11. Malorg #2
Pelorak offered his perfectly manicured hand.
Malorg noticed he wore fingerless gloves embroidered with the downward-facing triangle of the Dusk Council.
Unlike the Dawn sigil with its five converging lines representing beams of light, this one bore five lines that speared the triangle at various positions and angles such that none of them ever intersected.
A symbol of independence…and of arrogant selfishness. It suited Pelorak.
Sarilian eyed Pelorak’s hand, his throat bobbing as he swallowed. “Jafav,” he said, using the fake Infernal name they’d invented for him. He hesitantly gave the hand a quick shake before dropping it like a voidspawn’s claw.
Malorg’s heartbeat quickened, but if Pelorak noticed Sarilian’s Celestial warmth, he gave no indication.
“Jafav, hmm? Can’t say I’ve heard of you before.
” His eyes flicked again to Malorg’s, coldly calculating.
“But you must be remarkable to have caught Malorg’s interest.” He gave a slight, flourishing bow.
“I am Pelorak, though most know me as the Aspect of Ambition.”
If Pelorak thought that would catch Sarilian by surprise, Sarilian’s reaction didn’t disappoint. He stumbled, his illusioned complexion somehow paling even further as he fell into a deep bow. “A-apologies, Aspect, if I failed to show the proper respect. I-I did not know that—”
“That your friend Malorg here possessed such powerful contacts?” Pelorak interrupted.
He winked at Malorg, who bristled but managed to hold his tongue.
“He used to be quite the fearsome general back in his day. Why, there were many who expected him to rise to the seat of Wrath. But after that unfortunate incident at the Blistering Fields—”
Malorg moved before he could stop himself, shifting into the shadows to appear at Pelorak’s back, a cursed blade gripped in each hand.
Thankfully, he caught himself before he drove the strikes home.
It probably wouldn’t have done serious damage to an Infernal as old as Pelorak anyway, not when he possessed the power of an Aspect.
Still, Malorg doubted what remained of their ‘friendship’ would have survived such a blow.
A slight tightness in Pelorak’s posture was the only sign of his tension as he turned, cocking a brow at Malorg. “I see those old wounds continue to fester. My apologies.” He pointedly turned his back despite the blades still poised to thrust.
Malorg released a breath. Allowing the daggers to melt away, he forced himself to relax and step back. Pelorak, meanwhile, returned his attention to Sarilian by the door.
“A pleasure to make your acquaintance, Jafav. Perhaps the three of us can catch up sometime. I’d love to hear about how you and Malorg met. I’m sure it’s quite the tale.”
Pelorak’s smirk set every nerve Malorg had on edge. Does he suspect Sarilian’s true nature? Malorg didn’t relax until Sarilian had escaped out the door with a murmured, “Of course, Aspect.”
Sending a quick prayer to the Dark for the Celestial’s safe return, Malorg refocused on Pelorak. The infuriating Infernal had sauntered over to Malorg’s table and taken a seat there, his eyes roving over the rest of the room.
“I see your tastes have changed little. Your quarters remain as barren as the Dawnlands despite your apparent love of collecting junk.”
“And you remain as obnoxious as a voidspawn.” Malorg stalked to the opposite end of the room from Pelorak and fixed his old friend with a glare. “I’m tired, so get to the point. Why are you here?”
Pelorak studied Malorg, his good humor fading. As if a switch had been flipped, he straightened his back in the seat and folded his hands, his posture turning business-like.
Pelorak had ever been the consummate schemer.
From the stories Malorg had heard over the years, he’d more than earned his position on the Dusk Council.
Once, Malorg had thought to join him—Wrath and Ambition, the sword and the hand to direct it.
But that had been a long time ago. Before Uryqh.
Before Malorg rejected the Covenant and the trappings of power that went with it.
“Very well,” Pelorak said, his voice crisp. “I am here on behalf of the Dusk Council. Simply put, we are losing.”
A chill gripped Malorg. “What? What happened? Has the Void broken through?”
For all his talk of the Void’s inevitable victory, he’d always envisioned it as some distant point at the end of eternity, not something he himself would have to face. The whole world could burn for all he cared. But the thought of anything happening to Sarilian…
Pelorak frowned. “Don’t be ridiculous. The Void remains as contained as ever. No, it is not the Void that threatens us, but our true enemies.”
It took Malorg a moment to realize what Pelorak meant. When he did, he gave an incredulous laugh. “The Celestials are not our enemies.”
“Oh, spare me your sophistry.” Pelorak rolled his eyes. “Just because they also fight the Void does not make those idealistic fools our allies. Or have you forgotten how your last overtures of peace ended?”
Visions of a charred wasteland pierced his skull, Celestials and Infernals alike screaming while ash choked the air.
Malorg closed his eyes, willing the memories away in vain.
He’d relived that horrible day in his nightmares more often than he could count.
As always, one voice cut above the others. Please, Mal, please, help me!
Pain radiated from his hand. Malorg opened his eyes and glanced down to find he’d clenched his fist tight enough to draw blood. Duskflame trickled from the minor indents his nails had left.
“That wasn’t the Celestials’ fault.” If anyone’s to blame, it’s me for forcing Celestials and Infernals to fight together—for being arrogant enough to think I could make a difference.