Chapter 31: Hope

How could it have possibly gone so wrong?

They were back at the Drunken Cat, licking their wounds. Yesterday, everything had seemed like an open-and-shut case. Retrieve their targets from prison, execute them, and move on to the next mission. Easy as pie.

Themur swore to himself. How could the gods have messed this up so egregiously?

He knew their targets hadn’t just walked into the same tavern where they were resting by chance. It was just too much of a coincidence to even contemplate. But why? Why would the gods have influenced them to drop into the laps of those hunting them, only to allow them to later escape in such spectacular fashion? How could the gods of the world, in their omniscience, possibly not have foreseen that development?

Had it been his own Knights, and not the gods, who had made such a grievous mistake, he’d have chewed them up for their incompetence. But, of course, these were indeed the gods of the world, and saying such things about them would be blasphemy.

In fact, even thinking them was. He half expected Mardocar to raise his voice inside his mind to threaten his soul with the abyss, but beyond giving Themur a strong sense of nausea, the god was uncharacteristically silent this evening.

There was another reason to worry, too, beyond the gods. He glanced at Dina and Relaila, sitting in front of him across the small wooden table. The Dark Flame of Patera and the Blood Sister sworn to Remura were so closely working with him, listening to his every word and watching his every move. If they even so much as suspected he was questioning the gods, they would not hesitate for a second to kill him. His best defense was to keep up his stoic and devoted act around them.

He needed another drink.

After picking up his large—and sadly empty—wooden tankard, he went over to the serving desk and barked at the sweaty tavern keeper for a refill.

As he stood there waiting for his drink, he sensed a shadow emerge behind him, blocking the light from the lanterns illuminating the room. Turning around, he came face to face with a group of four men, all too drunk for their own good.

Here we go again.

“Take your rotting cadaver somewhere else, Knight,” the first one said, spitting on the stained floor in front of Themur’s feet.

One of the other troublemakers behind him offered a slurred agreement. “Yeah. Go find someone else’s corpses to steal. We don’t want you here.”

How little they knew. The previous group of thugs he had encountered thought the Knights Eternal stole babies to raise and extend their ranks. This one thought they reanimated the dead instead.

Then again, it came with the territory. Being part of a secretive order of Mardocar obviously meant that the general population wasn’t privy to the details, and in the absence of knowledge, people tended to make up stories. And usually, those rumors were worse than reality.

Though, in his case, he was no longer so sure that was true.

Themur put his iron-clad hand on the hilt of his black sword, sending a clear signal to the men about what would happen if they didn’t back down—not that he expected they would.

He was right.

The leader of the group, a tall man with thick arms, covered in crude tattoos, instead took a step forward. Holding up a wooden fork just below Themur’s helmeted chin, he bravely demonstrated his inebriated defiance of the Knight Eternal.

Themur was just about to raise his sword to cut him down when a soft voice interrupted their altercation.

“Please,” the new arrival said. “Leave the Knight alone.”

He shifted his gaze and saw a small woman, probably in her early thirties, standing behind the men. By now, they had turned to face her. She was wearing a gray cloak, with strands of black hair sticking out from beneath her hood.

“He’s your boyfriend, or what?” one of them muttered in disgust. “Corpse lover.”

The Knight Eternal felt anger rise in him at their words, but then the woman locked eyes with him. For a brief moment, he felt as if struck by a bolt of lightning. There was understanding and passion there, something he had never expected to encounter for himself in a place like this. Unlike most everyone else in the room, she didn’t seem to despise him. But he also saw a strong resolve there. She would not allow this confrontation to turn violent. Not by the drunken farmers, and not by him.

Slowly, he relaxed and let go of his weapon. Muttering something incomprehensible, the men turned and left for their table, leaving only Themur and the woman alone at the counter. The tavern keeper had apparently found something of utmost importance to do in the back room once the group of drunks showed up.

“Thank you,” he said to her, genuinely meaning it, as he tried to swallow the nausea that had suddenly grown much stronger. “Can I offer you a drink?”

“I appreciate the offer, but no, thank you,” she replied. “I mean no offense.”

Themur waved his hand in the air, as if brushing away the very suggestion that he’d resent her rejection. “None taken.”

“I was sent to talk to you. I’m Alena, by the way. Alena Taro.”

That made little sense to him. Why would the gods or the Emperor send someone all the way out here just to talk to him, when Mardocar was right there in his thoughts and could speak anytime he wanted to?

“Who sent you?”

She smiled. “The Word.”

Themur caught his breath. This conversation was not going in the direction he had thought it would. Though not familiar with who or what it was, he had heard the name whispered before, once or twice during his long service. But beyond hints of its secret divinity, he knew nothing about it.

“Alright, then. What does it want with me?”

“To be honest, I don’t know,” she admitted. “I was only told you needed someone to talk to tonight. Someone who knew Him. The rest, I trust He will take care of.”

“Well,” Themur barked, demanding an answer. “Go on. What does he want with me?”

Alena stood in silence for a moment, as if listening to a voice only she could hear.

“He has a message for you. He says your bargain with Mardocar is a deception. The so-called god does not own your soul, and never has. Your contract is void.”

Feeling his knees buckle under his weight, Themur gasped for air. Of all the things she could have said, this was the furthest from what he had expected. It was also the most profound. If there was even a grain of truth to what the woman had told him, it changed everything.

He could see that she had noticed his reaction, but she neither took advantage of his momentary vulnerability nor mentioned it.

“Kill the blasphemer.”

The voice of Mardocar rang loud and raw in his mind, screaming the god’s rage at the small woman in front of him.

Instinctively, Themur grabbed his sword and held it up to her throat, ready to slice it open. Alena’s eyes opened wide as she gulped and tried to take a step backward.

“Are you not afraid, woman?” he growled, his voice burning with Mardocar’s anger and righteous fury. “To come here and say such things to me in the presence of a god?”

Her breath came quick and shallow as she answered.

“I’m terrified,” she admitted, her voice trembling slightly. Then, she seemed to find a sliver of confidence again. “I have a husband and two young children at home. Believe me, I do not want to be here.”

“Then why are you?” he demanded.

“Kill the woman,” Mardocar screamed, his words slicing through Themur’s thoughts like a hot knife through butter. Any other day, he would have obeyed instantly. Today, angry at his patron god’s failure to predict the debacle at the garrison prison, Themur ignored him—for now. He wanted to hear what the woman had to say first.

Despite the blade held against her throat, there was a faint smile on Alena’s face as she answered.

“Because He asked me to,” she said, as if that would explain everything.

Asked? Themur thought with contempt. Asked? What kind of euphemism was that? The gods of the world commanded men to do their bidding. They didn’t ask. What kind of god was this Word?

“Kill her now!”

Well, he thought, annoyed at Mardocar’s incessant nagging, if his god wanted her dead, he could kill her himself. Slowly, Themur lowered his sword. Besides, no matter the cost, he simply had to know what she had meant, even if he had to defy his patron in the process. But he wasn’t willing to give her the satisfaction of knowing how much he craved an answer.

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” he hissed at her scornfully. “I’ve sold my eternal soul to Mardocar. In return, he gives me health and a long life. It’s just that simple. It’s not a contract that can be broken.”

She flashed him a weak smile. “I know that’s what he’s told you, but it’s all a lie. Neither Mardocar nor any of the other so-called gods of the world have been given the authority to own the souls of man, not against their will. You can choose to give it to them, yes, but if you want it back again, there is nothing whatsoever they can do to stop you from reclaiming it. They know that very well—hence their deceptions.”

“They’ve already lost,” she continued. “Their only remaining power lies in what you give them. You could have walked away anytime you wanted, and he could have done nothing to stop you.”

“He would have struck me down,” Themur growled impatiently.

“He could not. The Word does not allow the fallen to kill.”

Filled with ridicule, the Knight Eternal laughed at her. She was clearly delusional.

“I’ve slaughtered thousands in the name of Mardocar,” he said, pointing out the flaw in her argument.

“Yes. You. A man. But your so-called gods can’t do it directly. They are only allowed to kill either by influencing the heart of man, as in your case, or by being given permission, like your Dark Flame does.”

She tilted her head to indicate Dina, still sitting at the corner table with Relaila, watching them intently.

“But they can’t force you to do anything, not unless you let them. Whatever demands they make of you, whatever atrocities they command you to commit, you can always refuse. What you do is always your choice, never theirs.”

At the back of his mind, Mardocar stirred up another wave of nausea, but thankfully, the god of the world said nothing. Themur found his silence intriguing.

There was a strange and unfamiliar ache in his heart now. It was painful, yet at the same time cleansing. Fear. Sorrow. Hope. Fear that she might be right. Sorrow that if she was, he had thrown away the last 160 years of his life for nothing. Hope both that she was wrong and that she was telling him the truth.

But how could he know for sure?

“Lies,” he wheezed between clenched teeth. But slowly, he began to wonder if the only lie told here tonight was his own denial.

“Where’s your proof?”

“Where is yours?” Alena countered. “I don’t know anyone on Taeron who has returned from the grave to tell what happened to their eternal soul. Do you? Just as I can’t prove Mardocar doesn’t get to claim it against your will, you can’t prove he does.”

For a moment, none of them said anything.

Then she asked the question that shook him to his bones.

“But think of this. Has any of Mardocar’s promises to you been true?”

Themur reflected on his years of service to the god of strength and genocide. There was Dina, arriving in Terynia six days after his god had prophesied she would arrive in five. There was Mardocar failing to heal Dame Karleen up there on the Cold Edge, as he had promised in his contract with her. Somehow, the god had apparently not known that she would die before the healing was completed.

But most importantly, there was Aila.

Themur had pledged his soul to Mardocar in the hope he would honor his promise to heal his wife, but once the contract was sealed, the god of genocide had still let her die.

“And the promises of this Word of yours are?”

“Always,” she said with a disarming smile.

Longing to hear more, yet at the same time fearing it, he spat on the floor, not wanting to show any weakness.

“And what is his promise, then?”

Themur felt his body relax as Alena breathed out a single word.

“Peace.”

Peace. He had thought she would say power or knowledge. Maybe even freedom. Peace was the last thing he had expected to be offered.

It was also the thing he yearned for most.

Did she know that? Had she said it because it was true, or because she knew it was what he wanted to hear?

“Then he’s not doing a very good job, I’m afraid. Look around you. There isn’t a single god out there who doesn’t demand blood.”

“You’re not wrong,” she said, nodding eagerly. “Well, you are. They’re not actually gods. But yeah, they do thrive on strife.”

She sighed. “But this is not how the Word meant for things to be.”

“Then why doesn’t he do anything about it?”

“Oh, you have no idea what He…” she began to explain, then paused. “But no, He can’t.”

“Because...?”

She laughed a little. “Do you have time for a history lesson?”

“Always,” he said darkly, his voice making it clear she should keep it brief.

“At the dawn of time, when man first walked the surface of Taeron, ages before the Old Ones, they were filled with fear,” she told him, gesturing with her arms as she explained.

“In a world where they stood powerless against forces of nature they could not understand, they had only simple stone tools and the magic from the Deepwell to rely on. Hail and lightning, earthquakes, and wild animals, they all possessed strengths that mankind didn’t have, let alone could comprehend.

“And so they asked evil spirits to come into this world, gifting it to them in exchange for dark magic, more powerful than anything man could ever wield on his own. Since the day they were invited here, this world has belonged to the fallen. Taeron is theirs. We gave it to them, of our own free will.”

Themur saw where this was going, but he said nothing. He had a lot to think about.

“Respecting our wishes, dark as they may be, the Word allows them to reign. For now. If He didn’t, He’d be just another tyrant.”

Looking to his left, he now saw Dina striding toward them across the busy tavern floor to refill her own tankard. Themur would have wanted to continue their talk, but he didn’t dare to in the presence of Patera’s servant.

“I know you,” the Dark Flame said, pointing to Alena with her cup. “I saw you in Deercall and in Realmshield.”

“Hello,” Alena greeted her, nodding in acknowledgment, and then offered her a truth that could be mistaken for a lie. “I’m a friend of Sir Themur’s. I was asked to keep an eye on you three.”

Themur held his breath, fearing Dina wouldn’t accept Alena’s explanation. But if it had bothered her, she didn’t show it.

Alena proceeded to leave, but before she could, Themur caught up with her just as she was about to open the tavern door and step out into the night beyond.

He still wanted to hear more. The Knight Eternal wasn’t sure if what the woman had told him was true, but given Mardocar’s vehement opposition to her, he was inclined to believe her words. And if her revelations were correct, the god of genocide had stolen both his wife and the past century and a half of his life.

Themur’s memories of Aila had always tainted the reverence he felt for his patron god. Now, the floodgates had opened, and for the first time since that fateful day when she died, he allowed himself to see Mardocar for who he truly was. That evening, worship was replaced by disgust.

“How certain are you?” he asked her. “About Mardocar not owning my soul? That I could have left his service any time I wanted? I could have been with my boys? With my grandchildren?”

She chuckled, a light laugh filled with layers of emotion. Seeing that he was beginning to take her words to heart, she seemed to relax a little more.

Alena smiled. “I’m sure. Any time you wanted.”

She paused for a second.

“Any time you want.”

Emotion welled up in him.

Aila. I could have taken care of our boys.

And Mardocar had stolen them from him as well.

But despite the anger and regret he felt, there was something else there too. Something far more powerful.

Hope.

Alena, or maybe the Word, had helped him begin to see through the deceptions of the gods of the world. But more than that, she had shown him the way forward, revealed the truth he had worked so hard not to see, and given him a chance to reclaim the life he thought he had lost.

My story isn’t over yet. There’s still time.

Mardocar stayed silent, as if he was not allowed to object.

Wishing Alena could see it, he smiled faintly beneath his dark helmet. For the first time in a century and a half, he felt an urge to remove it, but he knew he could not without scaring the poor woman in front of him. His scarred, pus-leaking, rotting face was not a sight to behold.

They talked for a few minutes more. Some of what she said he didn’t understand. Other things resonated with him, and he continued to query her, trying to learn as much as possible before she had to leave.

“Talk to the Word,” she told him as she placed her hand on the knob. “And listen to His whispers within your heart.”

With that, she walked out through the door, leaving the Knight Eternal with more questions than answers.

But these were not the bad kind of questions. These were questions whose answers might let him live again, if he could find them.

His rotting face could not stop smiling.

Author's Note

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