“The dead in their army don’t tire,” Jerico said, shifting the shield on his back and wincing as if remembering a painful memory. “And the demons have incredible stamina. As for the rest, they are fanatical, and push themselves to near death every day without pause.”
“The queen has marshaled her soldiers from all over the country,” Dieredon said. “Many won’t make it in time. As for the outlying farms and villages, she has sent out riders warning of the danger. No matter what she does, though, thousands will die.”
“Enough,” Tarlak said. He grabbed Jerico’s shoulder and led him down the stone steps toward the main streets. “Tonight we celebrate. One we all thought was dead is alive. Tomorrow, we worry about armies and demons.”
Once gathered round a fire with warm food, they let Jerico tell his story. Antonil was not among them, for upon hearing of the enemy’s proximity he had begun rounding up his soldiers, finding them horses and preparing for battle. Lathaar and Mira sat side by side, while opposite them Harruq and Aurelia cuddled in each other’s arms. Jerico and Tarlak sat between the two couples, with the mage prodding whatever information he could out of Jerico.
“It was Tessanna that first kept me alive,” Jerico said. “I’m not sure why. Curiosity, perhaps, or vengeance. Qurrah didn’t approve, and that’s putting it mildly.”
“Does he control the army?” Harruq asked, the first time he’d spoken since they all had gathered.
“No,” Jerico said after a pause. “And neither does Velixar. One of the war demons commands the troops, but they treat Qurrah and Velixar with an odd reverence.”
“They need them to keep the portal open,” Tarlak said. “Lovely as Dezrel is, I’m thinking they want to go home after they’ve conquered everything.”
“It’s possible,” Jerico said. “I fought Qurrah once before, at the Sanctuary. He is a shadow of what he was. He looks sick, and very tired.”
Harruq frowned at this but kept silent.
“What are we looking at in terms of numbers?” Tarlak asked.
“Several thousand undead,” Jerico said. “And Dieredon said his scouts estimated a thousand of the war demons. Toss in the priests and paladins of Karak, and a few hundred of their ‘tested’ as they call them, and we’re looking at one formidable army.”
“You forgot to add Tessanna and Qurrah to that list,” Aurelia said. “They count as another five hundred or so soldiers.”
“If not more,” Tarlak added.
Harruq stood, and when Aurelia frowned he only shook his head.
“Just need to be alone for awhile,” he muttered. Jerico stood as the half-orc wandered off, bowing to the rest of the Eschaton.
“I need a moment with him,” he said. The others nodded, understanding.
Solitude was difficult with so many people about, but Harruq headed for a stretch of wall where no one lingered. Jerico caught up to him and walked at his side.
“Your brother,” Jerico said as he slowed to a walk.
“I know,” Harruq said. “He’s going to get us all killed, Jerico. My fault, my own damn fault.”
“How?” Jerico asked. “How could this be your fault?”
“Because he should be dead!” Harruq said, spinning so he could face Jerico. “I had the chance and I couldn’t do it. You paladins can preach about mercy and forgiveness, but when it all comes down to it, I should have killed him.”
“This is not the time for endless doubting and blame,” Jerico said. He grabbed the top of Harruq’s armor and yanked him close. “And your brother hates what he has become, as does his lover. They are stranded, and don’t know any other way. All they want is to escape.”
“Let go of me,” Harruq said, pushing the paladin away. Jerico spun his arms in a circle, parrying away his arms and grabbing the armor a second time.
“Tessanna is with child!” Jerico said, his voice a forceful whisper. “Now do you understand?”
Harruq’s whole body went limp, as if he had been struck paralyzed by the words.
“A child?” he said, as if distant from the world. “They will have a child?”
“Yes,” Jerico said. “She is close to five months.”
Harruq took a step back, then fell to his knees. Memory after memory of Aullienna flashed before his eyes. He remembered her life, her smile, her crying. The first time she had called him dada.
“How can he hope to raise a life in this world?” Harruq asked.
“He can’t,” Jerico said. “And he knows it. They want to escape. They travel with Velixar not out of vengeance or anger, but out of desperation. It is all they know.”
The paladin knelt down beside him.
“All they know is murder, anger, and betrayal. But what if they knew grace? What if they knew mercy? Qurrah has tasted it only once, and it was from your hand. He didn’t understand it then, and he still doesn’t now.”
“Leave me,” Harruq said. “Just leave me alone.”
“If the world ends, it ends,” Jerico said as he stood. “Even if your brother kills us all, it changes nothing. We will all die in time. I await rest in the golden eternity. What awaits you?”
“Punishment,” Harruq said as Jerico turned to walk away. “For everyone I murdered.”
“It is your choice,” Jerico said, glancing over his shoulder. “But why you would choose that, I don’t know.”
Jerico left him to wallow in his self-loathing.
15
T he light of the sun was just a hint upon the eastern horizon when Harruq stirred. He made sure Aurelia stayed asleep before grabbing his swords and armor and slipping away. He strapped his swords to his belt and buckled on his armor as he walked.
“A show of faith,” he whispered into the morning air, remembering Mira’s words. “So be it.”
A cold wind blew, and it carried tension and fear in its talons. The past two days had stretched painfully long, with Harruq having little to do. He spent his time mulling over the words of Mira, Bernard, and Jerico. With each passing hour, his mood had darkened, and the city with it. More and more people poured through the gates, fleeing the dark army destroying everything in its path. But now it was here. The day of reckoning had come. Horrific battle awaited them all, but Harruq would meet its challenge.
When he arrived at the outer gate several guards lingered about, edgy and nervous. They saw him and reached for their weapons.
“Open the gate,” Harruq ordered. They looked to one another, and to help their decision along he drew his swords, the steel a deep black, the blades glowing crimson.
“I said open it.”
A quick shout and the doors creaked open just enough for him to slip through.
“Coward,” one of the guards muttered as Harruq exited the city. The half-orc ignored the insult. Without pause he trudged east, his shoulders hunched as if he bore a tremendous burden. He kept his swords drawn. They gave him courage, and that was something he desperately needed. The two walls shrank behind him. One foot after another, he told himself. He had to put the city far away, so he had no chance to run. All or nothing. A sign of faith.
Ahead of him, approaching with frightening speed, were lines of soldiers, both dead and alive. The first sliver of light darted above the horizon, and within it he saw the multitude of undead, and flying above them, the armored demons. They were distant dots, but soon, too soon, they would arrive.
The half-orc stopped. He had gone far enough. He spun his swords and buried them in the ground before him. His chest quivering, his hands tingling and his head light, he knelt down on one knee and bowed his head.
“I’ve never prayed to you before,” Harruq said as he closed his eyes. “And I sure this isn’t the last time, either. Here I am. Take me.”
He wasn’t sure what he expected, but he knew what happened wasn’t it. Nothing happened. He felt no sweeping change. He saw no sudden burst of light, or heard the sound of singing. Instead, he felt like a fool. What would the guards upon the walls think of him, kneeling in
seeming reverence toward the approaching army?
He shook his head. It didn’t matter. Since when did he care what others thought, anyway?
“This is right,” he prayed, and he knew it, even if he didn’t know how. “Please, Ashhur, he is my brother. Help me do what’s right.”
He kept his head bowed and his eyes closed. Until his death, or his prayer’s answer, that was how he would remain.
A urelia awoke to a sudden jab in her side. She snapped open her eyes and lifted one hand, ice sparkling on her fingertips.
“Where is your husband?” Haern asked, standing over her with his arms crossed.
“He should be…” She stopped and looked around. “I don’t know. Where is he?”
“If I knew, would I ask you?” Haern said.
Aurelia closed her eyes and tried to focus on her husband. She could only catch glimpses of him, for something blurred her sight. Amid white and gold flares she saw him kneeling. All around the land was smooth grass. She opened her eyes and shook her head.
“Get us atop the walls,” she told the assassin.
Haern took her hand, and together they ran. When they neared a set of stairs leading up the wall they slowed. Lathaar and Jerico were already there, talking in hushed tones.
“Have you seen Harruq?” Aurelia asked the paladins.
Lathaar glanced at Jerico, who shrugged.
“I’m sorry, we haven’t,” he told her. “Why?”
Before she could answer, trumpets sounded from along the wall, a jarring interruption of the quiet morning. In a growing rumble the city awoke. Soldiers prepared their shields, and all around them the gap between the walls turned chaotic.
“The army’s near,” Jerico shouted. “We need your husband to help protect the outer gate. Where is he?”
Haern did not answer them, instead bolting up the stone steps, weaving around the scrambling soldiers. When he reached the top he scanned the distance, then turned and waved.
“He’s here!” Haern shouted, pointing east.
“What is he thinking?” Aurelia asked as she hurried up the stairs after Haern. The paladins followed. The top of the wall was crowded with soldiers, all holding bows and crossbows. Stacks and stacks of arrows and bolts lay behind them. Several higher ranking soldiers patrolled about, shouting orders and encouragement. In the distance, the lines of red and black grew closer. They could see a vague, squirming mass at the front, and in the air, a sea of armor and wings. The sun continued to rise, and in its light they saw a lone shape in between the city and its would-be conquerors.
“He’ll be killed,” Lathaar said. “What could he possibly be out there for?”
“I don’t know,” Aurelia said as she summoned her magic. “But I plan to find out.”
She leaped off the wall. Jerico cried out and reached for her out of instinct, but was too late. The elf spun her fingers and whispered words of magic. Her fall slowed to a drift. Her feet never touched the ground. Instead she hovered a foot above the grass, and then she cast a second spell, summoning a windstorm behind her to push her along. Her arms back and her auburn hair flailing, she sped for Harruq.
“Hang it all,” Haern said. “I won’t leave him to die, either.”
He leaped off the wall, his cloaks trailing. He landed on both hands and knees, seeming completely unharmed by the lengthy fall. Sabers drawn, he chased after Aurelia.
Lathaar and Jerico glanced at one another, both debating the same thing.
“He’s praying,” Jerico said.
“I saw that,” Lathaar said.
The two rushed down the stairs and then toward the outer gate. Tarlak was there, along with Antonil and Mira. He was debating something with the mounted king, but shut his mouth when he saw the urgency on the paladins’ faces.
“What’s going on?” he asked as they came running.
“Harruq’s out there,” Lathaar said as they ran on by.
“He’s what? ” Tarlak shouted.
“Open the gate!” Jerico yelled to the guards. “Let us pass!”
Antonil leaped off his horse and handed the reins to Lathaar.
“I will find another,” Antonil said. “Get him back in here before he gets himself killed!”
Lathaar mounted the horse with ease, grabbing the reigns and riding up to Jerico, who strapped his shield tight to his back and then hopped on.
“Wait!” he shouted as the gates of the city cracked open. “A weapon, someone give me a weapon!”
A nearby guard offered his mace.
“Many thanks,” Jerico said as he clutched it with both hands.
The gigantic gate crept open further, enough for them to ride through. It shut behind them with a loud clang of wood and metal.
“We need to get up top,” Tarlak said. “I want to know what the bloody Abyss is going on.”
“My mirror’s out there,” Mira said, clutching her elbows and shuddering. “I don’t want to fight her. Will we have to fight her?”
“Perhaps,” Tarlak said. “But I’ll be here to help you. Handsome guy like me, I’m bound to be useful, don’t you think?”
Mira smiled at him.
“Perhaps.”
“Perhaps? Bah! The correct response is ‘of course’!”
They ascended the stairs as Antonil rallied the few soldiers he had, all of them mounted and eager for a chance at payback for the fall of their beloved city.
T he queen sat isolated on her throne by her own orders. She had banished her soldiers and advisors, ordering them to either go to the walls or be with their families. The days had flown past since the Neldaren people had arrived, yet still she felt the weight of every single hour. She was too old for this, she thought to herself. Far too old.
One of the side doors creaked, and out of instinct she straightened up and banished the worry from her face. She couldn’t stop the shaking of her hands, so she clasped them tight and buried them in the folds of her dress.
“You shouldn’t be alone,” Hayden said as he approached, bowing low. “Not during such troubled times.”
“It was by my order,” Queen Annabelle said.
“And I hope you pardon me for ignoring it,” Hayden said. He smiled at her, but she refused to smile back.
“I know it looks hopeless,” he continued, not at all bothered. “But our walls are strong, and we have withstood wars before. But this war, well, this could be the one to end all wars.”
“We will win,” the queen said. “Our city has never fallen, and will not fall now.”
“You should worry about the survival of your people,” Hayden said, his voice losing a bit of its kind tone. “Not a stack of stone and mortar.”
“What are you saying?” Annabelle asked, her hands ceasing their trembling.
“Have you seen the army that approaches?” Hayden asked. “They are not soldiers, they are servants of a god!”
He slipped closer, and his words grew quieter, eager, and certain.
“Karak has told me in his prayers,” he said. “They are here to establish a perfect order. Your right as Queen will not be challenged. They are here to exterminate the refuse of Neldar and the fools that still worship Ashhur. Think of your people, my Queen. Is this a war they should be fighting?”
Queen Annabelle stood, her hand slipping into a hidden pocket of her dress.
“I should look upon this army,” she said. Hayden smiled.
“Of course.”
Side by side they walked down the carpeted hallway to the closed doors of the castle. Hayden knocked twice, and the guards on the other side yanked them open. The castle had been built on a tall hill, and atop the raised steps they could see over the walls.
“Do you see?” Hayden asked as he stepped forward and gestured to the horizon.
“Yes,” the queen said, pulling a dagger out from her pocket. “I see.”
She stabbed him in the back. She let go, leaving the dagger in him. The priest staggered about, his eyes wide and his mouth locked open in shoc
k. At last he fell. The two guards at the doors turned and looked at their queen, who glared at them.
“All priests of Karak are to be executed on sight,” she told them. “Spread word throughout the city. There is to be no mercy, not for them.”
“Yes, your highness,” the guards said in unison. They left to follower their orders. Alone, the queen stood at the top of the steps, watching Hayden’s blood flow down them, all the while desperately hoping that she had done what was best for her people.
H arruq had never prayed before, at least, not for a lengthy period of time. As he knelt there, certain his death was imminent, he felt the old wounds of his past reopen with painful strength. He remembered the many children he had slain for his brother at Woodhaven, all so Qurrah could take their organs, mutilate their bodies, and practice his spells. He remembered many of their faces, frightened and helpless. His heart ached in constant pain. He remembered the fights with his brother, and the time he had attacked Aurelia, nearly killing her with a vicious stab through her stomach. His anger, how much of a slave was he to his anger? More wounds, more pains, flashed through him. The village of Cornrows, their children and their elderly. He had butchered them all.
He clutched his swords as he knelt, feeling the heat of the sun on his skin. He remembered Jerico’s question, and suddenly it didn’t seem so trivial, so pointless. What did he expect when he died? He expected what he deserved, and what he deserved was punishment for the blood his swords had spilled. He did not deserve peace. He did not deserve happiness. Because of his own weakness, his brother marched with an army to slaughter thousands. If the priests were right, and the Abyss awaited him, then who was he to deny his place there?
It was then he heard a voice. A distant memory, perhaps, but it seemed so real. In his right ear he heard a simple call, one he’d heard countless times, never realizing its preciousness. He heard Aullienna calling.
Daddy!
His spirit broke. Perhaps he deserved the Abyss. He believed he did. But that was not where his daughter was, and he would give anything, anything, to see her again, to hold her in his arms and kiss her face.
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