The Shadows of Grace (52 page)

“Enough arrows,” the elf said. “Let’s build a wall of bodies.”

A combination of tested and undead ran up the steps, stumbling over the fallen. The second they neared, Dieredon was upon them, spinning and twirling his bladed bow like it was a part of his body, a mere extension of his will. The magic on it was strong, and it cut through bone with ease. Haern stayed at his side, parrying away any attack that neared Dieredon, and gutting any that tried to ignore the elf and run past. The guards, in awe, felt hope renewed in their hearts.

“For the Queen!” they shouted, joining in the fight, pushing and shoving their enemies toward the spinning death that was Dieredon.

“Priest!” one of them shouted. Dieredon paused, and sure enough he saw a man in black robes at the foot of the steps. When the priest looked up, his eyes shimmering red, the elf felt his hopes sink.

“Get into the castle,” the elf said to the others. “Now!”

The panic in his voice was enough for them to turn and bang on the castle doors.

“What is going on?” Haern demanded.

“Take Sonowin and go,” Dieredon said. “I don’t know if she can fly or not, but don’t let her die here.”

“I can help you!” Haern shouted.

“The city is lost!” Dieredon shouted back, shoving the assassin. “Now get her to safety!”

Melorak pulled his hood off his head and raised his arms. High in the sky, the lion roared, and as the roar shook the city, the priest glowed with red fire. It did not consume him. The rest of the army stayed behind, not daring to come between their master and his prey.

“We come as conquerors,” Melorak said. “Step aside or be burned.”

Haern leaped atop Sonowin and wrapped his arms around her neck. Dieredon patted her side and whispered something into her ear. The majestic horse snorted and shook her head.

“Go!” Dieredon shouted to Haern. Sonowin spread her wings and took a tentative step. Her wings fluttered, and as their strength remained firm, she leaped from the steps, her wings flapping. She soared into the air, Haern on her back. Dieredon watched, a smile on his face to see his beloved Sonowin able to fly again. The smile faded as his eyes shifted downward, to where Melorak stood shaking his head.

“You should have gone with him,” the priest said.

“One more chance,” Dieredon said as he held his bow with its blades out. “I end you, and this world is better for it.”

“I end you,” Melorak said, “and
my
world is better for it.”

Dieredon leaped, the blade on the end of his bow aimed straight for Melorak’s throat. He stopped halfway down the steps, slamming into a wall of air that rippled into visibility at his contact. As he fell, Melorak cast a spell, bathing the elf in fire. He screamed and rolled across the steps, but could not extinguish the flame. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a silver vial, then smashed it against his chest. Cool blue light bathed over him, banishing the fire and softening his burns.

“Pathetic,” Melorak said, the fire swarming around his body pooling into his palms. “I expected better.”

Dieredon drew an arrow and fired. The arrow punched through the fire and flesh, its tip sticking out the other side of Melorak’s hand. The priest screamed, his concentration broken. The fire fell like lava to the ground, melting the stone. Dieredon fired a second arrow, but it halted in the air as if gripped by an invisible fist.

“We’ve played this game before,” Melorak said between gasps of pain. A clenching of his fist and the arrow shattered. “I won, remember?”

“It’s a new game,” Dieredon said as he stood. “You’re bleeding.”

Another clenched fist and the arrow stuck in his hand shattered. Blood poured down his arm and dripped across the ground. Dieredon was closer now, and he twirled his bow as he stared down Melorak, watching, waiting.

Melorak hurled a bolt of shadow. Dieredon somersaulted over it, his feet landing on Melorak’s shoulders. He twisted, locking the priest’s neck in his grip and pulling him down. As he landed he spun, ramming a blade straight for Melorak’s head. The priest shifted just enough so that the blade struck the ground, just grazing his cheek. As the blood dripped, Melorak shoved the palm of his hand against Dieredon’s chest and let loose all his fury. Shadows and fire blasted into Dieredon, flinging him several feet back. Dieredon twisted his body so he landed on his feet, jamming his bow into the stone to halt his movement.

Neither said a word as they both struggled to breathe. The elf’s chest was mangled and burned, and his hair hung wild and drenched with sweat over his face. Melorak clutched his bleeding hand and glared, one eye shut from the blood that ran into it. Sonowin circled high above, and upon her back Haern watched. All around, priests and dark paladins gathered, not daring to interfere.

Melorak reached into his pocket and hurled a handful of bones, animating them with magic so they flew like bullets. Dieredon spun his bow and ducked. They punched into his body, leaving deep welts but causing no serious harm. Dieredon drew several arrows, firing them in rapid succession. Melorak caught them all with his mind, shaking his head as if disappointed. But Dieredon was not finished. He dropped his bow and charged, and before Melorak could shatter them, he grabbed an arrow from its position, mere inches from Melorak’s chest, and rammed it forward. Melorak gasped as the arrow punctured his robe, slipped between his ribs, and entered a lung.

In the sky above, the lion roared in fury.

Dieredon snapped off the shaft and then knocked him back with an elbow to the face. Melorak tumbled down the steps, his body rolling to the feet of the onlookers.

The elf retrieved his bow. His ears heard only gasps of shock and horror. He turned about, drew an arrow, and smirked at the servants of Karak.

“Next?” he asked.

“Not yet,” Melorak gasped. He sat on his knees, propping his weight up on one hand while the other clutched the arrow in his chest. “Karak damn it all,
not yet
.”

Fire swirled around his body, descending from the heavens like an infernal pillar. He closed his eyes and raised his arms to the sky, letting it cleanse, letting it purify him of his weaknesses, his frailty of flesh. His blood froze. Consumed, he grinned at Dieredon, his red eyes burning in a maniacal flame. His flesh was dead. His body was bone and fire. His hands, burnt of all muscle and skin, were nothing but long black extensions, charred bone given life by Karak’s power. They closed around the stub of wood in his chest and pulled out the arrow. He did not bleed.

“We’re not done yet,” Melorak said. An illusion fell over his face, hiding the skull, covering it with flesh and hair that constantly shifted and changed.

Dieredon grabbed his bow and tensed. Power swelled in Melorak’s hands, dark magic that yearned for release. Before it could, Sonowin flew low, and from her back Haern fell, his sabers ready.

“Take her and go!” Haern shouted as his sabers buried deep inside Melorak’s neck. He twisted and kicked, knocking Melorak to the ground. Sonowin banked, stretching her wings wide so she floated just above Dieredon. She neighed, and the elf glanced between the two, unable to decide.

“I said go!” Haern shouted as Melorak’s body suddenly burst into flame. Dieredon hooked his bow on his back and jumped. He flung his arms around Sonowin’s neck and held on as she flew away.

“You fool,” Melorak said as Haern stabbed his sabers again and again into Melorak’s neck and shoulders. The fire grew stronger, and he felt his hands blistering and his eyes watering. The cuts did nothing. It was as if he were assaulting an armored man with only weapons of straw. The priest turned and grabbed Haern’s wrists. His red eyes flared with life. The fire traveled higher, charring Haern’s arms and neck.

“I will torture you,” Melorak swore. “For years you will beg for death.”

Haern only chuckled as his chest jerked forward.

“Ashhur,” he said, his whole body going limp, “has me now.”

He fell into Melorak’s arms as if embracing him. Lodged deep in his back was a single arrow, its aim true, its tip lodged deep inside his heart.

Melorak shoved the body away and glared at the retreating horse in the sky.

“You are lucky to have such suicidal friends,” the priest said, then dismissed the troublesome elf. He had work to do.

“Come!” he shouted to his minions. “The castle is ours.”

He climbed the steps, blasting open the castle doors with a wave of his hand. As the wood and metal splintered and shrieked, he saw several guards with their weapons drawn, determined to protect their queen to the very end. He bathed them in shadow and fire, not slowing his approach. He walked between their bodies, down the red carpet, to the throne where Queen Annabelle sat waiting.

“What will you do to my people?” she asked, remaining seated.

“They will serve Karak, or they will die,” Melorak said.

“Then I pray many join me in death,” she said.

Melorak smirked.

“Such cowardice,” he said. “Die well, Queen.”

He pressed his palm against her face. Before he could cast his spell, she pulled a dagger from underneath the folds of her dress and stabbed it into his eye. Melorak shrieked and staggered back. Black liquid ran down his face. In his fury, he cast a spell, annihilating the entire throne in a great explosion of lightning. With his lone good eye, he stared at the queen’s corpse, his dead heart throbbing with hatred as he yanked out the dagger.

“It doesn’t matter,” he said as servants of Karak poured into the castle, searching for any remaining soldiers. “The city is ours.”

Far above Dieredon flew, watching the waves of undead filter through the streets. When he flew over the wall he saw the soldiers surrendering their weapons. Above him, the lion roared one last time before dissolving into smoke. The battle was over.

Karak had won.

H
arruq flew in the arms of an angel, Aurelia and Tarlak at either side. Before them loomed Veldaren, the city a dark specter in the early morning. No fires lit the streets, and no torches marked the castle.

“They will be ready for us,” his angel shouted over the rushing wind. “I will do my best, but be prepared to drop at any time.”

“Will do!” Harruq shouted back.

It seemed the entire city was empty, but then the sky filled with crimson armor. Demons flew into the air, gathering in formations to counter the waves of angels that approached. Harruq’s group split in two, each one heading for a gate. If they were lucky they would be poorly guarded. Antonil’s troops marched after, awaiting signal from either gate that it was open.

Demons lined the walls, and as they neared hurled their spears. Harruq closed his eyes and winced, waiting for either he or his angel to be hit. Neither was. He opened his eyes again to watch the wall go whizzing underneath them. Tarlak and Aurelia veered toward the western gate. He had time to see only a confused look on Aurelia’s face before they were gone, dropped onto the streets amid countless demons.

Harruq sighed, praying for their safety as his angel dipped down, trying to avoid the battle erupting all around them. Ahaesarus and Judarius led the bulk of their forces above the city, and like at Mordeina they showered the ground with blood and corpses.

“Anywhere near the center of the city,” Harruq shouted. “I’ll find him from there.”

“We’ve been spotted,” his angel cried, glancing behind him. He beat his wings faster, but he carried a load, and the two demons that chased after were light and fast.

“Good luck,” the angel shouted, dipping down and letting go. Harruq tucked and rolled as he’d been taught, feeling like a child’s plaything as he bounced along. He emerged relatively unscathed and unnoticed, the two demons chasing after the angel instead of going for him.

“All right, Qurrah,” he said, looking about the empty street. “Where the Abyss are you?”

T
hey waited at the shattered remnants of Veldaren’s fountain. It was the only place that made sense. Qurrah stared at the crumpled pieces of what had once been the image of a mighty king. He had met Tessanna at that fountain, mesmerized by her beauty, her strangeness, and her blood dripping from her wrist to the water. The main roads from both gates met there before turning north toward the castle. If his brother was to pass through the city, he was most likely to meet him there.

“What do you plan to do?” Tessanna asked. She leaned against the toppled stone horse the statue had ridden upon. She stared at her hands, unwilling to look her lover in the eye.

“I’m not sure,” Qurrah said. He scanned the sky, filled with demons and angels locked in combat. He heard sounds from both gates, and several trumpet calls.

“What happens when they arrive, Qurrah?” she asked. She glanced at him, only briefly. “What happens then?”

“I said I don’t know!” He made a movement with his hands, as if dismissing the whole notion. “And it doesn’t matter.”

“If Tarlak or his wife is with him, they will attack me,” Tessanna said. “Or my mirror, she will attack as well. What do you want me to do?”

“It won’t happen,” Qurrah said. This time he avoided her stare. “I want you to leave me be.”

Tessanna’s eyes widened. Her face locked into a ferocious stare, as if chiseled out of marble.