on the ground have not changed.”
“Then you let your friends rule through you, instead of you ruling them.”
They complimented several men still sparring despite the darkness, then continued on.
“I would be a fool to not heed their advice,” Antonil said. “And though I command the men, the angels are no subjects of mine.”
“Then whose are they? What lord do they swear to?”
“Ashhur, I guess.”
Bram saluted a few times, then lowered his voice as he spoke.
“So in service to Ashhur, they are in service to no one but themselves. What if my soldiers decide that is the lord they would prefer? The priests already wield great influence. Karak’s paladins held sway over our kings for over a century. My father was the first to defy them, and it nearly cost him his life.”
“What are you saying, Bram?”
Bram remained silent for a moment, realizing he was letting his emotions get the best of him. He smiled and chatted with a random soldier, then continued.
“You’ve promised my nation independence, and I trust you to keep it. But what of your son, or your son’s sons? With angels in the sky and priests guiding your decisions, how long until it is Ashhur who rules the land, not a king? Those who claim to speak for him will become rulers in all but name.”
“Ahaesarus has no desire to rule, nor the priests.”
“How do you know?” asked Bram. “The angels have been here but a short time. How many texts of Ashhur talk of a new kingdom created on the land of Dezrel? I will not have my home conquered in a holy war.”
“That won’t happen!”
“Then swear to me,” said Bram. “Swear that for a hundred years, no angel enters my land. Give me your word now, and should we both survive the morrow, let it be entered into writing and declared to an entire court of witnesses.”
“How can I swear for angels that I do not rule?”
“Then swear I may defend myself, and you will recognize my right to rule. I will not become a pawn of a theocracy.”
They reached the edge of the camp, and Antonil kept his back to his soldiers as he frowned.
“You bring a foul temperament to what should have been a peaceful night,” he said.
Bram grabbed his arm and forced him to turn and face him.
“I do what I must for my kingdom,” he said. “What if I die, but you survive? I must hope your honor is great enough to carry through your promise and protect my wife. And what if you die? You have no heir, and the one chosen will most likely bear white wings. Must I beg to them in hopes they honor your promise made to me? No chances. No risks. I do this for my home, my family, my soldiers, my nation. That is the role of a king, Antonil. You are too trusting to put your back to your friends and your life in their hands. You will find a knife there one day, carved with jewels and bearing the symbol of the mountain.”
“Enough!” Antonil said. “You have my word, still as true as when I first gave it to you. Now leave me be. I’ve heard enough insults to my name this night. Do you think I am a fool? Do you think I don’t understand the great dangers to everything I hold dear? I will die a glorious king, or as the greatest failure to rule in the history of our nations. Now either unhand my shoulder or draw your sword.”
They exchanged cold stares, neither moving, neither blinking.
“I’d always thought we could be close allies,” Bram said as he pulled back his hand.
“We still could be.”
Bram shook his head.
