The Shadows of Grace

21

T he leaders of both angel and human armies met within the giant tent, mere days from Veldaren. They had encountered little resistance, spotting only the occasional scout tracking their progress.

“Time is on their side,” Azariah said as he paced the area. “More and more of Thulos’ soldiers pour into our world with every passing moment.”

“How do we close it?” Antonil asked, sitting between Sergan and Tarlak. “Is it something we can destroy? Is it even physical?”

“Two ways,” Azariah said. “If I can make it to the portal, I believe I can close it with a spell. The only other way is to kill those that are using their strength to keep it open.”

“Velixar,” Harruq said. “He is certainly one.”

“Your brother, too,” Tarlak said.

“Killing just one of them should be enough,” Azariah said. “If it is just the two, the strain must be enormous. The other will break if he tries holding it open on his own.”

“What about the castle?” Judarius said. “We have both ground and air to assault. If we can split their forces, the advantage will be ours.”

Antonil motioned to a drawing in the dirt that represented the castle and its walls.

“Karak’s forces destroyed both gates before we fled, and let’s not forget the third door Harruq made for us to escape through.”

“What, you want me to pay for repairs?” Harruq asked with a grin.

“The demons will have rebuilt the defenses by now,” Ahaesarus said, his arms crossed and his right hand tapping the hilt of his sword. “The walls are no difficulty for us, but Antonil’s troops need to enter, and quickly.”

“Then fly us over,” Lathaar said, the first time he had spoken during the meeting. “Drop us behind the gates. We’ll open them and let the rest of the troops through while you distract the demons in the air.”

“The strategy is sound,” Judarius said, nodding in appreciation to the paladin. “If we drop troops at both gates, your greatest fighters and casters, then we are certain to open one of them.”

“I can make sure it opens,” Mira said, nestled against Lathaar’s side as if she were hiding. “They won’t be able to stop me.”

“That’s reassuring,” said Tarlak.

“Your magic is strong,” Ahaesarus said to her. “They will try to kill you first. Are you prepared for such pressure?”

The girl said nothing, only smiled and nodded.

“So be it,” Ahaesarus. “Antonil, you will lead your troops outside the walls and wait for an opening. I will lead my angels in an aerial assault on the castle. Judarius, you will be in charge of dropping soldiers within the gates.”

“I’ll arrange the groups,” Tarlak said. “Just get us through, and we’ll bust you some holes to march on in.”

“Ashhur be with all of you,” Ahaesarus said, disbanding the meeting. “Stay sharp. The battle will be upon us soon.”

“So what are the groups?” Harruq asked once they were outside the tent.

“Well, I figured the paladins would work well together,” Tarlak said. “And I think Mira’s rather attached to one of them, so she goes with.”

“You’re too kind,” Lathaar said.

“I personally appreciate having a goddess on our side,” Jerico said.

“That leaves us Eschaton for the other,” Tarlak said. “Me and Aurry should handle the demons no problem, and I think even you can handle a simple task like opening a gate.”

“That’s pushing it a little,” Aurelia said. Tarlak laughed at Harruq’s frown.

“Aye, but we’ll just have to take the risk.”

“Too funny,” Harruq grumbled.

“I’ll try to do well,” Mira said. “I don’t want to disappoint you all.”

“Mira, my beautiful girl,” Tarlak said, bowing to her. “I find that nearly impossible to believe that possible.”

“So eloquent,” Aurelia said with a snicker.

They scattered about the camp, but before Tarlak could leave, Harruq tapped his shoulder and motioned for him to stay.

“Can you give me a moment, babe?” he asked Aurelia. The elf shrugged.

“If you need it,” she said. She kissed his cheek and joined Mira as she headed for the nearby stream for a swim.

“What’s so important?” Tarlak asked.

“It’s about my brother,” said Harruq.

“Isn’t it always?” Tarlak said, rolling his eyes.

“You and Aurelia will handle the gate fine,” Harruq insisted. “I need dropped further into the city. I need to find Qurrah.”

“It’ll be dangerous letting you run off on your own,” Tarlak said. “And I doubt he’ll be alone. That Tess girl is always at his side.” He shifted his hat, remembering her displays of power, like some dark angel with ethereal wings. He and Aurelia had assaulted her with everything they had, only to be brushed away like gnats.

“I’ll be fine,” Harruq insisted.

“If she’s with him, you’ll be dead,” Tarlak said.

Harruq grabbed Tarlak’s shoulders.

“A risk I’m willing to take,” he said, tilting his head down so they could stare eye to eye. “I can end all of this. You heard what Azariah said. If either he or Velixar goes, then the portal’s finished.”

Tarlak sighed. He glanced toward the stream and chewed on his lower lip.

“Your wife will kill me if she finds out,” he said.

“Another risk I’m willing to take,” Harruq said, grinning.

“I’ll talk to Judarius,” Tarlak said. “But Ashhur help you when you see your wife afterwards.”

Harruq tried to laugh it off, but he was right. He wasn’t frightened by the prospect of facing his brother alone. He was, however, terrified of what Aurelia was going to do to him if he survived.

“Perhaps it’ll be best if we kill each other at the same time,” Harruq said, nodding.

“Good luck with that,” Tarlak said. “Let me know how it goes.”

O n the other side of Dezrel, Haern ran through the streets, his sabers drawn and coated with blood. Cloaked figures ran on the rooftops to either side of him. Not far behind, Deathmask chased, bits of shadows sparking from his hands.

“Cut him off,” Haern shouted. The two figures above him vanished, veering off to their respective sides. Further down the street ran a paladin of Karak, barreling his way through anyone foolish enough to be in his way. When a man didn’t move, the paladin gutted him with his sword and shoved him aside as if he were nothing but a nuisance. Haern shook his head and ran faster.

They reached a crossroads. Haern expected him to cut to either side, where one of the twins waited, but instead he kept going, heading straight for the walls to the city.

So be it, Haern thought. No one could outrun him. He leaped and fell with sabers curled, like a bird descending on its prey. The paladin did not hear his silent approach. Sabers crashed through the creases of his armor, deep into the arteries of his neck. The paladin garbled a last cry and then collapsed, Haern’s knees on his back. The assassin twisted his sabers, still furious at the dead man.

“They’re like roaches,” Deathmask said between gasps as he caught up. “They’re slipping in and out like our walls are nothing.”

“How many guards did he kill?” Haern asked as he shook his head. “Eight? Nine?”

“Seven,” Deathmask said. “The rest were innocents.”

“Fighting from the east!” Mier shouted as he poked his head over the rooftops.

“Fighting from the west!” Nien shouted as well, giving his twin a curious look.

“Pressing all sides,” Haern said, stretching to keep his muscles loose.

The ground rumbled, and high above the red lion roared in the sky.

“This could be it,” Deathmask. “We’re starved, we’re pressed, and they’ve slowly killed off most of our troops.”

“So be it,” Hearn said. “We’ll kill whoever enters the city. Take the east. I’ve got the west.”

He leaped to the rooftops, landing beside Nien.

“Lead on,” he said to the twin, who nodded.

“Follow me,” Nien said.

As the two ran off, Veliana charged down the street, her daggers drawn.

“They’re attacking the walls!” she shouted. “All sides. We’re not ready!”

“Go!” Deathmask shouted to Mier. “Kill whoever sneaks in.”

Deathmask scattered ashes about his face, then nodded to Veliana.

“Let’s go,” he said. “If I’m to die, I’m taking as many as I can with me.”

H aern followed Nien until there was no reason to. Smoke and fire billowed near the walls ahead of them. He leaped to the street and continued running, whispering a desperate prayer to Ashhur as he did. Nien stayed on the rooftops, trying to analyze the carnage. Over a hundred undead marched through a tunnel dug underneath a collapsed home. Pieces of buildings were scattered everywhere, set aflame by a magical assault. Nien halted above a nearby home, and from its roof he let loose a barrage of daggers, each one shimmering purple. The daggers punctured bone and rotted flesh, and one by one he downed the undead warriors.

Haern crashed into their ranks, twirling and cutting through tendons, removing their ability to move and attack. More troublesome, though, were the tested that followed. They waved their skeletal hands in the air, shouting out Karak’s name in a fevered wail. Haern slipped back, fighting away the undead as Nien hurled his daggers.

“Get away!” Haern shouted as the undead surrounded the home. Priests of Karak climbed out of the tunnel, curses on their lips. Nien balanced as the undead tore at the sides of the house, ripping at its walls with their bony fingers. He tried to leap to a nearby house, but the priests’ curses gripped his muscles. All his strength left his body. He tumbled off the side, his legs refusing to cooperate.

“No!” Haern screamed, but he could not press forward, not with the tested clubbing at him with their hands. Unable to stand, Nien screamed as the undead tore him to pieces. High above, the lion roared.

Swearing revenge, Haern turned and ran. The vast bulk of Mordeina’s troops patrolled the two walls, their inner forces woefully unprepared for such an assault. He had to locate Deathmask and the others, and perhaps together they could counter the tunnels. Sheathing his swords, he leaped to the rooftops and searched for a similar pillar of smoke and fire. Sure enough, he found one far to the east. He jumped from roof to roof, approaching as fast as he could, but he knew it was too late. Even from his distance he could see the swarms of undead pouring into the city. Many turned north, back toward the main entrances. They were blocking in the soldiers on the walls, he realized, leaving the castle vulnerable.

“This is bad,” Haern said. “Very bad.”

He ran for the castle. If they were to make a last stand, it would be there. He caught a glimpse of the undead swarming the city. They did not beat on doors or try to climb through windows, and for that Haern was thankful. Whoever led the assault had no desire to exterminate them all.

When he reached the stairs before the castle doors he saw a collection of guards with weapons drawn, watching with looks of fear and unease.

“Well met, Watcher,” one said as he approached. “Good news would be much appreciated.”

Haern shook his head and joined them in assessing the walls. Several more fires burned in the city, more tunnels bypassing their main defenses. The soldiers on the walls fired arrows, but they could not stem the tide. Karak’s forces surrounded them on both sides, and they dared not climb down. They were trapped, and therefore useless.

“I wish I had some to offer,” Haern said, sighing. “But I’m a poor liar.”

Undead pooled into the main center street, the tested at their heels. Soldiers lined up at the top of the stairs as one of them shut and locked the castle doors from within.

“Die for our Queen!” one cried.

“For the Queen!” the others shouted in unison.

Haern just closed his eyes and sighed. He lurked behind the line, wishing he had Tarlak’s skill to cheer on soldiers, or the paladins' unwavering sense of faith. All he had were his sabers, his cloaks, and his skill. The first wave of undead neared, never making it up the stairs. Dieredon came crashing in from one of the alleys riding Sonowin, whose giant wings curled up against her sides. They trampled the undead before riding up the steps.

“Well met!” Dieredon shouted, raising his bladed bow. The soldiers cheered and saluted. The elf dismounted and slipped between them to speak with Haern.

“How is it?” Haern whispered.

“Dreadful,” Dieredon whispered back. “And I have yet to test Sonowin’s wings. I’m not sure she can save us.”

“Here comes more,” one of the soldiers shouted, drawing their attention down the steps.

“Fight until we die,” Haern said. “It’s what we’re good at.”

“Perhaps the fighting part,” Dieredon said, firing an arrow through the eye of a limping undead. “The dying I’m terrible at.”

D eathmask stood in the center of the street, Veliana at his back. Fire surrounded them in a protective wall, incinerating any that approached. Dark fire rolled outward, blasting away wave after wave of the dead. The tested tried leaping through the fire, but then Veliana was there, kicking and slicing into their flesh with her daggers. Bodies piled up around them, but they were but a single drop of a rain in a thunderstorm.

“We can’t stop them all,” Veliana shouted amid the din of songs and moans, all worshipping Karak.

“We’ve lost the twins,” Deathmask shouted back. “We’ll damn well try.”

With a thought the fire wall moved forward, and together they walked.

“If we can get the soldiers off the walls, we might have a chance,” Veliana said.

“That’s my hope,” Deathmask said, pointing. “We’ve got company.”

Priests of Karak marched toward them, their hands raised to the sky. Deathmask struck the first one dead with an arrow made of ash that dug into his flesh and burst his heart. He surrounded a second with fire, burning his flesh as he screamed. The other priests pointed their hands and sang their songs. Curse after curse fell upon the two, sapping their strength and clouding their minds. They both crumpled to their knees.

“Fight it,” Deathmask said through clenched teeth. Veliana did not respond, instead taking one of her daggers and stabbing it into her hand, hissing as the pain soared through her, filling her body with strength to fight away the curses. She stood, glared with her one eye, and leaped over the fire. Her body twirled in the air, avoiding blasts of shadow. She landed amid them, a blur of steel and blood. She tore through throats and faces, cutting and slicing between them. Just as quickly, she leaped back, landing in the center of Deathmask’s wall of fire. Seven priests lay dead or dying, their blood on her blades. Deathmask stood to his full height, feeling their curses slipping off him like broken chains.

“You’ll need more,” he said to the few that remained. They crossed their arms, summoning a magical shield. Deathmask laughed at it, then slammed his wrists together. A solid beam of dark magic burst from his hands, shattering their protective magics as if they were cloth. The beam continued, shredding two more priests before tearing off a sizable chunk of a home. He expected the rests of the priests to scatter, but instead they continued singing. Another joined them, the center of his eyes shining red. He bowed, a smile on his lips.

“I had hoped some would still fight,” this strange priest said to them. “Overcoming your valiance makes the victory earned.”

“Do you lead this army?” Deathmask asked. He snapped his fingers, sending the ash that covered his face swirling around his head. Through the flames of his wall, he was an intimidating sight.

“I do,” said the priest, not impressed. “My name is Melorak. Are you prepared to die?”

“Sure,” Deathmask said. “Let’s give it a try.”

He unleashed a second beam of magic, but this time it pooled around Melorak’s shield like water hitting a stone. The priest shook his head.

“Disappointing,” he said. A wave of his hand and the wall of fire died. Veliana lunged, her daggers leading, but Melorak opened his mouth. From within came a wail so loud and powerful it was a physical force, slamming her aside. Deathmask cast another spell, covering Melorak’s body with fire. The flames flickered and died without burning. Melorak locked his hands, and from the ground rose a tidal wave of shadow that rolled them along the street, flooding their nerves with pain. When the wave ended, they lay crumpled on the stone, barely able to move.

“What now?” Veliana asked as she struggled to stand.

“Self-preservation,” Deathmask said. He grabbed her hand and then reached into his pocket. As a ball of yellow fire flew from Melorak’s chest Deathmask enacted his spell. The two vanished in a puff of shadow right before the attack hit. Melorak laughed, only energized by the fight. He wanted more. He looked to the castle, where many still fought against his forces.

“Go back to the walls,” he said to the priests at his side. “Shout your praises to Karak. I will handle those at the castle.”

“As you wish,” the priests said in unison.

“Praise be to Karak,” Melorak said as he approached the castle. “Praise be.”

“B lock either side!” Dieredon shouted to the soldiers. “Funnel them to me!”

The soldiers formed two lines at the top with a gap in the center. Further back in the gap Dieredon stood, his bow drawn. He fired arrows three at a time from a quiver that never ran empty. Wave after wave of undead dropped, and those that made it to the top were either chopped down or pushed into Dieredon’s line of fire. Haern weaved between the sides, crushing any undead that looked like they might score a kill. They were a mere force of twenty, but over two hundred lay defeated on their steps, the bodies increasing the difficulty of the climb for the rest.

The fight raged on, and another hundred fell. The undead surrounding the walls drifted further into the city, each one headed straight for the castle.

“Dark paladins,” Haern shouted as seven raised their swords and charged in unison.

“I see them,” Dieredon said. He drew only a single arrow, hesitated, and then released. The arrow slipped past his target’s sword and into his throat. He fired another. The dark paladins ducked, crossing their arms as they climbed, but it didn’t matter. Dieredon’s aim was true, this time digging into the flesh just underneath the arm. Another pierced through the eyehole of a helmet. Haern swore as they split to either side, outside Dieredon’s line of fire. Blades wreathed in dark fire, they crashed into the line of guards.

Dieredon resumed firing at the undead climbing the steps, knowing he had to trust Haern and the others. If he paused to fight, they would all be buried. Behind him, Sonowin neighed, and he could hear her nervousness.

“Easy, girl,” he told her, drawing three more arrows. “No matter what, you’ll be fine.”

Haern squared off with one of the paladins, wielding a sword in either hand. It felt like fighting a slower, weaker Harruq, and as such Haern knew exactly how to react to every slash and every thrust. He twisted and dodged, blocking only when he must. It didn’t take long before the paladin grew frustrated and made a mistake. Haern made him pay for it, burying his sabers deep into his chest.

Haern rolled to one side, behind another paladin unaware of his presence. His sabers slipped around his neck and cut. He glanced about, and swore at what he saw. Most of the guards lay dead, and still two more paladins remained. One died as he chopped down a soldier, Dieredon pausing momentarily to bury an arrow in his throat. Haern leaped at the other, ignoring the stinging fire of his sword to get close so his cuts and weaves could not be matched by the man in his bulky plate mail. The paladin shouted the name of Karak, hoping for strength. Instead Haern rammed his saber down his throat and twisted. He kicked the body down the stairs and glanced at Dieredon. His look said enough.

“I know,” Dieredon said, releasing another wave of arrows. “Until death?”

Only four guards remained, their armor soaked with blood and gore. As their enemies continued up the steps, seemingly endless in number, they lost their initial cheer.

“Hold faith,” Haern said to them. “For the Queen, and yourselves.”

Dieredon grabbed his bow with both hands. Spikes shot out from the ends, and rows of blades jutted out the front. He joined Haern’s side at the center, the guards on either side.

“Enough arrows,” the elf said. “Let’s build a wall of bodies.”

A combination of tested and undead ran up the steps, stumbling over the fallen. The second they neared, Dieredon was upon them, spinning and twirling his bladed bow like it was a part of his body, a mere extension of his will. The magic on it was strong, and it cut through bone with ease. Haern stayed at his side, parrying away any attack that neared Dieredon, and gutting any that tried to ignore the elf and run past. The guards, in awe, felt hope renewed in their hearts.

“For the Queen!” they shouted, joining in the fight, pushing and shoving their enemies toward the spinning death that was Dieredon.

“Priest!” one of them shouted. Dieredon paused, and sure enough he saw a man in black robes at the foot of the steps. When the priest looked up, his eyes shimmering red, the elf felt his hopes sink.

“Get into the castle,” the elf said to the others. “Now!”

The panic in his voice was enough for them to turn and bang on the castle doors.

“What is going on?” Haern demanded.

“Take Sonowin and go,” Dieredon said. “I don’t know if she can fly or not, but don’t let her die here.”

“I can help you!” Haern shouted.

“The city is lost!” Dieredon shouted back, shoving the assassin. “Now get her to safety!”

Melorak pulled his hood off his head and raised his arms. High in the sky, the lion roared, and as the roar shook the city, the priest glowed with red fire. It did not consume him. The rest of the army stayed behind, not daring to come between their master and his prey.

“We come as conquerors,” Melorak said. “Step aside or be burned.”

Haern leaped atop Sonowin and wrapped his arms around her neck. Dieredon patted her side and whispered something into her ear. The majestic horse snorted and shook her head.

“Go!” Dieredon shouted to Haern. Sonowin spread her wings and took a tentative step. Her wings fluttered, and as their strength remained firm, she leaped from the steps, her wings flapping. She soared into the air, Haern on her back. Dieredon watched, a smile on his face to see his beloved Sonowin able to fly again. The smile faded as his eyes shifted downward, to where Melorak stood shaking his head.

“You should have gone with him,” the priest said.

“One more chance,” Dieredon said as he held his bow with its blades out. “I end you, and this world is better for it.”

“I end you,” Melorak said, “and my world is better for it.”

Dieredon leaped, the blade on the end of his bow aimed straight for Melorak’s throat. He stopped halfway down the steps, slamming into a wall of air that rippled into visibility at his contact. As he fell, Melorak cast a spell, bathing the elf in fire. He screamed and rolled across the steps, but could not extinguish the flame. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a silver vial, then smashed it against his chest. Cool blue light bathed over him, banishing the fire and softening his burns.

“Pathetic,” Melorak said, the fire swarming around his body pooling into his palms. “I expected better.”

Dieredon drew an arrow and fired. The arrow punched through the fire and flesh, its tip sticking out the other side of Melorak’s hand. The priest screamed, his concentration broken. The fire fell like lava to the ground, melting the stone. Dieredon fired a second arrow, but it halted in the air as if gripped by an invisible fist.

“We’ve played this game before,” Melorak said between gasps of pain. A clenching of his fist and the arrow shattered. “I won, remember?”

“It’s a new game,” Dieredon said as he stood. “You’re bleeding.”

Another clenched fist and the arrow stuck in his hand shattered. Blood poured down his arm and dripped across the ground. Dieredon was closer now, and he twirled his bow as he stared down Melorak, watching, waiting.

Melorak hurled a bolt of shadow. Dieredon somersaulted over it, his feet landing on Melorak’s shoulders. He twisted, locking the priest’s neck in his grip and pulling him down. As he landed he spun, ramming a blade straight for Melorak’s head. The priest shifted just enough so that the blade struck the ground, just grazing his cheek. As the blood dripped, Melorak shoved the palm of his hand against Dieredon’s chest and let loose all his fury. Shadows and fire blasted into Dieredon, flinging him several feet back. Dieredon twisted his body so he landed on his feet, jamming his bow into the stone to halt his movement.

Neither said a word as they both struggled to breathe. The elf’s chest was mangled and burned, and his hair hung wild and drenched with sweat over his face. Melorak clutched his bleeding hand and glared, one eye shut from the blood that ran into it. Sonowin circled high above, and upon her back Haern watched. All around, priests and dark paladins gathered, not daring to interfere.

Melorak reached into his pocket and hurled a handful of bones, animating them with magic so they flew like bullets. Dieredon spun his bow and ducked. They punched into his body, leaving deep welts but causing no serious harm. Dieredon drew several arrows, firing them in rapid succession. Melorak caught them all with his mind, shaking his head as if disappointed. But Dieredon was not finished. He dropped his bow and charged, and before Melorak could shatter them, he grabbed an arrow from its position, mere inches from Melorak’s chest, and rammed it forward. Melorak gasped as the arrow punctured his robe, slipped between his ribs, and entered a lung.

In the sky above, the lion roared in fury.

Dieredon snapped off the shaft and then knocked him back with an elbow to the face. Melorak tumbled down the steps, his body rolling to the feet of the onlookers.

The elf retrieved his bow. His ears heard only gasps of shock and horror. He turned about, drew an arrow, and smirked at the servants of Karak.

“Next?” he asked.

“Not yet,” Melorak gasped. He sat on his knees, propping his weight up on one hand while the other clutched the arrow in his chest. “Karak damn it all, not yet.”

Fire swirled around his body, descending from the heavens like an infernal pillar. He closed his eyes and raised his arms to the sky, letting it cleanse, letting it purify him of his weaknesses, his frailty of flesh. His blood froze. Consumed, he grinned at Dieredon, his red eyes burning in a maniacal flame. His flesh was dead. His body was bone and fire. His hands, burnt of all muscle and skin, were nothing but long black extensions, charred bone given life by Karak’s power. They closed around the stub of wood in his chest and pulled out the arrow. He did not bleed.

“We’re not done yet,” Melorak said. An illusion fell over his face, hiding the skull, covering it with flesh and hair that constantly shifted and changed.

Dieredon grabbed his bow and tensed. Power swelled in Melorak’s hands, dark magic that yearned for release. Before it could, Sonowin flew low, and from her back Haern fell, his sabers ready.

“Take her and go!” Haern shouted as his sabers buried deep inside Melorak’s neck. He twisted and kicked, knocking Melorak to the ground. Sonowin banked, stretching her wings wide so she floated just above Dieredon. She neighed, and the elf glanced between the two, unable to decide.

“I said go!” Haern shouted as Melorak’s body suddenly burst into flame. Dieredon hooked his bow on his back and jumped. He flung his arms around Sonowin’s neck and held on as she flew away.

“You fool,” Melorak said as Haern stabbed his sabers again and again into Melorak’s neck and shoulders. The fire grew stronger, and he felt his hands blistering and his eyes watering. The cuts did nothing. It was as if he were assaulting an armored man with only weapons of straw. The priest turned and grabbed Haern’s wrists. His red eyes flared with life. The fire traveled higher, charring Haern’s arms and neck.

“I will torture you,” Melorak swore. “For years you will beg for death.”

Haern only chuckled as his chest jerked forward.

“Ashhur,” he said, his whole body going limp, “has me now.”

He fell into Melorak’s arms as if embracing him. Lodged deep in his back was a single arrow, its aim true, its tip lodged deep inside his heart.

Melorak shoved the body away and glared at the retreating horse in the sky.

“You are lucky to have such suicidal friends,” the priest said, then dismissed the troublesome elf. He had work to do.

“Come!” he shouted to his minions. “The castle is ours.”

He climbed the steps, blasting open the castle doors with a wave of his hand. As the wood and metal splintered and shrieked, he saw several guards with their weapons drawn, determined to protect their queen to the very end. He bathed them in shadow and fire, not slowing his approach. He walked between their bodies, down the red carpet, to the throne where Queen Annabelle sat waiting.

“What will you do to my people?” she asked, remaining seated.

“They will serve Karak, or they will die,” Melorak said.

“Then I pray many join me in death,” she said.

Melorak smirked.

“Such cowardice,” he said. “Die well, Queen.”

He pressed his palm against her face. Before he could cast his spell, she pulled a dagger from underneath the folds of her dress and stabbed it into his eye. Melorak shrieked and staggered back. Black liquid ran down his face. In his fury, he cast a spell, annihilating the entire throne in a great explosion of lightning. With his lone good eye, he stared at the queen’s corpse, his dead heart throbbing with hatred as he yanked out the dagger.

“It doesn’t matter,” he said as servants of Karak poured into the castle, searching for any remaining soldiers. “The city is ours.”

Far above Dieredon flew, watching the waves of undead filter through the streets. When he flew over the wall he saw the soldiers surrendering their weapons. Above him, the lion roared one last time before dissolving into smoke. The battle was over.

Karak had won.