A Sliver of Redemption (37 page)

“I can’t,” Tarlak said again. He felt a stabbing pain in his side, as if one of his lungs had just rebelled and called it quits. He felt his legs stumbling, his vision swimming, and then he was lifted into the air. After the vertigo passed, he realized he was atop Lathaar’s back, carried like a sack of grain. He opened his mouth to speak, but then dry heaved instead. A bit of spittle ran down his chin. He glanced at their pursuers, who seemed even closer. A spell…surely he knew a spell that might help?

But he didn’t have the chance to think of one. The conscripts suddenly slowed, then stopped completely. Some turned to flee, but most flung down their weapons and fell to their knees. Before Tarlak could wonder why, hundreds of knights rode past them, their hoofbeats thunderous across the grass. They circled those who had surrendered, then gave chase after the rest. Tarlak felt his perspective change again, and then suddenly he was on his feet, held up by Lathaar’s arms.

“You going to make it?” he heard the paladin ask.

Tarlak nodded, hoping for his heart to stop pounding at a million beats a second. Jerico ran up beside them, doubled over to catch his breath, then gestured to the knights.

“Good timing,” he said, then laughed.

Tarlak looked past them to where the remaining forces of Karak gathered. Unlike the conscripts, they appeared better armed and trained. Very few were mounted, though, and when the knights came charging, their leaders came out to meet them.

“What’s going on?” Lathaar asked, squinting to see.

“It’s too far,” Tarlak said.

“Don’t you have a spell or something to help with that?”

The wizard rubbed his eyes. Surely he did…that was right. What were the words? It took a moment more, but his pounding head remembered them. He cast the spell, and his eyes zoomed further and further in, until he could just barely see the leaders as they stepped out on their mounts.

“They’re carrying something,” Tarlak muttered, still out of breath. “It’s…hah. It’s some demon’s head. Oh, and there’s his body.”

The leaders dumped the body before them and then tossed the head as if it were a gift. The rest knelt and offered their swords.

“Looks like with the dragon dead and our forces coming to bear, they’ve switched sides,” Tarlak said. “Can’t blame them. Doubt they had much choice to serve Thulos in the first place.”

“Let’s go, then,” Lathaar said, tugging Tarlak along. The wizard fought off a wave of vomit as his vision jostled every which way, far too sensitive for the sudden movement. He looked back to the wall, where Antonil was making his charge.

“Well, would hate to miss the rest of the fun,” he said before limping along, wishing just for a moment where the stitch in his side might leave him alone.

Damn, he needed a glass of wine. If only…

“Uh, Tar?’ he heard Lathaar ask, disturbing his thoughts.

“Yeah?”

Lathaar pointed to the sky far to the south.

“Who the Abyss are they?”

D
eathmask hurried from street to street, proclaiming the same message.

“The king returns!” he cried. “Bring forth your rage! Rebel against those who have raped, murdered, and stolen from you! The king is here, the king is here!”

At first his call went unanswered. The fear of the priest-king had been driven in deep over the past months, but he did not despair. The few guards he encountered he slaughtered with ease, and it seemed with each one he killed, the bloodlust grew among the crowd that watched him. It seemed forever that he cried in vain, but he gained his handful of stalkers, not many, and they did little but watch and listen. It was his seed, he knew, and it was time to help it germinate.

“Take back what is yours!” he shouted when he reached the main market running through the center of the city. “Remember your beloved queen. Did she die for nothing? Are your loyalties so thin?”

Angry murmurs echoed through the crowd. He knew they felt fear because of the war waging outside the wall. Should it be a foreign conqueror, the rape and murder would be massive. He had to counter that fear, and he knew how. He climbed atop a market stand with a wooden roof, lifted his arms, and set them aflame for effect.

“That is no enemy outside!” he screamed. “That is no conqueror! That is your king, bound by blood and marriage to queen Annabelle. A queen the priest-king murdered! Do you serve a murderer? Do you serve Karak? Throw off the chains. Drink in the blood of your oppressor! Strangle him with his whip. Drown him in your anger!”

Of the hundreds listening, he knew he had maybe thirty. It didn’t matter. He felt the tension growing, and when a troop of Lionsguard arrived, they found the crowd none too willing to let them pass. They had to shove their way through, at last coming to where Deathmask stood atop his stall.

“You’re under arrest!” one of them shouted.

Deathmask laughed.

“Why do you wait?” he asked the crowd. “Must I do all the killing for you? Now is the time! Now is the place!”

A guard with a bow drew an arrow, but before he could fire it, someone bumped him from behind, ruining his aim. The arrow sailed wide, and Deathmask snagged it in his mind with magic. It took only a little persuasion for it to hook sharply downward, piercing the leg of a man close by. His cry of pain was music to Deathmask’s ears. Anger rippled through the crowd, and safe in its numbers, the people let out their anger and frustration. The Lionsguard drew their swords, but they had to face both Deathmask and the crowd, and they were far too few to face either.

“People of Mordeina!” a woman cried, and Deathmask smiled when he recognized her voice. Veliana stood atop a nearby building, looking beautiful and deadly as ever. “Behold the fate of your priest-king!”

She hurled a head to the street. It cracked in half upon the stone, and at that crack, it seemed the entire crowd exploded. They raged against the guards, tearing them from limb to limb. They tore at the stalls, broke windows, and gave in to the anger sweeping over them. They only needed directing, and though they might have headed for the castle, Deathmask knew a far better use.

“To the walls!” he shouted. “Throw open the gates to your saviors! Those loyal to Melorak are there. Kill them, people of Mordeina, kill them all!”

“To the walls!” Veliana shouted, echoing his cry. “Melorak is dead! To the walls!”

She leapt like an acrobat to the street and rushed ahead, still calling, still urging.

“To the walls!”

“Beautiful,” Deathmask said, basking in the anger of his own making. He’d always wanted to start a riot, and it’d been more enjoyable than he’d hoped. Not wishing to miss the show, he followed after, pushing his way through so he might help lead. The Lionsguard that tried to stop them, those few who did not flee, died crushed and beaten. The mob surged toward the main gates, where the several thousand loyal to Melorak waited.

“Well done,” Deathmask said as he slid beside Veliana toward the front. “Was that really his head?”

“What was left of it,” she said. “Bernard did his part. Melorak’s dead.”

The mob gathered in numbers, growing like a parasite sucking in the violent, the frustrated, and the scared. By the time they reached the soldiers, they numbered in the thousands. Without armor or true weaponry, they still faced a tough test. Deathmask had no intentions of letting that stop them.

“Take out their leaders,” he told Veliana.

Shadows leapt from his fingers, a barrage that slammed into the first of the many soldiers. They formed a line, but against such great numbers, he could see the fear in their eyes. Too many were upon the walls, unable to help. Just as the mob was to hit, the front wall shook, and a sound like a hundred trees snapping in half cracked through the tension. The sudden surprise was enough to make the Lionsguard turn and wonder, and that was all it took. The mob swarmed over them, grabbing their swords and slaughtering the rest. Many of the soldiers threw down their arms and fled. Deathmask let them go, focusing his spells to soften anywhere the soldiers tried to hold. Veliana flittered through them all, twisting and stabbing. Soon they were climbing up the ladders and stairs leading up the wall.

“Fall, fall, fall!” Deathmask laughed as the archers and soldiers found themselves accosted from all sides. One by one they plummeted to their deaths, those that did not surrender to avoid their wrath.

The inner wall shook. Cracks spread just left of the second gate. Deathmask raised an eyebrow as he watched. Veliana soon joined him, for the bloody work was beyond needing their help.

“What is that?” she asked.

“Not sure. I wonder if…”

And then a white beam of magic broke through, crumbling stone and knocking an enormous hole in the wall. Chunks flew through the city, crushing homes and men alike. Cracks spread in all directions, and more debris fell, but the wall held firm, a pathway made. With the rest of the soldiers surrendered, the mob flooded the opening. Soldiers entered, with what appeared to be Antonil leading the way. They clearly expected a fight, but instead hordes of men and women cheered and celebrated their arrival.

“The city’s taken once more,” Veliana said. “Looks like we’re finally safe.”

“This city, anyway,” Deathmask said, looking up to Avlimar. “But there’s still the matter of the demons…”

30

S
ide by side, Harruq and Aurelia fought and killed. When the demons first landed, they’d retreated inward, into the golden arches and pearl walls. It seemed they attacked from every opening, through windows and enormous doorways. Harruq blocked their way, and Aurelia cast her magic around him. Every time he ducked, a lance of ice would fly over his head. Every time he sidestepped, a shard of rock and fire went screaming by. But there were too many, and the angels with them were few. So further and further in they retreated.

“Where’s the rest of them?” Harruq asked as they rushed through a series of bedrooms. “Would love to have…watch out!”

He shoved Aurelia atop one of the beds. A spear sliced through where she’d been, then embedded into the wall. Two demons crashed through the windows, their wings folded in. One landed on a second bed, the other rolling across the floor between them. Harruq stabbed the one on the ground before he could rise, twisting the blade just before tearing it out his side. Aurelia flung a pillow at the other demon, then ignited it with a word. When the demon tried to fling it aside, it instead exploded, bathing him with fire. As he writhed, Harruq slammed into him, stabbing with his twin blades.

“We need a room without windows,” Harruq said, yanking his swords free.

“Or doors,” she said, sliding off the bed. She brushed her hair away from her face, worry flashing in her eyes. Harruq sheathed one of his swords, squeezed her hand, and then pulled her along.

Outside the bedroom was a slender walkway across beautiful green grass. A series of thin pillars and an arched covering made of golden silk enclosed the walkway. Through the gaps in the pillars they saw a mad chaos of battle, angels and demons swarming across the city, killing one another. At the end of the walkway was a large tower, for what purpose, he didn’t know.

“Run fast,” he said, squeezing her hand again. “And try not to draw any attention.”

She gave him a wink, then sprinted along the pathway, Harruq in fast pursuit. In the open air, they heard death screams, friend and foe alike. Halfway there, Aurelia dived to the ground as a battling pair crashed through a pillar. The demon landed atop, and he stabbed repeatedly with a vicious spike attached to his gauntlet. Before he could notice her there, Aurelia clamored to her feet and slammed a palm against his back. Lightning arced through the demon, and he let out a single cry before dying.

Harruq didn’t slow, instead grabbing her waist and pulling her along. Three more demons crashed through the top, hurling their spears. Two struck the stone wide of the mark, and Aurelia shoved the third off course with a sudden gale.

“Faster,” Harruq said as the demons left the walkway to take flight. He glanced to either side, catching only glimpses of them through the gaps in the pillars. Just before the door to the tower, one tore through the silk and landed, his serrated sword already stained with blood. Another landed behind them, also tearing through the silk. As for the third…

“Take the one at the door,” Harruq whispered. He shoved her forward and spun as the third demon crashed through the pillars, his glaive leading. The half-orc parried it high, then stepped into the demon’s charge. Harruq’s elbow slammed into neck, and he roared when the two continued on, bouncing off into another pillar and to the grass outside. In the mad mess of wings and armor, Harruq twisted and stabbed on pure instinct. He felt warm blood splash across his face. The hairs on his neck stood up, and he twisted free. The other demon’s attack missed, and Harruq gave him no chance to recover. He head-butted him, and when he staggered back, Condemnation sliced through his stomach and spilled his innards.

“Harruq!” Aurelia shouted from the door to the tower, a smoldering corpse slumped against a pillar beside her. He looked back to see a formation of demons diving toward him, and with a curse began sprinting. But they raced to the side, not going for him, but instead Aurelia.

“No!” he screamed, knowing he would never make it in time. Aurelia looked to him, terror marring her beautiful face. And then she slammed shut the door and set it aflame. The demons forced through, four rushing inside, a fifth standing guard, his glaive raised and pointed at the half-orc.

“You can’t stop me,” Harruq said, picking up speed. “Nothing can! Aurelia!”

He saw the doubt creep into the demon’s eyes just before he hit, and that alone told him the exchange was already won. Salvation slapped aside the glaive like it were made of straw. Condemnation tore through the demon’s throat. Harruq’s weight slammed into him, burying the sword further. Snarling, he tore the blade free and kicked the body aside. When he turned to enter the tower, he stopped, for a wall of ice had formed across it, blocking the way.

“I have waited a long time to meet with you again, my dear apprentice,” said a voice from a nightmare, deep and full of promises and lies.

Harruq turned to see Velixar grinning at him, his red eyes glowing with amusement. Beside him stood Tessanna, her head bowed and her eyes downcast. And not far behind them stood…

Stood…

“Qurrah?” he said, his swords going limp in his hand. “Qurrah, what has he done?”

T
essanna moved through the battle as if in a dream. All around she heard cries of death, and she knew at one time this would have exhilarated her, but no more. She knew who Velixar hunted for, what he desired. He wanted his victory, his great achievement to be complete. She would be a part of it, but only a small part. She was powerless. Helpless. A prisoner waiting to die at the hand of her lover.

“Can you sense him?” Velixar asked Qurrah after he struck down an angel using a long tendril of bone. For a moment Qurrah did nothing, then nodded. He shook as if he had fought against that nod with every muscle in his body.

“Then lead the way.”

They weaved through the city, staying outside the buildings and remaining near the outer ring, even when the bulk of the combat moved deeper into the city. Only a few angels spotted them, for the demons were swarming, great in number and on the offensive. Those that fled, died. Those that dove to attack, died faster. Each time their bodies collapsed, bleeding from gashes torn in their bodies or gasping for air with crushed lungs, Velixar laughed.

At last they reached a large tower on the northern end of Avlimar. Tessanna felt her heart leap. There he was. Qurrah’s brother.

“No,” she whispered.

Velixar saw him trying to rush inside the tower after Aurelia, so he summoned a wall of ice to block his way. Tessanna clutched her hands behind her back, feeling a lump swell in her throat. This was it. She heard the half-orc cry out Aurelia’s name, then turn to face them. She couldn’t meet his eyes. What would he think of her? Nothing good. Nothing redeemable. She’d helped murder his daughter, then taken his brother away from him. She was the path to Karak, she knew that now. May all three gods damn her, she thought. It was the least she deserved. Velixar mocked him, and her heart flared with anger.

“Qurrah?” she heard Harruq ask. “Qurrah, what has he done?”

The lump grew.

What have
I
done, you mean. Oh gods, Qurrah, is this how we all end?

“Don’t speak,” Velixar said to her lover. “Don’t answer. You know what you are, and what you must do. Kill him, Qurrah. Break the last chain that holds you to this mortal delusion of morality and sin.”

“Don’t!” Tessanna shouted. She couldn’t control herself. “Don’t do this!”

Velixar struck her, so hard she thought her jaw might be broken. As she crumpled to the ground, she sobbed in helpless fury. Qurrah approached Harruq, and the burning whip uncoiled from about his arm.

“You don’t deserve this,” Harruq said. “Fight him, brother. This isn’t what you are!”

Through her tears, Tessanna watched Qurrah lash out with his whip. Harruq smacked it aside with his swords, and still he did not attack. He pleaded with his brother, and each word was a knife to her heart. Her fault. All her fault.

Please,
she prayed to the goddess.
Please, this can’t be. Let me stop it. Tell me how to stop it!

Qurrah flung a bolt of shadow, and this time Harruq had no choice. He lunged to the side, pivoted, and then slammed into her lover. Qurrah rolled with the slam, his hands glowing darkness. When he landed on his back, he hurled seven orbs of shadow, each one pulverizing his brother’s flesh. Harruq screamed at the tremendous pain. Silver electricity arced about his body. When he fell to one knee, Qurrah lashed his arms with the whip, burning through his armor and charring flesh.

Please! Goddess…mother…don’t make me watch this. Don’t leave me like this.

Harruq parried the third lash, then hurled himself at Qurrah. They toppled again, and this time he stabbed deep with his ancient blades. She felt a scream building inside her, but Qurrah showed no sign of pain. He dropped the whip and clutched Harruq’s face with both hands. Red mist swirled about the two of them, and then Harruq flew back, his head striking the tower with a sickening crunch. His swords fell limp from his hands, yet still he looked up. Still breathing. Still pleading.

“This can’t be you,” he said, struggling against the spell so he might lift his arms. “That’s not you, Qurrah. That’s not you.”

She felt the goddess’s eyes upon her. She felt her presence beside her. The power taken from her seemed almost in reach, but something was wrong. Still, despite her pleadings, it wasn’t enough.

What do you want from me?
she begged.
What is it, mother?

“Kill him, Qurrah,” Velixar said as he stood beside his most beloved disciple. “He has turned against us both, and against the god he swore his life to. Such promises are not to be made in vain. Take back his life. Embrace it. Feel the thrill of the kill. There is no right. There is no wrong. There is order, and he is chaos. End it. End him.”

“No,” Tessanna whispered. She felt magic swirling around her, and her anger grew as she raged against the goddess. Her words went unheard by Velixar and her lover, and she wondered if they went unheard by the goddess, too.

“No, you can’t do this. I won’t allow it. I can stop it, mother. I can stop it! I won’t let this happen. Give it to me. Return my strength! I am your daughter…your daughter…and I demand my birthright. Give me my power, mother!
Give me my wings!
”

The demand made, the demand answered. She shrieked as the last power of Celestia poured into her mortal vessel. Ethereal wings spread out her back, scattering black feathers. The pain was immense, as if every part of her body were burning away with cleansing fire. Her hands shook. Her hair swirled in a chaotic wind. And at last Velixar turned to face her.

“No,” she said, and it seemed her words shook the very foundations of the city. “He is yours no longer.”

Velixar was a master at controlling death, honed over centuries and given strength by Karak himself. But she could see the great tendril he held over Qurrah, the control, the denying of his will. And she took it back. Qurrah was hers, and she took him.

She gave him only one command.

“Be free,” she said, every bit of her power given to protect Qurrah from Velixar’s furious control.

And to her joy, he turned from his brother and glared at the man in black.

“I won’t,” he said. “I’m not yours anymore.”

He struck the ice with a fist, shattering it. As Velixar shook with rage, Qurrah helped his brother to his feet and dismissed the curse upon him.

“Go to your wife,” he said, glancing over his shoulder. “Velixar is mine.”

“Good luck,” Harruq said, retrieving his swords. “And thank you.”

He rushed into the tower. Tessanna watched her lover turn toward his former master, and a shiver ran through her at the look he gave.

“You lack faith,” Velixar said. “You are a fool and a failure. You cannot challenge me.”

“Wrong.”

He unleashed a stream of fire from his palms. Velixar brought up a shield, and as the fire spread to either side, he let his power flare. The fire died, and then he tore a chunk of the ground free and hurled it. Qurrah met it with an invisible force that cracked it in two and shoved the chunks to either side of the tower. The air swirled about his feet, tinged red with power. Lightning tore from his hands, arcing through Velixar. Karak’s prophet screamed in pain, then let that pain feed his magic.