“How fares my army?” Theo asked. He lay on his back, his arms crossed over his chest.
“They fight bravely,” one knight said.
Osric wished he could say they were winning. The battle on the front was turning against them. The rearguard had begun to crumble. The demons circled, slashing at any vulnerable defender. Only Qurrah kept them safe from the terrible Velixar, and the half-orc’s eyes shone with a feverish madness.
“Unto death,” Theo said, a smile creasing his bloody face. “They’ll sing songs of our stand.”
“If there any left to sing,” Qurrah said. He pointed a finger at where he thought Velixar stood watching the fight. He felt the last of his strength draining away. It’d been too many spells, too little food, too little rest. But if he was to die, he’d give them one last show. One last moment of defiance against Karak and his pets.
“You cherish your demons above all else,” he said. A fireball soared in directly for him, but it crashed against a magical barrier and detonated early. “So let this burn far beyond my death.”
He lifted his arms. The fire on the arches brightened, changed to a deep purple hue, and then erupted before any of the demons could retreat. The fire bathed the heavens. It streaked through the clouds like an army of molten wyrms, searing flesh and devouring wings. The demons fell by the hundreds, the rest retreating. Throughout the display, Qurrah laughed.
“Unbelievable,” one of the knights whispered when the half-orc collapsed beside the king.
“You’re not done,” Osric said, kneeling down beside him. Everything he saw about the man showed he was wrong. His eyes rolled in his head, his countenance hardly alert. His extremities trembled, and a cold sweat bathed his body. Osric clutched him in his arms and held him.
“You must stand,” he said. “You must defend us.”
Fire roared in from the riverside, and unheeded it swarmed over the front line of the defenders, killing friend as well as foe.
“I can’t,” Qurrah whispered.
“You must!”
“I can’t!”
A meteor slammed into the bridge a few yards away, blasting through the stone. A group of men fell through with it, doomed to drown in their heavy armor.
Osric shifted the half-orc’s weight to his left arm, then clasped his hand in his.
“You did us proud,” he said. “Until death, I’ll defend you.”
Qurrah smiled, and it seemed a great weight left his shoulders.
“Thank you,” he said. “And I’m sorry.”
Osric stood and turned toward the front line, which wasn’t much of a line anymore. Men of Thulos rushed ahead, cutting down the defenders. Without their king, and helpless before the steady barrage of fire and shadow that tore through them, they could not continue their stand. The knights gathered tight, and they rallied as best they could. The spells stopped for a moment, and in that reprieve they fought back. Osric himself killed five, building a pile of dead at his feet. They shouted praises to their homeland, daring the mercenaries of Angelport and soldiers of Felwood to charge.
Instead they stepped back, and a man in a black robe approached. His eyes shone red in the darkness of his hood.
“Velixar,” Osric said, and he breathed the word like a dark omen.
The specter lifted its bony hand and pointed. Fire burst from his fingertips, swarming about the knights. Osric screamed as he felt his flesh bubble and peel under the tremendous heat. He tried to stand, to swing at the damned thing that had broken their defenses, but his pain was too great. He coughed, and he tasted blood on his tongue. Again the man raised his hand. Osric glanced back to Qurrah, who knelt beside the king.
“Forgive me,” said the half-orc. Then came the fire, the pain, and then nothing.
19
Tessanna staggered across the bridge, pulled along by Velixar’s icy grip on her wrist.
“At last they have broken,” he said, pushing toward the front. “In the end, Qurrah could never withstand my strength.”
She bit her tongue and held in her retort. Velixar seemed far too unhinged to argue with. His eyes flared wide, and the changes of his features advanced at a rapid pace. More than ever he seemed like a monster loosed upon the world, and his touch filled her throat with bile. He cleared his way through, casting fire on the defenders. Her head swam from the heat and the smoke. Horrible as it seemed, she hoped Qurrah was dead. She wanted to find a body, a cold corpse that Velixar could not torture, could not harass, could not try to make her…
But then he was there, kneeling beside another wounded man. Velixar killed the knights with him, and with a wave of his hand, sent his troops swarming past, to overwhelm the men behind.
“Who is that with you?” Velixar asked, tilting his head to the side.
“King Theo White,” said the wounded man. “Go burn in the Abyss, you demon. We crushed your army. We slaughtered ten for every one of us that fell.”
“A king?” Velixar asked. “Amusing. You died for nothing, cretin. And I shall rule in the Abyss, not burn. Perhaps I’ll meet you there in another age.”
He ripped rib bones from a nearby body and flung them through the king’s eyes. The man convulsed for a moment, then lay still.
“You were a fool to abandon us,” Velixar said. “I must say, I never expected such weakness. From your brother, perhaps, but never from you. And those robes? White? Is this a joke, Qurrah? Do you really think they accepted you? You were a pawn for their defense, nothing more. It is easier to have you as a friend than an enemy.”
Qurrah chuckled, but his grim laughter died when he looked past Velixar to Tessanna. Their eyes met. Tessanna felt her heart flutter, and Velixar’s grip tightened on her wrist.
“Don’t,” she said, but it didn’t matter. He flung her to her knees and shoved a dagger into her hand.
“You know what you must do,” he hissed into her ear. “He has abandoned you, and he has abandoned me. There is no place for him in Karak’s world. Cut his throat. Spill his life across your hands. There was a time you reveled in the sight of blood. Remember that. Become that same beautiful creature once more.”
She looked at Qurrah. A thousand emotions swirled within her breast. She thought of his bitter words to her for sleeping with Jerico. She thought of the times they’d shared alone, their lovemaking vicious and desperate. They’d clung to each other through the most horrible of tragedies, and she’d clawed his chest when Aullienna died. There had to be good times, though, moments of sun and warmth. That time by the rose, they’d declared each other husband and wife, more than lovers. Had they lived up to such a promise? Who was she to judge? She’d let Thulos into the world, dooming them all, and why? Because she’d been hurt? Because she wanted to punish Qurrah?
He was looking at her, and when she looked back, something in his eyes quivered. What did he think of her? Could he forgive her? Could she forgive him? What madness had separated them? What dire need had broken them? The dagger in her hand, could she do it? She couldn’t. She couldn’t!
“I’m sorry,” Qurrah whispered. “For everything.”
Tears ran down her face, and his too. She clutched the dagger so tight her knuckles turned white.
“I never wanted to hurt you,” she said.
“I know.”
“I’ve missed you so much.”
“So have I.”
“I love you, Qurrah.”
“I love you too, Tess.”
She tried to drop the dagger, but then Velixar was there. His hand was ice, and it was strong. He pushed forward, and she fought, she screamed, but in went the blade. It pierced through his ribs and into his heart. He gasped once, then fell to the side. Blood spilled across her hands. His blood. Qurrah’s blood.
He said something in his raspy voice. She leaned closer, clutching his white robes now stained red.
“…not mad…” he said. “Not…I’m not mad. Tess…”
She shrieked as he died. His body went still. No breath. No life.
“Please,” she sobbed, beating her hands against his chest. “Please, no, I’m sorry! Please, Qurrah, I’m so sorry! Don’t leave me alone, I don’t want to be alone. I can’t. I can’t, please…”
She felt Velixar towering over her, lurking like the damned reaper-man he was.
“You sick fuck!” she screamed. “I hope you burn!”
She tried to stab him, but he slapped the dagger aside. It skidded off the side of the bridge and vanished. Her flailing did nothing to him, but she kicked and clawed anyway until he grabbed her wrists and held her back.
“He deserved nothing less,” he said to her.
“How could you?” she asked amid her hysterical sobs. “How could you make me? Put his blood on your own hands, you damn coward! Your hands! Your guilt!”
The words seemed to sting him, and he let her drop. The bridge was slick underneath her feet, but she crawled toward the body of her lover and put his head in her lap. Gently she stroked his face, smearing blood across his forehead. Her tears fell down, mixing with the blood. She looked up at Velixar, who watched the display as if torn.
“He was better than you will ever be,” she said. “I felt it when I held your damn portal open.”
One of the war demons landed beside Velixar. He gave her a strange glance, then dismissed her.
“A third of my soldiers,” the demon said. “I send them under cover of darkness like you insist, and I lose a third!”
“And I lost nearly every single one of my undead, and half the mercenaries and men of Felwood!” Velixar shouted back. “Are you happy now, Myann? Thulos will have both our heads, all because you wouldn’t crush them when the battle first started.”
“The blame is on your head, not mine,” Myann said. He flew away, crimson feathers floating in the air after his departure.
Tessanna fled, wanting to be anywhere else, to think of anything else. She thought he’d follow, but Velixar remained behind. For a moment she thought he was as broken as she was, but that seemed impossible. She felt apathy sliding over her, returning like an old friend, and she welcomed it.
Velixar knelt beside the body, a strange stirring in his soul. He’d killed thousands before. He’d even felt regret, such as when he’d sacrificed Harruq’s daughter to reveal the brother’s true loyalties to Qurrah. But this was different from them all. Kneeling before Qurrah’s body, he felt a complete and total failure.
“You were my greatest disciple,” Velixar whispered as he carved runes into stones with his forefinger, which glowed red with fire. He’d taken the body and with tenderness surprising even to himself, set it down to the cold earth beyond the bridge. “How is it you fell so far? And how is it that I never saw it until now?”
He did his best to put Tessanna out of his mind. He’d broken her, perhaps worse than she’d ever been broken. The separation should have lessened her hurt. Qurrah’s betrayal and anger should have been enough for her to realize how inferior he’d been at the end. But whose fault was that? Who had let such a promising disciple become nothing but an enemy? He’d spent hours tormenting Jerico, revealing his lies, proving his faith false. Yet he’d failed. His war was not just for land, for gods, but for the souls themselves. Tessanna refused him. Jerico denied him. And Qurrah betrayed him.
Failure after failure after failure.
He wouldn’t fail this time. When he’d first found the two brothers, he’d told Karak that Ashhur had made his greatest failure in letting them fall into his hands. Yet who had them now?
“Ashhur will not keep you,” he said as he put down the last stone. “You are not his. Your soul belongs to me, Qurrah. To me it was promised, to Karak it was sworn. You won’t escape this. You won’t deny what you know is true. I don’t know what you were told that made you change your allegiance. I don’t know the promises and lies of your brother, or what sentimentality stayed either of your hands.”
He sensed someone approaching but kept his eyes focused on the body.
“I know what you’re thinking,” he heard Tessanna say.
“You never know your own thoughts. How could you know mine?”
Tessanna sat opposite him, and she let a hand rest atop Qurrah’s cold chest. Most were disturbed by corpses, but Velixar shouldn’t have been surprised that Tessanna would not be upset by their touch…
“I know because it is written on your face, and on these runes,” she said. “Why must you do this? What do you hope to gain?”
“I failed Qurrah in life,” he said. “I will rectify that failure. Help me, or leave me be.”
“He will only be a puppet, a lifeless shell of who he was. You rectify nothing.”
He glared at her. She looked haggard and tired, dark circles making her face look sunken and hollow.
“What do you know?” he asked. “This spell is one of the strongest in existence. His soul will be trapped inside his body, and bound to my command. He was swayed by his emotions and unreasonable expectations. He cast blame on me when it belonged to Celestia. But now we will walk side by side for eternity. We will travel through the realms, him and I, master and disciple.”
“Don’t do this,” Tessanna said. She pulled her hand back and shivered. “Don’t condemn him to such a fate.”
“Condemn?” he asked. He felt his exasperation grow. “Are you really so blind? He is condemned now, having turned his back on Karak. Do you think Ashhur’s Eternity is beyond our reach? With Karak freed, we will storm even there, and cast down the great host. Into Karak’s fire he will go, if things go unchanged. I must save him. I must bring him back so he can learn the truth of Order and Justice. Leave me be, harlot. You are just a slave of the whore. Go worship the wilds and the trees and leave the true matters to me.”
She stared at him, her red eyes dripping tears, her lips quivering. He could almost feel her hatred rolling toward him.
“Whatever you hope from me,” she said, “you will never get it. And whatever you seek from him, you will not find it. You play with bones, Velixar, and you know only shadows.”
When she was gone, Velixar sat on his knees and went over the words to the spell. He’d used a variant of the spell on an elf such a long time ago, and Qurrah had been there to witness the display of power and control. The bitter memory stung. Never could he have guessed then that he’d be using that same spell on his most beloved disciple. This was his moment of triumph, damn it all! The world was theirs! Why must he suffer over such a wayward son?
An hour crawled as he prepared. It must be perfect. He must have Qurrah back exactly as he was, or the entire act would mean nothing. Cries came from the bridge, but they were muted and tentative. Thulos had returned, and every soldier there feared his reaction. All but Velixar. He could not care less. Let the god be furious. He’d done his best, and been foiled only by his own demon he left in charge.
Thulos’s heavy footsteps alerted him to his approach. He felt a wry smile come over his face.
“To think you thought the defenders of Ker would prove poor sport,” Velixar said.
The war god crossed his arms and frowned down at the body.
“What is this?” he asked. “Myann has told me much of the battle, and while he does his best to deflect the blame, I know it was him that cost you dearly. I do not blame him in protecting my demons, but it was foolish to sacrifice your soldiers and undead instead.”
“We won,” Velixar said. “Every defender died, with no surrender offered, nor accepted. The land of Ker is yours. Nowhere is there a city to stand against us. Now please, leave me be. I have matters I must attend.”
“Yes,” Thulos said, his deep voice booming his disapproval. “You consort with the daughter of the whore, and now you seek to bring back he who stood strongest against you. Bury the swords of your enemy, Velixar. You never know when they might turn against you.”
“My control is complete,” Velixar said, his anger flaring.
Thulos chuckled. “We will press men into service as we travel toward Mordan. Those who r
efuse will join your ranks of the dead. As for your control…tonight is a night for humility, not pride. Remember that.”
He left, and Velixar was thankful for it.
“He thinks this is for control,” he said to Qurrah’s body. “What arrogance. What single-mindedness. What does it gain me if I lose your soul while conquering this world? I never lie. I swore that to you time and time again. I will not let your entire life equal a lie.”
The moon rose higher, and he felt comforted in its light. Despite his long dead state, he still found the night sky beautiful. It was the time of Karak, a time for escape from the blaring, persistent sun. Peaceful. Calm. Order.
“Rise, Qurrah,” Velixar whispered.
The runes flared. The magic poured out of him, and he felt a pull on his chest. His reservoir of magic drained at a frightening rate. Sparks flared from the stones. A sheen of violet hovered over the body, gradually spreading into the cold flesh. From death to life…how could anyone deny the beauty and majesty of such a nature? Velixar knew that he served the miracle worker, the conqueror of death, not Ashhur.
The culmination of that proof lay before him. Qurrah’s eyes opened, and deep within his irises shone a red glow.
“No,” he said, his voice a cold whisper. He lifted a hand, and it shook. “No!”
“Welcome back,” Velixar said, feeling his lips spread into a smile. “I have missed you, my disciple.”
Qurrah screamed. Not an uncommon reaction, really, though he was still disappointed in how easily his disciple seemed to lose control.
“Enough,” he said. “You are not some frightened peasant or stubborn elf. You are Qurrah, servant of Karak’s dark throne. You should have enough presence to endure the transition from the hereafter to now.”
“What…what have you done to me?” Qurrah asked. He looked at his hands as if they were foreign to him.
“In time, you will understand the new way your senses work,” Velixar said. “Touch and smell will come to you as if from a distant room, though you will hear and see better than when you were alive. As for your…”
A Sliver of Redemption (Half-Orcs Book 5) Page 21
