The Shadows of Grace

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 shock. 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.

“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.

A ntonil 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.

Q urrah 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.

“H arruq!” 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.

“T hey’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.”

“W hat 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!”

“R emind 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.

“S uch 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.

“T ime 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.

“S low 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.

T wo 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.

Q urrah 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.

“What is the point of this?” Qurrah asked as his fingers danced. The rotted flesh Harruq stepped on suddenly animated, wrapping around his ankles and holding him still. “You didn’t have the strength to kill me before. Will you kill me now, brother, or is this a waste of time?”

Harruq chopped at the dead flesh with one sword, fending off attacking undead with his other.

“No waste,” he said. “And no lack of strength.”

“I see your eyes,” Qurrah said. A tested ran past him, and before he could react, Qurrah yanked out his spine with a spell and wielded it as a staff. He ignored the fanatic’s dying screams.

“You claimed me a puppet of a god,” Qurrah continued. “But you have lost yourself to Ashhur, far more than I ever served Karak.”

Harruq grinned as he cut the last of the flesh holding his ankle. He twirled Salvation and Condemnation, as if daring Qurrah to strike.

“You’re right,” Harruq said. “But I have gained so much in return. What has Karak given you?”

He swung a few times, easy blows he knew his brother could block with his staff. He poured more and more strength into his hits, and the staff shimmered with a red luminescence as the magic holding it together began to fail.

“I have Tessanna,” Qurrah said, dropping the staff and slamming his palms together. A wave of invisible force rammed into Harruq, but he plunged his swords into the ground and held firm. “I have her child. We will escape everything, and live in peace beyond the stars.”

“You had Tess before you turned to Karak,” Harruq said as he pulled his swords free. “Your child is not yet born. You cling to promises and lies.”

“You know nothing,” Qurrah shouted. He struck Harruq square in the chest with a bolt of shadow, crushing in his armor and threatening to snap his ribs. The half-orc gasped at the blow, but still held his footing.

“You always were the smart one,” Harruq said as he accepted another bolt of shadow to his chest. “Thought you were the stronger, too.”

A third bolt hit, and still his body withstood. At the fourth he crossed his swords and let it splash harmlessly against their steel.

“But that isn’t true; not anymore,” Harruq said, lunging with such speed his brother could only fall backward and throw up a desperate defense.

“T reat their hands like swords!” Jerico shouted as the waves of undead ended and a swarm of tested approached. “And don’t let them touch you!”

The tested shouted the name of their god, their voice carrying magic. The paladins felt their resolve weaken at the sound. Haern leaped back, wishing for a protection spell from Delysia, and then feeling his heart ache as he realized it would never be. Aurelia cast a bolt of lightning directly into their ranks, killing five. Lathaar and Jerico rushed forward as they arrived, slamming into the tested with sword and shield leading. Their foes wore no armor, and held little protection against their attacks. Whenever they tried to block, Lathaar’s glowing blades sliced through the bony arms and into flesh. Jerico’s shield repelled them with ease, and over it he struck again and again with his mace. They were many though, and they pushed forward with tremendous strength.

Haern weaved between them, slicing out tendons in the arms and legs of the tested. He spun his cloaks, daring those that surrounded him to try an attack, but instead they stopped.

“Karak!” they shouted, and from all sides the power was tremendous. Haern halted his cloak dance and collapsed to the ground, his arms and legs flailing despite his orders to flee.

“Haern!” Aurelia shouted, seeing him fall. She raised her arms above her head and then pulled them down. Huge chunks of earth tore free before her and rolled straight for the tested. She let out a horrified cry as Antonil’s men suddenly appeared in between them, crushing tested underneath their charge. The boulders knocked aside almost a third of his men, and those that were not killed immediately soon died to the swarming tested.

Haern heard their screams, and knew he should move, but instead he cowered, feeling paralyzed and helpless. Something punched his gut, and he screamed long and loud. A second hit his knee, shattering bone. He rolled to the ground and onto his back, and above him he saw fanatics reaching with dead hands and hate-filled eyes.

“Save him!” Aurelia shouted to the paladins. They surged ahead, pushing aside tested and undead with brutal efficiency, but they were too many, the distance, too far.

“Karak!” they shouted.

One grabbed Haern by his neck and held him high. The tested’s fingers were ice, and black marks stretched across Haern’s skin from their contact. A second struck his side. Ribs broke. Several more times they struck him, the bones in his body fracturing under the blows.

“Karak!” they shouted.

The skeletal hand clutched his neck tighter. He couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t move. Something grabbed his hip, and then his entire body shrieked in pain as two tested mashed their fists against his waist, shattering his femur.

“Karak!” they shouted.

Haern looked to the sky, and there he saw white wings stretching wide enough to blot out the sun. He knew his life had reached its end.

“Karak!” they shouted.

Sonowin slammed into the group of tested, her landing so brutal she rolled, her neigh coming out as a long shriek as one of her wings snapped. Dieredon leaped off, tucking his legs and bouncing across the ground before uncurling in a sudden, deadly barrage. He wielded his bladed bow as a staff, tearing out the throats of three nearby before kicking the face of the one who held Haern. The elf caught him as he fell, ignoring the horrible screams of pain Haern made. Sonowin rolled to her feet, shrugging off bodies. She curled her wings against her sides and came to her master. Dieredon hoisted Haern onto her back, spun, and fought the way clear.

The winged horse bolted for safety, running over any who tried to stop her. Her eyes bulged in her head, and blood ran from her nose. Haern hung limp on her back, every movement a mountain of torment. Aurelia protected their escape with her magic, striking down several with arrows of either fire or ice. She prayed to Celestia that the assassin would survive his wounds.

“Fall back!” Jerico shouted, and Lathaar obeyed. The two battled side to side, completely surrounded by tested. Karak’s name rolled over them, but their hearts were strong, their faith in Ashhur strong. Dieredon swung his bow in a wide arc, and as the tested backed away the string on his bow reappeared. He reached into his quiver and drew arrow after arrow, killing twenty in a lethal barrage. The way to the paladins clear, he swung his bow onto his back and ran.

V elixar hated the way the priests watched him fight Preston, as if victory over Mordeina were assured, and the chaos and death around them were inconsequential. He knew the war in the sky would determine the outcome, and if they lost, any chance of total victory was gone. His priests could turn the tide, but instead they sang praises to Karak as Melorak pelted him with barrage after barrage of fire, shadow, and lightning.

“You are the weaker,” Melorak said. In life his voice had been shrill and annoying, but in death it had deepened, and shook with power. “I prove this with each passing moment.”

“You prove nothing,” Velixar said, his whole body shaking as he summoned a magical shield to protect himself from purple fire that spewed from Melorak’s hands. He felt a deep ache in his head, much of his energy draining away to keep the portal in Veldaren open. His pupil shared that same ache, and he could feel Qurrah’s strength fading. The disastrous collapse of his army weighed heavily on his shoulders, and for the first time in centuries he felt doubt. Perhaps, just perhaps, Karak had let Preston be resurrected to punish him for his failure?

In that moment of weakness, Melorak braced his legs and aimed his open palms at Velixar’s chest. A beam darker than any cave shot from them, larger than Velixar himself. Karak’s prophet crossed his arms and summoned every shred of strength he had. He felt his resolve weakening, his reservoir of magical energy long empty. Still he pressed on, as over and over he begged to Karak for aid. His shield cracked. Magic rushed over his body, tearing at his skin and threatening to turn his whole existence to ash.

H igh above, the battle similarly turned for the worse. Ulamn continued giving orders, and they were more than a match for their golden counterparts, but they were burdened with months of travel, while the angels fought with fresh strength. Still he thought they could win, but just then a group of twelve angels pulled back, sheathed their weapons, and raised their hands to the sky. Holy light washed over their allies, closing wounds and filling them with resolve.

“Clerics,” Ulamn said before unleashing a torrent of curses. He watched his soldiers fall, bleeding and doomed to the ground, unable to withstand the new surge of power the angels displayed. The war demon looked to the lower battlefield, searching for the two keys to the portal. He saw them both locked in combat and swore again. If either died, he and his army would be trapped, unable to summon reinforcements or to escape to the multitude of worlds they controlled.

Furious, he took a horn to his lips and issued a call for retreat. He grabbed the nearest demon, shouted an order to him, and together they dove.

H arruq’s swords could cut through flesh, bone, even chainmail and stone, but they could do nothing against the shadowy mist Qurrah’s body became. His image swayed side to side as the glowing blades passed through without resistance. Qurrah hooked his hands together, his features darkening as if he walked in night despite the shining sun. He reached into Harruq’s chest, and the half-orc felt a shocking cold as incorporeal fingers closed about his heart.

As the pain tore through him he leaped back, twisting his body to get away from the squeezing fingers. Qurrah’s body regained normal form, and he snarled as he began to cast another spell. Before he could finish, a demon swooped in from the sky, picked him up, and carried him skyward. Harruq watched him fly, his swords sagging in his hands. Qurrah shouted something, but he could not hear it, only see the anger in his brother’s eyes. About that he could do nothing.

H e had to survive, and to do that, Velixar needed to release his undead from his command. He let them go, as if he would let go of a weight tied to a string. The sudden relief gave him enough strength to push away the last of Preston’s attack. He expected to hear the thuds of his undead collapsing to the ground, but instead they turned about and began marching east. All the while, Preston grinned.

“They are mine now,” he said. “You are no longer needed.”

Velixar glanced to the sky and saw the demons retreating, only a few staying back to slow the angels that chased. The man in black lifted his arms and shook his head as he glared.

“You are a blasphemy,” he said. Preston prepared for an attack, but instead a demon grabbed Velixar’s arms and pulled him into the air. Undisturbed, Preston let them go. He shouted orders to his priests, and together they fled, the undead providing a buffer between them and their pursuers. The few remaining dark paladins rode past on their horses, their hearts reeling in the loss.

“T essanna!” Qurrah shouted, fighting against the demon that flew him east.

“Relax, gatekeeper,” the demon said. He had only one eye, and blood poured from cuts on his face. His skin looked like leather scraped over by an old, chipped knife. “We have taken your lover as well. She will be safe.”

Qurrah squirmed, trying to look back at the dying battle.

“Keep moving and we both die,” the demon said, squeezing Qurrah tight enough to hurt his ribs.

A second demon flew closer, Velixar in his arms. Ulamn flew above them both, holding Tessanna. Far behind them the crushed army of Karak fled, only a remnant of what it had been only hours before.