“Then spit them out,” Qurrah said, his own patience wearing thin. “Best we hear and turn them down now so we may slaughter one another on the battlefield without hesitation.”
“But we won’t meet on the battlefield,” Ezekai said, clearly enjoying himself. “At least, the Godslayer won’t. Our forces have captured Aubrienna Tun and Gregory Copernus. The moment the Godslayer sets foot on any battlefield, or raises his swords against the armies of Paradise, we shall have the both of them executed.”
The world stopped being real. Aurelia felt herself leave her own body. This couldn’t be happening. Her little girl...in the hands of those monsters...
“Give them back,” Harruq said. His voice was deep and frighteningly calm. That voice, that tone, she heard so very rarely. Her husband wasn’t just contemplating murder. He was imagining it with glee.
“We will, if you cooperate. There is a particular copse of trees several miles from here. Come nightfall, use your scrying magic to find myself there. When you do, you will also find them. We shall make a trade. In exchange for the lives of those two children, we demand the life of Harruq Godslayer Tun.”
Fire burst from Aurelia’s free hand. Shadows swirled around Tessanna’s. Harruq lacked magic, but he had his swords, and he pulled out of Aurelia’s grip so he might draw them. He said nothing, only bared his teeth and struggled to keep himself from charging.
Ezekai didn’t so much as flinch. “Why such fury? It is one life for two. Did I not promise a fair exchange?”
“Leave,” Harruq growled. “Now.”
“So be it,” Ezekai said, casually shrugging. “Bear in mind, this offer is only good for tonight. Should you fail to make an appearance, then our terms change. The moment any of you five make an appearance in battle, we shall immediately execute both children. Consider this a kindness, Eschaton. We know the leverage we wield. We could have demanded far more.”
“I said leave!”
The three fallen spread their wings and lifted several feet into the air.
“You want the boy king and your daughter?” Ezekai shouted. “Then offer yourself up for them. Those are the terms. We’ll await you tonight. For once, half-orc, make the right decision.”
The trio turned to leave. For a brief moment, Aurelia thought Qurrah would strike them out of the sky with fire and shadow. For a brief moment, Aurelia contemplated doing the same.
“What in Ashhur’s name is going on?” Harruq asked once they were gone. He jammed his swords into their sheaths and looked ready to erupt. “Is he lying? Tell me he’s fucking lying.”
“It’s a bold lie if true,” Qurrah said.
“And one I intend to find out for myself,” Aurelia said. She closed her eyes, her hands dancing as she cast divination magic. She focused all her mind on her beloved daughter, but though she felt her presence sweep across Dezrel, she saw nothing. Changing tactics, she searched for Gregory instead. Yet again, it was like searching for a shadow in the depth of night.
Ger eyes fluttered open. “Protected against scrying.”
“Then let’s try something else,” Tarlak said. He closed his eyes in turn. “When the children go missing, the first person to check in with is the babysitter.”
His frown deepened, his skin paled. Whatever fragile remnants of hope Aurelia felt quickly died.
“I can’t find Lathaar,” he said softly. “But I found Jerico. He’s miles north of the Citadel. Give me a moment while I open a portal for him.”
Aurelia leaned against her husband, waiting for Tarlak to tear open the fabric of reality. Harruq’s arms wrapped about her, and she tried to let his touch calm her. It helped, but only a little. In her chest churned a maelstrom of fear, sickness, and rage. She had lost one daughter already. How dare Dezrel threaten to take a second from her?
“It’ll be all right,” Harruq whispered.
“We don’t know that.”
“Then we’ll make it right.”
The portal opened, and after a moment’s hesitation, Jerico stepped out from its swirling blue surface. He glanced about the five of them, and his dour expression hardened.
“You know, don’t you?” he asked.
That was it. That was all it took. Aurelia’s tears slid down her face. Qurrah swore and turned away.
“I’ll murder them,” Tessanna whispered. “I swear, I will murder them all.”
Tessanna stormed away, and though Aurelia thought Qurrah would follow, he remained behind. She turned back to Jerico, who stared at the ground, exhausted, broken, and ashamed. Aurelia wanted to ask questions, to demand an explanation, but she couldn’t speak a word.
“What happened, Jerico?” Tarlak asked, the only one of them seemingly able to keep it together. The paladin let out a long sigh, clenched his hands into fists, stared at the grass.
“Lathaar is dead,” he said. “And the Citadel fallen.”
It was every bit her worst fear. Aurelia closed her eyes and fought against the emotions. She had to focus. Had to think. The life of her daughter most certainly depended on it.
“Please,” she said, forcing out the words. “Tell us everything that happened.”
They all listened in silence as Jerico told the tale of the fallen angels’ arrival, the betrayal of the students, and the collapse of the tower at Ashhur’s hands. He minced no words, not even when describing the slaughter of his students, committed by his own hands.
“I’ve been marching north ever since,” he said. “Hoping to reach Mordeina in time to kill the bastard. I suppose I should thank you for sparing me the miles. I guess all that matters now is, what do we do?”
“What do we do?” Harruq said. “There isn’t much choice, is there? I go, and I accept their terms.”
“You can’t,” Qurrah snapped.
“I will. I must.”
Aurelia held onto her husband’s arm, trying to make sense of her feelings. Harruq and Aubrienna were her world. To sacrifice one for the other was too horrific to imagine. But it wasn’t a choice, not really. The life of a parent for the life of a child? Of course Harruq would accept such a trade. Aurelia would have as well, had it been asked of her.
“We could try to attack instead,” Tarlak suggested. “After all, we’ve got a shit-ton of magic at our disposal.”
“They’ll kill the children the moment anything appears out of the ordinary,” Aurelia said. “And it’s possible they won’t bring the children to the meeting until Harruq makes an appearance. We are not the only ones with access to portal magic, remember.”
Tarlak threw up his hands. “Then what do we do? Just give up? Let them win? Sacrifice Harruq all for...for whatever sick game Azariah is playing?”
“Yes!” Harruq bellowed. “I’m not risking Aubby’s life, you hear me? She’s my girl, my little girl, and if I have to die, then I’ll die. Got it? All of you? You got that?”
Tarlak muttered and turned away. Harruq pulled away from Aurelia, though his hand lingered in her arm. She knew it was an attempt at affection as he fought the rage overwhelming him.
“I need some time to calm down and think,” he said before storming off. Aurelia watched him go, unable to make herself follow. Dimly, she realized this might be the last few moments she had left to spend with him. That realization only paralyzed her more.
“Come on, Jerico,” Tarlak said after a long, awkward pause. “Let’s get you a tent and some good cooked food. I doubt you’ve had much of either on your trek.”
That left only Qurrah and Aurelia standing atop the hill. She thought he would exit next and leave her the privacy she craved, but instead he approached her like one would a frightened deer. Slowly. Cautiously. He said nothing until he was close enough to take her hands in his. It was a surprising act of tenderness from a man who showed such a side so rarely.
“Aubrienna means much to me,” he said in his gravelly voice. “And she means the entire world to Tess. For your daughter to lose her father is a cruelty
I will never let her endure. I swear it.”
Aurelia gently slipped her hands out of his. There was something about the look in his eyes that gave her pause.
“You have a plan,” she said. It wasn’t a question.
“Indeed, I do.” He glanced over his shoulder, in the direction his brother had stormed off. “A desperate one, perhaps, but in such a grim hour, can we hope for anything other than desperation?”
“We can hope for peace,” she said. Her stress and fear threatened to free another wave of tears, but she held firm and kept her tone flat. “We can hope for joy, and laughter, and a world that isn’t so damn cruel and broken as this one.”
Qurrah smiled, and despite all their anger and sorrow, it appeared genuine. “But a broken world is the only world we have. So we must not hope, but instead act. Forgive me, Aurelia. I helped break this world. If you would allow me, I shall do what I can to make this right.”
18
“There will be death,” Azariah whispered, echoing the words that haunted his every fitful attempt at slumber. “There will be bloodshed. But it won’t be in my name.”
The condemnation of his god, granted through the tongue of a humble, nameless vagabond. Azariah looked about the cluster of pines, where his fallen brethren hid. If the bloodshed would not be in Ashhur’s name, then whose name did it belong to? Who deserved the blame?
“Must it be me?” Azariah asked the night. He lifted a hand to the stars and imagined his curled gray fingers clutching those twinkling orbs and crushing them until they turned to dust. It was a guilt he was willing to carry. Even Ashhur’s condemnation would not be enough to dissuade him from the path laid out before him. All of Dezrel needed this. Did the sins of her people not already prove that? Karak and Ashhur, two split pieces of a whole. Thulos had hoped to slay them both so he might be the lone inheritor of divine power, but Thulos was dead. All that remained now were the two brother gods. If their beliefs could be unified, if the brothers could be made whole in a way they had not been since humanity was molded from clay, the potential for Dezrel was unlimited.
Azariah smiled despite the jut of bone slicing across his lips and drawing blood. It was a glorious future to imagine, but to bring those revelations to the broken land of Dezrel meant surviving to accomplish them, and the glimpse of the future that Celestia’s Weave had granted him made it all too clear what would happen if the Godslayer lived.
He was not proud of what he must do, but it was necessary. It was needed. When compared to the fates of hundreds of thousands of souls, what did another meager body of flesh matter? What did any body of flesh matter? He glanced over his shoulder, to where Aubrienna and Gregory were each held in the arms of a fallen. The children wisely kept quiet, with only the occasional whimper. Each of them possessed remarkable strength for their age. They would be great leaders, if given time and circumstance to grow. Perhaps, once Paradise was settled over with peace, Azariah could begin molding their minds...
A swirling blue portal ripped open at the entrance to the cluster of trees. The other fallen readied their swords, but Azariah merely lowered his hand and removed the smile from his face. The increasingly familiar touch of magic sparked from his fingertips. Celestia’s magic, wielded by the hand of a Warden of humanity seeking to unify the brother gods. How could anyone deny that he was Dezrel’s true, perfect hero?
But Ashhur’s faithful were far too blind to see it, and Azariah saw that same unseeing rage in the eyes of the paladin that stepped out from the portal.
“Not the man I expected this night,” Azariah said wryly. “You’ve crossed many miles since I left the Citadel.”
Jerico crossed his arms and glared at the gathered angels. “The magic of portals. I’m here to ensure you keep your word.”
“With what? Your shield?” His bleeding grin returned. “Or the sword of your slain brother in faith?”
Jerico’s hands clenched into fists, but he kept them crossed over his chest. If his glare could kill, Azariah would be ten feet underground already.
“Ashhur’s grace will ensure even your lies will mean nothing to my ears,” he said. “So give me your word that you will honor this deal. No one else will step through that portal until I am satisfied.”
Azariah gestured a command to the two fallen holding the children. In response, each drew a knife from their sides and held the sharp blades against soft, slender necks.
“If you seek my word, then have it,” Azariah said. “If Harruq comes before me and forfeits his life, I will hand over both Gregory and Aubrienna. No harm shall befall them, nor shall I attempt to keep them in my custody. With the Godslayer dead, my reign will be assured.”
He paused a moment to let Jerico mull over his words. Paladins of Ashhur carried an innate sense to determine truth from lie, and Azariah had spoken with absolute honesty. His survival was all that mattered. With Harruq dead, his victory was assured. Once it was clear Jerico understood this, Azariah stepped closer, and he sank a hard edge into his voice.
“But if Harruq does not come before me tonight, then I will ensure he regrets that decision for the rest of his days. I will brutalize these children in ways that will leave them scarred but breathing. I will employ magic and blade. I will humiliate and traumatize their little minds, and as they suffer, I will sing sweet words in their ears at how it was Harruq’s fault for being a coward. I will tell Aubrienna her beloved father left her to suffer. I will tell Gregory his cherished hero was selfish and afraid. Every night, every day, I will break them with that truth.”
Both children began crying. Azariah stepped closer to the red-haired paladin, lifting his shoulders in a playful shrug.
“Tell me, paladin, have I yet spoken a lie?”
“You haven’t, you sick bastard,” Jerico said. For one brief moment, Azariah thought he might draw his sword and attack. Though it might complicate the night’s transfer, Azariah almost hoped for it. People like Jerico had outlived their usefulness. They were brutes meant to fight and kill for a society that did not desire wisdom. Once Azariah changed the very nature of the world, and peace overcame sinfulness, then the war-like paladins would be forgettable relics. They would be useful in stories, and stories only. Reality held no need for their stubborn inflexibility.
“Then go, and tell them what you have heard.”
Jerico shot him one last glare before stepping back into the swirling portal. Azariah slowly drew in a deep breath and let it out. Excitement tingled through his limbs. This was it. The moment of freedom. One final confrontation, settled not by muscles and skill with a blade but with ruthless cunning and a willingness to do what must be done. Needed steps, he told himself. One of many needed steps to haul Dezrel out of its eternal war of brother gods and into something akin to Paradise.
“It is not too late to change our minds,” Ezekai said. With Judarius remaining behind to lead the armies of Paradise, Ezekai was the highest in rank to accompany them on this rendezvous. The fallen lingered at Azariah’s side, his hands clutching the hilt of his sword as if they were nailed together.
“Tell me, why now should I waiver?” he asked.
The other angel would not meet his gaze. “Two hostages, the boy king and the elven daughter, could keep more than the Godslayer off the battlefield. Other members of the Eschaton, for instance. I fear we give up too much to receive far too little.”
Lightning crackled across the portal’s surface. Azariah shook his head. Memories of his foretold death hovered at the edges of his vision at all times.
“No,” he said. “This one death is all we need.”
Harruq and Aurelia Tun stepped through, followed by the paladin. Upon seeing Aubrienna, Harruq took a single jolting step forward before Aurelia caught his wrist and held him firm.
“You fucking wretch,” Harruq said, his voice seething with hatred, but he remained at Aurelia’s side. “I’m here, now let the children go.”
“So you might attempt to kill me o
nce they are safely away? No, Godslayer, we will not be playing that game.” Azariah lifted his hand, and so too lifted the knives of the fallen holding the two children. “Give me the slightest hint of betrayal and they shall die while you watch. If I see one inch of naked steel, one sparkle of magic on that elf’s fingertips, their blood stains the grass. Behave, and the deal we struck shall stand. Do we understand one another?”
“He’s telling the truth,” Jerico said.
“I know he is,” Harruq muttered. “He’s enjoying himself too much to be lying.”
A pleasurable shudder worked its way through Azariah’s black wings. Before him were three of the most powerful beings alive in all of Dezrel, and yet all three stood broken before him. He’d worked hard to remain humble over the years after the second Gods’ War ended. Now that he had abandoned such pointless endeavors, now that he had stopped trying to deny the inherit superiority of his people, it felt incredible to be treated like the king he was always meant to be. One of Ashhur’s many mistakes had been to declare his angels, the former Wardens of humanity who had tasted the divine, be mere servants of the sinful, imperfect humans once again.
This was better. This was proper.
“Come forth, Harruq. Stand before me and offer your head.”
The half-orc glanced to his wife. “It’s all right. Fear no regrets. I chose this, remember?”
Aurelia wrapped her arms about him, and she buried her face against his neck, whispering something Azariah could not hear. When they separated, Harruq unbuckled the sheaths holding Salvation and Condemnation and handed them over to Jerico.
“I’m sure you can think of someone who could use these,” Harruq said with a crooked grin.
“I’ve a few in mind.” Jerico flicked his gaze toward Azariah. “And if the world is kind, the next body they pierce will be a certain angel king.”
“A kind world,” Harruq said. He laughed softly as he crossed the empty stretch of grass and approached Azariah. “That’ll be the day.”
The King of the Fallen Page 19