The Shadows of Grace h-4

by David Dalglish

  “Did Lathaar make it through all right?” Harruq asked.

  Tarlak gestured to where Lathaar and Jerico stood opposite of each other at the foot of the stairs.

  “Looks like it,” he said. “Roughed him up pretty bad, but he survived. Let’s hope the same for Antonil. The queen may be old, but I think she can give him a good run.”

  “Tarlak!” Aurelia shouted as loud as she dared. Tarlak winced, fully expecting a spell to turn him into a lizard. None came.

  “Once this is over,” the elf said, crossing her arms. “You are in deep trouble.”

  “Yes, mother,” Tarlak said. Again he winced. No polymorph spell.

  Harruq took Aurelia’s hand in his and held her closer as trumpets blared, signaling the start of the wedding.

  D eep inside a well-worn mansion seven men gathered wearing gray robes. A fire burned between them in a stone pit, but it gave off no smoke. The seven finished their chant, and the leader among them spoke.

  “Our time here is limited,” he said. “And our lives in danger. As we once persecuted priests and paladins of Ashhur, so now are we persecuted. So quickly Mordeina turns her back to our Lord.”

  “A reminder,” said one of the seven.

  “Yes,” said another. “They need a reminder.”

  “Hayden was our greatest, but he will not be our last,” said their leader. “And Karak has spoken to me in dreams. This is still our world’s final moments. Our great prophet remains, spurned and angry. But Karak whispers to me of a second prophet, one we must be wary of. We must be diligent. We must be strong. Above all, we must hold faith.”

  “What are we to do?” one asked.

  “You said it best,” said the leader. “We give them a reminder.”

  “W ith great joy I stand before these two individuals,” Bernard said, his voice carrying far in the silence that had fallen over the crowds. “King and queen of different nations, but coming together in peace and unity. No wounds are too old, no pain too great. Love heals. A simple statement, perhaps, but it is true, and it is powerful.”

  Harruq squeezed Aurelia’s hand and leaned over.

  “Our wedding didn’t take half this long,” he whispered.

  T he seven raised their arms to the ceiling, their hearts throbbing in their chests. Desperate pleas for power poured from their lips. They called for a sign. They called for a message of truth and warning for their city. They called for a revival. The fire flared higher and higher, its strength tied to the strength of their prayers.

  “A name,” one of the priests suddenly shouted. “I hear a name!”

  The others heard it as well, strong in their ears. Their leader fell to his knees, and he cried out to his god.

  “I am unworthy,” he shouted. “Please, pass the burden to another.”

  “Take it!” the priests cried. “Take the name offered!”

  The fire soared, a brilliant orange and yellow pillar in the gigantic room. Their leader bowed his head and accepted Karak’s will.

  “Then let my old name be forgotten,” he said. “Melorak is now my name.”

  The other priests cheered, delighted at the long-prophesied arrival of Dezrel’s conqueror. The true Melorak closed his eyes and lifted his palms to the ceiling.

  “Let all of Mordan hear our anger,” he said.

  T he exchange of rings done, Bernard began the final instruction of the ceremony.

  “Each of you holds the love of the other in your heart. Keep it sacred, and keep it close,” he said. “Queen Annabelle, I now pronounce you of the family Copernus. King Antonil, you may…”

  He stopped, his skin turning pale and his eyes widening. Whispers spread throughout the crowd.

  “Bernard?” Antonil asked.

  The ground shook. Wind blew down the streets, random in its swirling. The sky darkened. The rows of angels that surrounded the castle drew their swords as if for battle. Screams of fear and pain pierced the wind as people fled, trampling others too slow to move.

  “What’s going on?” Harruq shouted as he clutched Aurelia’s hand and held her close.

  “The sky,” Tarlak said. “Damn it all to the Abyss.”

  The roar of the lion shook the city. Its sound rumbled through their chests and pierced their hearts. The ground recoiled and broke. People fled to their homes, and the new king and queen hurried to their castle for safety. Those outside looked to the darkened sky, and all who saw it knew what it meant.

  Shimmering as if it were made of a thousand red stars, the image of a lion rippled in the air, its eyes angry, its teeth bared, and its claws outstretched. Twice more it roared, cracking walls and rendering the roads broken and uneven.

  Harruq watched as a group of angels flew toward the craven image. Azariah led them, his amulet in hand. As one they raised their right hands and shouted out the name of Ashhur. Holy light pulsed about their fingers. The image of the lion shook, its power fading. Again and again the angels prayed, until the wind died, the sky filled with light, and the lion broke apart.

  “Just like in Veldaren,” Tarlak said as an uneasy calm settled over the city.

  “We have an army to chase,” Harruq said, looking over the wall to the east as Mira and the paladins joined them. “Perhaps now the city will remember that.”

  Ahaesarus landed beside them, his beautiful face marred with anger.

  “We leave at the rise of the sun,” he said, glaring at where the image had been. “We have waited long enough.”

  “Antonil’s army won’t be ready by then,” Tarlak argued.

  “Then they can chase after us,” Ahaesarus said. “Prepare your mercenaries, unless you wish to stay behind.”

  Tarlak glanced around at his Eschaton, who all nodded.

  “We’re going,” he said. “All of us.”

  “Good,” said Ahaesarus. “Be ready.”

  He flew back to Avlimar, his angels following.

  “We’ll be outnumbered,” Mira said when he was gone. “Even with Antonil’s men.”

  “So be it,” Tarlak said. “We just fled across an entire continent. For once, I want to be the one giving chase. All of you, prepare your things. We’re leaving at dawn.”

  The Eschaton did as they were told. Their resting was done. They had a war to fight.

  18

  T he three of them huddled before a fire, feeling isolated amid the remnants of the demon army. Qurrah seethed in silence, pondering Harruq’s eyes and the glow of his swords. He went over their battle again and again. At no point had his brother tried to score a killing blow. He had struck with the hilt of his swords, or at his legs and hands. Compared to their previous battle after Aullienna’s death, the whole ordeal seemed tame. Qurrah was baffled.

  “What do we do now?” Tessanna asked, disrupting his thoughts.

  “We rebuild,” Velixar said. His arms were crossed, and he bent toward the fire as if he were ready to plunge his face into the embers. “We cannot collapse now, not so close to victory.”

  “The demons have already replenished their numbers,” Qurrah said. “I feel the strain of their passing with every breath I take.”

  “As do I,” Velixar said. “But we must endure.”

  “It’s been months since we first opened the portal,” Qurrah said, rubbing his temples. “I am flesh and bone, Velixar. I will break soon, as will you.”

  “I am not weak,” Velixar said, his eyes looking up from the fire. For a moment they flared a bright red, a bit of his old self reemerging.

  “Neither of you are weak,” Tessanna said. She curled her knees to her chest and hid her face behind her arms. “But you’re dying. You can’t do this forever. But they want more from you, and they’ll keep taking and taking until you can’t stand, can’t fight, can’t do anything…”

  They hushed as Ulamn approached. He had taken off his helmet, and if not for the darkness of his eyes and the multitude of scars on his face, he could have passed as one of the angels they had just fought.

  “We
will fly for much of the distance,” Ulamn said. “Uncomfortable as it may be for you, we will travel much faster that way. Ashhur’s angels will give chase, and we cannot fight them, not until we reinforce our numbers from Veldaren.”

  “What of my priests, my paladins?” Velixar asked.

  “They have forsaken you,” Ulamn said. “You know this as well as I. You both are too important to leave our side. You stay with us. If we’re lucky, your disloyal brethren will buy us time. Rest well tonight. Tomorrow will be long.”

  He bowed and left. Velixar shook his head, and his features shifted between sadness and anger.

  “So many good paladins,” he said. “So many faithful. I will make them pay. All of them.”

  Qurrah grabbed Tessanna’s elbow and stood.

  “We must rest,” he said. Velixar dismissed them with a wave, not watching them go. They hurried away. Qurrah wasn’t ready for sleep, but he couldn’t stand seeing Velixar in such a state.

  “He vows revenge,” Tessanna said, echoing his thoughts. “But what strength does he have to keep such a promise?”

  “He doesn’t,” Qurrah said. “And neither do I.”

  Tessanna kissed her lover’s cheek, but her comfort was hollow. Never before had she hated Karak as much as she did then.

  T arlak slipped inside the room, trying not to make any noise.

  “I’m awake,” Haern said from his bed, his eyes still closed. “And beaten or not, my ears still work.”

  They were in a dark, windowless infirmary within the castle. There were many beds, but only Haern, with so many bones broken and shattered, remained.

  “We’re giving chase,” Tarlak said, sitting on the bed. “About an hour from now. Antonil’s army will follow in a day or two.”

  “I should go with you,” Haern said, frowning.

  “You’re damn lucky to even be alive,” Tarlak said. “Trying to travel so soon will kill you.”

  “You leave to banish a demonic army from our world, and you expect me to stay and hope for the best?” Haern asked.

  The wizard gently squeezed the assassin’s shoulder.

  “I expect you to get better,” he said, his point made clear by the pain flashing over Haern’s face. “You want to chase after us in a few weeks, you go right ahead. I hope we have a victory party waiting for you in Veldaren.”

  Haern sat up enough to hug Tarlak goodbye, then collapsed back onto the bed.

  “Tarlak?” Haern said, right before he left.

  “Yeah?”

  “I’m sorry,” Haern said. “For how I’ve been.”

  “Apology accepted,” Tarlak said, winking. “See you in the months ahead.”

  He left. Haern tried to sit up, tried to ignore the pain flaring throughout his body. He couldn’t, and he crashed back onto the bed, groaning and covered with sweat.

  W ith much fanfare the angels departed, hundreds and hundreds of winged soldiers in perfect formations. The Eschaton rode in the arms of the angels, their weight seemingly nothing to their powerful white wings. They flew east in pursuit of the demons.

  Antonil watched them go from the outer wall, scratching at his chin as he did.

  “Itching to go with them?” his old general Sergan asked. “Can’t say I blame you.”

  “I just led thousands of refugees across the continent,” Antonil said. “And now I am to travel back with an army at my command. To think, I always thought King Vaelor had it easy.”

  “He did have it easy,” Sergan said. He plopped his ax to the stone and leaned on its hilt, staring after the rapidly fading army. “He sat on his throne, issued paranoid edicts, and expected respect without earning it. You, however, have led your people as needed, fought beside them, bled with them, and gave everything you had. A good king, that’s what I see.”

  “And if we fail?” Antonil asked, turning toward his trusted friend. “And if I lead so many to their deaths, and return to Mordeina with her army broken, her food spent, and the whole world lost to fire?”

  Sergan laughed. “You worry too much. A few days ago we thought we were all doomed. Now you’re king and Ashhur’s given us an army. I may not be a religious man, but I know a time for faith when I see it.”

  Antonil chuckled. “I guess you’re right,” he said.

  “Of course I am.” He picked up his ax and hefted it over his shoulder. “Now, if it pleases your highness, I would like to start inspecting our newly granted troops.”

  “Go easy on them,” Antonil said. “At least until they accept orders from a man of Neldar. I’d hate to see you strung up before we leave.”

  “They can try,” Sergan said as he climbed down the ladder. “But try is as far as they’d get.”

  T he next day, Antonil knelt before his queen, accepting her public blessing. Rows and rows of soldiers filled the streets. Wagons spotted the fields surrounding the city, filled with provisions for the army. The weather was warm, the sky clear, and the sun bright.

  “Don’t try to come back a hero,” Annabelle said to Antonil as she kissed his forehead. “You already are one. Just come back alive.”

  “I’ll do my best, milady,” Antonil said. He stood, drew his sword, and shouted an order. The soldiers turned, crying out the name of their beloved city. Toward the gates they marched. Women and children lined the edges of the street, shouting goodbyes to their fathers, friends, and husbands. Annabelle remembered a similar ceremony, when her then husband had sent the might of Mordan after the Dezren elves, banishing them from their kingdom.

  Unable to watch, she returned to her castle. Her footsteps echoed in the empty chamber. As she sat on her throne, feeling old and empty, a man stepped from behind a pillar and bowed low.

  “Greetings, your majesty,” he said, his mismatched eyes glinting.

  The queen held in her startled cry.

  “Perhaps you are unaware of who I am,” he said, pacing before her. “But I’m sure you know what I’ve done. My name is Deathmask, and I come with my guild. It is we who stopped Bernard’s wrongful execution. And as for the assault on Karak’s priests, well, consider me a fortune teller, carrying out your orders before you even gave them.”

  Annabelle’s pulse quickened as three more stepped out from behind pillars. Two of them were twins, while the third was a beautiful girl with a wicked scar over one eye. They all held daggers and watched for guards as they approached.

  “Killing me gains you nothing,” she said, trying to sound brave.

  “We’re not here to kill you,” Deathmask said, and he chuckled as if the mere thought were absurd. “Although your bounty on our heads is making life difficult. We’re here to discuss that little issue.”

  “I will not cower before threats,” she said. “I still have soldiers at my disposal.”

  “Threats?” Deathmask asked. “I bring no threats. I come with a deal. Tell me, your highness, how many priests of Karak have your guards killed since your order?”

  Queen Annabelle tilted her head, her eyes darting between the four.

  “Not many,” she admitted. “Perhaps they fled the city.”

  “You saw the lion in the sky,” said the girl with the scarred face. “You know they remain.”

  “They will strike now, while the city is vulnerable,” Deathmask insisted. “However, if we were to find them, and execute them, well…”

  He made a grand gesture to the entire castle, grinning wickedly.

  “Then the city would be made safe,” he said.

  “What do you want in return?” she asked.

  “Revoke your silly bounty,” Deathmask said. “It will only cost you soldiers if you don’t. Also, we prefer a bit more shadier form of… entertainment. Hayden’s laws need repealed. Death should not be the punishment for a small amount of debauchery.”

  The queen stood and pointed to the door.

  “Leave,” she said. “Come back when you find them, and bring me proof of their deaths. They whispered lies into my ears for long enough. Your bounty is rescinded.
The rest awaits your return.”

  “You are as wise as you are kind,” Deathmask said, bowing.

  “And you are as manipulative as you are ruthless,” Annabelle said, dismissing his bow.

  Deathmask laughed.

  “Come,” he said to his Ash Guild. “We have work to do.”

  T hat night they scoured the city but found no trace of the priests. They had already left under cover of darkness, through tunnels built a century ago for just such a case. The newly crowned Melorak led the way, a group of fifteen priests with him. They moved in silence, needing no words spoken.

  They headed south, where the Elethan mountains ended in small, craggy hills. Many caves lined their bases, with streams flowing in and out. The priests weaved between the caves, stepping over the water when they could. As they penetrated deeper into the hills they saw smoke blotting out the stars, the result of a large bonfire. Melorak raised his hand to stop his priests.

  “Pray to Karak for strength,” he told them. “And beware the lies of the other. Distrust his image. He may look like the prophet, but do not be fooled.”

  They continued. The remainder of Karak’s army camped in a basin formed by six hills, with tents on either side of a stream that ran through the center. There was only one fire, and beside it stood a being similar to Velixar, his hands raised to the night sky as he cried out prayers. Melorak led his priests into the camp, slowly nodding his head at the tested who spotted his arrival.

  “We are fellow servants of Karak,” he told them. “I wish to speak with your leader.”

  The tested led him to the fire. Preston waited for them, his features shifting in the orange glow of the flame.

  “Welcome to my fold,” he said. “My name is Melorak, and I command the faithful to Karak.”

  “The faithful?” the true Melorak said. “Perhaps. That is what I’ve come to test.”

  “Test my faith? I am ordained by Karak himself! I bear the prophesied name. Mordan will fall, and by my hand.”

  Melorak pulled down his hood from his face and stood to his full height. His eyes shone a fierce red, and shadows danced at his fingertips. “I am the true Melorak,” he said. “I am the one Karak has waited for. You are a pretender, a deceiver, and a liar. Your time is done.”