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hands, letting the fire lash out, burning Tarlak's robes and searing the flesh of his arms and legs.
    Tarlak stumbled away, summoning up protections against fire. The next wave that washed over him produced only smoke. Tarlak glared through watery eyes, doing his best to ignore the horrible pain of his blackened flesh. Qurrah's whip lashed the ground, uncurled from its hiding place about his arm.
    “Just like in Veldaren,” Qurrah hissed as he struck. Tarlak's spell died in mid-cast, the delicate hand motions required to cast it disrupted by the cord wrapped around his wrist. Desperate, he snapped his fingers. A massive burst of light shone in all directions, as if his fingers were the epicenter of a thousand suns plunged together. Qurrah back, his mind aching from the horrific brightness.
    “Just like the King's Forest,” Tarlak said, unleashing a blast of pure, raw magical energy. It struck like a beam, hitting Qurrah's outstretched palms as he channeled a shield. He felt his willpower cracking. Tarlak was riding a frenzy of hurt and anger, the emotions giving him strength Qurrah could not hope to match, not in his weakened state. Karak's strength had left him, but if he reached deep within, where that dark well waited...
    “No,” Qurrah said. He released his shield and let the spell hit. He felt his arms and legs stretch back, the bones strained to the edge of their breaking points. A hundred fists pummeled his chest. He flew back, rolling across the ground like a limp doll. Coughing blood, he sagged to his knees and glared at Tarlak, who stood with magic surrounding his hands.
    “I won't do this,” Qurrah said between coughs. “If you want Delysia back, then kill me. Watch her spring unharmed from my corpse, all your hurt and anguish made a forgotten memory. But I will not be pushed back into the monster you need me to be. As I am now, Tarlak, you will have to kill me. Not as I was.”
    Qurrah sat on his knees and waited for the deathblow. And waited.
    “Tarlak,” said Aurelia, stepping out from the burning trees, the fire parting for her like subjects before their queen. “Must it be this way?”
    Tarlak glanced between the two, all the while channeling the power for his spell. The fire crackled in his ears, and he knew he could bathe Qurrah in it, burn his flesh and bones down to ash—ash he could scatter with another spell so only the wind knew where his remnants came to rest. He wanted to. So badly, he wanted to.
    But Qurrah had invoked his sister's name.
    “What would Delysia say to this?” Aurelia said, walking over and gently pushing his hands down to his sides. The fire faded. “You know this is wrong.”
    “How can it be wrong?” Tarlak asked, the tears returning. “He slit her throat. My sister. My little baby sister, he...”
    Like Qurrah, he fell to his knees, his battle rush fading, overcome by sorrow and grief he had held out against for so long while they fled and fought the demon army. Now he had nothing. Nothing.
    “What has he left me?” Tarlak asked the elf, who kissed away his tears and tried to smile.
    “You have me,” she said. “You have my husband. Your friends, the paladins. All around, men revere you as great and wise and humorous. Will you not fight for that? Will you sacrifice it all?”
    “I can,” he said. “I will. But I'm so numb. So tired of being numb.”
    He let her hold him. Tears fell, and he was numb no longer. Qurrah turned away, feeling unworthy of such grief. He doubted he had Tarlak's forgiveness, but the hatred was gone. He let them be, and, tired and cold, he returned to the many fires of the army's camp.

4

    H er song floated along moonlight waves, drifting in and out of covering clouds. The entire city was one of ghosts, lifeless beings in armor without joy or happiness, only dire, ordered control. Her song punctured the quiet, lacking words but not a story. It rose high, and then lilted, a strong hum that drifted between whisper and heart-wrenching