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.
“Take me,” he prayed in between sobs, and this time he knew it true. He did not feel embarrassment. He did not wait for reactions or listen for a divine chorus. Broken and weary, he begged for release.
“Forgive me of it all. Please, just let me see her again.”
He knew he was just one soul, but it seemed the very heavens quaked at his prayer.
Antonil snapped his head back, just one of many as he heard the sound of thunder. All around him soldiers shouted and pointed. Above the castle, far to the west, a shimmer of gold shook the sky, as if a second sun were rising. Again thunder rumbled.
The king hurried up the stairs to the outer wall and looked upon the approaching army. He then saw Harruq kneeling alone, with several of his friends in rapid approach.
“This isn’t right,” he said, thinking of all the Eschaton had done for him. “It just isn’t right.”
He ran down the stairs and motioned over one of his soldiers.
“Grant me your horse,” he told him, and the soldier quickly obeyed. Antonil raised his sword and circled the area.
“To me, my soldiers!” he shouted. “Bring your horses to me!”
By the time they had gathered there were two hundred of them, crowding through the soldiers of Mordan that gathered.
“Open the gate!” the king shouted. “Let us pass!”
For the third time that morning the gate creaked open. As it opened they saw the army approaching, vastly outnumbering them. Antonil raised his sword even higher, and shouted loud as he could to drown out the fear that swarmed through them.
“We will ride,” he cried. “For Neldar, for our people, and for our beloved dead!”
His men, loyal to the end, raised high their weapons and cheered his name.
“For King Antonil!” they shouted.
“For Neldar!” Antonil shouted back.
The two hundred rode out of the castle, still cheering.
Qurrah walked before the rows of the dead, Tessanna at his right. On his left, Velixar and Ulamn discussed strategy. When they saw Harruq in the distance, alone, they were baffled.
“What do we do with him?” Velixar asked Qurrah as they neared.
“Perhaps he wants to join us?” Tessanna offered.
Qurrah shook his head.
“No,” he said. “Time for that is long past. Perhaps he wants one last blaze of glory in battle before dying. Deny him even that. Ulamn, shower him with your spears.”
“Is he worth the effort?” Ulamn asked.
“He is,” Qurrah said.
Ulamn raised his fist and shouted orders. Above him winged demons heard and obeyed. They flew higher and higher, and as one they hurled their spears hundreds of yards through the air, which fell like a deadly rain upon the kneeling half-orc.
“Harruq!” Aurelia shouted as she ended her spell. Her knees slid on the grass beside him as she grabbed his shoulders and pulled him up to face her. He was still sobbing, but somehow he smiled, even as tears ran down from eyes that shimmered gold.
“Aurry,” he said before letting go of his swords and wrapping her in his arms. “I love you,” he said as he clung to her with desperate strength.
“I love you, too,” she said. She closed her eyes and hugged him tighter. Over his shoulder she saw the hundreds of spears hurtling through the air.
So be it, she thought. She would die in Harruq’s arms. She could think of no better way.
“They’ll be killed!” Lathaar shouted as their horse neared. They had almost caught up with Aurelia by the time she flung her arms around her husband.
“Ride in front of them,” Jerico ordered as he pulled his shield off his back. “And pray Ashhur is with us both.”
Lathaar did as asked, tugging on the reins. Jerico leaped off, rolling across the dirt and ignoring the sudden pain to his arms and knees. There was no time. He slammed the lower edge of his shield into the dirt to halt his roll, then shoved it into the air.
“Elholad!” he shouted. A white image of his shield shimmered an inch above the steel, and then grew, larger and larger. For a hundred yards it stretched out, spreading outward like the shield of a god. The spears pelted against it, their tips melting, their shafts breaking. Jerico winced, feeling every single spear as it hit the shield, each one sapping a little more of his strength. When the last one broke, their remains raining down between them and the army, Jerico lowered his shield and managed to grin in between gasping for air.
“Praise Ashhur,” he said. “That was awesome.”
As if in response, the western sky groaned with thunder.
Lathaar circled his horse about and dismounted, smacking it on the rump so it’d bolt back to the city. As the two paladins stood before Harruq and Aurelia, Haern appeared, a smile on his face.
“Care if I join your last stand?” he asked.
“More than welcome,” Lathaar said. “Ashhur knows we need you.”
Harruq stood, and Aurelia stood with him. He pointed a sword at the faint image of Qurrah, and as he did the red glow about the blade turned white.
“He’s mine,” Harruq said. “Kill as you must, but leave him to me.”
Aurelia stepped back, seeing the change in his eyes and unsure of what it meant. The two paladins saw the glow on his blades, however, and could think of only one conclusion.
“Blessed be,” Jerico said, laughing in spite of all the insanity. “Blessed be.”
“What trickery is this?” Ulamn said as he watched his soldiers’ attacks rendered futile by the glowing shield.
“They are powerful,” Tessanna said. “Do you still doubt that?”
“I will send in my dead,” Velixar said. “Those there are the city’s greatest defenders, out in the open. We kill them, and Mordeina will fall in time.”
Tessanna opened her mouth to say something, but suddenly stopped. Her muscles tightened. Her head flung back.
“Tess?” Qurrah asked, grabbing her shoulders. “Tess!”
“Remind me to never, ever get into a fight with one of them,” Tarlak said as he watched the rain of spears shatter on Jerico’s holy shield. His heart had been heavy, expecting to watch his friends murdered, but instead they survived and gathered to fight. Beside him Mira smiled, and then suddenly she snapped erect. Her arms flung wide. Her mouth opened, and high above the western sky rumbled angrily.
As one, Mira and Tessanna spoke, their voices impossibly loud. All for miles clearly heard their words.
“Long I have watched,” they cried. “Long I have slumbered. But the Balance is broken. My world, my beloved creation, is ruined. A demon army marches, to free whom I have imprisoned. So be it. If Balance is to tumble, then let it tumble, but not without a chance for redemption. I have been given a sign of faith, and of hope. If Karak is to have his demons, then I will give Ashhur his angels.”
A sound greater than any thunder resounded throughout the vale. The western sky split. All who looked saw a land golden and shimmering, and from it flew men with white wings and golden armor. They were in exact number as Ulamn’s troops, who
raised their weapons and shouted in bitter hatred.
Just as sudden as it had opened the tear in the sky closed. The thunder quieted. The angels flew in their formations, over Mordeina and straight for the war demons.
“Such hypocrisy,” Velixar seethed, his whole body shaking with rage. “The whore promises neutrality, and yet releases Ashhur’s soldiers while keeping Karak imprisoned?”
“It is her last gasp,” Qurrah said as he held Tessanna in his arms. The girl had collapsed after issuing her statements, her eyes closed and her body limp. “She cannot stop us on her own.”
“Destroy the fools on the ground,” Ulamn said as he spread his wings. “We will massacre Ashhur’s soldiers and then move onto the city. We will not fail here!”
The demon took to the sky, commanding his troops and preparing for the assault. Velixar issued an order, and at once his multitude of undead lumbered forward, to bury Harruq and his allies under their sheer weight and number.
“Time for some fun,” Tarlak said, cracking his knuckles. Mira lay beside him, her back propped against the ledge. She was still breathing, so he assumed she would recover, he just didn’t know when. Being possessed by a goddess certainly wasn’t something he was familiar with. Praying she would be fine, he looped his hands about and hurled a ball of flame through the air. Its aim was true, and it exploded amid a massive amount of undead, consuming their corpses. He chuckled and prepared another.
“Do as much damage while they are still packed tight,” Dieredon said from behind him. Tarlak turned to see the elf riding Sonowin.
“Planned on it,” Tarlak said as he tipped his hat.
Dieredon saluted back, then yanked on Sonowin’s reins. Horse and rider soared over the wall, just ahead of the first wave of angels. He released the reins and drew his bow, trusting his mount. He drew three arrows from his quiver, their tips glistening with holy water. He pulled all three back and fired into the horde of demons, each one piercing through armor, wing, or flesh. Spears flew his direction, but Sonowin dodged with ease. Dieredon fired volley after volley, until the army was almost upon him. He then looped his bow about his back, grabbed the reins, and dove.
High above him the angels and demons clashed, showering the ground below with blood.
“Slow their approach,” Haern shouted to Aurelia as the waves of undead charged.
Aurelia stood, all emotion draining from her face as she prepared for battle. Frost wafted from her fingers as she they danced. Giant boulders of ice leaped from her hands, rolling through the ranks of undead. She then created a wall of fire, stretching for hundreds of yards. Wave after wave marched through it, burning skin and setting bodies aflame.
Then the wall of fire vanished as quickly as Aurelia had summoned it. Velixar approached, Qurrah and Krieger at his sides.
“It’s been a long time, elf,” Velixar shouted as his undead marched past him. Aurelia shivered, remembering her battle in Woodhaven years ago. She had thrown everything at him, and he had only laughed. She hurled a bolt of lightning, not at him, but at his minions. Velixar countered, stretching his arms and sending a shimmering black sphere directly in its path. The lightning struck the sphere and dissipated.
“Keep him occupied,” Lathaar said to Aurelia as they braced themselves. “And we’ll keep us alive.”
“Flee you fool,” Qurrah shouted to his brother.
“You stay and fight the dead if you want,” Harruq said, shaking his head. “I’m going for him.”
He charged, slamming through the undead as if they were an inconvenience at best. His twin blades sliced through rotted flesh, leaving a crimson afterimage as they spun and cut.
“Send your troops around back,” Velixar ordered Krieger before casting another spell. A dark mist rose from the ground, swirling into his undead as if their open wounds were breathing it in. Their rotten flesh tightened. Their lumbering gaits quickened. With beyond human strength they struck, and Harruq found himself on the defensive, parrying and dodging their punches and bites.
Jerico and Lathaar sang a song to Ashhur as they fought, even as their bodies cringed at the sheer strength ramming against their weapons and shield. Haern fought as he had in Veldaren, spinning and weaving around the two paladins, so that if either faltered he was there, cutting down an attacker with a precise strike from his sabers. Dieredon flew over, raining down arrows before banking around, dodging a bolt of shadow Qurrah threw at him.
“You fight valiantly,” Qurrah said to his brother, who struggled a mere ten feet away, unable to pass through the waves of undead that seemed unending. “Throw down your weapons, and perhaps you will live.”
A ball of flame exploded among the undead ranks to his right, no doubt a gift from Tarlak.
“I know!” Harruq shouted, ignoring his offer. “I know about your child! I know about your promise!”
Qurrah staggered as if struck by an arrow. He glanced at Tessanna, who was just beginning to stir.
“You know nothing,” he hissed, shadows stretching and growing about his body. “I will end you, worm.”
All around them bodies crashed to the ground, both angel and demon. Qurrah mashed his hands together, and between his fingers thin darts of darkness shot toward Harruq, over fifty in number. Harruq spun his blades as he turned, avoiding most, and the ones that did bite into his skin, he ignored. They did no real damage, instead flooding his body with incredible pain. The half-orc chuckled. Apparently his brother didn’t realize just how much his pain threshold had increased.
He chopped down two more undead, spun his swords in a circle to shred four more and lunged, the way to his brother clear. Qurrah drew his whip and lashed the ground, eager to put an end to his guilt.
Two more bolts of lightning streaked from her hands, and each one Velixar absorbed with orbs of shadow. When she hurled a third directly at him, he smirked and swatted it aside as if it were a fly. The bolt veered into the air, killing several of the aerial combatants.
“Behind us!” Haern shouted as he leaped over Jerico, the paladin slamming his shield into a large skeletal undead. Its bones exploded into chalk under the tremendous glow. The assassin pointed his sabers, even though he doubted either Aurelia or the paladins would be able to spare the moment to see. Twenty dark paladins rode on horseback around the ranks of the dead, curling about with an obvious goal. They would flank them all, and pressed on both sides the Eschaton would fall.
Haern felt panic claw his gut, but when he glanced back at the city, he laughed. Perhaps things weren’t as dire as he thought. Two balls of fire detonated around the dark paladins, courtesy of Tarlak, and as they angled their charge they saw Antonil and his troops, numbering two hundred to their twenty. Antonil led the way, his sword held high. Krieger tried to turn about, but the distance was not enough.
“Ram them!” Antonil shouted. “Do not engage, just send them to the dirt!”
The fight was quick but brutal. Antonil’s men gave no care for their own safety, even knowing the dark paladins’ strength and skill. Instead, their horses slammed directly into them, plowing bodies together and toppling them from their mounts. Those that stayed seated were vastly outnumbered, and could only turn and flee. Seven of the twenty managed to remain mounted and escape. Krieger was not one of those twenty.
Antonil pressed on, many of his own men dead or dismounted. They picked up speed, and as one, the soldiers shouted the name of their king. They rode through the waves of dead surrounding the Eschaton, crushing them with their sheer weight. Velixar attacked them with boulders of lava, but this time it was Aurelia who countered, ripping chunks of earth from the ground and forcing them back.
“Where are my tested?” Velixar shouted. “Where are my priests?” A ball of fire flew just over his head, decimating twenty more undead in its explosion. “And will someone kill that damn mage?”
Behind the rows of undead, the tested sang their own song of Karak’s glory, their skeletal hands raised to the sky. They pushed through the dead, eager for
their chance at combat. The priests, however, remained at the back, gathered together in a tremendous circle. They were casting a spell, but he could not tell what. Velixar glanced at the sky, where the battle was still undecided. His priests could turn the battle, bombarding Harruq and his allies with spells of weakness and madness.
He ran through his undead and his tested, approaching the circle. The words they shouted in unison seemed familiar to him, as if from a century-old dream. Their arms were raised to the sky, and as one they shouted a single name, one that filled him with fury.
‘Melorak!’ they shouted.
Velixar pushed into the circle, but was too late. In the center was a single body, a fellow priest willingly sacrificed with a gigantic gash in his throat. Shadows swirled into him, and the grass below withered brown and died. A deep, low rumble sounded from the throats of the priests, and in one jerky movement, the body stood. There was no doubt who it was.
“I am the one whose coming was foretold,” Preston said, his features constantly shifting and his eyes glowing red. “The time of prophets is over, Velixar. In this new age, Karak has sent his king.”
He outstretched his hand, red lightning leaping from his palm straight for Velixar.
Qurrah lashed twice with his whip, forcing Harruq to stop and slap it away. Before Harruq could continue forward, Qurrah slammed his hands together. Twenty of the nearby undead exploded in a shower of rotted flesh. He pulled the bones to him, swirling around his body like making him the center of a skeletal tornado. Harruq stopped just short of its edge and slammed his swords together. Light flashed over them both, and the bones wavered in the air, their magic waning. Qurrah focused harder, but when Harruq again slammed his swords together the bones fell.
Qurrah dove as the hilts of Harruq’s swords struck where he’d been. The half-orc grabbed a clump of dirt and hurled it behind him, filling it with dark magic. When Harruq slapped it aside with one of his swords, it exploded into a barrage of darts. They pierced his armor and flesh, flooding his nerves with unending pain. He collapsed to one knee, screaming. Many of the undead approached him, their arms reaching out, but he regained his footing and smacked them away.
The Shadows of Grace (Half-Orcs Book 4) Page 24