The Shadows of Grace (38 page)

“Such vile contraptions to control my power,” he said. “I should destroy you here and now.”

“No,” Krieger shouted, drawing their attention to him and his paladins. “I want to see this proof you offer.”

“Are my words not enough?” Velixar asked.

“They are words, just as his,” Krieger said. “You offered proof. Show us. Let us see you still hear the voice of Karak, and your will is his.”

Velixar laughed, deep and vile. He had not done such a display since the early years of Dezrel, when worship in Karak had temporarily descended into a barbaric competition of fanaticism. The gods had just been defeated and imprisoned, and many sought out new gods to worship. He had shown them their error, and he would show the servants gathered about him in the same way.

“Qurrah, give me your whip,” he asked. Qurrah did as he was told. Velixar lashed the dirt three times. He shouted the words of a spell as he did, and at the third lashing a giant fire sprang from the earth. Velixar handed back the whip, then stood before the flame. It was up to his chest, and it burned a mixture of black and purple.

“Krieger, come to my side,” Velixar said. “Place your hand into the fire.”

“What sorcery is this?” Krieger asked.

“If you are faithful to Karak, the fire will not burn,” said the prophet. “Just as it will not burn in the Abyss, unlike what Ashhur so vainly claims.”

The dark paladin took off his gauntlet and stepped forward. He glanced side to side, feeling all eyes upon him. He would not falter, not in front of so many. He plunged his hand into the fire. He never even winced. The fire did not burn. It wasn’t even warm.

“Keep your hand there,” Velixar said. “And keep your faith strong. As long as your hand is within, all will see I use no trickery.”

Without another word he plunged his own arm into the fire. It washed over him like liquid, and did not burn.

“Prove your own faith,” Qurrah said to Preston. “You claim the name Melorak, great servant and leader of Karak. Prove you belong at their side.”

“So be it,” Preston said, wiping the sweat from his brow. “I will show you I hear his voice.”

Qurrah crossed his arms as Tessanna wrapped her own around his waist. He felt the hairs on his skin raise as the lightning that swirled around her sparkled on his robes. They watched as Preston pulled the sleeve of his robe up to his elbow, seeming weak and small before the demonic glow.

“Show them, oh mighty god,” the priest prayed, loud enough so all could hear. “Humble me, but may they see your truth.”

He thrust his hand into the fire.

It burned.

He screamed and held his arm to his chest. His skin was already peeling.

“Now you see,” Velixar said. “Karak has deemed you unworthy.”

The fire grew larger, burning higher and higher. Krieger pulled back, even he unable to withstand the flame. Velixar, though, stepped inside, and was bathed within.

“I am the prophet!” he shouted. “I am the Word! It is I who leads, and shall forever lead! You have doubted my truth, but doubt no longer.”

“Kill him,” Preston shouted. He reached for Krieger with his good arm, but the paladin brushed him away.

“Your time is over,” Krieger said to him.

Velixar stepped from the flame, purple fire still surrounding his body. He grabbed Preston’s shoulder and spun him about. Preston nearly fainted at what he saw. He saw a face with features forever shifting, deep within fire that would not consume the flesh it burned. He saw two red eyes within, their rage hotter than any fire and deeper than any ocean. He screamed, but heard no sound. He only felt pain, horrific, spreading pain. His vision faded. His senses failed. Like a man of straw he burned away in Velixar’s arms, nothing but bone and ash remaining of his failed faith.

In the sudden silence, Tessanna giggled.

“That was pretty,” she said. She pointed a finger, and the lightning surrounding her struck the ash, scattering Preston’s remains so violently not a trace remained. As the purple flame continued to surround Velixar, the priests and dark paladins knelt in his presence, many professing shame or asking for forgiveness.

Velixar approached Krieger and reached out his hand.

“Stand,” he said. “You need not bow.”

Krieger took Velixar’s hand, wincing at the pain. His flesh did not burn, however, and he accepted it as punishment for ever doubting the prophet of Karak. He stood, his head still bowed. Velixar turned to Qurrah and gestured for him to near. Qurrah wrapped his whip around his arm, pulled his hood low over his face, and left. Tessanna joined him, but only after blowing Velixar a kiss.

“Their faith is nil,” Krieger said as he watched them go.

“For the girl perhaps,” Velixar said. “But Qurrah still has hope. Give him time.”

The fire withered away, and the priests rose from their knees in the sudden dark.

“Krieger has withstood Karak’s judgment,” Velixar said to them. “He will be in charge of your priestly order, just as he controls Karak’s faithful paladins. Now return to your tents. Mordeina is within our grasp, and we must be ready!”

More bowing, more begging for forgiveness. Velixar dismissed it with a wave. As they left, he bent down and picked up the pendant Preston had shoved down his throat.

“How did he know about this?” he wondered aloud as he flipped it side to side, staring at the brutal carvings nearly hidden by the blackened marks made from a multitude of fires. He handed it to Krieger, who examined it closely.

“What is this?” the dark paladin asked.

“Something you must keep close to you at all times,” Velixar said. “Keep it safe, and keep it hidden. Speak not of it again.”

T
essanna huddled under blankets, but Qurrah did not join her. He sat hunched over, his arms pulled inside his robes for warmth. The girl peered at him from the sheets.

“You’re waiting for him, aren’t you?” she asked. Qurrah looked away, and that was answer enough.

“He isn’t mad,” she said. “He can’t be. What is it that worries you?”

“Not now,” said Qurrah.

They waited. The halforc created a fire with a few words of magic, the deep red flame providing little warmth. A few minutes later, Velixar approached, his red eyes peering at Qurrah with hidden curiosity.

“You would not take my hand,” Velixar said. “Is your faith in Karak that weak, or are you just afraid to show it to others?”

“I hold no faith in Karak,” Qurrah said, not meeting his gaze. “You have never demanded that of me.”

“After all you have done?” Velixar asked. “And all he has done for you, you still have no faith? What will it take, Qurrah Tun?”

“I hold faith in you,” Qurrah said, his eyes leaving the fire for just a moment. “I trust in your judgment. I understand you in your faith. And I hold hope that you will keep your promise, and grant me and Tessanna a second life somewhere far away from here.”

“I am just a man, no matter my strength,” Velixar said. “I will fail you. It is inevitable. Are you so certain it is I you should hold your faith in?”

Qurrah stood. His words came heavy and certain.

“Karak has proven nothing to me. I am withering away for him. I have given my all, yet what have I gained in return?”

“You have gained a child,” Velixar argued.

“He’s right,” Tessanna said. “Please Qurrah, you know he’s right.”

The halforc quieted. Velixar shook his head, saddened by the sudden disruption in Qurrah’s faith.

“Keep remembering,” Velixar said. “Remember when you entered Veldaren as a conqueror. Remember the certainty and power of Karak’s voice. Remember the times you held faith, and then decide, were they so long ago? Were they so false? Or are they something to reach for, to struggle and claw with every shred of your strength to regain?”

The man in black left them alone, but his presence lingered long after he was gone.

“A child,” Qurrah said as he joined Tessanna beneath the blankets. “We sacrifice the whole world for a child.”

“Could you do the opposite?” Tessanna asked as she curled against him. “Could you sacrifice a child for the entire world?”

He placed his hand on her growing belly and thought of that life extinguished, of Karak’s army destroyed, and Velixar defeated and broken. He tried to think of living in that world. A soft stir of motion pushed against his palm, and he knew he could not.

“Precious,” he whispered. “And no, I never could.”

“Then do what needs to be done,” Tessanna whispered before kissing him. “Just as you always have and always will.”

He kissed her back, accepting her wisdom. Accepting what needed to be done. For her. For him. For their child.

Especially their child.

B
ecause of their proximity to the walls, they heard the sudden call of alarm.

“What are they shouting?” Harruq asked, staring at the soldiers atop the white outer wall.

“Well, let me find out,” Tarlak said. He put down his food, swirled his hands, and moments later vanished with a ‘pop.’ High atop the wall he reappeared, startling a nearby guard so badly that he nearly fell. Tarlak grabbed his shoulder and pulled him to safety, smiling and saying something that Harruq couldn’t make out.

“Guy’s going to get himself killed one day doing that,” Harruq said as he watched Tarlak point to something in the distance.

“If I had to make a wager,” Aurelia said, “it’d be that when Tarlak dies, it’s at the hand of a friend. It only seems appropriate.”

“Gambling’s a dangerous vice,” Lathaar said as he and Mira strolled over, hand in hand. “Especially over the death of a friend, and by another friend you say?”

“Easy way to win,” Aurelia said with a wink. “I roast him with a fireball and claim the coin.”

More guards pointed, and Tarlak looked down at them and shouted.

“What’d he say?” Harruq asked.

“I think he said Dieredon,” Aurelia said. She waved her arms, ripped open a small portal, and stepped through, reappearing at Tarlak’s side. Harruq grumbled.

“They get nifty magic, and I stab people with pointy objects,” he said. “How is this fair?”

“Life’s not fair,” Mira said, smiling at him even though she pressed against Lathaar’s side as if to hide.

Harruq grunted.

More guards shouted along the top wall, and accompanying their shouts the gigantic gate groaned to life. Harruq and the others hurried to it, curious as to what the commotion was all about. They waited before the gates as a thin sliver of daylight pressed through. Harruq sighed as he saw a white horse with wings banking low, straight for them.

“It’s Dieredon,” he said.

“Someone rides with him,” Mira said, squinting at his approach. A sudden hiss of air behind them signaled Tarlak’s return.

“Lathaar old buddy,” the mage said, wrapping an arm around the paladin. “You’ve got one awesome surprise waiting for you.”

Dieredon’s horse banked lower to the ground, and with a beautiful display of wings, she flapped and reared back, halting their momentum. When she landed, the elf atop her back leaped off and bowed, and in doing so, revealed his passenger, who smiled and waved.

“I don’t believe it,” Lathaar said, his jaw dropping.

“Miss me?” Jerico asked as soldiers swarmed around them, preparing their immediate audience with the queen.

“Told you,” Tarlak said, laughing and slapping him on the back. Lathaar was too stunned to respond.

H
is discussions with the queen ended, Jerico left the castle to where the Eschaton waited. Lathaar embraced him first, his smile lighting up his entire face.

“How did you survive?” he asked.

“That’s a story for a warm fire and a warmer meal,” Jerico said as he hugged Mira and Aurelia. “The short version, they kept me prisoner instead of killing me, and when we reached the first of the Gods’ bridges I escaped. An elven scout spotted me a few weeks later and brought me to Dieredon, who brought me here.”

As if summoned by his name, the castle doors opened a second time, and out stepped Dieredon. He took his bow from one of the guards and slung it around his back. With a joyless look he bowed to the Eschaton.

“The queen here is far more agreeable than Vaelor ever was,” he said. “A pleasant surprise.”

“We’ve had enough chatter with the queen to last a lifetime,” Tarlak said. “Come, we need to eat, and celebrate!”

“Tar…” Jerico started, but didn’t continue. Dieredon, seeing this, finished what Jerico would not.

“The demon army is but three days away,” the elf said. “There is no time for celebration.”

“Three days?” Tarlak said, the blood draining from his face. “But that’s impossible, how could they have caught up so fast?”

“The dead in their army don’t tire,” Jerico said, shifting the shield on his back and wincing as if remembering a painful memory. “And the demons have incredible stamina. As for the rest, they are fanatical, and push themselves to near death every day without pause.”

“The queen has marshaled her soldiers from all over the country,” Dieredon said. “Many won’t make it in time. As for the outlying farms and villages, she has sent out riders warning of the danger. No matter what she does, though, thousands will die.”