The Shadows of Grace (45 page)

“We will fly for much of the distance,” Ulamn said. “Uncomfortable as it may be for you, we will travel much faster that way. Ashhur’s angels will give chase, and we cannot fight them, not until we reinforce our numbers from Veldaren.”

“What of my priests, my paladins?” Velixar asked.

“They have forsaken you,” Ulamn said. “You know this as well as I. You both are too important to leave our side. You stay with us. If we’re lucky, your disloyal brethren will buy us time. Rest well tonight. Tomorrow will be long.”

He bowed and left. Velixar shook his head, and his features shifted between sadness and anger.

“So many good paladins,” he said. “So many faithful. I will make them pay. All of them.”

Qurrah grabbed Tessanna’s elbow and stood.

“We must rest,” he said. Velixar dismissed them with a wave, not watching them go. They hurried away. Qurrah wasn’t ready for sleep, but he couldn’t stand seeing Velixar in such a state.

“He vows revenge,” Tessanna said, echoing his thoughts. “But what strength does he have to keep such a promise?”

“He doesn’t,” Qurrah said. “And neither do I.”

Tessanna kissed her lover’s cheek, but her comfort was hollow. Never before had she hated Karak as much as she did then.

T
arlak slipped inside the room, trying not to make any noise.

“I’m awake,” Haern said from his bed, his eyes still closed. “And beaten or not, my ears still work.”

They were in a dark, windowless infirmary within the castle. There were many beds, but only Haern, with so many bones broken and shattered, remained.

“We’re giving chase,” Tarlak said, sitting on the bed. “About an hour from now. Antonil’s army will follow in a day or two.”

“I should go with you,” Haern said, frowning.

“You’re damn lucky to even be alive,” Tarlak said. “Trying to travel so soon will kill you.”

“You leave to banish a demonic army from our world, and you expect me to stay and hope for the best?” Haern asked.

The wizard gently squeezed the assassin’s shoulder.

“I expect you to get better,” he said, his point made clear by the pain flashing over Haern’s face. “You want to chase after us in a few weeks, you go right ahead. I hope we have a victory party waiting for you in Veldaren.”

Haern sat up enough to hug Tarlak goodbye, then collapsed back onto the bed.

“Tarlak?” Haern said, right before he left.

“Yeah?”

“I’m sorry,” Haern said. “For how I’ve been.”

“Apology accepted,” Tarlak said, winking. “See you in the months ahead.”

He left. Haern tried to sit up, tried to ignore the pain flaring throughout his body. He couldn’t, and he crashed back onto the bed, groaning and covered with sweat.

W
ith much fanfare the angels departed, hundreds and hundreds of winged soldiers in perfect formations. The Eschaton rode in the arms of the angels, their weight seemingly nothing to their powerful white wings. They flew east in pursuit of the demons.

Antonil watched them go from the outer wall, scratching at his chin as he did.

“Itching to go with them?” his old general Sergan asked. “Can’t say I blame you.”

“I just led thousands of refugees across the continent,” Antonil said. “And now I am to travel back with an army at my command. To think, I always thought King Vaelor had it easy.”

“He did have it easy,” Sergan said. He plopped his ax to the stone and leaned on its hilt, staring after the rapidly fading army. “He sat on his throne, issued paranoid edicts, and expected respect without earning it. You, however, have led your people as needed, fought beside them, bled with them, and gave everything you had. A good king, that’s what I see.”

“And if we fail?” Antonil asked, turning toward his trusted friend. “And if I lead so many to their deaths, and return to Mordeina with her army broken, her food spent, and the whole world lost to fire?”

Sergan laughed. “You worry too much. A few days ago we thought we were all doomed. Now you’re king and Ashhur’s given us an army. I may not be a religious man, but I know a time for faith when I see it.”

Antonil chuckled. “I guess you’re right,” he said.

“Of course I am.” He picked up his ax and hefted it over his shoulder. “Now, if it pleases your highness, I would like to start inspecting our newly granted troops.”

“Go easy on them,” Antonil said. “At least until they accept orders from a man of Neldar. I’d hate to see you strung up before we leave.”

“They can try,” Sergan said as he climbed down the ladder. “But try is as far as they’d get.”

T
he next day, Antonil knelt before his queen, accepting her public blessing. Rows and rows of soldiers filled the streets. Wagons spotted the fields surrounding the city, filled with provisions for the army. The weather was warm, the sky clear, and the sun bright.

“Don’t try to come back a hero,” Annabelle said to Antonil as she kissed his forehead. “You already are one. Just come back alive.”

“I’ll do my best, milady,” Antonil said. He stood, drew his sword, and shouted an order. The soldiers turned, crying out the name of their beloved city. Toward the gates they marched. Women and children lined the edges of the street, shouting goodbyes to their fathers, friends, and husbands. Annabelle remembered a similar ceremony, when her then husband had sent the might of Mordan after the Dezren elves, banishing them from their kingdom.

Unable to watch, she returned to her castle. Her footsteps echoed in the empty chamber. As she sat on her throne, feeling old and empty, a man stepped from behind a pillar and bowed low.

“Greetings, your majesty,” he said, his mismatched eyes glinting.

The queen held in her startled cry.

“Perhaps you are unaware of who I am,” he said, pacing before her. “But I’m sure you know what I’ve done. My name is Deathmask, and I come with my guild. It is we who stopped Bernard’s wrongful execution. And as for the assault on Karak’s priests, well, consider me a fortune teller, carrying out your orders before you even gave them.”

Annabelle’s pulse quickened as three more stepped out from behind pillars. Two of them were twins, while the third was a beautiful girl with a wicked scar over one eye. They all held daggers and watched for guards as they approached.

“Killing me gains you nothing,” she said, trying to sound brave.

“We’re not here to kill you,” Deathmask said, and he chuckled as if the mere thought were absurd. “Although your bounty on our heads is making life difficult. We’re here to discuss that little issue.”

“I will not cower before threats,” she said. “I still have soldiers at my disposal.”

“Threats?” Deathmask asked. “I bring no threats. I come with a deal. Tell me, your highness, how many priests of Karak have your guards killed since your order?”

Queen Annabelle tilted her head, her eyes darting between the four.

“Not many,” she admitted. “Perhaps they fled the city.”

“You saw the lion in the sky,” said the girl with the scarred face. “You know they remain.”

“They will strike now, while the city is vulnerable,” Deathmask insisted. “However, if we were to find them, and execute them, well…”

He made a grand gesture to the entire castle, grinning wickedly.

“Then the city would be made safe,” he said.

“What do you want in return?” she asked.

“Revoke your silly bounty,” Deathmask said. “It will only cost you soldiers if you don’t. Also, we prefer a bit more shadier form of… entertainment. Hayden’s laws need repealed. Death should not be the punishment for a small amount of debauchery.”

The queen stood and pointed to the door.

“Leave,” she said. “Come back when you find them, and bring me proof of their deaths. They whispered lies into my ears for long enough. Your bounty is rescinded. The rest awaits your return.”

“You are as wise as you are kind,” Deathmask said, bowing.

“And you are as manipulative as you are ruthless,” Annabelle said, dismissing his bow.

Deathmask laughed.

“Come,” he said to his Ash Guild. “We have work to do.”

T
hat night they scoured the city but found no trace of the priests. They had already left under cover of darkness, through tunnels built a century ago for just such a case. The newly crowned Melorak led the way, a group of fifteen priests with him. They moved in silence, needing no words spoken.

They headed south, where the Elethan mountains ended in small, craggy hills. Many caves lined their bases, with streams flowing in and out. The priests weaved between the caves, stepping over the water when they could. As they penetrated deeper into the hills they saw smoke blotting out the stars, the result of a large bonfire. Melorak raised his hand to stop his priests.

“Pray to Karak for strength,” he told them. “And beware the lies of the other. Distrust his image. He may look like the prophet, but do not be fooled.”

They continued. The remainder of Karak’s army camped in a basin formed by six hills, with tents on either side of a stream that ran through the center. There was only one fire, and beside it stood a being similar to Velixar, his hands raised to the night sky as he cried out prayers. Melorak led his priests into the camp, slowly nodding his head at the tested who spotted his arrival.

“We are fellow servants of Karak,” he told them. “I wish to speak with your leader.”

The tested led him to the fire. Preston waited for them, his features shifting in the orange glow of the flame.

“Welcome to my fold,” he said. “My name is Melorak, and I command the faithful to Karak.”

“The faithful?” the true Melorak said. “Perhaps. That is what I’ve come to test.”

“Test my faith? I am ordained by Karak himself! I bear the prophesied name. Mordan will fall, and by my hand.”

Melorak pulled down his hood from his face and stood to his full height. His eyes shone a fierce red, and shadows danced at his fingertips. “I am the true Melorak,” he said. “I am the one Karak has waited for. You are a pretender, a deceiver, and a liar. Your time is done.”

“Blasphemy!” shouted Preston, his features quickening their changing. He hurled a bolt of shadow, but his opposite scoffed, the magical attack splashing across his robe as if it were water.

“Who here answers the true call of Karak?” Melorak asked. “Who here desires order among this chaos? Get behind me, and remain there. Those who think this… rotting thing you have created is a prophet, then stand behind him.”

At first none moved, but when Preston glared at his priests, furious at their hesitation, the crowd around them began to move. Priests and tested moved behind each side, with Melorak having only a third of the camp.

“A shame,” he said. “But this game must end. Karak has found his faithful, those worthy of such an honor that I will bestow.”

“Banish him from my camp,” Preston said. “I am the heir to Velixar, not him.”

They unleashed a wave of curses, shadow, and fire. The attacks all broke, as if a barrier were between the groups. High above them, smoke pooled together in a massive, angry cloud. Lightning cracked and exploded within.

“Pray!” Melorak shouted. “Beg for mercy! It is not too late! The faithful will survive, but the fool, the coward, he will burn, for eternity he will burn!”

Wind soared into the basin, howling angrily. The grass stood erect, flooded with magic. One by one, the stars faded away. Many beside Preston hid or cried out in fear. Their leader ordered them silent, but they paid him little heed.

“On your knees!” Melorak cried. “Humility for your error! Repentance for your arrogance! It is not too late.”

A scattered few fell to their knees, but the vast majority remained standing. Melorak hardened his heart. They had chosen. Karak’s power swirled about them, and still they clung to their choice. So be it. He heard Karak’s voice in his ear, clear and unwavering.

“Judgment!” he shouted. “It is now!”

The cloud tore open, and from within lions fell, their fur made of shadow, their teeth, moonlight. They roared in unison, their claws outstretched, their red eyes glinting with fire. They descended upon half the camp, tearing through flesh and crunching bone. Those that knelt, or stood behind Melorak, went unharmed. Preston, however, cried out a desperate plea to Karak as three lions circled around him.

“I did your will!” he shouted. “It was always your will.”

“You did as you desired,” one of the lions said. “Never Karak’s.”

They pounced on his rotting form and tore it to pieces, his frantic screams the last in the basin, followed only by prayers for forgiveness and mercy.

The true Melorak looked upon the carnage and smiled.

“Only the faithful remain,” he said. “As it must be. The prophet failed to understand the great damage a faithless follower could do.”

“Praise be to Karak,” said one of the priests as the lions faded away like smoke.

“Indeed,” Melorak said. “Praise be to him.”

They spread out, cleaning up the remains of the dead and casting them upon the bonfire. The basin was theirs now, and they had work to do.