A Sliver of Redemption by David Dalglish

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 to urinate or eat the occasional berries growing low on rare clusters of bushes. Without a saddle or stirrups, she had to clutch her hands about the dead foal’s neck. The smell made her sick. The touch made it worse. Her fingers ached, and her back screamed in