The Death of Promises

19

T hey came in waves, thirty or so of shambling undead biting with bleeding teeth and clawing with broken fingers. Each wave threatened to break their line, but Harruq held firm as the wall of the dead grew ever larger. Lathaar’s Elholad had faded, and he swung normal steel with exhausted arms. Even Haern’s slender sabers felt like giant clubs to him. The potent magic in Bonebreaker kept Jerico dangerous, with even his mildest of swings smashing bone. Harruq, however, seemed no longer mortal.

Salvation and Condemnation blasted away flesh and sliced off limbs without pause. He no longer felt his arms, but he didn’t need to. He just kept on swinging, the shower of gore proof enough that his numb hands still followed orders. Blood soaked him from head to toe, much of it his, but he didn’t care. Any time his resolve threatened to break, or his exhaustion steal him away into unconsciousness, he heard the words that spurred him on.

For Qurrah! For Qurrah!

They chanted it, and in return he shattered their jaws and took the blasphemous life that enabled them to speak. To Harruq, it was a fair trade. The gap in the wall narrowed further and further, filled with corpses of all shapes and sizes. Harruq kept ordering the others back, until only he stood before a four foot expanse that the undead pressed through. They kept coming, kept trying to drown him in numbers, but his arms never ceased.

Haern wanted to say something, to hear his student speak, but dared not disturb his concentration. Lathaar leaned beside him and whispered amid the slaughter.

“What is he?” he asked.

Haern shook his head. “Just a half-orc,” he replied.

“Ashhur is with him,” Jerico said, hoisting his shield onto his back. “Even more so than with Lathaar and I. His will, his strength…but his body will break.”

Tears filled Harruq’s golden eyes. He didn’t even see his attackers anymore. He just saw his friends, his family, and the face of his brother. He would kill them. He would kill all of them. For Aurelia. For Tarlak. For Brug.

And then the undead changed their chant.

For Aullienna! they shouted. For Aullienna! For Aullienna!

The sound was a horrendous blasphemy, the beautiful name of his daughter flooding the streets through dead throats and lifeless vocal chords. As Harruq cried, his heart filled with pain equal to the pain in his chest, his legs, his head. He couldn’t think, he couldn’t breathe. Too tired, too damn tired. Delysia. Brug. Aullienna. Was Aurelia still alive? Tarlak? He fell to his knees, his weapons falling limp beside him. The confidence in which he fought dissolved into emptiness. Deep in his head, he heard Qurrah laughing.

“Harruq!” Haern shouted, seeing his student’s sudden collapse. Lathaar reacted first, slamming his shoulder into Harruq’s side. The two fell to the side of the gap in the wall. Jerico smashed his shield forward, pushing back the undead.

“Harruq, snap out of it,” Haern said, pulling the half-orc’s face up by the hair. But Harruq’s eyes were rolling into his head, and he kept shaking side to side. His lips were moving but nothing came out. Wisps of dark smoke rose from his tongue.

“Damn you, Qurrah,” the assassin whispered. “What game is it you play now?”

H e stood on stars hidden beneath glass. Blue fire rose and fell in a ring around them, and high above floated a small red sun.

“Where am I?” Harruq asked.

Qurrah pulled back his hood. His eyes were a deep red. His skin was ashen. With each word he spoke the blue fire flared higher.

“Where does not matter, dear brother, only why. Forgive me for such a ploy. To use Aullienna’s death as a weapon against you is a cheap dishonor, but I needed you to fall. Your mind has grown stronger. Entering was no easy task.”

“Such a shame,” Harruq said. Seeing the stars below his feet filled him with vertigo, so he stared straight at Qurrah. His eyes reminded him of Velixar, and the chilling thought kept his mind sharp.

“Celestia’s wall has fallen,” Qurrah said. “As we speak, an army of war demons enters the city. There is no limit to their size, Harruq. Hundreds of thousands loyal to Velixar, and to me. We will lay waste to all life.”

“Why?” Harruq asked. “What have you suffered to slaughter so many? What loss have you endured that is greater than my own?”

“We’ve been fools for a long time,” Qurrah said. The blue fire soared to the crimson sun, a wall reaching millions of miles high. The red in his eyes deepened. “Your daughter died because of Velixar. He led Aullienna into the forest and planted the seed that eventually drowned her. Your hatred of me, your vengeance…none of it is just.”

Harruq felt as if a knife had shredded his insides and then stuck firmly into his heart. His head swirled, much as the stars did below.

“I loved your daughter,” Qurrah continued. “As did Tessanna. Our recklessness caused her death.”

“What do you want with me?” Harruq asked, unable to meet Qurrah’s gaze.

“Join me. Everyone will die. It is inevitable. Does it matter if life ceases its pointless cycle on this miserable stretch of rock? You, your wife, the rest of the Eschaton, just bow and swear allegiance and you will live.”

“What life could I hope to live in a dead, desolate world?”

“We will leave it,” Qurrah said. “When all is conquered, Velixar will open us a door to a new world, without our troubles, without our death. We can escape, go back to how it had always been. Dezrel will be but a sad memory.”

Harruq looked back up to Qurrah, his lower lip quivering.

“Back to how it was?” he asked. Qurrah nodded.

“Back as if we never met Velixar.”

“Back,” Harruq said. “Back to killing children for your games? Back to trusting you and obeying your commands? You would sacrifice this world, and then ask me to sacrifice my very life to serve at your side?”

Deadly anger swarmed over Qurrah’s face. “You will die otherwise.”

“What you ask for is worse than death.”

“So melodramatic,” Qurrah said, his voice a vile hiss. “Is what I offer truly so terrible? What do you gain by fighting against me? Accept my apologies. Accept my mercy. Live at my side. Don’t die beneath me.”

A chuckle shook Harruq’s belly, vibrating up his chest and out to his arms, until his whole body was quaking with laughter.

“One day I will die,” he said. “But it will never be beneath you. You’re as low as it gets, brother. There’s no way to sink any lower. Get out of my head.”

The fire sunk, the stars faded, and as the sun shrunk into a thin dot Qurrah sighed. The red of his eyes was all that Harruq could see, and in perfect silence he heard the words of his brother.

“So be it. My mercy is spent. You will break before me, and unlike you, I will not show weakness when I strike the killing blow.”

Harruq did not allow him the final word.

“Even back how it was,” he said, “you never would have stayed your hand.”

The darkness broke, and he opened his eyes.

D amn him,” Qurrah said, jarring out of a trance. Tessanna’s hands wrapped around his body, holding him as he reoriented himself. The two cuddled against a wall of the throne room. Near them was the portal, which had been still ever since Ulamn’s departure. Velixar was on the opposite side of the room, deep in prayer to Karak.

“He didn’t accept,” Tessanna said. “I told you he wouldn’t.”

“You give my brother too much credit,” Qurrah said.

“And you give him too little. Will he die to your undead?”

The half-orc rubbed his eyes and then shook his head. “No, he won’t. He’s still strong, as are his friends. He’s almost out of the city.”

Tessanna nestled her face into the side of his neck.

“Have your pets keep chase,” she said, giggling as if it were a humorous joke. “Day and night, they’ll follow. Deny your brother sleep. Deny him rest. He will crumble.” She grabbed Qurrah’s hand and held it against her abdomen.

“Is it true?” he asked her. “Are you with child?”

“Of course,” Tessanna said, her eyes sparkling. “Aullienna will no longer haunt me. I will have a daughter of my own. Cease your pets chanting of her name.”

“Already done.”

She wrapped her arms tighter about his waist and kissed his chin. “Ready to be a father?” she asked him.

“I do not run from my responsibilities,” he said.

“That isn’t an answer.”

He frowned down at her. “It is the only answer I will give. Now please, I need sleep.”

He shifted more of his weight against the wall and closed his eyes so he wouldn’t see the frown he knew was across his lover’s face. She wanted to know. He could feel her presence peering at the edges of his mind, her considerable mental strength curious to his inner feelings. Such feelings were well guarded, for in truth he did not know if he was ready to be a father. He wasn’t even sure he knew what it meant to be one. How many children had he killed? How often had he preached against bringing life into a world of suffering? In doing so, was he a hypocrite and a blasphemer against his own beliefs?

He didn’t know. The stone was cold, the portal was open, and Karak was victorious. All other things were chaos. So he stroked her hair and enjoyed her touch while all around the city burned.

G et him up,” Lathaar shouted as he hacked at the limbs that pressed past Jerico’s shield. “Even if you have to carry him, get him up!”

“I’ll get right on that,” Haern whispered, slapping Harruq across the face. The half-orc’s eyes were vacant. More of the strange shadow floated from his open mouth.

“What is it you are saying?” Haern asked, leaning closer.

“Get out of my head,” Harruq growled. His focus returned. “Where the abyss am I?” he asked.

“Later,” Haern said, standing and offering him a hand. Harruq tried to accept, but his arms swung like wood, his fingers foreign and unresponsive. So instead Haern grabbed the crook of his arm and pulled him to his feet.

“Is our sleeping princess awake?” Jerico shouted. His entire body was braced against the river of undead, which moaned in futile anger.

“Can you feel your legs?” Haern asked, ignoring the paladin. Harruq shook his head. “Well, can you still run?”

“He better,” Lathaar said as he lopped an arm off at the elbow. “Because that’s what we’re doing.”

Jerico braced with his front foot and then used it to push off, hooking his shield onto his back as he ran east. Lathaar swung his sword in a single arc, cutting down the first bunch of undead that toppled through before he too sprinted east. Haern pulled the half-orc along. Harruq struggled to focus. Foot after foot. That was all that mattered. Swing a dead log that was his leg, plant down, and then swing the other. The undead poured through the wall, but they were slow and lumbering. Second after agonizing second the city grew smaller behind them, the chorus of moans becoming distant. Their pace slowed to a steady jog, which soon slowed to a quick walk. They all kept their silence. They were too exhausted for anything else.

T hey had no tent, so instead they found a few withered trees, hacked off their limbs, and arranged them in a circle representing the commander’s tent. The air was cold, and with the setting of the sun it had grown even colder. Fires dotted the hills, each source of heat heavily crowded. In the center of their circle a large fire roared, courtesy of Tarlak. Antonil and Sergan sat beside each other, huddled and dejected. The Eschaton sat with them, as did Deathmask and his group. Grief had come with the stars, and the night was filled with the cries of lost homes, friends, and loved ones.

“Let’s keep this simple, no formalities here,” Antonil said, breaking the silence that had fallen over them. “Tarlak, your Eschaton saved countless lives this day, so that is why I bring you all here. Ashhur forgive me but I must ask for even more. And Deathmask, the reputation of your Ash Guild and your defense of my people has also earned you a seat amongst us. Sergan and I will speak for whatever remains of our kingdom of Neldar. Do any object?”

“You might as well speak for Neldar,” Tarlak said. “No one else will.”

“I need to know what chance we have,” Antonil said. He glanced around, meeting each and every pair of eyes surrounding the fire. “Start with the basics. Food. Water. Shelter. Can we manage?”

“I can conjure spring water from the ground,” Aurelia said. She sat in Harruq’s lap, her husband’s arms wrapped around her to keep her warm. “And once we have a decent sleep, creating fire for warmth should not be a burden.”

“A decent sleep may be a long time coming,” Jerico said, pointedly glancing west. Twenty guards patrolled the area, ready to sound the alarm if a party of undead entered their camp.

“Any sleep will feel divine right now,” Tarlak said. He brushed his goatee with his thumb and forefinger. “Though fire does us no good while traveling. How many with us are too old, or too young, to survive a journey in the cold? We have no blankets, no tents…”

“Let’s not worry about what we can’t change,” Antonil said. “What about food?”

“Aurry, can’t you summon some?” Harruq asked. “Same with you, right Tar?”

Deathmask chuckled at the half-orc. “Did no one bother to tell him of the components for mage banquets?” he asked.

“Components?” Harruq asked.

In answer, Tarlak reached into his pocket and pulled out a handful of small yellow gems. He handed one to the half-orc.

“Topaz,” the wizard said. “The more the food, the more topaz we use. What, did you think those extravagant meals we fed you were free?”

“I have some as well,” Aurelia said. “Enough to feed five for a month, but how many thousands are here? It will never last.”

“Keep it simple,” Deathmask said. “Plain bread. If we spread it out, we might have enough to last an extra week.”

“Tarlak, Aurelia, do you mind being responsible for the food and water until another solution is found?” Antonil asked. Tarlak laughed.

“Sure, why not. I don’t mind being a walking bakery.”

Another moment of silence. Antonil knew the first part was easier, at least compared to what he planned to propose.

“So we have no shelter,” the guard captain began, “and limited food. Where else can we go to seek aid? Omn is a brutal month away, through the deep of winter no less. We must go to the elves and request their aid.”

“You’re a fool,” Deathmask said. “After you nearly start a war to remove them from Woodhaven, you think either race of elves will give food and shelter to so many refugees?”

“The one responsible for that edict is dead,” Antonil said. His ragged face hardened. “And do you see any other option? If I must, I will have Scoutmaster Dieredon plead my case.”

“They will turn us away,” Deathmask insisted. “Mordan waged war to push them across the rivers, and then Neldar banished them from their lands. We are not welcome, and we are not wanted. You might as well turn us back around and march us right into Veldaren!”

“And if I thought it was the best path for my people, I’d be the first to kneel before the armies of the dead,” Antonil shouted. “But I’ll be damned if I watch the rest of this nation slaughtered by Karak’s madness.”

“Quiet down now,” Tarlak said, stroking his goatee as he glanced between the two. “Deathmask, I understand your worry. Personally, I think the elves will be thrilled at the chance to thumb their noses at us, but does anyone here know of any possible alternative?”

Silence.

“I didn’t think so,” Tarlak said. “I don’t know the prejudices of most here, but the elves aren’t evil, and they aren’t heartless monsters. There are too many weak and helpless here for them to fully turn us away. The bigger question is, do we seek help from the Quellan or the Dezren elves?”

“The Quellan,” Aurelia said. She shifted in Harruq’s lap. “They will help us. The Dezren will just turn us away.”

“How do you know this?” Tarlak asked.

“Wait a second,” Harruq interrupted. “What’s the difference between, what is it? Quellan? Dezren?”

“Does no one tell this beast anything?” Deathmask muttered.

“Watch it,” Harruq grumbled.

“The Dezren elves once lived in Mordan,” Lathaar said. He had drawn his sword and laid it across his lap, his eyes staring at the soft blue-white glow. “King Baedan waged war, quick and brutal, to force them from their forests by systematic fires. Those fires spanned for miles and filled the sky with smoke and ash. The elves fled across the rivers and settled in what you know as the Derze forest. Many came to the Citadel for aid, but we…”

“You turned us away,” Aurelia said. “Left us cold and hungry and scared as we entered a country not our own in search of a home.” As she spoke, both Jerico and Lathaar stared at the ground in shame. “A kind word, a hand raised in aid, and we might have believed that not all humankind shared such hatred and disgust. You were the champions of the god of men. You turned us away. The Dezren elves will not give us aid.”

“I was but a child at the time,” Lathaar said in the following quiet. “I don’t know the reason. Politics, perhaps, or maybe Sorollos’s influence had grown too strong. But I remember your faces. So beautiful. So tired. I tried to offer some food to a small elven boy. My headmaster slapped the bowl out of my hand and ordered me inside.”

“The Quellan elves share their hatred,” Antonil said, his own voice turning ragged. “Why would they help us? It is they who helped the Dezren build homes in their forest while Vaelor turned a blind eye to their plight.”

“Harruq,” Aurelia said. “Tell them what your brother said to you, just before you fled the city.”

The half-orc shifted, suddenly uncomfortable with the amount of eyes watching him. How many didn’t know of Qurrah? How would he explain who he was, and what his brother had done?

“Qurrah,” he said, trying to find a place to start. “He…just before we left, he entered my mind. He said Celestia’s wall had fallen, and that thousands of demons were pouring into the city. I don’t know what he meant, or if he spoke the truth.”

“Celestia’s wall?” Mira asked, startling those around her. She had remained silent for the meeting, but now seemed focused.

“Who is this ‘Qurrah,’” Deathmask asked. “And what wall did he speak of?”

“Qurrah…” Harruq began.

“Was once a member of my Eschaton,” Tarlak interrupted. “He has caused us much grief, and sides with the servants of Karak. He commands many of the army that overran Veldaren.”

“Qurrah,” Antonil said. “The necromancer you accused of mutilating the bodies half a year ago? He leads this army?”

“Yes,” Tarlak said. “We did not kill him when we had the chance. Now we all pay dearly for our failure.”

“The wall,” Mira said. “Tell me, what is it?”

Aurelia started to speak, but Antonil held up a hand.

“It is my failure,” he said, “and I will tell it. Only kings and guard captains are shown what is behind the throne curtains. It is a mural depicting Ashhur and Karak entering this world through a swirling door made of stars. Whenever a new king takes the throne the Quellan elves send a single diplomat, always with the same request. ‘Will you guard that which all other Kings have guarded?’ Most assume it means peace, or life, but that isn’t it. Our scholars believe it is through that wall, that gate of stars, that the gods entered our world. The Quellan elves confirm this.”

“Whatever Celestia guarded our world from cannot be ignored,” Mira said.

Antonil stood and turned his back to the fire. His hands shook at his side.

“I swore to guard the throne of the king with my life, yet here I am. What has your vile brother done, Harruq? What has he released into our world?”

Aurelia brushed aside Harruq’s arms and stood, placing her hand atop Antonil’s shoulder. He flinched but did not push her away.

“The Quellan elves will fight them,” she said. “No good would have come from your death, nor the sacrifice of the thousand that look to you for strength. Say the destination, and we all will follow. Give the word, and your people will gladly die in the cold, damp earth. It is better than the fate you spared them from.”

“Is it?” Antonil asked as the guards at the perimeter called out warning. Undead approached. “Can you be so certain?”

W ake, my disciple,” Velixar said. Qurrah muttered and crept open an eye.

“Can it wait until dawn?” he asked. Velixar frowned, displeased at the lack of immediate obedience.

“Ulamn returns. Stand. Our new army comes.”

Tessanna stirred at the sound of their voices.

“Our army?” she asked. Her voice was drowsy and her eyes still closed. “Do they march with our banner? Do they obey our commands?”

“In time,” Velixar said. The portal swirled, the stars violent. “Qurrah, stand. Their passing will tax your strength.”

Gently Qurrah slid Tessanna off his chest and to the floor. He staggered to his feet, brushed his eyes, and then screamed in horrid pain. Velixar grit his teeth, and his eyes faded. Ulamn stepped through, flanked by twenty guards. They held flags of the yellow fist. Weapons hung from their belts.

“The first of many,” Ulamn shouted, and the others raised their fists and cheered. They marched forward, ignoring the three in the corner. Twenty more arrived wielding polearms made of a strange red iron that matched their crimson armor. Again Qurrah screamed.

“The pain will lessen with each passing,” Velixar said, his voice raspy and weak. “Celestia has not yet given up hope of breaking our spirit.”

“I can see that,” Qurrah gasped as he crumbled to his knees. Thirty more soldiers entered. They held supplies for constructing tents and fortifications. The half-orc winced, his teeth locked tight so that his scream came out as a hissing moan.

“Try to rest,” Tessanna said as she stroked her lover’s face. “It is only pain. You have endured worse.”

“That…” Qurrah said as he gasped for air. “That is a lie.”

A group of forty marched into the throne room carrying long planks of wood atop their shoulders. Qurrah arched his back against the wall and smacked a fist against the cold stone. Sweat covered his face. Through blurred eyes, he saw Velixar did little better. His skin had turned pale and rotten. His eyes were tiny spots of red amid a dried up skull. Velixar pulled his hood low across his face and turned away from his disciple.

“Do you understand the power we control?” Velixar asked. “Without us they cannot enter. To defeat the armies of Celestia and Ashhur, they will need thousands of Thulos’s war demons. If we break under the strain, they will be trapped here.”

“Thousands,” Qurrah gasped as another group of forty entered, marching in perfect formation with gigantic swords strapped to their backs.

“It will get easier,” Velixar said. “I promise.”

Ulamn finished ordering his men to set up camps along the outside of the castle and approached the necromancers.

“We normally have a hundred gatekeepers to share the burden of passing through our armies,” he said. “To have only two will slow us greatly.”

“We have time,” Velixar said. “How many centuries have you searched for this world? A few extra months will be nothing.”

“Thulos will not be able to enter,” the demon general said. “You both are far too weak to support the entrance of a god.”

“When Celestia is defeated, and her elves ash and bone, we will have the strength,” Velixar said. “How many come with you?”

“Two hundred, for now,” Ulamn said, glancing at Qurrah. “Will he survive?”

“He will,” Tessanna said, answering for him. “I know he will.”

“So be it. We will camp within the city. A battle has been fought here, and it will do us good to be surrounded by the bodies of the conquered.”

Qurrah’s scream interrupted them, which then turned to laughter.

“Is it true pain makes you stronger,” he asked in between laughs. “Because you won’t need a god after this. I’ll be one.”

“His madness is…” Ulamn began.

“None of your concern,” Velixar said. “Go tend your army.”

The demon general frowned but obeyed. Two more groups exited the portal before it shrank. The stars fixated in position. Qurrah gasped in relief as the light returned to Velixar’s eyes.

“I will be in prayer,” the man in black said before marching off. He could not bear to be in the same room as his disciple. He slammed the doors shut behind him, leaving the two lovers in silence. Tessanna knelt down and held Qurrah as he gasped in pain.

“I wish they would have let me sleep first,” he said, the right side of his face cracking a smile.

“Sleep now,” Tessanna told him, kissing each of his eyes closed. “Recover your strength. You will need it by the morn.”

He did as he was told, far too weak to argue otherwise.

M ira slipped through the many fires, her heart panged by the sight of so many suffering. She wondered how many would never wake from their sleep. Ten? Fifty? A hundred? The cold would claim so many. She reached the edge of their encampment. A lone guard walked by, a faded cape wrapped around his body and his helmet pulled down to cover his numb ears. He nodded at her as he passed.

“A throne of a king,” Mira said, her eyes staring off in the night. Visions danced before her, not of her own creation. “And a mural with the gods’ entrance. Is this what you want of me, Celestia? Is this my purpose?”

She waved her hands, tearing open a blue portal. Her whole body quivered with fear and excitement. She knew who waited on the other side. Could she face her, knowing what her dreams demanded?

She didn’t know, but she entered anyway.

T essanna stood as the small blue portal ripped open beside the throne. She smiled as a healthier, livelier version of herself stepped through. They stared at each other with gigantic black eyes, the eyes of goddesses.

“I dreamt you would come to me,” Tessanna said.

“Is that all you dreamt?” Mira asked.

“No,” Tessanna said, smiling at her sleeping husband. “I dreamt of my child. And I dreamt of you dying, my dagger plunged deep in your breast.” She drew her dagger and licked the edge, not minding the blood that trickled from the cut she made on her tongue.

“I don’t trust my dreams,” Mira said. “I’ve defeated ancient demons, Tessanna. Armies have quivered and fled by my hand alone.”

“And Qurrah quivers from mine,” Tessanna said. “And he is greater than any army.”

Soft white mist fell from Mira’s hands as she summoned her magic. “Dreams change,” she said.

“Never,” Tessanna said. “Only we change. Our dreams stay the same.”

Mira hurled a lance of ice, which quickly shattered from a wave of Tessanna’s hand. Seven more lances followed, each one breaking as she laughed.

“Is this all?” Tessanna asked. “I thought you were supposed to be my mirror?”

Mira spread her arms above her head and glared. A ball of fire grew, shaking with intensity. With all her strength she hurled it across the room, but not at Tessanna. Instead it flew straight for Qurrah’s sleeping body. Tessanna shrieked, twirling her hands on instinct. A wall of shadow cocooned him. The fire exploded, burning curtains and filling the room with smoke. Qurrah was unharmed.

Tessanna glared at Mira. She was no longer having fun. Mira saw this and smirked.

“I lived alone for so long,” Mira said. “As did you. What would it be like to lose him and return to that loneliness?”

“Never,” Tessanna hissed. Bolts of shadow shot from her hands, splashing across a magical shield.

Mira uncrossed her arms, and from the center of her chest a bolt of lightning streaked across the room. Tessanna caught it in her hand, laughing as she felt its power char her flesh. Her laughter ended when a second bolt struck Qurrah, dissolving her barrier around him. Qurrah, exhausted beyond measure from opening the portal and enduring the arrival of so many troops, remained unconscious.

“How afraid of loneliness are you?” Mira asked. Before she could hurl a second attack at Qurrah, the lightning bolt left Tessanna’s hand, strengthened by a surrounding aura of fire. Mira brought up her shield and cried out in pain as she halted the spell. Tessanna gave her no reprieve. She locked her hands together, braced, and then fired a gigantic beam of shadow. Mira did the same, except pure white magic streamed from her hands. The two beams struck, the sound of their meeting a concussion of violent thunder.

“You will break,” Tessanna said. “You have no idea the pain I can endure.”

Suddenly, Mira halted her beam and hurled herself into the air with a levitation spell. Tessanna’s spell continued onward, blasting apart the doors to the castle, destroying several homes, and eventually knocking a hole in the wall surrounding the city. She swore as several soldiers in crimson armor entered in a frantic search for the cause of the tremendous magical power.

“Stay out of this,” she shouted to them. The men glanced about, saw Qurrah lying vulnerable, and ordered a protective barricade. Mira frowned at the sight, her one advantage now blocked by a wall of shields.

“You have no escape,” Tessanna said. “You aren’t strong enough to beat me, and even if I fall, others will kill you. This accomplishes nothing.”

“Liar.”

Mira rained fire from the ceiling, burning the stone to black. The fire did not pass through their shields, and Tessanna herself let several waves burn her skin and singe her hair. She laughed at the pain.

“A goddess fighting a goddess,” Tessanna said. “Who wins? Who breaks the tie?”

“The angrier,” Mira said. Lightning swirled about the ceiling, striking Tessanna over and over. Some she blocked with a shield, others she let hit her. Smoke rose from her eyes, and when she opened her mouth and laughed, putrid darkness floated from within like ash.

“You would strike my lover to defeat me,” Tessanna said. “And you are wrong. It is not the angrier. It is the one most insane.”

She raised her arms, and black ethereal wings stretched from her shoulders. They grew larger and larger, reaching from the ceiling to the floor. A single beat and she rose to equal height as Mira and then shrieked a wild, magical cry. The sound knocked Mira back and scattered her thoughts. The sight of the black angel awakened something inside her. She slammed the other side of the room with her body, then gasped at the pain. Her eyes flared a rainbow of colors. Wispy white wings grew from her back, attached to her shoulder blades by ethereal strands. White and black light shimmered in the room, and even the experienced war demons who had conquered many worlds stood with mouths agape.

“Insane?” Mira asked. “Is this what you call insanity?”

Tessanna snarled and cast a bleeding spell. The magic faded, losing all strength in the blinding white. She hurled fire and lightning, but this time it was Mira who let the spells hit, laughing as they splashed across her skin. They damaged her dress and burned her skin but caused no serious harm.

“Is this what we are?” Mira asked as she beat her wings, stretching the luminous white extremities throughout the room. “Is this the visage we will know beyond our death?”

Tessanna pulled her arms tight across her chest, her black eyes shimmering beneath a gray haze. Red seeped into her wings, the bloody crimson similar to the wings of the soldiers guarding Qurrah with their shields. Swirling darkness collected around her hands. She stared at Mira with a sudden calm, and at that look Mira knew what was happening. She could feel it in her own head.

Her children were fighting, and mother was coming to set things right.

“You’re to die,” Tessanna said. “I don’t know why, but you’re to die. It’s the only reason I was allowed my child.”

“Dreams, nothing more,” Mira said.

“Lie to yourself if you must.”

Tessanna locked her fingers together, pointed her hands at Mira, and let the full extent of her power unleash in a focused beam of red lightning. Mira thought to batter it aside with a shield as all other attacks, but she underestimated the power sent against her. Her shield shattered like glass, and then she screamed as pain immeasurable swarmed her being. Her wings dissolved, fading away as if they were but a dream. Magic abandoned her. As the electricity swirled around her body she plummeted to the ground, smacking against the unforgiving stone. Tessanna giggled as she heard the delicious sound of bones breaking.

“Stay away from her,” she ordered when she saw the war demons leaving their defensive formation. “She is my kill, and mine alone.”

Triumphant, she lowered herself to the floor, her black wings pulling back into her body. She smiled at the blood everywhere. Mira lay on her stomach, facing away from Tessanna. Directly before her was the portal, spinning steadily. She looked like a sacrifice to the mural, an offering in payment for the demon soldiers that had marched forthwith. But that wasn’t what caused Tessanna’s smile, nor was it the blood on the floor. It was the fact that Mira’s shoulders and chest still heaved from her breathing.

“I expected more,” Tessanna said as she drew her dagger. “So easily beaten? Mountains should have crumbled from our conflict, and entire cities leveled.”

Mira opened her eyes and stared at the portal as she heard the voice of the goddess speaking.

“I’ve wanted this for a long time,” Tessanna said. She could hear her mother’s voice, the one that had told her to shatter her mirror. Finish it, the voice cried. End her. Destroy her life. The dagger, a single strike with the dagger!

“You still don’t know what we are,” Mira whispered. “And you think you will raise a child?”

Deep inside her breast she felt her power rising. It was the magic of the goddess, granted to her when she was just a babe leaving her mother’s womb. That power had struck her mother dead, stripped her of all life so that it might pour into the newborn child. A spell repeated over and over in her mind, and gently Celestia whispered to the small, lonely girl.

You were not meant for this world, only to save it from itself. Forgive me, my daughter. Accept the dagger. Forgive your other. She knows not what she does, only that she does it for me.

Mira began whispering the words of the spell. The power in her breast strengthened and concentrated. Tessanna sensed the growing danger. All around them wind swirled, chaotic and directionless. Their hair whipped about and the dust of the ground rose to the ceiling. The nearby soldiers covered their faces and cowered. Tessanna knelt, smiling her insane smile. Her heart raced. Her head throbbed. Excitement tingled up and down her spine. All would happen as it was meant. She would plunge the dagger, shatter her mirror, and then rouse Qurrah from unconsciousness so he could hold her, maybe even make love to her.

Mira stammered more and more. She felt desperate and vicious. She was becoming a trap, one that would detonate with the force of an angered goddess. Tears ran down her face, continuing even when Tessanna pushed her onto her back. The dagger hovered in the air. If it plunged through her skin, Mira’s magic would release in a devastating explosion, destroying Veldaren and closing the portal. Balance, so precariously trembling over permanent darkness, would be preserved.

Tessanna grabbed Mira’s face in her hand and tilted it so they could stare eye to eye. Her other hand quivered with excitement as it held the dagger. Now. Her entire purpose was now. For one agonizing moment all her pieces were made whole, her mind was one, and in singular desire she plunged down the dagger.

Mira closed her eyes, knowing what her death would mean, what her sacrifice would gain. Knowing so many lives would be saved. But she remembered how Lathaar’s arms had held her as she wept atop Karak’s bridge, and that knowledge meant nothing. She would never see him again. She screamed, one of horrible sorrow and shame. The spell dissipated, the danger vanishing and she went against her mother’s will. The dagger plunged into her breast. Tessanna gasped in pleasure, but the kill was not complete. She had missed the heart, and for a strange moment, she realized she had never aimed for it in the first place.

“Then why did I…” she asked before her mind fractured. The agony crumpled her to the floor as she held her temples and screamed.

“Lathaar,” Mira whispered as she felt warm blood spill across her chest. “Please, help me Lathaar. Help me.”

With shaking limbs, she slid onto her knees, the dagger lodged in her flesh. She glared at the war demons, who watched in admiration and horror. They knew her strength and were both in awe and terror of it. She looked away, unsure what such armored men with red wings meant. All she wanted was one thing. With the last of her power she staggered to her feet, opened a portal, and fell through.

Tessanna crawled along the floor, weeping all the while. Where she crawled she left a long red smear of blood. The soldiers parted for her. She clutched Qurrah’s robes and used them to pull herself onto him. She beat against his breast as she wept.

“Wake up,” she said. “Please, wake up, Qurrah.”

The drain of the portal was too great. Her lover remained unconscious. As the war demons took up their shields and weapons, she laid her head upon his neck and bathed him with her tears.

“I was whole,” she said. “I was whole, Qurrah, please wake up, I was whole. But now mommy’s mad at me, mad at us both. She wants our child, please, Qurrah, please damn it, please wake up!”

She cried herself to sleep, still alone, still in pieces.

L athaar lay with his back to the small fire, one of many that warmed the sprawling camp. His body was exhausted, his mind begged for sleep, but still he stared into nowhere. Ever since his childhood in the Citadel he had believed he was to be a beacon, an example of a decent life in an indecent world. He knew he was far from perfect, but his failure to meet a standard did not remove the standard. He heard the weeping and terror of so many shivering beside fires as they too failed to succumb to sleep. He, the beacon, felt emptied and darkened. What hope could he offer them that would not stink of falseness?

A sudden rush of air stirred him, and he turned to see Mira collapse through a blue portal. She fell, still gasping his name.

“Mira?” he asked, pushing up to a sitting position. “Where have you…”

He saw the dagger in her chest. He swallowed his question. She lay on her back, staring up at him as she gasped in air. He put one hand on the side of her face and the other on the dagger’s hilt.

“This will hurt more than it already does,” he told her. She said nothing. Whispering a prayer, Lathaar pulled out the dagger. Blood poured across her dress as her scream of pain awoke many nearby. Without pause the paladin dropped the dagger and pushed both his hands against the wound. He closed his eyes, a twinge of fear in his heart. He was exhausted, mentally and physically. Ashhur had not gifted him with healing talent. Would he still heed his prayer?

“Please,” he whispered. “I’ve nothing left in me. By your hand, let her be healed, for this I beg.”

He felt no warm presence, no divine light, not even a sense of comfort. When he opened his eyes, he saw the white light fading from his hands. He pulled back, and through the hole in her dress he saw the skin knit together into an angry scar. Mira closed her eyes, sleep calling as the pain faded from her breast. She wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him to her.

“I’m sorry,” she said. Tears swelled in her eyes. “I love you, Lathaar, and because of that I’ve done something terrible.”

“Nothing terrible can come from love,” he said.

“You’re wrong,” she said, remembering the vicious hatred in Tessanna’s eyes. “And now I’ve sacrificed us all.”

He stroked her forehead with the tips of his fingers and held her in his arms until sleep stole her away from the world she was no longer meant for. And in the quiet he heard a voice, but it was not the deep calm of Ashhur. This one was feminine, peaceful, and in great pain.

Balance is broken, young paladin. There must be a victor. Will you fight for all things good? Will you protect my daughter?

“With my life,” he whispered.

Then mind your faith.