Page 33 of The Immortal Covenant

Part II

thirteen

Malorg

Malorg came back tohimself 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 shadowdagger down the beast’s throat. Relief flooding him at the tenuous thought he might finally,finallyhave 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 thisemptiness.

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—youarealive. 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 youdaysto 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,thereyou 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 battlesnear 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.”

Thatfinally 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 doyouknow 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.

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