The Nekromancer - 101. Chapter 101

“As a rough stone hides a diamond, so might a drab appearance hide the heart of a saint. I shall not judge on looks.”

The elf travelled a labyrinth painted on the floor of the temple, his eyes glued to his bare feet. He repeated Shelyn’s code over and over, a mantra in his mind as he sought redemption from his god.

“I will strive to lead by example, not my blade. Where my glaive passes, a life is cut short, the world’s potential for beauty diminished. All things that live love beauty and I will show them beauty’s answer to them in their redemption…”

An eruption split the air, Amnor Sen flinching at the deafening noise. His hands went up over his ears, eyes scanning the area frantically. Sprinting outside the temple, the elf saw the dark sky filled with a rainbow of radiance, divine magic pouring over the cathedral nearby.

He didn’t know what it meant. Had they done it? Had Jeremy actually made it through alive? Three days of no news had left the elf on edge. He remembered watching the two enter the cathedral, Jeremy stumbling on Jakun’s arm, and he’d had to stop himself from chasing after the cleric. The paladin had lost that right when he left the man.

Light shone behind the paladin, Amnor Sen spinning on his heel to find a shining woman in scant blue clothing gazing down on him. Five angelic wings spread out from her back, a sixth cut and missing. Nearly eight feet tall, she reminded the elf of one of the Anuli guards who always searched his wares, though she seemed much more chaotic. In her hand she held a crystalline halberd, its keen edge almost unbearable for Amnor Sen to look at despite the intrinsic beauty of the weapon.

“I am Thais, emissary of Cayden Cailean. I come bringing news of your lover, Jeremy Fairchild. Rest easy knowing he is among Cayden Cailean’s honoured fallen,” she said in a gentle voice.

“Then… then he is dead?” Amnor Sen whispered, his knees shaking.

He lowered himself to the floor, letting out a long breath.

“He walks with the god of freedom in Elysium, now and forever,” Thais added. “I know it is little consolation, but his last thought was of you.”

“And Jakun?”

“Your companion fights for his existence at this very moment. Guard his memories well, for should he survive, he will have need of them,” the woman said. “Ask the clerics, and they will show you a place where you may mourn Jeremy. You will always be welcome in a temple of the Lucky Drunk.”

With a flash of light, Thais vanished, leaving behind the heady scent of ale, a smell Amnor Sen was all too familiar with. The paladin let out a quiet whimper, tears he thought gone springing up as the weight of his loss came crashing down once again. He could have prevented this. He could have gone with them, even if it meant dying beside the man he loved.

He was so tired of crying, of feeling helpless. The clerics had helped as they could, walking him through atonements, offering absolution, but his mind and his heart refused them all. Pain seemed to be the only answer, his heart shattering every time he saw the face of his beloved. Jeremy was gone forever, and Amnor Sen had only himself to blame.

Part of him wondered if this was just his mind, if Shelyn had forgiven him when he was unable to do it himself. And as the night sky blazed with colour, he took a moment to stare, to ask himself, was this Jeremy’s way of forgiving him too? Of asking him to move on, to accept what he had done?

Rising to his feet, the elf stepped through the temple, a cleric awaiting him in the labyrinthine court.

“Do you know where I can pay my respects to the fallen?” he asked quietly, wiping his eyes.

“The Shrine of the Failed,” the cleric nodded. “I can show you the way, though many do not like staying long.”

“I will stay as long as I need,” Amnor Sen said. “When I return, I believe I will have found my way again.”

They left the temple, Amnor Sen walking over sharp stone, his feet burning as they were cut open. He relished the pain, craved the relief it brought from his aching heart, until even that became too much of a mercy, a boon he was not permitted. Stepping into a large building, he gazed around at hundreds… thousands of shrines, each a memorial to a fallen hopeful, and each silent from years of neglect.

A black robed woman approached, a burning candle in hand.

“How may we serve you?” she asked, noting the blood dripping from the elf’s feet. “Perhaps some bandages?”

“I wish to honour my husband,” Amnor Sen said.

“One of the recent failed? We can offer a plaque for a gold, and etching materials, as well as a discrete corner.”

The woman led him through the halls of the shrine, Amnor Sen’s eyes looking over memorials as he passed. Sir Reinhart of Kenabres, Demuren the god of sacrifice, the Muted One… Each held fragments of memories, followers who had soon left them to obscurity, some sooner than others. A few shrines merely held a name, preserved in time by the caretakers he could see silently working through the shrines, dusting them and keeping them clean. They remembered, if no one else did, and it made Amnor Sen feel better.

He was taken to the back of the shrine, into a small alcove with two names already enshrined on the walls. Erith of Kaer Maga, and Fialao, god of martial secrets. Names that meant so little to him, and yet names that he resolved himself to learn. They would share a memorial with his Jeremy, and Amnor Sen would see to it that they were remembered for as long as he drew breath.