A Sliver of Redemption

16

H e thought himself beyond most human emotions, but Thulos felt a combination of eagerness and impatience as he led his army closer to the bridges. Since arriving on Celestia’s world, he was yet to kill a man in combat. Nations had sworn their allegiance with hardly more than a shake of his sword and a promise of victory. He needed troops, yes, but everything felt too easy. As he walked, he thought of worlds where he’d encountered hundreds of mages in unified defense, or when elves had assaulted his legions while riding dragons of all colors. That was one of the few times he’d nearly ‘died’, in the mouth of an elder black wyrm, but he’d prevailed, and he bore the scars proudly on his body.

But this world? Pathetic.

Velixar assured him that in Ker, across the bridges, he would finally meet an army willing to fight. While resupplying at Angelport, they’d received word from several sailors arriving from Angkar, the capital of Ker according to Velixar, that their king had declared independence by executing hundreds of priests and paladins of Karak. The news had infuriated Karak’s prophet, but only amused Thulos. So a king wanted to make a bid for freedom while the rest of the world burned? He’d heard of stranger things. The bridges across the rivers and into Ker were near, and within the kingdom’s borders he planned on having himself a true siege. This time he would not recruit their strongest. He would not give them a grand speech about conquest and strength. No, he’d kill them to a man, so that the rest of the rabble they chased would hear of what awaited them.

He didn’t sleep, so he was always the first about when morning came. Every dawn he inspected a different squad under his command, making sure they prepared for the day in an efficient, worthwhile manner. Sometimes he even stole over to the regular human troops, just to let his presence be felt. They stared in awe of him, his size, his strength. It amused him, but he also knew that a few minutes there would keep the army disciplined better than a hundred taskmasters and their barbed whips.

Being in the presence of the war god suddenly made conquering worlds seem possible.

But that morning he oversaw none. Something nagged at him, like a worm burrowing into his brain. He kept hearing voices, but never decipherable, nor coming from any direction. Magic was at its heart, he knew, but from where remained unclear. He tried focusing on it, grabbing a hold of the invisible strands looping around his head, but they always broke like mist. More and more he thought he was being taunted. By who, though? Who was mad enough to taunt a god?

I am, said a voice, responding to his thoughts.

“And you are?” he asked, walking away from his army so he might have silence. The voice still sounded thin, and he didn’t want to miss a word.

You come to my world, then ask who I am? Can you not feel my anger with every breath you take? Do not even the grass and trees ripple with fury when your demons pass?

“You sound unhappy, Celestia. Your memory must be as good as mine. I remember watching my demons burn this land centuries ago. How your precious creations cried.”

You mock and insult because you feel victory is certain. You are isolated. You are vulnerable. You are not a god, not as you once were. Do you wish destruction? Do you desire to know fear?

“I fear nothing,” Thulos said. He drew his sword and pointed it upward. “Is that where you are, Celestia? Must I cut a hole in the very sky to find where you hide?”

You must do nothing. I am coming to you, Thulos. That is, if you are not afraid.

Thulos felt a wave of anticipation flow through him, a sensation he had not felt in at least a decade.

“You would fight me?” he asked. “The world dies, and now you come to me in desperation?”

Death comes to the mortal, Thulos. So long as Karak and Ashhur remain imprisoned, I can destroy you. Eighty leagues south of here is a clearing sacred to me. Do not worry about finding it; I will guide you.

The spider webs of magic left, and the voice vanished. Thulos laughed.

“At last,” he said. “At last a real challenge!”

He summoned Velixar, wishing to talk to him first.

“You seem joyous,” said Karak’s prophet as he joined him outside the camp. “Is it because the bridges are so near?”

“Celestia has come to fight,” Thulos said. “And I have accepted her challenge. While I am gone, you shall be in charge of my army.”

Velixar’s red eyes flared with happiness.

“A great honor,” he said, bowing low.

“One I expect not to haunt me when I return,” Thulos said. “I will instruct Myann to follow your orders, but should you fail in your duties, or put my demons at risk, he will assume control.”

Velixar did a poor job hiding his displeasure. He and the demon Myann had disagreed often when discussing plans at various intervals in their travels. It was that disagreement that made Thulos trust the war demon to protect his soldiers. Myann would not cow to Velixar, regardless of the prophet’s power. If the lich risked his victory, he would stop him.

Though it might soon not matter. If he crushed Celestia, then his brothers might go free from their cages. For how slow things had moved, suddenly his victory rapidly approached. The god dismissed Velixar, relayed his orders to Myann, and then prepared for travel. Eighty leagues would take him several days to cross, and that was if he walked without rest. Which he would.

He would hate to keep a fellow deity waiting.

T he trek had been quiet and tense, the result of the disagreement with Theo’s men during their departure. Jerico soothed their worries and anger as best he could, but he felt like a damp cloth tossed upon a blazing inferno. He felt so drained by the day’s end, he barely noticed Lathaar’s absence. It was only when they set up camp that he realized he was gone.

“Where’s Lathaar?” he asked Tarlak once he found the wizard.

“Assumed he was with you,” Tarlak said. “Check near the back. Perhaps he fell behind with a few others that weren’t feeling too well.”

The idea was as good as any, so he hurried through the ranks. Once free of the mass of bodies, he saw his paladin friend in the distance, kneeling in the tall grass. He walked toward him, feeling his stomach tighten with every step. Something was clearly wrong.

“Oh,” Lathaar said, glancing up from his dead stare toward the ground.

“What’s the matter?” Jerico asked.

“It’s Mira,” he said. Tears ran down his face.

“Is she…?”

But he didn’t need to hear the answer. It was written all over his friend’s face.

S even giant oaks towered over the clearing, their leaves red and gold year round. Legend told that Celestia had stood in that very spot when she first created elves, and had taken inspiration from the trees about her. To reward them, she’d granted the oaks long life and health. Standing in the shadows of their branches, Mira found herself believing the tale Evermoon had told her.

She sang to pass the time. Solitude was an old friend to her, and while at Elfspire she had hoped for any sort of company, she now dreaded the arrival of another. She’d been fascinated with Lathaar, had found his troubled faith intriguing. Thulos reeked of pure, complete fanaticism for his goal. There was nothing to understand, only fear.

High above the trees, a silver star glimmered, guiding the war god toward her clearing. She’d chosen the spot not just for the close contact to Celestia, but also to give the men at the bridge the greatest chance that their combat would end before Thulos returned. Assuming she failed, of course, but she had already resigned herself to that fate. She was no different than them, no different from the soldiers and kings standing before the tide, and while she might not have a sword to lift against them, she had her magic.

Yes, her magic. She felt it growing, Celestia pouring all her power into her. The clearing was most certainly sacred. Even the trees seemed to lift their branches in awe of her, and the light glimmered on her skin. The days of waiting were soon to end. She felt time pass slow and steady, the sun falling and the moon rising in perfect, eternal rhythm.

And then time resumed its normal cadence as Thulos took his first step into the clearing.

“You look like her,” he said. She thought he’d be angry, but instead he seemed amused. “But you are not. You are her daughter, her physical form in this world. Is she so cowardly that she will not risk her life as I have? What are you but a hollow shell for her to fill with her power?”

“I am enough to defeat you,” she said, a comforting calm settling through her, traveling from the top of her head to the bottom of her feet. He towered over her, but she felt just as tall, just as powerful.

“Can gods die?” she asked.

“Everything can die, even gods.”

She smiled.

“Then play the god, and I’ll play the goddess. Let us see who dies.”

She pushed her hands forward, her wrists touching. An enormous ball of fire roared to life, streaking straight for Thulos. Up came his sword, and a single swipe detonated it early. As the fire rolled around him he laughed. Twin strikes of ice followed, their lances sharp. One shattered against his armor, the other flew passed his head and buried into a tree. His smile grew.

“More,” he said, lunging toward her with his sword leading. “Show me more!”

She whirled, and a funnel of air surrounded her, swirling higher and higher until it reached the sky. Thulos tried to stab through it, but a bolt of lightning struck the blade the moment it touched the air. He gritted his teeth and pulled back, refusing to let go of the weapon despite the pain. Thunder boomed, the elements seeming to grow angry at their battle. From within the vortex Mira’s eyes shone white.

Unimpressed, Thulos slammed his sword to the ground. Its shockwave tore a giant hole in the funnel, and before it could close he slashed the ground, sending another forceful blast onward. Mira clapped her hands. The sound rolled outward with physical energy, disrupting his attack and pushing him back. The air funnel vanished. Lightning struck her uplifted hand, swirling around her body like a wild snake.

“Dezrel loathes your presence,” she said. “It is time you suffered for the untold worlds you’ve destroyed.”

“Stronger than you have tried,” he said. He dodged the first bolt, deflected the second with his sword, and then accepted the third directly into his chest. He shook his head, disappointed.

“Better,” he said, his voice nearly a snarl. “You have to do better!”

She ripped chunks of dirt from the ground and hurled them, but he slammed the boulders aside. The last one she threw he cut in half with his sword. Twisting it, he swung so the flat of the blade smacked the boulder back at her. She dropped to the ground, narrowly avoiding it. The chunk cracked the bark of one of the oaks, and leaves scattered down like an autumn rain. A snap of her fingers and every leaf burst into flame. Thulos winced in the sudden brightness, and then the fire erupted beneath him. He roared as he dove to the side. His skin was hard as stone, but faint black marks marred its perfection.

Mira thought he’d mock her, or congratulate her, but instead he attacked with such speed she had but a split-second to react. A defensive spell wrapped about her skin, and when the blade struck her side it failed to cut. Sparks flew, the powerful magic in his blade unable to sunder the equally strong defense. The energy still traveled through, and Mira cried out as she smacked against the trunk of a tree. The sword flew end over end after her. Shadows swarmed about her, protecting her. The sword flashed a bright red, then bounced off, unable to penetrate.

“Is this better?” she asked, stepping toward him while the shadows swirled. “Is this the power of the goddess you seek?”

White wings stretched from her back. The shadows faded, becoming streams of gold that formed a long dress, its skirt filling the clearing. Higher and higher she hovered, the ethereal wings showering the clearing with petals with each flap, petals that dispersed into wisps of shimmering light.

Thulos grinned at the display.

“About damn time.”

A massive beam of power shot from her hands. Thulos rolled out of the way. The beam continued, exploding several trees as it blew a hole clean through the forest. A large gash remained in the dirt, carved by the blast. She unleashed another, this one angled lower. Thulos met it with his sword, all his power summoned into the blade. The magic enveloped him, surging into a dome that pushed the earth aside and bowled over the ancient oaks as if they were twigs.

When the light faded, Thulos remained. His sword shimmered with dark energy. His muscles bulged, every sinew in his body required to remain standing after the assault. Smoke wafted off his armor, and its edges shone red as if heated to near melting. Mira flapped her wings, and the feathers floated down.

“Such a pretty bird,” he said, sounding out of breath. “Must I put you back in your cage?”

“Your strength is simple in its primal nature,” she said. Her voice took on a strange, dual tone, as if two women were speaking. Thulos’s eyes narrowed, for he knew that second voice well.

“Simple?” he asked. “Come now, Celestia. Must you insult what you cannot destroy?”

He swung his sword, and the shockwaves shone red as they travelled toward her. Mira batted them aside with her hands until she saw blood flick to the ground from her palms. Suddenly worried, she tried to soar higher, but the slashes continued, this time not for her but her wings. They tore through their ethereal nature, banishing their magic. The feathers poured into the sky like butterflies freed from a jar. Where she fell, Thulos stood ready, his sword raised heavenward.

Mira shrieked just before landing. Raw magic poured out of her, rolling across the land for miles in a destructive wave. Branches broke as their leaves ripped off their stems. Animals howled as their bones snapped. The ground cracked and heaved. Thulos screamed as his whole body shuddered. He felt his mortal form ready to give, to surrender to a death he could never imagine possible. Only his sheer rage kept him standing, kept him fighting against the power of the goddess he so vehemently loathed.

And then the wave was done. Mira fell limp to the ground before him, her golden dress fading to a simple green, torn and bloodied. With a shaking hand he pointed his sword at her throat.

“You could destroy the world and still not destroy me,” he said, but his voice quivered with a newfound fear.

“It is the world that will destroy you,” she said. Her eyes drooped, so great was her exhaustion. “Even now, mother sees your fate.”

“Has she seen yours?” he asked.

She smiled. “She did, and she wept from the very moment of my birth for it.”

He plunged his sword into her breast. No magic stopped it. No spell veered it aside. The blade pierced her heart, twisted, and then pulled free.

“Lathaar,” she whispered as the blood spilled across her breast. “Please, remember…”

“I ’ll be waiting,” Lathaar said, and his body trembled. “That is all she said. Please, remember I’ll be waiting. Waiting. Which means she’s gone.”

Jerico wrapped his arms around Lathaar’s shoulders as his friend cried.

“The Eternity isn’t so far away,” he said. “Our lives are but a spark from a fire. Stay with me, Lathaar. Stay with us.”

Simple words, thought Lathaar. Honest, perhaps, and maybe true. But only words.

Only words.