Free The Shadows of Grace by David Dalglish Page B

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