A Sliver of Redemption h-5 Page 15

  “Now,” Thulos whispered.

  Velixar lowered his arms. The shadows descended with them, just enough so that the archers could see the approach of the demons. Then the darkness rose again, and Tessanna could only imagine the archers’ terror. Thousands of arrows sailed through the air, a desperate, blind defense against the attack.

  Except the demons had broken to either side the moment the shadows returned. The arrows landed harmlessly in the grass while the two groups swung wide, gathered, and then swooped in perfect synchronization. They swung their glaives low, hurled their spears ahead of them. Tessanna watched them dip into the shadows, slicing and stabbing as they finally met above the gate. Not even needing a second pass, they curled back and returned to Thulos, who saluted them with his sword.

  “Lower the shadow,” he said.

  Velixar opened his eyes, and the spell faded, blown away as if it were suddenly a dark mist.

  Only hundreds remained of the original thousand, lucky survivors of a brutal massacre. They readied their bows, and to Velixar’s disbelief, fired arrows toward the army as if to say they were not cowed.

  “Most impressive,” Thulos said. “They will prove useful to me after their surrender. Do you remember your cues, prophet?”

  “I do,” said Velixar.

  Thulos approached the city alone, not bothering to stop even when he came within range of bowshot. He held his sword out to the side, as if ready to swing at any moment.

  “Warriors of Angelport!” he said, and his voice carried for miles by the same magic he had used at Felwood. “You desire a fight, and in that you are commendable. I salute you, true men! But you have seen what we can do. You know the powers we possess. This is not your war. We come not to destroy, but to save. I want fighters, honorable destroyers of worlds to swear allegiance.”

  He glanced at Velixar, who nodded.

  “Perhaps you think to flee to your boats,” the god continued. “That is where your might has always been. But look to them now. Listen for their screams. Watch for their fire. You have no power, not against me, not against your god!”

  Tessanna’s mouth opened as one by one the ships began to list or ram one another. Sails tore, and others fled out to the ocean.

  “What is going on?” she asked.

  “They waited below,” Velixar said. He seemed better now the shadow spell was gone, but still he spoke slowly, as if greatly distracted. “I had them tear out their innards so they might float back to the top.”

  Tessanna shivered, imagining the many rotting corpses floating up like monsters from the deep, crawling up the boats, their mouths flooded with water, their stomachs and chests ripped open.

  “Those of you on the walls, step down and join me!” Thulos continued. “Those who wait further in, those of you with sword and axe, accept my offer. The lords of Angelport hold no power in this new world. This is a land of gods.”

  Several archers loosed their arrows, but only one was remotely accurate. Thulos smacked it aside with his sword. He waited, giving them time. He saw a scant few step down from the walls. Such a shame. He’d hoped to enlist them, but they were still stubborn, still resisting. It looked like he’d have to make do with the rest.

  “There is no honor in your deaths,” he cried to the city. “No salvation. No noble sacrifice. One way or another…you will fight in my name.”

  Velixar had begun casting by the start of his sentence, and by the end, his call to ‘rise’ thundered over the plain. The corpses atop the outer wall stood and attacked the remaining archers, burying them in their greater numbers. The last of the defenders died, torn to pieces and flung off the wall. When Thulos lifted his sword, the undead turned back toward the army, raised their hands as if in worship, and then cried out in unearthly voices a single name.

  “THULOS!”

  Several minutes later, the gate to the city opened, and the first of many bent their knee.

  “Find out who their former lords were,” Thulos said as he sheathed his sword and turned to Velixar. “Choose the most loyal and execute the rest. Use him to call back the ships. They might have goods that would be of use to us.”

  “As you wish,” Velixar said, smirking as he bowed. The smirk hid his exhaustion, but Tessanna could see it by the dimness of his eyes. How many undead did he command, she wondered. How many thousands?

  As the soldiers from Angelport flooded forward, eager to ransack the city, Tessanna listened to the worshipful cries that rang out, urged on by Velixar.

  Karak! they cried.

  Karak!

  Karak and the War God!

  Alone, seemingly forgotten, Tessanna cried as another city fell.

  13

  A ntonil’s and Theo’s men passed over the eastern of the Gods’ Bridges, into the delta, and then camped before the western bridge, just outside the limits of Ker. There they trained and waited, waiting for confirmation from King Bram to enter. Two weeks later Theo received the order he’d been hoping for: prepare the defenses. The bridge was theirs to hold.

  “T his is hopeless,” Harruq said to Tarlak as they watched Theo’s men dig trenches on both sides of the bridge. “Surely you see that.”

  “That’s a mean thing to do, calling our only hope hopeless,” said the wizard. He removed his hat and scratched the top of his head. “Shame you’re right. I’ve been working on Antonil, but he’s starting to get a bit of that noble calling in his blood. I think he’s worried that, should everything go well, Theo will take all the glory and leave him looking the coward.”

  “Or Theo will die like we know he will, hardly slowing the demons.”

  Tarlak shrugged. “Yeah, that’s likely. What’s worse is we don’t have a clue when this Thulos will even show up. Would be rather embarrassing if Theo’s provisions ran out and he starved to death waiting to make his glorious last stand.”

  Past the bridge was a small cluster of trees that could just barely be called a forest, and the two Eschaton leaned against the trunks while watching the preparations.

  “Been thinking,” Harruq said. “You know we’ll never get paid for all this. We’re the lousiest mercenaries ever.”

  “Says you. I plan on marrying Antonil’s daughter and becoming heir to the throne.”

  “Antonil doesn’t have a daughter.”

  Tarlak gestured to the soldiers everywhere.

  “If I can haul us from one side of the world to the other in hopes of surviving a horrendous war without having yet been paid a single coin, I think I have the patience to wait on Antonil to marry and have himself a daughter of suitable age. Either that, or get one disgustingly large tract of land donated to me after we retake Neldar. I might be all right with that.”

  Both shared a chuckle while the preparations continued. Harruq pointed to the ditches.

  “Those won’t do much against flying enemies.”

  “You feel like going and telling them that?” Tarlak asked.

  “Not really.”

  “Telling them what?” asked Antonil as he joined them. He wore simple clothing, lacking his filigreed armor and helm.

  “That this fool’s errand will get us all killed,” Harruq said.

  “I disagree,” Antonil said, crossing his arms and standing beside them. “They’ll need to use this bridge if they’re to march any soldiers into Ker. And even if they don’t, they’ll still try to crush them. He can’t leave them at his backside, disrupting any possible supplies and threatening raids. Besides, I know a thing or two about pride. King Vaelor would never have let such a challenge go unmet, and I can’t imagine a god having less pride than a man, king or not.”

  “A hard gamble to risk the lives of so many on,” Tarlak said.

  Antonil sighed. When he spoke, his voice had softened.

  “I know. Which is why I will not make that gamble. My soldiers are going with the angels to Mordan. Those who wish to can stay, but I must retake Mordeina. Queen Annabelle entrusted me with the lives of her soldiers in hopes of saving my co
untry, and in return her own city was conquered, her life taken. I owe her and her people much…more than I can ever repay. Let Hensley die, or even become a hero to be worshipped for all time. I just don’t want to be known as a failure king, the one who left and lost his throne while suffering defeat after defeat…”

  Harruq put his hand on Antonil’s shoulder and shook him.

  “Enough depressing chatter,” he said. “We’ll do what we can. That’s all we can ever do, right? But I’ll go with you, and if the world hasn’t forsaken us yet, we’ll plant your butt on that throne in no time.”

  “I’m going too,” Tarlak said. “Can’t let you get too far away, not with how much gold you owe me.” He smiled a painful smile. “Besides, someone there killed Haern, and I want to make him pay. Fire. Lots of fire. Sound like a plan?”

  Antonil stared into the distance, seeing nothing of his surroundings, just a horrific image of them trying to assault the enormous walls of Mordeina while priests and undead fought against them.

  “Good a plan as any we have,” he said.

  A ntonil’s men packed up their tents and bundled their belongings. Mira had little of her own to prepare, so instead she watched, strangely fascinated. Most looked relieved, though a few exchanged worried looks, always with others that were preparing to stay. Her path through the camp took her to the soldiers of Omn. There she heard whispers, curses, comments that confused her all the more.

  “Cowards.”

  “Snake bellies.”

  “Why would you be a soldier if you’re scared to die?”

  “Antonil’s not a real king. Wasn’t born into it. Theo, he knows a king’s true responsibility…”

  Shouts reached her ears, and she turned to them. Several men had broken into a fistfight, and no one seemed eager to stop it. She thought of doing so herself, but then Ahaesarus arrived, thrusting the men apart and calming them with a word. He remained when the others separated, so Mira joined his side before he could fly away.

  “They’re so scared,” she said to him. “Yet so many are angry as well. I don’t understand.”

  Ahaesarus put a hand around her shoulder and smiled.

  “They are right to be scared, and their anger is born out of that fear.” He led her away from the noise and the shouting, toward the edge of the Rigon River. The water lapping against the sides as he folded his wings and sat.

  “Why?” Mira asked, sensing he was ready to talk.

  “Because those who stay behind expect to die, and those who leave know they are escaping that death, though they go on no less dangerous a path.”

  “And where am I to go?”

  Ahaesarus seemed amused by the question. “Why, what you choose to do, as it is in all things.”

  Mira frowned. It seemed simple, but it didn’t answer her question.

  “The men who stay, are they truly doomed to die?”

  The angel sighed. For a long time he stared across the water, as if mesmerized by something on the far side.

  “Yes,” he said.

  “Why?”

  “Because as long as Thulos is there, they will die. He is far too strong. Perhaps if my brethren stayed, we’d have a chance, but I do not wish to make this our final battle. If Thulos wants to conquer Dezrel, he will have to bring his spears to Avlimar.”

  Mira glanced back at the camps.

  “If they know this, then why do they stay?”

  “Because they hope to win, however little the odds. They are sacrificing everything in an attempt to hurt Thulos’s army. Theo thinks they will slaughter so many men and demons that he will be named a hero, a legend of his time. If he breaks the army, forces them to stall or retreat, then Antonil might retake Mordan and muster enough men to defeat Thulos.”

  Mira thought of the men she’d seen in Veldaren, who had cheerfully given their lives to delay the attack of the orcs. It had been just a few, but they’d held a line, defiant against their certain deaths. This was the same, only grander, on a scale she’d never seen before. They would give meaning to their lives. Purpose.

  “But that won’t happen,” she said, suddenly worried. “If the war god attacks, you are certain they won’t succeed?”

  Ahaesarus shook his head.

  “Thank you,” she said, kissing him on the cheek. “I think I do know which way I will go.”

  She rushed to tell Lathaar.

  “B etter get a move on,” Harruq said to his brother. “I don’t think too many will wait for you if you fall behind.”

  Qurrah’s smile lasted only a fraction of a second before fading. They sat in what had been their combined camp. For once Qurrah had been willing to stay among the soldiers, and though he’d received many glares, none had confronted him. Progress, as the wizard would have said.

  “Actually, I won’t be going.”

  Harruq laughed, certain it was a joke. His brother’s face immediately cleared up that assumption.

  “What? Why?”

  Qurrah crossed his arms and looked away.

  “You know she’s with them. This is my chance to see her.”

  “Well, yeah, but…but on the other side of the battlefield. You can’t do this. You’ll get yourself killed.”

  Qurrah nodded. “Perhaps.”

  Harruq flung what he’d been holding to the ground and grabbed Qurrah by the front of his robe.

  “No,” he said. “I just got you back. Tessanna isn’t the only one that’ll be there. Thulos, Velixar, and those winged demons, too. You’re still weak. You’re still confused. What are you hoping to do? What miracle do you think will happen to save you both?”

  “The same miracle that brought me from Velixar’s side to yours while demons and angels bled in the sky.”

  Harruq kicked a stone but had no reply. Qurrah stepped closer, and then awkwardly hugged him. Shocked, it took Harruq a moment to return the gesture.

  “I must do this,” Qurrah said, stepping back. “So much of this is my fault. If there is any chance of finding redemption, it is here, standing against him.”

  “You better live,” Harruq said, his lower lip quivering.

  “Same goes for you,” Qurrah said. He smiled. “I’ll be coming after you as a hero. Try not to disappoint me. Now please, you need to hurry. I don’t think anyone will wait for you to catch up either, though you’re a bit more loved than I.”

  Harruq grabbed the rest of his things, scooping them into a random pile in his arms.

  “You’re a bastard,” he said.

  “I know,” Qurrah said.

  They shared a laugh, and it felt good despite the sadness lurking behind both their smiles.

  S ince the men of Omn had no priests or paladins of Ashhur, Lathaar and Jerico led groups of them in prayer. They formed small circles, six or seven at a time, and prayed for strength, guidance, and the will to conquer fear. Mira walked upon the scene and stayed back, feeling like a trespasser. Men and women came and went, yet she lurked on the outskirts, willing to wait. At last Lathaar noticed her and smiled.

  “Mira!” he cried, hurrying over to her. “Just trying to get a few last prayers in before we have to leave. They’re good people, real good. This’ll be tough. Is there something you need?”

  She stretched on the tips of her toes, put her hands on his shoulders, and then kissed him. He stood shocked still as the kiss lingered, until at last he put his arms around her.

  “I’m staying,” she said when the kiss ended.

  “What do you mean?” he asked.

  “Thulos will kill all of these people if he comes here. Their valiant stand will mean nothing, no meaning or purpose. I can’t let that happen, not when I can change it.”

  “What are you talking about? Mira, don’t…”

  “Please,” she said, leaning her head against his chest. “Don’t try to stop me. I saved myself once because of you, and now the whole world suffers. If you try, if you tell me you love me, I’ll do it again. Please don’t. Let me stay. Thulos hates me, hates mother. I wi
ll give him his chance to do something about that hatred.”

  Lathaar shook his head, and a thousand objections raced through his mind.

  “He’ll kill you,” he said at last.

  “A thousand times I’ve seen people risk their lives for others,” she said. “It is only right I do the same.”

  “Please…”

  “Don’t ask me,” she said. “If you love me, you won’t ask me.”

  He kissed her, held her close.

  “I won’t ask you,” he whispered into her ear. “And I do love you. So much, Mira. If there’s any other way, you come back to me. Do you understand? You come back.”

  She was crying when she pulled away from his arms, and she wiped away the tears with her fingertips.

  “Goodbye, Michael,” she said, using the name she’d first learned from him deep in the Stonewood Forest, when she’d been a scared girl and he was a paladin of lost faith. A twirl of her fingers and she vanished, a spell stealing her away, far away, to where she could cry and no one would see her tears. In his mind, Lathaar felt her presence linger, and the ache nearly crushed him.

  “Damn it,” he said. He looked back to Jerico leading the prayers, and suddenly he felt like he had more pressing matters to attend. The thought of kneeling down in worship seemed unbearable now. Not with Mira going to her death. Not with him forced to let her.

  “Damn it all to the Abyss.”

  Q urrah did his best to get out of the way after informing Harruq of his plans. He’d fled to the small nearby forest, hoping for privacy amid the trees. By no means was he looking forward to enduring without his brother, but he saw no other way. His time of isolation did not last long, for an angel flew low and landed. The half-orc recognized him as their high priest.

  “Come to offer me a prayer for good luck?” Qurrah asked, a bitter smile crossing his face.

  “No,” Azariah said. “I come bearing gifts, instead. Harruq told me of your decision. I find your choice admirable.”

  He gave Qurrah the bundle he held in his hands. The half-orc unwrapped it and held it up. His forehead creased as he looked back to the angel, obviously confused.