response. "Ohzi! That's not fair. Don't tempt him."
"If he wants to do what's right, he must fight this thing. You were correct about its value, but there's one point you overlooked. If we had thrown the qavra away, he would never have recovered. It would have always had a hold on him."
"But even so, it's not fair to do this to him now. I cannot--"
"No." Jaska stared at the qavra. "He's right. I must beat it. I can't let it haunt me forever."
Jaska sat up and reached out. Ohzikar didn't move. He waited as Jaska edged closer. Zyrella almost spoke, almost took the stone away, but Ohzikar warned her off with a stern look. He didn't set his mind against her like this often but when he did, he did so with an unshakable belief that he was doing the right thing.
Jaska reached out, his fingertips nearing the qavra. Zyrella's heart thumped hard. She feared he would give in. But Jaska's fingertips missed the qavra as he pushed Ohzikar's arm away. With his other hand, he grabbed Ohzikar by the collar and pulled him close. Ohzikar's eyes widened with surprise.
"Keep it with you, templar, so I'll always know where it is."
"I will. And know this, I'd kill you now if Zyrella didn't believe that something good will come out of you yet."
"Hers is a lost cause and I welcome any slaying that gives me what I deserve."
The two men stared at each other until Jaska backed away. Ohzikar went to his blankets. Jaska settled back on his pallet, his breathing deep and steady.
"I'm sorry Ohzikar threatened you."
A half-smile crept upon Jaska's lips. "We have reached a truce."
"I don't understand warriors. I never will."
"And I don't understand priestesses or their goddesses."
"Fair enough."
"What you've done . . . It's more than I deserve."
"The first time I saw you I knew there was something else deep within you, something hidden away. That is the true Jaska Bavadi."
"I would like to think so, but no. The true Jaska Bavadi is tainted. Nothing can change that. I am similar to what that other man might have been. That's all."
"It's something."
"It's worthless."
"Not to me or my goddess."
"Oh, I'm worth something to you, but only as a killing machine, but nothing more."
"You're wrong. I can't speak for the White Tigress, but you mean something to me . . . as a person."
He shrugged. "As I said, I don't understand priestesses." Jaska's eyes began to flutter downward. "I will fight the qavra, best as I can. And I will fight for you against Salahn. But I give no guarantees. My will is strong but the nightmares . . . the things I have done . . ."
He shook his head then drifted off into sleep.
Zyrella watched him, wishing she could take away his pain. She couldn't imagine a more terrible fate than Jaska's. The sun rose before she left his side.
When Jaska next awoke, the dim sunstone barely illuminated the cave. Zyrella slept on a pallet along the opposite wall; Ohzikar was absent. Jaska's stomach churned, demanding food. So with creaking joints and trembling muscles, he retrieved dried meat and dates from the supply packs. He sat by the pool and ate.
Jaska was dressed in a grey shirt and pants that cinched at the ankles and knees. His pack, weapons, and uniform lay stacked nearby. No, he thought, those weapons can't belong to me. Mine fell into the river. These . . . must have belonged to my students.
He nearly wept as he thought of the young men he had trained for the last few years. But then what sort of men had they truly been? Salahn couldn't corrupt every palymfar through sorcery. Most, if not all, must be the worst sort.
And Jaska had trained hundreds of them.
He took the razor from his pack and thought of slitting his throat but couldn't. After sitting there for some time, lost in thought, he began to shave, navigating around scar tissue through touch. His barely-lit reflection in the pool showed so much scarring that he cringed to imagine what it must look like in full light.
He paused, holding the razor near
"If he wants to do what's right, he must fight this thing. You were correct about its value, but there's one point you overlooked. If we had thrown the qavra away, he would never have recovered. It would have always had a hold on him."
"But even so, it's not fair to do this to him now. I cannot--"
"No." Jaska stared at the qavra. "He's right. I must beat it. I can't let it haunt me forever."
Jaska sat up and reached out. Ohzikar didn't move. He waited as Jaska edged closer. Zyrella almost spoke, almost took the stone away, but Ohzikar warned her off with a stern look. He didn't set his mind against her like this often but when he did, he did so with an unshakable belief that he was doing the right thing.
Jaska reached out, his fingertips nearing the qavra. Zyrella's heart thumped hard. She feared he would give in. But Jaska's fingertips missed the qavra as he pushed Ohzikar's arm away. With his other hand, he grabbed Ohzikar by the collar and pulled him close. Ohzikar's eyes widened with surprise.
"Keep it with you, templar, so I'll always know where it is."
"I will. And know this, I'd kill you now if Zyrella didn't believe that something good will come out of you yet."
"Hers is a lost cause and I welcome any slaying that gives me what I deserve."
The two men stared at each other until Jaska backed away. Ohzikar went to his blankets. Jaska settled back on his pallet, his breathing deep and steady.
"I'm sorry Ohzikar threatened you."
A half-smile crept upon Jaska's lips. "We have reached a truce."
"I don't understand warriors. I never will."
"And I don't understand priestesses or their goddesses."
"Fair enough."
"What you've done . . . It's more than I deserve."
"The first time I saw you I knew there was something else deep within you, something hidden away. That is the true Jaska Bavadi."
"I would like to think so, but no. The true Jaska Bavadi is tainted. Nothing can change that. I am similar to what that other man might have been. That's all."
"It's something."
"It's worthless."
"Not to me or my goddess."
"Oh, I'm worth something to you, but only as a killing machine, but nothing more."
"You're wrong. I can't speak for the White Tigress, but you mean something to me . . . as a person."
He shrugged. "As I said, I don't understand priestesses." Jaska's eyes began to flutter downward. "I will fight the qavra, best as I can. And I will fight for you against Salahn. But I give no guarantees. My will is strong but the nightmares . . . the things I have done . . ."
He shook his head then drifted off into sleep.
Zyrella watched him, wishing she could take away his pain. She couldn't imagine a more terrible fate than Jaska's. The sun rose before she left his side.
When Jaska next awoke, the dim sunstone barely illuminated the cave. Zyrella slept on a pallet along the opposite wall; Ohzikar was absent. Jaska's stomach churned, demanding food. So with creaking joints and trembling muscles, he retrieved dried meat and dates from the supply packs. He sat by the pool and ate.
Jaska was dressed in a grey shirt and pants that cinched at the ankles and knees. His pack, weapons, and uniform lay stacked nearby. No, he thought, those weapons can't belong to me. Mine fell into the river. These . . . must have belonged to my students.
He nearly wept as he thought of the young men he had trained for the last few years. But then what sort of men had they truly been? Salahn couldn't corrupt every palymfar through sorcery. Most, if not all, must be the worst sort.
And Jaska had trained hundreds of them.
He took the razor from his pack and thought of slitting his throat but couldn't. After sitting there for some time, lost in thought, he began to shave, navigating around scar tissue through touch. His barely-lit reflection in the pool showed so much scarring that he cringed to imagine what it must look like in full light.
He paused, holding the razor near
Similar Books
