13. Malorg

thirteen

Malorg

Malorg came back to himself in bits and pieces. Everything hurt. His duskflame flickered within him like a torch that might snuff out to a strong breeze at any moment.

Eternal Dark, what happened?

He struggled to remember, but the past months all blurred together—a meaningless smear of paint across a blank canvas. Funny, how he could endure so many centuries alone only to be utterly undone in a fraction of the time by a single Celestial's rejection.

Sarilian didn't reject you. You drove him away.

Malorg shifted, groaning as the movement scraped his side against something hard and unyielding. The floor. I'm lying on the floor. Images flitted before his eyes then—a void lord shaped like a horrific amalgam of a lizard and a scorpion, spewing corrupted flames. A lashing tail barbed with spiked tendrils that buried themselves in his side even as he rammed a shadow dagger down the beast's throat. Relief flooding him at the tenuous thought he might finally, finally have found his peace.

Obviously, he'd been mistaken. His duskflame must've protected him well enough to survive so he could stumble his way back to his quarters in Twilight. A pity.

The ache in his body he could manage, but the ache in his soul? That gaping wound left by Sarilian's absence lingered. Not that he had anyone to blame but himself. Sarilian had made no secret of his devotion to the Covenant. Had Malorg not pushed, not refused to honor Sarilian's own commitment to his duty, perhaps they'd still be carrying on as they had been.

That hadn't been enough, but it had been better than this emptiness .

Then again, maybe this separation was for the best. Sarilian remained new to this realm, unburdened by the weight of past failures Malorg bore. Any heartache the Celestial suffered would mend, forgotten beneath the veil of passing centuries.

And as for Malorg…well, he'd already had to watch one Immortal he loved perish upon the Covenant's sacrificial pyre. At least this way, he'd be spared the heartbreak of watching another.

He shifted again and almost jumped out of his skin when a voice said, "Oh, good—you are alive. I'd begun to wonder."

Malorg hissed in a breath but kept his eyes closed. "What do you want, Pelorak?"

The Aspect of Ambition had visited him off and on over the last year, continuing to badger him about taking a more active role in leading the Infernal forces. But even in his darkest moments, Malorg wasn't foolish enough to get drawn into Pelorak's schemes. He supposed that was another benefit of his short-lived affair with Sarilian coming to an end: Pelorak would never get the chance to use the Celestial as a pawn.

An aggrieved sigh echoed from somewhere above him. "How many times must I tell you, old friend, I worry about you. Isn't my concern enough of a reason to check in?"

Malorg didn't reply. Maybe if he ignored the Aspect, Pelorak would get bored and wander off.

After a time, soft footfalls approached. Though it went against his every instinct of self-preservation, Malorg kept his eyes squeezed shut. He didn't fear death—not anymore.

"You should get someone to tend those wounds for you," said Pelorak. "It'll take you days to recover on your own. I have someone I can recommend if you like."

"I'm fine." Malorg tried to turn away from Pelorak but gave the effort up with a groan when pain flared through his arm.

"Clearly." Malorg could hear the quirked eyebrow in Pelorak's voice. "You know, you're building quite the reputation for yourself—the disgraced-general-turned-ferocious-warrior. The way the other hunters tell it, you've barely returned to Twilight in months. Wherever the fighting against voidspawn grows thickest, there you appear like clockwork. Why, it's almost like you've rethought your desire to sit on the council…or like you're doing everything in your power to get yourself killed."

Again, Malorg stayed silent. What was there to say? Denial would be a waste of time and effort—of energy he didn't have.

Another sigh from Pelorak, this one sounding more frustrated. "If you've really given up, Malorg, there are easier ways to take your life than trial by combat. Go sit in the Dawnlands until the light consumes your being. Or find a Celestial willing to do the deed for you."

Malorg tensed, trying to hide his accompanying wince. Had Pelorak uncovered the truth about Sarilian? He forced himself to relax. No, it had to be a coincidence. Pelorak couldn't know that fear of running into Sarilian was the precise reason Malorg had avoided hunting too far out, sticking to the larger battles near void gates opening in the Dusklands. It meant he had to fight alongside other Infernals, but most knew by now to leave him alone with his chosen prey.

"Of course," Pelorak continued, a hint of amusement creeping into his voice, "you could always hurl yourself into that rift you're so fond of and let the Shroud end you instead."

That finally got Malorg to open his eyes, grimacing as he struggled to sit up. Pelorak stood beside him, dressed in his usual smarmy suit, lips curled in an unpleasant smirk.

"What do you know about the rift?"

Pelorak shrugged. "Not much more than you, I'm sure. Only that it's too small to bother with the effort of resealing…and that any Immortal unfortunate enough to stumble into it won't stumble out again."

Malorg's skin prickled, though with annoyance, despair, or something else, he couldn't say. Since that final argument with Sarilian, what little time he hadn't spent hunting had mostly been spent there, contemplating that tantalizing swirl of blue. His apartment held too many memories now, each eclectic piece he'd furnished it with another reminder of a faded moment with Sarilian that would never come again.

"Plenty of Infernals and Celestials visit the Mortal Realm," Malorg said.

"Only as projections—as you well know. The Covenant binds us to this realm as surely as a mortal's soul binds them to theirs."

"But mortal souls find a way to come here." From the laughing glint in Pelorak's eyes, Malorg could tell the Infernal was purposefully drawing him out by provoking a reaction. But that knowledge wasn't enough to restrain him from continuing. "Eternal Dark, our souls were once mortal souls. If the process works one way, then why not in reverse?"

"Perhaps it does. Perhaps stepping into that rift will strip you of your powers and banish you to the Mortal Realm." Pelorak leaned in until his cruel smile filled Malorg's vision. "But if you truly believed that, then you would have passed through long ago."

Malorg clenched his jaw and looked away. Pelorak was half-right. Uncertainty over his fate had held him back for a long time. Dying here meant passing on to some ephemeral after , but entering the rift could mean he ceased to exist. Or worse—what if he became trapped within the space between realms, sacrificing one eternal prison for another until he devolved into something as monstrous as the voidspawn they fought against?

But such fears weren't what had stayed his hand these past tortuous months. Each time he'd thought himself ready, each time he'd taken that first uncertain step toward the waiting rift, memories of Sarilian had halted him in his tracks.

The Celestial might no longer be his, but risking that desperate journey alone still felt like a betrayal of the time they'd shared. He'd brave the rift with Sarilian at his side—or not at all.

Stifling his pain, Malorg drew upon the dregs of his duskflame for aid and staggered to his feet. He wavered unsteadily but managed to keep his balance, one arm propped against the nearest wall. "If you've come to judge me for my past choices, there's no need. I judge myself more harshly than you ever could."

Pelorak chuckled, giving Malorg an appraising look. Malorg could only imagine the sorry sight he presented—his manifested clothes ragged and ripped, his gray skin sallow and listless without his drained magic to sustain him. Yet, whatever the Aspect saw made his grin widen. "I'm not here to judge you, Malorg. I'm here to offer you a job."

A…job? Malorg narrowed his eyes. "If this is about training new recruits, I've already told you a dozen times that I'm not interested in commanding anyone except myself."

A slight scowl marred Pelorak's handsome features. "Unfortunately, that particular ship has already sailed. The Aspect of Wrath secured arrangements of his own." Petty satisfaction rippled through Malorg at the thought that his refusal might've sabotaged one of Pelorak's countless schemes, though it vanished at the Aspect's next words. "No, I think it's time you take a break from the battlefield altogether. How does ‘Dusk Emissary' sound?"

Malorg blinked, certain he must have misheard. "We don't have emissaries. Not since—"

"Not since the Blistering Fields, yes," Pelorak agreed. "But I and some others on the Dusk Council believe it is time to revisit the Accords."

A storm of emotion roiled through Malorg. This sort of outreach had once been his dream—one he'd long since thought abandoned. He'd meant it when he'd told Sarilian that a union between their disparate peoples was impossible. Had he been mistaken?

Then, he remembered Uryqh's pitiful screams and bowed his head. Shattered hope clogged his throat. "We both know how the Accords ended last time. What's to stop it from happening again?"

"Well, to be perfectly frank, you."

Malorg looked up sharply, meeting Pelorak's amused gaze. The Dark-cursed Infernal was enjoying this. Pelorak knew precisely which strings to pull to make Malorg dance to his tune like all the rest of his puppets.

"Who better to architect a new attempt at peace than one of its most fervent advocates?" Pelorak continued. "Think of this as your chance at redemption."

Redemption.

The word called to Malorg like nothing had since Sarilian's departure. If he could unite the Celestials and Infernals beneath an improved Covenant, perhaps he could bring this endless war against the Void to a close. Perhaps Sarilian and I can even find our way back to each other.

Yes hovered on the tip of his tongue. Then, he caught Pelorak's smug expression and hesitated. "What do you get out of this? The Dusk Council barely agreed to my plan last time, and you've made your disdain of Celestials clear. Why give me this second chance?"

Pelorak waved a dismissive hand. "Mistakes were made in the past, but they need not define your legacy." He stepped closer, his obsidian eyes glittering as he lowered his voice. "I know you, old friend. How many centuries have you spent longing for this opportunity? If you let it pass you by now, it will become yet another regret to haunt you."

Malorg felt the words like a slap to the face. His fists tightened at his sides, though the pitiful flicker of his faded duskflame spoiled any threat his tensed posture might've conveyed. "You forget that I know you as well, Pelorak. I know how the Dusk Council operates. What's really going on?"

Pelorak's faux sympathy melted away as his gaze hardened. For a second, Malorg saw him the way other Infernals must, the way mortals did—as a Dusk Aspect brimming with dark power and the absolute authority of his seat. Then, the image faded, and he was just Pelorak again, though with a frown fixed upon his face.

"Our scouts have detected a troubling increase in voidspawn activity. The council fears they are building up to something, and while my efforts to bolster recruitment continue to bear fruit, there are… concerns that we currently lack the strength to fend them off."

Pelorak's words dripped distaste, and Malorg could well imagine why. His admission came close to declaring outright that the Infernals required the Celestials' aid.

"Of course," Pelorak added, "the Celestials need us too, no matter how much they might wish otherwise. If the Dusklands succumb to the Void, the resulting chaos would spell their own doom as well." He splayed his hands out, palms up. "Thus, it was decided to seek a temporary alliance. Better to fight alongside Celestial scum than to die alone." His sneer suggested that, for him, the decision was a close one.

Eternal Dark, if what Pelorak said was true, it painted an even grimmer picture of the Covenant's futility than Malorg had expected. It also presented the perfect opportunity to revise the Covenant before it was too late. Faced with such a dire threat, neither side could simply walk away whenever it suited them. Peace might actually be possible—at least in the short-term.

The trick would be devising the new Covenant to encourage more long-term cooperation. And not just on the battlefield—that had been one of Malorg's biggest mistakes during the last negotiations. Though fighting together might be the ultimate goal, they needed to learn to trust one another first. To share resources, coordinate their efforts, and function as a cohesive team.

A vision of hunting voidspawn with Sarilian flickered before his eyes. They had managed to fuse their respective magics into something new. Could he replicate that feat among others of his kind? As the thought passed through him, he realized he'd already made his decision. He'd made it the instant he'd begun thinking of this as his plan. His assignment.

His duty.

"I'll do it," he said, resigned. "So long as I am permitted to do things my way, with minimal interference from you and the rest of the Dusk Council."

"Of course," Pelorak said easily. Too easily. "We trust you to handle the talks as you see fit, provided you ensure the council's demands are met. Glad to have you on board."

Malorg studied his former friend. What's your angle, Pelorak? For the Aspect to give up control and grant concessions without even a token fight meant Malorg was missing something. An ulterior motive? Or maybe…

"You need me," he guessed. Satisfaction surged through him at the surprised confirmation that twitched over Pelorak's face before he recomposed it. "That's why you're here. Did the other Aspects demand my participation as a condition for your plan?"

The faintly admiring look Pelorak gave him sent a shiver down Malorg's back. It was as if Pelorak was seeing him now for the first time. The sensation left Malorg feeling uncomfortably exposed.

Then, Pelorak shrugged and grinned wryly. "The Celestials, actually. I admit, when I reached out to the Dawn Council, I had someone else in mind—one of my own people. But, alas, the stubborn fools refused to entertain any talks unless we named you our emissary." Pelorak drew his brows together, unable to completely mask his displeasure. "Enough of them must remember your previous overtures of peace to trust your good intentions."

The thought pleased Malorg even as a stone lodged in his gut at the reminder of his past failings. Still, no matter his baggage or distrust of Pelorak, there was only one way this could go.

"So be it." He inclined his head, straightening his back as best he could despite his exhaustion. "You have your emissary."

"Splendid!" Pelorak strode toward the door. "In that case, I shall leave you to recover. You have a few days before the Accords begin at the Citadel—my people will be in touch with everything you need." He paused right before the door. "Oh, and one more thing." When he glanced back, all pretense of good humor had washed away, leaving his eyes deep pools as empty and emotionless as the Void. "Don't fail me. You might not be afraid to die, but there are worse fates than death in the Immortal Realm."

With that, Pelorak shifted into the shadows and disappeared.

Malorg watched him go, worry pinching his chest. Buried beneath it, however, blossomed the faintest sprig of hope. Because whatever games Pelorak might be playing, he'd said at least one honest thing: this was Malorg's chance at redemption. And he didn't need Pelorak's threat to be determined not to mess it up.

Malorg cursed his own foolishness as he duskwalked through the Dusk Citadel, ignoring other Infernals' dirty looks as he rushed past. It was generally considered poor form to duskwalk within the palace—something about failing to demonstrate the proper respect—but he didn't care. Not when he was already running this late for his first meeting with the Dawn Council's delegation.

It was his own Dark-cursed fault, too. He'd been pacing around his apartment earlier when one of the trinkets Sarilian helped him pick out caught his eye. That's when it had hit him—his own simple armor and tunic were hardly fitting for such a momentous occasion. If he wanted the Celestials to take him seriously, he needed to look the part, and that meant investing in more refined garments than he had the skill or patience to craft himself.

Of course, that revelation had led to over an hour wandering the Market, searching for the perfect ensemble to convey professional sophistication without leaning too hard into Celestial prejudices against Infernal ostentatiousness. Now, here he was, better dressed but at the cost of arriving well past their scheduled start time.

So much for making a good impression .

Everyone knew how much Celestials valued punctuality. And here he was, ruining any potential alliance before negotiations even began. The Celestials had already made a concession by agreeing to hold the Accords here, requiring their delegation travel to and from each meeting since they couldn't safely remain in the Dusklands for more than a few hours at a time. The Dawn Council must really want this alliance to succeed.

That thought bolstered some of his flagging spirits as he reached the assigned conference chamber, exiting the shadows beside closed double doors engraved with shifting gray trees that shimmered and swayed in an unseen breeze. A pair of Infernal guards flanking the door side-eyed him but made no move to stop him from entering. Either they recognized him or—more likely—were only there for show. The Dusk Council wouldn't want to be perceived as weak, not when they were already the ones seeking aid.

You can do this. For your sake…and for Sarilian's.

Taking a deep, calming breath, Malorg shoved down his nerves and strode inside. The chamber within was high-ceilinged, the dome above enchanted to simulate a cloudy sky. A large table shaped like an elongated hexagon dominated the space. The Celestial delegation sat at the far end so that, from the door, the table's tip resembled their sigil's upward facing triangle. The other two Infernal delegates, Sajix and Wiriv, sat at the bottom tip, leaving the center spot for him.

Malorg gave Sajix and Wiriv cursory nods as he took his seat, relieved Pelorak and the other Aspects hadn't attended. Pelorak had promised they wouldn't, but his word only counted so far. Bad enough the Aspect of Ambition had insisted on Sajix and Wiriv's presences. No doubt they were only there to spy on Malorg and ensure he left nothing out of his reports. Malorg had already made it clear that they were not to utter a single word without his express permission.

Once he was seated, he placed his hands on the table to steady himself and faced the Celestial delegation, smiling politely. "Apologies for my lateness, esteemed guests. I meant no disrespect. You have my word it will not happen again."

The Celestial delegation was larger than his own, nearly a dozen of them crammed along their side of the table. In addition to their three actual delegates, they appeared to have brought a sizeable honor guard. Each Celestial bore a bright sphere above their heads, offering them a personal source of light against the Dusklands' pervasive darkness. Their collective faces ranged from mild discomfort to outright disdain as they peered about the chamber.

"Accidents happen to us all," an older Celestial said, his voice gruff. Malorg squinted, trying to see him better past the unfamiliar haze of illumination. Was that their emissary? But no—the speaker sat to the right rather than in the center. One of the emissary's advisors, then. "I only hope that you are as committed to these talks as we are. Any changes to voidspawn incursions represent a grave threat to our sacred duty—one that cannot be taken lightly."

Malorg clenched his jaw at the mention of duty , struggling to maintain his smile as he inclined his head. "Of course. I assure you, the Dusk Council has no greater priority. We are determined to do whatever it takes to reach an amicable agreement."

There—let the aides report that little nugget back to Pelorak.

The older Celestial replied, "Good. Glad to hear we aren't wasting our time. I'll admit, many of us are skeptical. I myself was there the last time you tried to revise the Covenant. Let us hope this attempt turns out differently."

Beneath the table, Malorg dug his fingers into his thigh. "It will. Whatever it takes."

The Celestial studied him for a moment, then grunted and nodded, seeming pleased. "Yes, I think you'll do nicely. I'm glad to see our own emissary didn't make a mistake when he requested you." The Celestial's aura brightened. "I am Darius, Dawn Aspect of Justice, here on behalf of the Dawn Council to observe and offer guidance." He gestured to the other advisor several seats down. "And this is Faeris, one of our finest commanders." The stern-looking woman gave Malorg the barest of nods, her narrowed eyes not quite a glare.

Once again, Malorg had to strain to keep his expression schooled. So, the request for him to serve as emissary hadn't come directly from the Dawn Council as he'd assumed. Curious. Perhaps the Dawn Emissary had also attended the last Accords. He racked his brain, but any names or faces from that time had been lost to the centuries. He couldn't even recall for certain whether he and Darius had ever met.

He turned his attention to the center seat, straining to see past the light shrouding the Dawn Emissary. The illumination was brightest there, making it difficult to discern anything but the vague outline of a figure. As he squinted, however, the floating lights dimmed, bringing the emissary into better focus. Shock rippled through Malorg, his pulse accelerating.

Impossible!

But impossible or not, he couldn't deny what his eyes showed him. Sarilian leaned forward, his expression fixed in a pleasant smile tinged with just a hint of sadness as he folded his hands on the table separating them. "Honored Emissary. My name is Sarilian. Pleased to meet you."