But there were other gods, and other followers, and at last Harruq crossed the distance to where the dark paladin Umber waited with his ax hoisted over his shoulder. If he was afraid of the half-orc, he didn’t show it.
“An age of Karak shall follow,” Umber shouted. He lifted his ax. “We’ll sing our worship atop your graves, for I’ll be a hero for taking your twice-condemned head.”
Despite the blood, despite the sweat trickling into his eyes, the ache in his arms and the hitch in his left side, Harruq grinned. He clanged Salvation and Condemnation together, their metallic ring signaling his anticipation.
“Fucking try.”
Black flames swirled about the ax head as Umber swung. Karak’s anger and fury blessed the weapon, a power fueled by Umber’s faith. Most weapons would shatter, but not Harruq’s twin swords. They were the lone gift from Velixar that Harruq did not regret. With them, he had changed the world. With them, he could withstand the overhead chop, the ax’s black fire meeting his swords’ somber red glow.
Wisdom said to merely dodge the strike, but Harruq wasn’t interested in fighting smart. He wanted Umber to realize he was outmatched. He wanted him to see how, when all his strength was brought down in a single, powerful strike, Harruq could meet it with a grin.
And so he did. The weapons crossed, Harruq’s arms bulged, his legs braced, and then he slammed the ax aside. Fear replaced fanaticism in the paladin’s eyes. He swept his ax back around, but the distance was too close. Harruq wedged Condemnation in the way, blade striking handle, and then slashed with Salvation. He meant to hit the neck, but his aim was slightly low. The sword struck Umber’s pauldron, its enchanted edge cutting through metal and flesh and sunk into bone. Harruq ripped the blade free.
Umber screamed, grasped his wounded shoulder, and retreated a few steps. Harruq hesitated before chasing, the instinctual pause sparing him from the thrust of a spearhead. A second dark paladin intervened, this one wielding a shield and half-spear. He skirted back to position himself just in front of Umber, his shield protecting his injured fellow dark paladin and buying him a moment to lift his ax and push through the pain. Blood poured down Umber’s arm, and by no means should he have been able to lift that ax, but wisps of violet flame flickered underneath his split pauldron, leading Harruq to suspect Karak’s blessing was involved.
“Where is my grave, cowards?” Harruq roared. He smashed into the both of them, each of his swords shoving aside an attempted counter. Condemnation bashed a massive indent into the new paladin’s shield. Harruq’s shoulder collided with Umber’s chest, flinging him several feet back. The dark paladin staggered, and he hollered mindless rage as he brought up his ax.
“Where is your song? Where is your dance?”
Harruq easily sidestepped a wild overhead chop. These men, they were so young. Karak’s faithful had suffered horrible casualties during the Gods’ War, no different than anyone else in Dezrel. These two were new to battle, just like the students Lathaar and Jerico had trained. They thought their faith would give them the strength to overcome. They thought Karak would bless them and lead them to victory.
Harruq quickly disabused Umber of that notion with a sword strike to his injured shoulder, and this time no unholy power would keep the arm moving. The paladin with the spear tried to stab Harruq through the back, but his attack was clumsy and not at all the surprise he believed it to be. Harruq sidestepped and locked the spear between his elbow and his side. A turn wrenched the weapon free of the suddenly mortified paladin’s hand. Harruq looped his free arm, tearing open the man’s throat with Salvation’s tip. The paladin dropped in a shower of blood.
Harruq released the spear, twirled his swords, and turned back to Umber.
“Karak is with me!” the paladin shrieked. He lacked the strength to lift his ax, but neither did he run. The battle of panic against faith was obvious in his pained expression: how could he surrender or flee if his god was superior to the Ashhur the half-orc worshiped?
A single thrust to the throat ended Umber’s torment. He dropped to his knees, gargling something unintelligible. Harruq cleaved his head off his shoulders for good measure.
“He’s not with you,” Harruq said. “But you’re with him now. Enjoy the fire.”
Somehow over the chaos of battle, over the screams of the dying, the clatter of steel, and the tearing of flesh, a soft whisper reached Harruq’s ears. It was a tired proclamation, spoken by a broken woman, and he looked up to see black wings blotting out the war-torn sky. The sight filled him with far more fear than any opposing army ever could.
“Let it end,” whispered the Daughter of Balance. “Let neither rule. Let the balance fall aside, and be judged not by brother gods.”
She lifted her arms. The ground split. The sky roared, and it seemed all of Dezrel shook as Celestia unleashed centuries of fury upon the land.
23
The angels were mere nuisances to Tessanna. New to magic, they cast pitiful flames and thin shards of ice that she batted away with ease from her position on the tiny hill. Not even Azariah’s impressive magic frightened her. It was masters from the Council of Mages that were truly dangerous, but Aurelia and Tarlak could handle them.
“Tess!” Tarlak screamed as a thunderbolt slammed down atop the three of them, only to break against a domed shield he summoned. “We need help, Tess! What are you waiting for?”
She stared at the battlefield, granting him no answer. What was she waiting for? She watched the bloodshed fill the sky. She watched the humans, beast-men, and undead crash against one another in a river of steel, flesh, and murder.
What was she waiting for? The truth ashamed her, and she dared not answer aloud.
She waited for courage.
The courage to do what must be done.
“Please, Tess, do not abandon us now,” Aurelia said, flinging a massive boulder of ice directly into a ball of flame one of the Council members attempted to drop upon the battlefield. While Tarlak focused on protecting the three of them, Aurelia’s attention was solely on protecting the field of battle. The outnumbered armies of Ahaesarus would be easily overrun without her aid, for even with Harruq and Jerico helming the front line, they were but two against far too many. Should a single magical attack sunder their ranks, their line would break. And no help would come to them from the skies, for Ahaesarus was hard pressed to take on the cloud of dark wings.
“Abandon?” Tessanna said.
She could delay no longer. To the Abyss with her fears. She walked toward the battlefield, but instead of grass, her feet touched air. Wispy illusions of wings sprouted from her back, so easily summoned. Had she not relied upon them her entire life? She hovered toward the battle, hands at her sides and head bowed. The sound of pain and death washed over her like a warm cocoon.
“Qurrah is gone,” she whispered. “Are you with me, Mother? Is it too late to be what you’ve always asked me to be?”
Celestia’s voice echoed within her mind. Though spoken softly, calmly, it still drowned out all other noises of the bloody battlefield.
The Balance must be preserved, my daughter.
“And if the Balance is broken beyond repair?”
Nothing is beyond repair. I lift you up, cherished one. I am with you, always.
Lightning crackled in the clear sky above, summoned by a trio of angels attempting to intercept her approach. Tessanna tilted her head to one side as the magic swarmed about her, brilliant and hot like the sun. She lifted two fingers, compressing the lightning down to a singular orb of blinding light. A flick of her wrist, and she unleashed it upon the angels. They screamed, power ripping through them, setting their insides aflame and dropping them dead. Their innards were so terribly charred, their skin parted from their bones as they fell.
Her ethereal wings spread wider. Tessanna felt more eyes upon her, but who would dare lay a hand upon her? Who could afford to turn their gaze her way when a war yet raged? In the sky, angel battled a
ngel. On the ground, not even the dead were spared. Most terrifying, and heart-rending, were the beast-men diving upon their foes. She knew what they fought for. A promise. A lie.
“Karak or Ashhur,” she said. “Two fates lie before Dezrel. Two kings, each determined to rule with a divine mandate. Each with their champions. Each with their angels and their avatars. Must it be so?”
It is a Balance I decreed when the world was young.
A beam of pure red magic shot from the open palm of a mage. Tessanna batted it aside with her bare hand. The beam careened upward, streaking toward whatever celestial object might one day intercept its path in the deep dark of the stars.
“You have loved Ashhur always,” she whispered. “But I do not love him as you do. Will you aid me, even knowing this? Knowing the Balance must break?”
For what felt like an age, Mother remained silent. The goddess knew her plan, for how could she not? Even amid her broken mind, Mother had comfortably dwelt. There would be no secrets from her. Would she relent? Would she accept? Tessanna looked down to where Harruq battled like a monster. His black blades were like the claws of a dragon. They were the teeth of a beast drinking an ocean of blood. In so many ways, he was the purest of them all. Give him an enemy, and the half-orc would tear that enemy apart. Not even death could stop him.
But even Harruq represented one side of the balance. Karak and Ashhur, back and forth, a wobbling plate atop a gore-stained spike. Dezrel had suffered so greatly to keep it spinning.
May Dezrel forgive me. I abandoned hope at a lasting Balance, and gave my blessing to Ashhur. Death rewarded my selfishness. Take my gifts, daughter. Do what must be done.
It was the blessing she needed. The final confirmation that Mother would aid her in the path ahead.
“Let it end,” Tessanna whispered. “Let neither rule. Let the balance fall aside, and be judged not by brother gods.”
With a wave of her hand and twist of her fingers, the ground cracked. A chasm opened between the armies, forming into a slight ‘v’ so that the beast-men were separated from both friends and foes. Tessanna hovered above them all, the goddess whom all eyes must look upon. The air was electric, and the few who dared near her, be they angel or fallen, she cast aside with a mere glare that lit their wings aflame.
“Army of the Vile!” she bellowed. “Hear me!”
Whose words did she speak? She didn’t know, but her heart ached for these poor creatures. Ahaesarus had dragged them here as slaves, forced them to fight a war they cared nothing about, for a reward they would never receive.
“For generations you have suffered, abandoned and unloved, for crimes committed by your forefathers,” she told the beast-men. She cast her attention to the wolf-men, the bird-men, and the hyena-men. “You labored in the wretched wasteland of Kal’droth for siding with Karak in a war that ended centuries past. Let your curse be lifted. The North is yours. Live on lush soil, and hunt plentiful forests. The barren wasteland of the Vile Wedge is your cage no longer. Cast it aside. Make life anew, and be it one of peace, if you are to keep it.”
Brief words of magic floated from her lips, tearing open a portal over fifty feet in diameter. It swirled with blue light, and white mist poured out of it as magic crackled across its surface. Through that dream-like haze, all could see the abandoned lands of the North. The races of the Vile hesitated only a moment before charging straight into its center. Tessanna felt a slight tug on her mind at their passage, but with them through, she banished the portal. It sealed with a roar of thunder.
All eyes were upon her now—angels and fallen, mages of the council and surviving members of the Eschaton, human soldiers from both sides, and even the remaining undead. It should have unnerved her. Instead it put a dark grin upon her face. She felt the first hint of happiness since watching her beloved Qurrah die in the form of another with his throat cut.
I want to bathe the land with fire, she’d told Harruq. Time had cooled her rage, but not her ambition. Perhaps not all the world, but those responsible for breaking it.
“Let there be no balance,” she decreed. “Let there be no winner. I free Dezrel from your grasp. I free her from your war. Whatever remnants that endure, seek peace if you are wise, for conquest shall be beyond you.”
Azariah and the council mages sought to bring her down, combining their attacks, a sudden barrage of fire, ice, and lightning, in an attempt to overwhelm her. Tessanna gritted her teeth and surrounded herself with a translucent shield. The assaulting magic burst across its surface, spreading thin cracks, but her resolve would not be broken, nor her shield. Deep clouds formed a halo in the sky above. The ground rumbled with anticipation.
There was a time she had screamed a similar demand. Now she whispered it.
“No more daughters. Let me be the last. Give me the power of the Weave, dearest Mother. Give me my birthright. Give me my wings.”
From her shoulders burst her wings, her true wings, not the faint ethereal shadows she sometimes manifested. They were deep as midnight, without light or texture beyond the singular, infinite depth of the void. They stretched for hundreds of feet behind her, filling the entire sky. They flapped once, and a thousand feathers flew from them like leaves in an autumn wind. Tessanna lifted her arms and felt the power of creation swelling within her breast. She forced that magic to flow through her body, down her arms and out her fingertips to collect into a swirling orb of concentrated fury. It was a perfect sphere of elemental power. Fire swirled along its surface. Ice crackled in its depths. Lightning thundered within like an imprisoned storm. Deeper and deeper, the magic flowed. Deeper and deeper, it pooled. It built in her mind like a tangible manifestation of all her grief. Qurrah’s face floated upon it. She imagined him watching her, and she wondered if he would praise her choice or condemn it.
Another flap of her wings, whose lengths stretched across the entire horizon, whose darkness blotted out the sun and covered the entire battlefield in unnatural night. Her hands caressed the sphere. Her black eyes looked to Ahaesarus, to Azariah, and it was to both divine kings she offered a most deserving gift.
“This day, I break your crowns.”
Tessanna opened her gift.
The sky exploded. Lightning led the way, a thousand white-hot veins leaping from angel to angel. It cared not if they were those loyal to Ashhur or the fallen allies of Azariah. Both sides died, nearly half their number in an instant. Fire and ice followed, the fire unleashed in great plumes larger than buildings and billowing out as if belched from a legion of dragons. The ice intermixed with it, defying its heat, its razor-sharp edges sparkling as they slashed through the ground armies and undead without care for their armor. The torrent blasted outward, seemingly never ending. Tessanna fueled it with her hatred. She flooded it with her pain and sorrow. Her disgust would be made manifest for these soldiers of human gods that had twice destroyed the world and appeared all too eager for a third.
Bolt after bolt slammed the battlefield, spreading further cracks beyond the chasm she had opened up for the beast-men. Angels fled in all directions, their wings flapping at their hardest to outrun the destruction. The three members of the Council collected their power together to form a shield, and it was only their combined might that allowed them to withstand the onslaught. The same could not be said for the undead, whom she crushed like the disgusting ants they were.
The sky darkened with smoke as the explosion continued onward, shadowing even that which her wings did not touch. The human soldiers of both armies tossed aside their weapons and fled, wanting nothing but to escape the frozen rain that slaughtered them with a million ice-tipped spears.
Tessanna guided the power with little mental nudges. The members of the Eschaton, she would spare. Ludicrous as it may seem given the context of her life, she viewed them as friends. The fire did not consume Tarlak Eschaton. The ice did not freeze Aurelia Thyne Tun. Lightning struck all around Harruq, but he himself was not brought low. It was a selfish act, she
knew. But at the end of all things, after the misery she had suffered, she felt she deserved a bit of selfishness.
I want to slaughter everything and everyone until I create a land of corpses.
A land of corpses. It was within her reach. She need only continue to channel Celestia’s power.
The explosion continued rolling outward in all directions. Fire licked from the sky into the nearby forests. Lightning gashed the grasslands. Deep cracks split the earth for miles in all directions, traveling on and on like the thinly frozen surface of a pond breaking beneath too much weight. Scream. All she had to do was scream. Let her mind blank. Let her hatred do the rest. Her whole life, she had been death and misfortune to those who knew her. Why not allow it to swallow all of Dezrel? Why not give the horrid, broken land some measure of peace, to become a place only the wild animals could claim?
But there were still a few she loved. She would not deny little Aubrienna Tun a world to live, even if it were a dark and troubled one. Nor would she take Aubby’s parents from her. So let her have a world. Let her survive. With an unspoken command, Tessanna ensured the destruction would not swallow the world by instead allowing it to swallow herself. Magic tore through her own body. Fire burned across her flesh. Her wings shattered into long thin ribbons of darkness that dissolved like smoke upon the wind her own attack had unleashed. A scream escaped her, a banshee howl that somehow was silent to her own ears despite the raw pain it tore into her throat. Blood followed, lacerations opening across her arms and legs from shards of ice. Once again, she cut herself, and the grim realization would have made her laugh if not for the perpetual scream.
The King of the Fallen Page 24
