“I’m sorry,” she said. Backing away, she laughed as she cried. “But I couldn’t be happier, mommy.”
Velixar was the first to his feet. “We did it,” he gasped. His voice was raspy and weak, but with each passing moment it sunk deeper and firmer. “Celestia has lost! Ashhur has lost!”
Qurrah’s haunting laughter echoed in the cavernous room. “Do you sense it?” he asked as he lay on his back. “Can you feel the hatred? The goddess is furious, Velixar, oh so furious.”
The portal shimmered and shrunk as if in response. Qurrah and Velixar screamed in turn as they felt sharp pains spike into their minds. Celestia was trying to close the portal.
“Leave them be!” Tessanna shouted as Velixar fell to the floor and Qurrah rolled around on his back, his laughter and screaming an intertwined sound of lunacy. The castle rumbled as if the earth itself were angry.
“Desperation,” Velixar said as his own screaming faded. “There is nothing she can do but strike at us in futile frustration.” He knelt on knee and stared at the portal as a red liquid ran from both his eyes. A wave of his hand and the shimmering stopped. The portal swirled faster, stronger. The stars pulled back, leaving a deep blackness fixed in the center. The blackness grew.
“Something is coming through,” Tessanna said as she backed away. Qurrah stood, turned to one side, and spat blood. He grinned as he wiped the back of his hand over his mouth.
“Who approaches?” he asked Velixar. “A lowly demon? A commander of an army? Or is it Thulos himself? Will he bow to you, or cut off all our heads before we can speak a word?”
Velixar pulled his hood low over his face and smirked. “If you thought the latter was the case, you wouldn’t be smiling. Stay on your best behavior. While Karak has sought an alliance with his brother, the same cannot be said for Thulos. For centuries they have hunted for this world.”
Tessanna wrapped her arms around Qurrah’s shoulders and braced her chin on his shoulder.
“Unless its Thulos, we can kill it,” she said. “So we might as well be polite.”
Air hissed out of the portal as if it were exhaling, and then the creature stepped through. He looked human, albeit a magnificent version of one. Giant muscles flexed inside his crimson painted armor. Only his arms were exposed, the rest covered in well-crafted mail made of plate and chain. A golden helmet rest atop his head, its nose guard hanging long past his chin. In the back was a small hole so that the man’s brown ponytail could be pulled through. Emblazoned across the chest piece, colored a vibrant yellow amid the crimson, was the symbol of a fist. Hanging from his hip was a giant sword sheathed in black leather, gems, and rubies. The man stared at them with wide amber eyes. His skin was bronze, and every inch covered with scars. When he spoke his language was that of the Gods.
“We have opened doors to many worlds, but this is the first brazen enough to open a door to ours,” the man said. “Who is the idiotic dabbler in magic that created this rift? Name yourself so that I may punish your stupidity.”
The man from the other world drew his sword, its length nearly equal to Velixar’s height. In response, Velixar bowed low and beamed a smile frightening in its authenticity.
“I am the one who opened the portal,” he said, “and long have I desired such…idiocy. Do you know where you are, minion of the war god?”
The man glanced about, and the confusion in his eyes was like a crack in his armor of confidence. All he saw was a castle, one like thousands he had destroyed before, but the man with the ever-changing face spoke his language and knew of his master.
“I do not know,” the man said. “But when you speak I have understanding. My name is Ulamn, General of the First Legion and servant to the war god. With whom do I speak?”
Velixar again bowed as he introduced himself. “I am Velixar, voice of the lion, and I welcome you to Dezrel, a world you have long sought after.”
“The lion,” Ulamn said. His sword lowered as his mouth hung open. “Do you mean…?”
In answer Velixar drew from underneath his robe a pendant he had held ever since the end of his mortal life. It was shaped like a triangle. In one corner was mountain, another a lion, and in the third, a clenched fist.
“Proof of my claim,” Velixar said as Ulamn shook with rage. “I speak for Karak, and he welcomes you.”
“The cowards fled here then,” Ulamn said, gesturing about the castle with disgust. “Failing in their duty and unwilling to accept the consequences. For what purpose does Karak call upon the Warseekers?”
“Conquest,” Velixar said. “He yearns to fight alongside his brother. But he has been trapped by the goddess of this world. If Thulos can defeat her, Karak will be free to join your side.”
Ulamn sheathed his sword and crossed his arms. “Thulos is not one of mercy or compassion. Karak’s cowardice…”
“Is forgivable,” Velixar insisted. “Thulos may not be one for compassion or mercy, but he is one of honor. Let Karak atone his disgrace by serving. Do you dare tell me your master would refuse such a powerful ally as his own brother?”
Qurrah felt Tessanna tighten her grasp around his shoulders. Her hair tickled the side of his face as she kissed his ear. “When the soldiers come,” she whispered, “who is subordinate to who?”
“I will speak with the war god,” Ulamn said. His amber eyes widened with excitement. “We are always eager for new worlds to conquer.” He bowed, and Velixar bowed back. Without another word, Ulamn turned and vanished back into the portal to his homeworld.
Velixar laughed, long and loud. The sound chilled Qurrah, but not as much as it once did.
“The war demons are coming,” the man in black said. “Let Dezrel fear and the heavens shake with the coming rupture. Karak will be freed!”
“Amen,” Qurrah said, a crooked smile on his face. Tessanna kissed his cheek.
“Amen,” she said. She tossed her hair and giggled. “So many are going to die. We’re bad, Qurrah, bad-bad-bad.”
Qurrah only laughed.
19
They came in waves, thirty or so of shambling undead biting with bleeding teeth and clawing with broken fingers. Each wave threatened to break their line, but Harruq held firm as the wall of the dead grew ever larger. Lathaar’s Elholad had faded, and he swung normal steel with exhausted arms. Even Haern’s slender sabers felt like giant clubs to him. The potent magic in Bonebreaker kept Jerico dangerous, with even his mildest of swings smashing bone. Harruq, however, seemed no longer mortal.
Salvation and Condemnation blasted away flesh and sliced off limbs without pause. He no longer felt his arms, but he didn’t need to. He just kept on swinging, the shower of gore proof enough that his numb hands still followed orders. Blood soaked him from head to toe, much of it his, but he didn’t care. Any time his resolve threatened to break, or his exhaustion steal him away into unconsciousness, he heard the words that spurred him on.
For Qurrah! For Qurrah!
They chanted it, and in return he shattered their jaws and took the blasphemous life that enabled them to speak. To Harruq, it was a fair trade. The gap in the wall narrowed further and further, filled with corpses of all shapes and sizes. Harruq kept ordering the others back, until only he stood before a four foot expanse that the undead pressed through. They kept coming, kept trying to drown him in numbers, but his arms never ceased.
Haern wanted to say something, to hear his student speak, but dared not disturb his concentration. Lathaar leaned beside him and whispered amid the slaughter.
“What is he?” he asked.
Haern shook his head. “Just a half-orc,” he replied.
“Ashhur is with him,” Jerico said, hoisting his shield onto his back. “Even more so than with Lathaar and I. His will, his strength…but his body will break.”
Tears filled Harruq’s golden eyes. He didn’t even see his attackers anymore. He just saw his friends, his family, and the face of his brother. He would kill them. He would kill all of them. For Aurelia. For Tarlak. For
Brug.
And then the undead changed their chant.
For Aullienna! they shouted. For Aullienna! For Aullienna!
The sound was a horrendous blasphemy, the beautiful name of his daughter flooding the streets through dead throats and lifeless vocal chords. As Harruq cried, his heart filled with pain equal to the pain in his chest, his legs, his head. He couldn’t think, he couldn’t breathe. Too tired, too damn tired. Delysia. Brug. Aullienna. Was Aurelia still alive? Tarlak? He fell to his knees, his weapons falling limp beside him. The confidence in which he fought dissolved into emptiness. Deep in his head, he heard Qurrah laughing.
“Harruq!” Haern shouted, seeing his student’s sudden collapse. Lathaar reacted first, slamming his shoulder into Harruq’s side. The two fell to the side of the gap in the wall. Jerico smashed his shield forward, pushing back the undead.
“Harruq, snap out of it,” Haern said, pulling the half-orc’s face up by the hair. But Harruq’s eyes were rolling into his head, and he kept shaking side to side. His lips were moving but nothing came out. Wisps of dark smoke rose from his tongue.
“Damn you, Qurrah,” the assassin whispered. “What game is it you play now?”
He stood on stars hidden beneath glass. Blue fire rose and fell in a ring around them, and high above floated a small red sun.
“Where am I?” Harruq asked.
Qurrah pulled back his hood. His eyes were a deep red. His skin was ashen. With each word he spoke the blue fire flared higher.
“Where does not matter, dear brother, only why. Forgive me for such a ploy. To use Aullienna’s death as a weapon against you is a cheap dishonor, but I needed you to fall. Your mind has grown stronger. Entering was no easy task.”
“Such a shame,” Harruq said. Seeing the stars below his feet filled him with vertigo, so he stared straight at Qurrah. His eyes reminded him of Velixar, and the chilling thought kept his mind sharp.
“Celestia’s wall has fallen,” Qurrah said. “As we speak, an army of war demons enters the city. There is no limit to their size, Harruq. Hundreds of thousands loyal to Velixar, and to me. We will lay waste to all life.”
“Why?” Harruq asked. “What have you suffered to slaughter so many? What loss have you endured that is greater than my own?”
“We’ve been fools for a long time,” Qurrah said. The blue fire soared to the crimson sun, a wall reaching millions of miles high. The red in his eyes deepened. “Your daughter died because of Velixar. He led Aullienna into the forest and planted the seed that eventually drowned her. Your hatred of me, your vengeance…none of it is just.”
Harruq felt as if a knife had shredded his insides and then stuck firmly into his heart. His head swirled, much as the stars did below.
“I loved your daughter,” Qurrah continued. “As did Tessanna. Our recklessness caused her death.”
“What do you want with me?” Harruq asked, unable to meet Qurrah’s gaze.
“Join me. Everyone will die. It is inevitable. Does it matter if life ceases its pointless cycle on this miserable stretch of rock? You, your wife, the rest of the Eschaton, just bow and swear allegiance and you will live.”
“What life could I hope to live in a dead, desolate world?”
“We will leave it,” Qurrah said. “When all is conquered, Velixar will open us a door to a new world, without our troubles, without our death. We can escape, go back to how it had always been. Dezrel will be but a sad memory.”
Harruq looked back up to Qurrah, his lower lip quivering.
“Back to how it was?” he asked. Qurrah nodded.
“Back as if we never met Velixar.”
“Back,” Harruq said. “Back to killing children for your games? Back to trusting you and obeying your commands? You would sacrifice this world, and then ask me to sacrifice my very life to serve at your side?”
Deadly anger swarmed over Qurrah’s face. “You will die otherwise.”
“What you ask for is worse than death.”
“So melodramatic,” Qurrah said, his voice a vile hiss. “Is what I offer truly so terrible? What do you gain by fighting against me? Accept my apologies. Accept my mercy. Live at my side. Don’t die beneath me.”
A chuckle shook Harruq’s belly, vibrating up his chest and out to his arms, until his whole body was quaking with laughter.
“One day I will die,” he said. “But it will never be beneath you. You’re as low as it gets, brother. There’s no way to sink any lower. Get out of my head.”
The fire sunk, the stars faded, and as the sun shrunk into a thin dot Qurrah sighed. The red of his eyes was all that Harruq could see, and in perfect silence he heard the words of his brother.
“So be it. My mercy is spent. You will break before me, and unlike you, I will not show weakness when I strike the killing blow.”
Harruq did not allow him the final word.
“Even back how it was,” he said, “you never would have stayed your hand.”
The darkness broke, and he opened his eyes.
Damn him,” Qurrah said, jarring out of a trance. Tessanna’s hands wrapped around his body, holding him as he reoriented himself. The two cuddled against a wall of the throne room. Near them was the portal, which had been still ever since Ulamn’s departure. Velixar was on the opposite side of the room, deep in prayer to Karak.
“He didn’t accept,” Tessanna said. “I told you he wouldn’t.”
“You give my brother too much credit,” Qurrah said.
“And you give him too little. Will he die to your undead?”
The half-orc rubbed his eyes and then shook his head. “No, he won’t. He’s still strong, as are his friends. He’s almost out of the city.”
Tessanna nestled her face into the side of his neck.
“Have your pets keep chase,” she said, giggling as if it were a humorous joke. “Day and night, they’ll follow. Deny your brother sleep. Deny him rest. He will crumble.” She grabbed Qurrah’s hand and held it against her abdomen.
“Is it true?” he asked her. “Are you with child?”
“Of course,” Tessanna said, her eyes sparkling. “Aullienna will no longer haunt me. I will have a daughter of my own. Cease your pets chanting of her name.”
“Already done.”
She wrapped her arms tighter about his waist and kissed his chin. “Ready to be a father?” she asked him.
“I do not run from my responsibilities,” he said.
“That isn’t an answer.”
He frowned down at her. “It is the only answer I will give. Now please, I need sleep.”
He shifted more of his weight against the wall and closed his eyes so he wouldn’t see the frown he knew was across his lover’s face. She wanted to know. He could feel her presence peering at the edges of his mind, her considerable mental strength curious to his inner feelings. Such feelings were well guarded, for in truth he did not know if he was ready to be a father. He wasn’t even sure he knew what it meant to be one. How many children had he killed? How often had he preached against bringing life into a world of suffering? In doing so, was he a hypocrite and a blasphemer against his own beliefs?
He didn’t know. The stone was cold, the portal was open, and Karak was victorious. All other things were chaos. So he stroked her hair and enjoyed her touch while all around the city burned.
Get him up,” Lathaar shouted as he hacked at the limbs that pressed past Jerico’s shield. “Even if you have to carry him, get him up!”
“I’ll get right on that,” Haern whispered, slapping Harruq across the face. The half-orc’s eyes were vacant. More of the strange shadow floated from his open mouth.
“What is it you are saying?” Haern asked, leaning closer.
“Get out of my head,” Harruq growled. His focus returned. “Where the abyss am I?” he asked.
“Later,” Haern said, standing and offering him a hand. Harruq tried to accept, but his arms swung like wood, his fingers foreign and unresponsive. So instead Haern grabbed the c
rook of his arm and pulled him to his feet.
“Is our sleeping princess awake?” Jerico shouted. His entire body was braced against the river of undead, which moaned in futile anger.
“Can you feel your legs?” Haern asked, ignoring the paladin. Harruq shook his head. “Well, can you still run?”
“He better,” Lathaar said as he lopped an arm off at the elbow. “Because that’s what we’re doing.”
Jerico braced with his front foot and then used it to push off, hooking his shield onto his back as he ran east. Lathaar swung his sword in a single arc, cutting down the first bunch of undead that toppled through before he too sprinted east. Haern pulled the half-orc along. Harruq struggled to focus. Foot after foot. That was all that mattered. Swing a dead log that was his leg, plant down, and then swing the other. The undead poured through the wall, but they were slow and lumbering. Second after agonizing second the city grew smaller behind them, the chorus of moans becoming distant. Their pace slowed to a steady jog, which soon slowed to a quick walk. They all kept their silence. They were too exhausted for anything else.
They had no tent, so instead they found a few withered trees, hacked off their limbs, and arranged them in a circle representing the commander’s tent. The air was cold, and with the setting of the sun it had grown even colder. Fires dotted the hills, each source of heat heavily crowded. In the center of their circle a large fire roared, courtesy of Tarlak. Antonil and Sergan sat beside each other, huddled and dejected. The Eschaton sat with them, as did Deathmask and his group. Grief had come with the stars, and the night was filled with the cries of lost homes, friends, and loved ones.
The Half-Orcs: Books 1-5 Page 90
