The Shadows of Grace (Half-Orcs Book 4)

by David Dalglish

  Jerico fought to look away, but he could not. Velixar latched onto his face with his frozen hands. His stomach lurched at his touch. Jerico looked upon the city as Velixar hovered within his vision, his eyes burning, his mouth scowling.

  “They will die,” Velixar said. “And they will serve me. It is inevitable. This whole world will soon share its fate. I will be a god, for what else would I be when every living thing obeys my command? I will build a tower of flesh and bone, whose very walls will shift and wail. My throne will be the twisted spines of a thousand children. To your god, I am the greatest abomination, a creation so vile and sinful your soul aches in my presence.”

  “Why am I here?” Jerico asked, his voice shaking. The cold was returning, and Velixar seemed to have no intention to rekindle the warmth that had awoken in his breast.

  “Answer me this question,” Velixar said. “Tell me truthfully and I will let you go free. You may warn the people of the city, or perhaps flee like a coward and leave them to their fate. I don’t care. All I want is my answer. Do you disagree with all I have said? Do you disagree with what I know I am?”

  Jerico looked to the city, seeing hundreds of torches and fires, just tiny dots in the distance. So many lives within. So many to die.

  “You are what you say,” Jerico said. “A most hideous abomination.”

  Velixar laughed, as if he took pride in the label.

  “Then why?” he asked. “Why does Ashhur let me live? Protector of the weak, slayer of the darkness, beacon to the lost… why do I still walk this earth to mock your god? Why will that city die, even though you say Ashhur will weep for its destruction?”

  He lifted his arms, his palms open in worship toward the heavens.

  “Strike me with lightning,” he cried. “Burn me with fire! Send down your wrath, Ashhur! In the open I am, and I call your power false. Will you endure such blasphemy? Kill me! Give me peace in death, and an eternity in my god’s bosom.”

  The snow fell, and other than a soft gust of wind, the night remained silent.

  “You have heard me,” Velixar said, turning toward the paladin, who had fallen to his knees, clutching his arms to his chest and rubbing them for warmth. “What is your answer?”

  “I have none,” Jerico said. “For my heart wishes for lightning and fire from the heavens. I would give anything to see you burn.”

  “You don’t know,” Velixar said, shaking his head. “You have no answer for me, yet you still cling to him in faith. Why? I don’t understand.”

  “Because your words are empty,” Jerico said. He closed his eyes, summoning the memories of a hundred people in prayer he had knelt beside. “No matter the death you spread, I have seen souls give of themselves for an eternity of joy. I have seen grace strike down the evilest of men and turn them into something pure. Burn this world to ash. We’re here for only a little while. This is not our home.”

  Velixar laughed.

  “You say that?” he asked, grabbing Jerico by the neck and lifting him so they could stare eye to eye. “Such confidence. Such lying. You think what I do will have no effect on your faith, my actions no bearing on your meager justifications of your religion? You are in for a fall, paladin. Your faith is glass, and I am the hammer. When you break, I will be there. When you finally surrender, when you are ready to accept a faith that has meaning in this wretched world, I will be waiting.”

  “I hope you’re prepared for a very long wait,” said Jerico.

  Velixar’s grip tightened around his neck. Spots swirled before his eyes as his heart pounded in his chest.

  “I have lived for centuries,” Velixar said. “To see a paladin such as you broken would be one of my greatest triumphs. I will wait as long as it takes.”

  Tighter and tighter. Jerico felt his legs go limp. His body hung lifeless from that single strong hand. Darkness overtook him. Just before it did, just as his vision was a swirling chaos of red and yellow, he heard Velixar’s mocking laughter. It continued on and on into the foggy state his mind succumbed to, laughing. Laughing and condemning.

  When he awoke, he was beside a healthy fire. Tessanna sat nearby, her legs crossed and her dagger slowly tracing runes into her skin. He grunted as pain sprang to life in a hundred places throughout his body. Every breath seemed to cause him terrible pain.

  “You’re awake,” Tessanna said, her voice quiet but happy. No doubt the carving of runes was a large reason for that.

  “Seems like it,” Jerico said, putting a hand over his eyes and praying to Ashhur for strength. The words felt hollow, but he forced through them anyway. At last he pulled his hand away to see Tessanna standing over him, a curious look on her face.

  “What did he speak to you of?” she asked.

  “Who?”

  “You know who.”

  Jerico sighed.

  “The usual. I’m dirt. He’s a god. Karak’s the only truth. I’ve heard it all before.” He chuckled. “Must admit, he’s found damn good ways to retell it.”

  Tessanna handed him a small piece of the demons’ meat rations. He accepted it, thanked her, and then took a bite. The girl watched him eat, her arm out and dripping blood onto the fire.

  “He wants you brought to him when we start the siege,” she said. “I don’t know why. I think he’s to make you watch. Many will die today.”

  “Innocent life,” Jerico said as he winced through a swallow of the dry, salty meat. “You know that as well as I.”

  “Does it matter?” Tessanna asked. “Beauty is fading from this world. I want away, to escape from all this. Let them die and go to Ashhur, if his eternity is so bright and pure.”

  “You don’t believe that,” Jerico insisted.

  Tessanna smiled sadly.

  “What I believe doesn’t matter. Qurrah is all that matters. And my child. My daughter. I’ve decided a name for her, Teralyn. A pretty name, don’t you think?”

  “It is beautiful,” Jerico said. “Though I weep for the world you will birth her into.”

  Tessanna’s shy happiness faded at that. With cold eyes, she yanked him to his feet and shoved him westward.

  “Let’s go,” she said. “Velixar is waiting.”

  She led the way, glancing back occasionally to make sure he followed. The camp was surprisingly vacant. Jerico rubbed his arms and wished for something warmer for his feet than his broken boots. The army’s tents remained pitched, little banners at their tip waving gently in the soft breeze. The great city was much easier to see with the snowfall ended. War demons flew about, forming their own cloud above the city. The undead had already marched as well, forming a dead black line beyond the walls. Scattered among them were the tested, shouting songs to Karak in their fervent joy.

  Standing alone, watching the coming battle from atop a hill overlooking the city, was Velixar.

  “Where is Qurrah?” asked Tessanna as they approached.

  “He has joined the priests in sundering the walls below,” Velixar said, his gaze lingering on the city. He glanced over at the paladin. “He carries my most important orders. Jerico has proven stubborn, but today, I believe he will finally see reason.”

  “Good luck with that,” Jerico said, hopping up and down to increase his circulation. He thought of asking for a fire, but given who stood with him, he decided the risk too great they would set him afire instead of a nearby pile of wood. Tessanna stood beside Velixar and pointed to where the priests gathered.

  “Is that where Qurrah is?” she asked. Velixar nodded.

  “They will frighten the city, then break its walls so my undead may enter.” He pointed to a distant hill, long and sloped and covered with snow, “There is where Krieger hides with his paladin brethren. When the undead have softened the defenses, they will storm through.”

  “What of the demons?”

  “Ulamn wants to keep his casualties light. They’ll harass the archers and assault the castle directly while the bulk of the forces are at the walls.”

  “Destroying this cit
y only makes you that greater a murderer,” Jerico said, kicking aside snow to form a bare spot of earth to sit upon. When finished, he plopped down and curled tight to save his warmth.

  “It furthers our conquest,” Karak’s prophet said. “And do not presume to know my games. You are an ignorant pawn, nothing more.”

  “I thought I was to be your prized conquest,” Jerico said.

  Velixar paused a moment, then grinned. Jerico thought he saw maggots crawling between his teeth, but just as quickly they were gone.

  “Should that happen, you will be revered among the dark paladins, perhaps even lead them after Krieger. Until then, you are a worm.”

  Jerico clenched his teeth to stop their chattering.

  “I think I’ll die a worm,” he said, his voice hissing through his clenched teeth.

  Tessanna sat next to him, not bothering to clear away the snow. It seemed her pale skin was impervious to the cold. She brushed his exposed skin with her fingertips. Her touch was ice.

  “Let’s watch the show together,” she said, smiling. She tilted her head forward, letting her hair cascade down across her face. “If you want me, that is.”

  Her touch turned to fire, seeping into his skin and chasing away the cold. His shivering stopped. His teeth stilled.

  “Stay,” he said, his voice hoarse.

  Pleased, Tessanna curled her knees to her chin and rested her head. The three watched as the distant people, like ants, swarmed about the streets. Even at their distance they could hear the soft ringing of alarms.

  “Summon the lion,” Velixar rumbled.

  The priests raised their arms to the sky. The clouds swelled with thunder and a red shape burst through them, that of a feline skull with teeth dripping blood. The drops fell from the sky and onto the city, dissipating like smoke as they struck the rooftops. Its mouth opened, and when it roared, the very walls of the city shook. Amid the noise, Velixar laughed.

  Tessanna gently touched Jerico’s face, but when he glanced over, she pulled away.

  “You’re beautiful in the snow,” she said.

  Archers fired arrows from their walls as the undead army marched toward the center gate. As if signaled, the legion of war demons swooped down from the sky, heading straight for the men atop the walls. Without armor or significant weaponry other than their bows, they died quick deaths, many plummeting off either side to crumple into piles at the foot of the wall.

  A great cry rolled over the snow with such force that snowflakes lifted into the air, creating a white mist across the plains.

  “Karak!” it shouted, the collective force of the priests and their faith. The gates to the city crumpled, and a great gash in the earth stretched all the way from the priests to its center. The undead smashed against it, breaking wood and tearing metal. In less than a minute they were through, hacking and biting at the beleaguered defenders.

  For a while the city held. The undead, while vicious and unshakable, were not skilled and wielded no weapons. Then a trumpet sounded from the hills and out came the dark paladins. They marched in rows of five, and they lifted their swords above their heads, letting the black fire burn toward the city. Their voices lifted in song.

  “So beautiful,” Velixar said. His smile was ear to ear. The changing of his features quickened so that his nose sunk inward, his forehead stretched outward and his lips thinned, all in the span of seconds.

  Jerico closed his eyes and said a prayer for those still within the city. In the middle of it he felt a hand gently touch his lips. He looked to see Tessanna kneeling beside him, her eyes wide, and her hand still against him.

  “Not now,” she whispered. “Be silent.”

  She slid closer, her left arm curling around his waist and her head gently resting on his shoulder.

  The war demons flew to the castle as the dark paladins entered the gate. They crushed the defenders, fighting with skill and certainty of victory the city’s soldiers could not hope to match. When they broke, the war demons were already there, landing behind them in tight lines. The soldiers died, crushed between two forces while the rest of the demons flooded the castle through high, unguarded windows.

  “The city is ours,” Velixar said. “Karak be praised.”

  Jerico felt a sinking in his gut. He’d known the outcome, but he’d hoped anyway. It’d been in vain. The city had fallen in less than ten minutes. Against such a display, he wondered if even the supposed majesty and strength of Mordeina could stand against Karak’s army.

  “Where is Qurrah?” Jerico asked. He saw Tessanna suddenly pull away from him as if stung.

  “Entering with the priests,” Velixar said. “He has my orders. To your feet, paladin. It will not be long now.”

  Jerico shrugged, then stood. He could not see the city well enough to know what Velixar had in mind, but he knew he was not going to like it. Undead swarmed through the streets, and the dark paladins hunted for any surviving defenders. The first of many fires spread. Feeling tired and distant, Jerico wondered just how much of the city would remain come nightfall.

  Then Qurrah stepped outside the gates, the fiery whip in his hand distinct even at such distance. A large line of people exited the city in single file, heading straight at them. Half of the dark paladins traveled with them, guarding either side so they might not flee. Jerico felt his heart pound at the sight. Was Velixar to kill them all in front of him? Make him watch their return as undead? He prayed not, but he knew otherwise. Velixar turned and smiled, terribly amused.

  “I know what you think,” he said. “You are almost correct, but not quite. You have become calloused to the pain of this world. I must awaken it in you.”

  The survivors of Kinamn approached, some bundled warmly, others wearing only thin robes or breeches. Most sobbed or clutched one another as they walked. The dark paladins sang a song of triumph as they herded them along. When Qurrah arrived, leading the procession, he bowed to his master.

  “I have done as you asked,” he said.

  “As I expected,” Velixar said. He reached out his hand to Krieger, who handed over his sword. The black fire faded away, replaced by a soft rising of purple smoke. He gestured for the first of many to be brought forward.

  “All I ask is that you do not lie,” Velixar said to Jerico. “I work with truth, for the truth is sufficient. Speak these words as long as they carry meaning.”

  “What words?” Jerico asked, a knot in his throat.

  “Ashhur loves you.”

  Jerico’s lower lip trembled. He looked upon a young maiden, not yet twelve. Tears ran down her face, and she clutched her left arm to her chest. Fresh burns covered it. The paladin looked to her, tried to let her see the strength in his eyes and the conviction of his faith. She was scared, and so desperately he wished to comfort her, to save her.

  “Ashhur loves you,” Jerico said to her, meaning every word.

  Velixar cut her down.

  Two dark paladins were there immediately, dragging away the body and pulling another to the front. The crowd stirred, their fear multiplying. Any thoughts of running died as the undead swarm returned from the city, surrounding them in a wall of dead flesh. A few still tried, and they died horribly, their bodies ripped to pieces and their organs strewn red across the white snow.

  Next was a mother clutching a babe in her arms. Her hair was matted with blood.

  “Ashhur loves you,” Jerico said.

  Then another, this an elderly man with a short beard and dull gray eyes.

  “Ashhur loves you.”

  A young girl and her sister, holding hands and crying.

  “Ashhur loves you.”

  The blood spilled at his feet, melting the snow and spreading a red haze across the hilltop. Jerico felt his hands and legs go numb. Tears ran down his face, freezing hard to his skin. If he ever tried to look away, Velixar was there, clutching his neck with his horrific hand, forcing him to look. A husband and wife, arm in arm, trying to be brave. A wounded soldier, gore covering his armor. One
after another, he spoke the words, the conviction in him dying with each cut of Velixar’s sword. He no longer tried to give them his strength. He had none to give.

  The line seemed unending. Over a hundred died before him. His words were the last they heard. His eyes were the last they saw. He tried to give them something, a hope to cling to, but instead the words became a death knell. The words felt sick on his tongue, a terrible perversion that pierced his heart.

  When Velixar missed a cut, Jerico could take it no more. He fell to his knees and sobbed as the woman collapsed before him, her arms and legs twitching as she gasped in air through the hole in her throat. It took her almost a minute to die, and Velixar made no effort to hasten it. Behind them the line of refugees sobbed and pleaded for mercy. The light in Velixar’s eyes burned brighter.

  An old man was next. He wore plain robes of gray, and half the hair on his head was missing, taken by old age. Jerico looked up to him and tried to say the words. Velixar had cruelly told him to never speak a lie, and now he wondered if he could. He didn’t know the meaning anymore. He could hardly tell what he was saying. The old man looked back, and then he reached out and put a hand on Jerico’s shoulder.

  “Ashhur loves you,” the old man said, just before Velixar cut him down. The man in black seethed, kicking the body.

  “Get him out of here,” he said.

  The next was an elderly woman, and the way she looked at the old man’s body she was most certainly his wife. Tears wetting her face, she smiled at Jerico.

  “Ashhur loves you,” she said to him.

  Velixar killed her as well, this time not with a blade but a spell. She collapsed, her heart bursting. The dark paladins could not carry her away fast enough. A boy with red hair and a shadow of whiskers on his upper lip approached. He’d seen Velixar’s rage, had seen his disapproval. He looked to the paladin and said the only words he could say, the only blow he could strike against his conquerors.

  “Ashhur loves you,” he said just before he died.

  As did the fourth. And the fifth. The line had seen his torture. They had heard his words. Suddenly it was they offering themselves to him, speaking the words he’d been forced to say, removing the condemnation he’d been forced to give.