“Nothing but a lich,” Thulos said. “I have met your kind before. An annoyance at best. What is it you offer me in your servitude?”
“I am the one who opened the portal,” Velixar said as his shifting face returned. “I am the mouth of Karak, his greatest prophet.”
“Then you are worthy,” Thulos said. He drew his sword and saluted, for he would bow to no man. “Consider yourself an honored member of my guard. If you hear the voice of Karak, then I have much to discuss with you.”
His eyes hardened.
“Especially over the matter of his cowardice and departure.”
“Matters he is eager to discuss as well,” Velixar assured him.
Thulos sheathed his sword and turned to Tessanna, who appeared oblivious to his presence. Behind him, he heard one of his war demons land, ready with word of greeting and report of casualties. He held up a hand, silencing him, his eyes never leaving the strange woman. He walked over, spun her around, and flung her against the wall.
“How dare you close the portal!” he said, grabbing her hair and forcing her to look at him. To his surprise, she showed no fear, only anguish and sorrow.
“I am barren,” she said, her voice strangely void of all emotion. “I have no power. Mother has forsaken me for doing what even she cannot forgive.”
“You lie,” Thulos said. “Open it now, or I will cut your head from your neck.”
Tessanna smiled at him as tears ran down her face.
“Do it,” she said. “Strand yourself here. You have none who can return you home. This world is not like the others you've conquered. Mother protected it from you, protected it even from me. Even Velixar can't open the way.”
She gasped when he tightened his grip and glared death.
“Mother?” Thulos said, a look of distaste crossing over him. He dropped her, repulsed by her tears. How one as her could possess such powerful magic was beyond him.
“My lord,” the war demon at the door said. “We request orders. Ashhur's army retreats west beyond the walls. Do we give chase?”
Thulos tore his eyes from Tessanna and turned to his soldier.
“No,” he said. “We are out of supplies and reinforcements. Every action we take must be careful and controlled. Until I know this world and the dangers it offers, we solidify our position here. Besides…” He turned to Velixar. “I have much to discuss.”
Velixar smiled, while in a corner of the room, Tessanna curled into a ball and sobbed.
2
Qurrah sat alone in a small tent, his hands probing the damp earth as his mind looped an endless replay of the past few weeks. He was supposed to have been a father, their child a gift given to Tessanna and him by Karak, god of everything wretched and dark. Then the birth, and the revealing of the lie. He shuddered, wanting to remember nothing of that long night, the blood, the sweat, and the still, still shell that was his daughter. Teralyn, his beloved had named the corpse…
“Qurrah?”
He glanced up, wiping away his tears. There were no torches or campfires nearby for light, but both the orcish and elvish blood in his veins granted him excellent vision in the darkness. When he saw the sleek figure sliding into his tent, her beautiful green dress rippling in the moonlight, he knew his tears would be seen by Aurelia's keen elven eyes. He said nothing, though he had much he wished to say. He knew so little of her. She was his brother's wife and, in a distant time, a friend. Now she was a stranger, wounded and tired.
“Harruq will be fine,” she said, breaking the silence as she crossed her legs and sat across from him. Outside the tent, the angels guarding him shuffled, their weapons clacking against their armor.
“He has certainly endured far worse before,” Qurrah said.
“You could say that,” Aurelia said, and Qurrah felt a stab in his gut. How many of his brother’s scars bore his name, scrawled with whip and dark magic? The elf saw the brief flash of pain in his eyes and quickly apologized.
“He told me what happened,” she said, tucking errant strands of hair behind her ear. Her eyes refused to meet his. “Of what you wanted, and what he did. You have a good brother, Qurrah.”
“And you a good husband.”
Aurelia smiled again, a weak smile.
“Why is Tessanna not with you?” she asked.
Qurrah opened his mouth, a lie on his tongue. He closed it, and another lie replaced it in his heart. He brushed both away, and spoke freely to the woman he had so deeply hurt.
“Tessanna gave birth to a stillborn,” he said. “It broke me. I never could have anticipated such pain. And as I held that small, lifeless form, I knew a shred of what I had done to you. Guilt is a funny thing, Aurelia. I had never felt it before, and when it came upon me, I was a wretched child lost in confusion and self-pity. I waited in Veldaren for my brother, for I wanted him to kill me. Dying was preferable to living with the guilt I felt. Tessanna figured as much, and was furious at my cowardice.”
He felt more tears growing in his exhausted eyes. The gods damn it all, he was tired of crying, and tired of hiding it every time he did. He let his tears fall and his lower lip quiver.
“I saw no other way, Aurelia. You have to understand. I thought it would do him good, that maybe he could cut my throat, and the blood would cover some of the pain you two felt. But he didn't. He forgave me. For all of it. I didn't need blood or penance, he just…let it go.”
He fell silent. Aurelia huddled her knees to her chest and pressed her shaking fist to her mouth. She stared at him, taking in every movement he made, every twitch of his eyes, every sad, whispered word.
“Harruq said he forgave you,” she said. “Did I ever say the same?”
Qurrah shrugged and stared her in the eye.
“Years ago, when you two married, I told my brother I was proud of him, and that he’d found an excellent bride. I meant those words. I still do. Please, Aullienna was…”
“Don't,” Aurelia said. She stood, her shoulders stooped and her head bowed by the low fabric of the tent. “Just…don't. Not tonight, not while my husband lies bleeding and bedridden with fever.”
She stepped outside, whispered something to the angel guard, and then glanced to Qurrah, who did not look back.
“The others want you executed,” she said. “I'm not sure Harruq can stop them.”
“Will you stop them?” Qurrah asked. The quiet stretched out longer and longer.
“Good night, Qurrah,” she said, slipping away.
It was the answer he deserved, he knew.
T hulos looked upon the city from the castle doors, his skin cold marble in the bright moonlight. Velixar stood beside him, quiet and attentive. Thulos had summoned him to listen, and so he would.
“I cannot hear my brothers,” Thulos said, his eyes watching the land beyond the walls where the distant army of Ashhur camped. “Either of them. But you say you hear Karak's voice, and so I speak to you, in hopes that through you he may speak to me.”
The wind blew. Velixar heard Karak whisper for him to hold his silence. In time, Thulos resumed.
“I will tell you much, mortal, so that you may understand what it is I came for, and why it is I seek your lord. I need you to understand, to ensure Karak hears the truth.”
Thulos gestured to the stars above.
“Every one of them holds a single world filled with life. Celestia was the first to create such a place, and I was among the other gods, jealous of her beautiful creation. So we scattered, with the blessing of He Who Judges. We were all mirrors of his glory, but Celestia seemed special, elevated somehow. We created similar lands, for we only sought Celestia's splendor, not knowing how to create it on our own. When she created man, we did the same. But hers were the first, ours just shallow, imperfect imitations.”
Thulos drifted off, his mind in times far beyond their own. Velixar waited, glad for the chance to absorb what he’d heard. Karak had whispered to him of other worlds, but never had he heard of their creation, nor mention of He Who Jud
ges. Did gods themselves also have gods?
“I created men, much as Celestia did,” Thulos continued several minutes later. “I armed them with weapons, and I opened a door to her world and let them through. My pets killed every shred of life. It was petty jealousy, nothing more, and I have forever carried the shame of that single, human moment. As punishment I was banished to my own world. Celestia created elves to heal the destruction, and in turn, the others of my kind copied her creation. She hoped the elves’ docile nature would allow her to rest, and in this she was correct.”
“You created man, and shaped worlds, yet here you stand before me in flesh and blood?” Velixar dared ask. “Why did you not wave your hand and dismiss those you fought today, and with a word split their very beings to water and dust?”
“Wave my hand?” Thulos said, a hint of anger giving life to his words. “Deny combat to a foe, however unworthy? What do skill and strength matter, what do I matter, if I render all need of such things pointless?”
He dismissed Velixar with a shrug of his head.
“You are too ignorant to understand. You crave only victory, not the battle itself. Karak has certainly fallen far if you are his wisest pupil.”
Velixar accepted the stinging rebuke, knowing he should have stilled his tongue. The minutes crawled as again Thulos seemed to dig deep into a memory spanning thousands of years, searching for words to attach to moments that shaped entire worlds.
“Besides,” Thulos said at last. “I can no longer do so. I am not a proper god, not as I once was. Neither is Karak or Ashhur.”
“How is that possible?”
“I came to Him,” Thulos said. “Told Him what I would do. The men of my world were ruthless, vile, and ignorant. I hovered outside it, peering in, and I felt that was the flaw. With His blessing, I shattered myself. Once we were Kaurthulos, all one, but afterward we were Ashhur and Karak, Kirm and Ra, Thulos and Verae, gods of Justice, Mercy, War, Order, Death, Life…”
He shook his head.
“I left the outside. I left all my power, and to the mortal world I fell. In time, I saw my error. The world was no better. Now my creations were divided, battling over worship of my various incarnations, putting one virtue higher than another, as if Justice were at war with Order, or Life in eternal conflict with Mercy. As Thulos, I was everywhere, for I was War. As my power grew, I slew my brothers, prism refractions of my own being. Each time, I felt myself returning to wholeness. But then Karak and Ashhur fled here, to the world they once helped destroy. Tell me, Velixar, what happened here, after my brothers denied me my right to ascend, to look from the outside once more and wield all of my divine power?”
“Karak and Ashhur created man, and then through man, waged war against each other,” Velixar said. “Celestia imprisoned both, and so my master has called out to you. He wishes to be freed from his cage, to campaign at your side.”
Thulos chuckled, the deep sound frightful in the night.
“I'm not sure that is possible. I wish to be whole. This conquest across the stars, it is merely preparation. We were told of a time when He Who Judges would view our creations, preserving for eternity those he deemed good, and casting into fire forever those he considered ill-wrought and vile. I seek to gather the power of all the stars, all the worlds, and all the gods, and in a loud voice declare to Him that all is good, and that I accept no judge. I do not need Karak as an ally. I need him to return to me, so we may be whole once more.”
“You ask his death,” Velixar said, his heart surrounded by the creeping feeling of betrayal.
“I ask his atonement,” Thulos said. “Does a stream die when it joins a river?”
Velixar listened for Karak's answer, but none came to his ears. Thulos waited, saw he would be given no answer, and then swore in a language Velixar knew nothing off. A massive fist slammed into the stone of the castle. Cracks ran in all directions.
“How do I free them from their prison?” Thulos asked.
“Celestia must be defeated,” Velixar said. “She gains her strength from the health of this world. Burn its trees, poison its rivers, and kill off her elves. We will find a way.”
“Pray to your god you are right,” Thulos said, trudging back into the castle. “And pray you both understand the inevitable future that awaits you.”
3
T he army traveled during the day, the angels flying above them, forced to slow to accommodate the collective earthbound troops from Mordan and Neldar. Antonil Copernus, their king, rode among them, but his voice was a hollow lie as he encouraged them on, insisting victory was not yet lost.
When night came, they held their tribunal.
Qurrah stepped into the light of the fire, flanked by two angels. Ahaesarus, leader of the angels, sat directly opposite him. Judarius, his greatest fighter, was on his right. Azariah, his high priest, sat to his left. The three looked upon him with strangely passive faces. The rest of the tribunal was filled with members of the Eschaton-what was left of it. Lathaar and Jerico on one side of the fire, Harruq and Aurelia on the other. Tarlak hovered as far from Qurrah as he could, his arms crossed and his hat pulled low.
“King Antonil has assured us he will abide by our decision in this matter,” Ahaesarus said, nodding toward Qurrah. “But before we start, I must ask you as well, Qurrah Tun: do you yourself agree to honor the decision we make here, even if it results in your death?”
As the angelic voice ceased, Qurrah felt the silence swarm around him, bound tight by the many glares of hatred, pain, and sorrow aimed his way. He glanced from face to face, remembering how he had hurt them. Jerico, his helmet by his side, rubbed his face as if aware Qurrah's eyes lingered on the scar that ran from his ear to his cheek. The angels? They were there only because he had helped release Thulos's demons. Aurelia hugged her bandaged husband, who sat propped against a few logs of wood, his outgoing demeanor uncharacteristically subdued. Their drowned daughter haunted their waking eyes. At last Qurrah looked to Tarlak, whose sister he had cut open from ear to ear and bled out upon cold, wet grass.
“I will accept and honor it,” Qurrah said. It felt akin to suicide.
Ahaesarus nodded at the words. He crossed his arms and addressed the gathering.
“This is not a court of man,” he said. “No, this is a court unlike any before. We come to judge the worth of a life. Let there be no lies. We know of his crimes, as do you all. That is not in question. It is punishment we seek here, nothing more, nothing less.”
“Punishment?” Tarlak said, spitting as he did. “How many thousands are dead because of him? You want to discuss punishment? Fire, rope, or blade: those should be our choices.”
Azariah sadly shook his head.
“Is that what you believe, Tarlak Eschaton?” he asked. Tarlak waved a dismissive hand, not committing to any deeper meaning than that.
“You can't do this,” Harruq started to say, but Aurelia shushed him. Qurrah saw her whisper something in his ear. His brother clearly did not approve, but he kept his mouth shut, fuming silently.
“You hear Tarlak’s accusations,” Ahaesarus said to Qurrah. “And you stand so accused. Will you respond?”
Qurrah looked to their faces, looked to their hurt, and every hollow argument died in his throat. What could he say to them? I killed your daughter by accident. I scarred your flesh in humor. I killed your friends for power. I doomed this world in a desperate attempt to escape.
“I deserve death,” Qurrah said at last. “Let that be my response.”
“No!” Harruq shouted. His whole body doubled over, the wound in his chest ripping open in spite of all the care. He pounded a fist into the dirt, still struggling to talk.
“I forgave him,” he said between gasps of pain. “That must mean something!”
“Indeed,” Azariah said, speaking for the first time. “What of that, Qurrah?”
Qurrah shrugged..
“It was offered, and I accepted. What other choice did I have?”
Azariah st
ood to his full height and glanced around the fire, his eyes settling on the two paladins.
“What choice did he have?” he asked them.
“Rejection of grace,” Jerico said. “We do it every day.”
Lathaar glanced up, as if realizing what Azariah was preparing to do. He opened his mouth to argue, realized the hypocrisy of such an action, and then closed it.
“I have just one question,” Azariah said, crossing his arms over his chest. His voice rose in strength. Tarlak froze with dread while Harruq's face sparkled with kindled hope.
“I offer grace to you, mortal. Not the grace of man, but the grace of Ashhur. Will you accept it?”
Qurrah could not believe his ears. He didn't want to believe them. He had killed children, innocents, and mutilated life to meet his desires. Forgiven?
“And if I reject it?” Qurrah asked.
Ahaesarus drew his sword. No words were spoken. All watched. All waited. It seemed ridiculous to Qurrah. A court where the accused chose their guilt, a court where the crime mattered not, and all punishments were death.
“Then I…”
He stopped. He didn't just feel like he was getting away with murder; he was getting away with murder. To look upon the faces of all those he’d hurt and slide away unscathed, unchanged, how dare he? He had always thought himself stronger than that, better than that. Never before had he belittled his sin. How many times had he insisted his brother acknowledge the weight of their deeds? How many times had he laughed in the face of guilt, and smirked at the wails of sorrow?
He fell to his knees. He would not lie.
“I do not think I can,” Qurrah said.
Tarlak breathed out a sigh. The paladins sadly shook their heads. Aurelia closed her eyes and fought away tears.
“No!” Harruq shouted. “No, no, you damn fool. Don't you dare!”
Ahaesarus raised the sword, its edge gleaming in the moonlight. Harruq lunged, not caring for the pain or the blood that ran down his shirt. He clutched his brother in his arms, a fragile sack of bone and wearied flesh. Tears ran down his face.
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