The Shadows of Grace (48 page)

As the sun set, one by one, fires filled the camp and the sharp sound of ringing steel grew in frequency and intensity. Harruq heard the sound and felt an itching in his fingertips. Many angels were sparring, trying to stay sharp amid the countless hours of tedious flight.

“Haern’s not here,” Tarlak said. “But perhaps you can spar with them.”

“Guess I could use a warm-up,” Harruq said as he stood. “After Haern, who here’s going to compare?”

He wandered deeper into the angels’ camp. He felt a little intimidated by their height, and the folded up wings against their backs only enhanced their difference. Strangely timid, he found a trio of angels taking turns sparring and quietly watched them. Their fighting style seemed strange, a jarring mix of brutal strength and careful, weaving feints. After several minutes, one of them saw him watching and nodded.

“Care for an attempt?” asked the loser of the last match. Another angel nearby laughed. Harruq drew his swords and twirled them in his hands. The others stepped away, giving him room to face his opponent, who wielded a large sword in both hands.

“I promise not to hurt you,” Harruq said, a grin on his face. The angel feinted a low slash, shifted his weight, and then swung for Harruq’s shoulder. The halforc slapped it aside, stepped forward, and placed his other blade on the angel’s neck.

“Don’t patronize me,” Harruq said, his voice deepening into a growl.

The angel’s wide eyes, however, revealed how little he had held back.

“Mortals can’t move that fast,” he said.

“Then you haven’t fought enough mortals,” Harruq said, stepping back and falling into a defensive stance, both his swords at ready. “Again?”

The angel swung. Harruq blocked with both his blades, grunting at the strength of the impact. The angel stepped to the side and then thrust for Harruq’s chest. Instead it cut air, for Harruq spun, smacking aside the blade with his elbow as his own swords twirled above his head. When he finished the spin the angel’s sword was raised high, blocking Condemnation’s chop, but Salvation slipped underneath, its sharp tip jabbing against the top of the angel’s chest piece.

By now a crowd had formed, with a couple laughing and clapping when he scored the hit.

“Let me have a try,” an angel said, grabbing his mace and stepping forward. Harruq bowed, dodged his initial swing, and then smacked him twice in the back. Another competitor approached, wielding a gigantic sword. Again the fight lasted only seconds, with Harruq dancing around a few slow but powerful hits before slapping the angel’s face with Condemnation’s flat edge.

Harruq laughed, feeling adrenaline coursing through him. It felt good, engaged in honest combat with new opponents, though he was beginning to miss Haern. Strong as his opponents were, they relied entirely on that strength. He chuckled, realizing he probably felt like Haern in their early days after he and Aurelia had joined the Eschaton.

“I hear we have a true fighter in our midst,” shouted an angel above the rest. The crowd split, revealing Judarius and his enormous mace. He hefted it onto his shoulder and bowed with his free arm held against his chest. “Care for a duel, halforc?”

“Been wanting some fun,” Harruq said, twirling his swords. “So let’s go.”

“Give it to him, Har!” Tarlak shouted from outside the ring of angels, having arrived with the crowd. “Just remember, it’s not your life on the line, just your pride. Oh, and your woman!”

Harruq shook his head as he tensed, already deciding who his next opponent would be. Judarius did not attack, instead watching and waiting for the halforc to make a move.

“Patient, are we?” Harruq asked as the two circled.

“You excel in your reactions,” Judarius said. “You’re faster than you look, and you use that. But what if someone matches you in speed?”

The angel swung, the mace nothing but a blur. Harruq braced his legs and slammed both swords in the way, gasping for air as they connected. It felt like Judarius had swung a boulder at him. Grass tore as his feet slid across the ground. Before he could react the mace was coming in for a second hit. Harruq leaped back, not dumb enough to try another block, but Judarius was ready, lunging in with his elbow leading. Harruq ducked, slashed with Salvation to buy some separation, and then thrust both blades. Judarius’s mace twirled in his hands, batting them away.

Again their weapons crashed into each other, strength versus strength. Harruq grimaced, just barely able to hold back the enormous mace.

“You can’t out-react,” Judarius said. “Your best hope is a stalemate, but I am the stronger. You have no hope of winning.”

“Forgot one thing,” Harruq said as he pushed away the mace and slammed his swords together. “I can get really, really pissed.”

Harruq lunged, roaring like a wild animal released from a cage. Judarius parried the first couple strikes, but Harruq kept coming, his hands a blur. He pressed and pressed, unafraid of the giant mace, until he was close enough to drop Salvation and slam his fist into Judarius’s face. As the angel staggered, Harruq kicked out his legs, blocked a desperate swing with the mace, and then descended upon him, his knees on his throat and Condemnation stabbing into his arm.

This time there were no cheers or clapping. The angels stood stunned, their greatest fighter knocked low by a mere mortal. Harruq stood, sheathed Condemnation, and then offered a hand.

“We’re good at adapting,” Harruq said. “You need to remember that.”

Judarius accepted the hand, but his face was a somber glare as he brushed the dirt and grass from his armor. Blood trickled from his nose.

“I have much to practice, and much to learn,” Judarius said. “That should never happen again.”

He pushed his way through the angels, but before he could leave Ahaesarus was there, blocking his way.

“If we underestimate them, it is always our own failure,” Ahaesarus said. Judarius glanced back at Harruq, shook his head, and then continued on without saying a word.

“I’m sorry,” Harruq said as Ahaesarus approached and the rest of the angels dispersed. “Didn’t mean to upset him.”

“Just as we need to learn of you, you need to learn of us,” Ahaesarus said. “We are not perfect. We have pride and anger and doubt like we did when we served Ashhur on Dezrel. Judarius needed a bit of humbling.”

Ahaesarus led him back to Aurelia and Tarlak, who sat waiting by the fire.

“Now that was great,” Tarlak said, a giant grin on his face. “You did us human types proud.”

“We’re but soldiers made for battle,” Ahaesarus said. “So forgive us if your creature comforts are lacking, and the food poor. It doesn’t appear we will catch the demons. If we cannot gain ground, we will slow our pace and link up with Antonil’s army.”

“It seems that will be the case,” Tarlak said. “Where’d the paladins run off to, by the way?”

Ahaesarus chuckled. “They are discussing what you would refer to as theology with Azariah. I would stay away if I were you.”

“Not much for the particulars?” Tarlak asked. Instead Ahaesarus shook his head and patted his sword.

“Ashhur has given me people to protect and a sword to protect them with,” the angel said. “For me, that is enough.”

Q
urrah hurried throughout the camp, doing his best to find comforts that weren’t there. Pillows, blankets, even torn cloaks would do. He looked wearied and feverish, his skin pale and his shoulders stooped.

“She still has weeks before she will be give birth,” Velixar said as he watched Qurrah search through their supplies. “There is no need to panic.”

“The months have been hard on her,” Qurrah said, shaking his head. “Traveling night and day, hanging from the arms of demons, all because we cannot rest, cannot slow.”

“She is a strong woman. And Veldaren is not far. Just a few more days, Qurrah, she can last that long.”

“No!” Qurrah shouted. He turned and gestured to the surrounding forest, the trees blooming with orange flowers and thick, wide leaves. “Here. We stay here.”

The man in black crossed his arms. His shifting face narrowed in the center, as if his entire being were focused where he glared.

“You will be vulnerable,” said Velixar. “We have not made it this far for you to be ambushed now.”

“Harruq’s pets are miles away,” Qurrah said. “And it doesn’t matter. Months left or not, our child is coming soon. Tess knows it, and I trust her. Now please, out of my way.”

Velixar stepped aside. As Qurrah hurried past, Velixar pulled his hood low and looked away.

“I will be near,” he said. “There is an old altar to Karak a mile north, following the creek upstream. I will pray for you both.”

“Thank you,” Qurrah said, his entire body sagging as if hundreds of men clung to his back and limbs. “But we won’t need it.”

The demon army took flight as the sun set, leaving Qurrah alone in the sudden silence. To him, it was a great relief. Solitude was something he craved, and for months, solitude was the one thing he had been denied during their flight across Dezrel. But now they were alone, just he and Tessanna.

“Finally,” Qurrah whispered.

Deeper into the forest the trees closed together, as if their trunks and roots intertwined, making them one being. Tessanna lay against one such tree with two trunks, a few thin blankets underneath her swollen form. Sweat poured down her face.

“Not ready,” Tessanna said as she saw his approach.

“You will do fine,” Qurrah said, laying a cloak across her body as she shivered in the cool night air.

“Not me,” she said, then winced as an enormous cramp filled her abdomen. She closed her eyes and clawed the grass. Qurrah watched, a horrible sickness in his chest. His beloved was suffering, and there was nothing he could do to ease the pain. Nothing he could do to quicken the experience. He could only remain at her side, impotent, worthless.

No
, he thought as Tessanna grabbed his hand and held on as if her whole body were falling from him. He wasn’t worthless. He was needed, desperately so. He put both his hands around hers, and when her pain subsided he allowed himself to smile.

“You will be a good mother,” he said to her.

“And you’ll be a horrible father,” she said, aware enough in her exhaustion to crack a smile. “Get me something to bite. This is only going to get worse.”

He found her a stick, used his dagger to carve off the crumbly outer layer, and then handed it to her. She bit down on the center, breathed deep, and then moaned as another wave of pain flooded through her abdomen. Qurrah held her hand, stroked her face, and kept silent, wishing again and again he could ease her pain.

An hour passed. He checked her only once, and saw nothing resembling a baby. Her cramps worsened, and it seemed she clung to life by a single, vicious thread of pain and determination. Every wave she leaned forward, tears flowing from her eyes as she moaned and screamed and pushed. Every wave he thought she would die, her tiny frame breaking under the stress. But she was strong, so much stronger than he had ever given her credit for.

Another hour passed. He checked her, and saw what he thought was a head. He kissed her fingers and told her.

“I know,” Tessanna said between deep, labored breaths. “I can feel her when I push.”

“Her?” Qurrah asked, a tiny smile pulling at his lips.

“I know it’s a her,” she said, leaning back and trying to relax even as her lower back throbbed in agony. “I just know.”

The night deepened. Every few minutes her screams pierced the silence. Tessanna felt the baby’s shoulders push through. The pain was beyond immense. The pain was everything. Blood poured out of her. Qurrah knelt at her feet, a blanket in his hands. She had to be close, she had to be. Her body couldn’t take anymore. She felt herself tearing. The contractions worsened. She pushed and pushed.

“Get it out of me,” she sobbed, her dark hair matted to her face.

“One more,” Qurrah said, same as always. “Just one more.”

She gave him one more. She pushed, and Qurrah cried out as he saw the child’s head push through. Fluids rushed over his hands, but he didn’t care. He grabbed the little form and pulled.

“A girl,” Qurrah said as he lifted her to his chest. The forest turned silent but for Tessanna’s gasps of air. The silence turned cold.

“Qurrah?” Tessanna said, trying to sit up but unable to muster the strength. “Qurrah? Say something!”

The child wasn’t moving.

Qurrah used his dagger to cut the umbilical cord, then dropped it. He put his finger into the baby’s mouth, clearing out what he could see, but it didn’t matter. He held no life. He held a shell. He stroked the girl’s face with a trembling hand. Her eyes were closed. Her nose was scrunched against her face from the birth. Red splotches covered her slimy pink skin. But she was beautiful. And she was stillborn.

“Qurrah!” Tessanna cried amid a deep sob.

“You bastard,” Qurrah whispered, tears pouring down his cheeks. “How dare you? How dare you…”

“Give her to me,” Tessanna screamed. Qurrah wrapped the body in a cloak and handed it over. Tessanna clung the child to her chest, weeping. Qurrah stood, his whole body shaking, his heart swirling with too many emotions to understand. Above it all, above the pain and the betrayal, he felt anger.