The Shadows of Grace (53 page)

“You bastard,” she said. “You want to die, don’t you?”

“It’s more than that,” Qurrah said.

“No!” she shouted. “You lied. You’ve lied to me, again and again. You won’t seek forgiveness of your guilt, and you won’t rise above it either, so you crawl to your brother and beg for death?”

“Enough!” Qurrah shouted. He turned toward her, clutching his whip in his left hand. Tessanna felt her heart shiver at the way he looked at her. She wasn’t a lover to him, not then. She wasn’t even a friend.

“You coward,” she said, her voice just above a whisper. “What will you tell him? That it was all my fault? I have loved you, in all my frailty. Everything I’ve asked of you, I did because I loved you.”

“Does it even matter?” Qurrah asked. “What good has come of it?”

She took a step back as if stabbed.

“We made a child,” she said, tears welling in her eyes. “We gave each other warmth.”

“Then why?” asked Qurrah. “Why did you sleep with Jerico?”

She bit her lip and had no answer.

“You always ask why you’re not enough, why I don’t accept you as you are,” he continued. “But what of him? Am I not enough for you? What warmth can I be if you go fucking another man?”

She clutched her arms and looked around. She couldn’t stand the way he looked at her. She felt wretched and vile. It felt like the whole world would better for her own death, like a disease being cleansed from the flesh of Dezrel.

“I hate you,” she said. “So much, I hate you.”

She ran north, toward the castle. Qurrah watched her go, the wound in his heart bleeding all the more. Angels died in the sky. Blood fell like rain. Demons joined the angels. Several fell nearby, and he stared at their bodies with a creeping disinterest. He kept searching for troops, listening for armies, but none appeared. And then he saw his brother. He walked down the street, his swords drawn and held low at his sides. Qurrah felt a sudden flush of shame. An urge to flee gripped him, and he almost surrendered to it. Coward, Tessanna had called him. Deep down, he shoved his fear, his shame. He would not give in. Not now.

“You’ve lost,” Harruq said as he approached. He kept his swords ready, certain bloodshed was to follow.

“Perhaps,” Qurrah said, gesturing to the skies where demons and angels battled. “But what does it matter to you and I?”

“The whole world’s crumbling,” said Harruq. “I think that matters a bit to us.”

Harruq tensed as his brother stepped toward him. He braced for a spell, but something was wrong. Tears flowed down the scars on his brother’s face.

“My child,” he said. “My daughter. She died, brother. I held her in my arms, but no life, none.” He shook his head, and in his eyes, Harruq watched something break.

“Qurrah,” he started to say, but his brother cut him off.

“Let me speak,” Qurrah said. “I understand now. I cannot imagine your suffering. I’ve had only a taste, but the pain crushes me and robs my sleep of rest. My child never lived. Yours did, and I stole that from you.”

He fell to his knees and lowered his head. He could not meet his brother’s eyes, which like his, welled with tears.

“I have but one request,” Qurrah said, his hissing voice cracking. “Kill me now, and make it quick. I can bear this guilt no more. For all you have done, I owe you this.”

Harruq felt his swords shake in his hands. He stepped forward, and the times he had fought with his brother flashed before his eyes. He had refused to kill Qurrah before. Because of that, demons now flooded the lands. Because of his choice, many had died.

He raised his sword. He remembered Aullienna, the way she had smiled at him as he tickled her feet. He remembered the way she had floated face down in the water, her life gone. That pain seared him, and the grip on his sword tightened. He stared down at his brother, a broken shell of what he had once been. So many memories. So much pain. What had they done? What glory did they accomplish?

Harruq prepared to swing. He remembered his own kills. He remembered the children he had butchered. He remembered serving Velixar, his body bathed in unholy strength. He remembered the innocents in that small village, pleading as they fled. Women and children. What monsters had he and Qurrah been? Side by side, nothing but monsters.

And then he remembered that moment, broken and on his knees, he had cried out to Ashhur for a shred of mercy, for grace on his pathetic being, all so that he might see his daughter one more time.

“What are you waiting for?” Qurrah asked, his face still cast to the dirt. “Kill me.”

He remembered that first meeting with Qurrah after Aullienna's death. He’d searched for any hint of guilt or regret, and found none. But now, he looked down and saw a broken thing. While Harruq’s hurts had healed, Qurrah was an open wound, festering and bleeding as time only increased the rot. Sad. Miserable. A soul of regret and sadness crippled and abandoned of all hope.

Harruq shook his head. He understood. He finally understood. If he was to receive, he had to give. He sheathed his swords.

“Get up,” he said.

“What?” Qurrah asked, looking up from the ground.

“I said, get up.” Harruq reached down and offered his hand.

“No!” Qurrah shouted. Tears streamed down his face, and his mouth turned into an ugly scowl. “You will not deny me this!”

Harruq grabbed Qurrah’s shoulders and pulled him to his feet. And then he hugged him. Qurrah stood there, his arms hanging limp at his side, his jaw quivering and his heart aching.

“How?” Qurrah asked. “How could you do this to me?”

“I forgive you,” Harruq said. He stepped back and made sure his brother could look him in the eye. “For everything you’ve done, I forgive you.”

The words were like a sword through his heart. All his anguish, all his guilt, it broke, as did he. He couldn’t bear it any more. All his anger, his hate. He’d destroyed how many lives? Part of him refused. He wasn’t worthy. He needed death. He
deserved
it. But he was so tired, so damn tired. His brother’s arms were around him. His smile was upon him. No malice. No lies. Karak had never loved him so. The drain of the portal, still releasing demons into the city, was something he could no longer endure. He let it go.

Qurrah took a breath, and it seemed an enormous weight left his shoulders. He stepped back, feeling embarrassed and ashamed. He felt naked before his brother, and foolish and confused.

“The others,” he said. “They will not forgive so easily.”

“Then shame on them,” Harruq said. A smile crept at the corners of his mouth. “You’re back, Qurrah.” He gestured to the battle raging above him. “Damn it, you’re back!”

“The portal,” Qurrah said. “It should be closed now, but it’s not. I still feel it lingering.”

“The castle, right?” Harruq asked.

“Behind the throne. If we hurry, I might be able to close it. Velixar should be with it, and if he isn’t crushed by the weight, he should still be rendered helpless.”

“Come on, then,” Harruq said, drawing his swords and grinning. “Follow me. Like old times, just better.”

“Indeed,” Qurrah said, wiping tears from his face. “Lead the way.”

T
hey ran toward the castle, avoiding the bodies that fell from the sky. Far behind them the sound of magic and steel rang long and loud. Antonil and his men were pressing into the city, and with Mira, Aurelia, and Tarlak aiding them, they were more than a match for the demonic forces. Pressed by both air and ground, the demons would soon retreat to the portal.

Harruq stopped halfway up the stairs to the castle entrance, turning and waiting for his winded brother. He saw Qurrah glance up at him, his eyes widening. Harruq spun, flinging his swords into a desperate defense. Ulamn landed, swinging his gigantic two-handed sword. Their blades connected, and Harruq felt panic at the immense strength the demon wielded. He fell down the stairs, unable to withstand the blow.

Qurrah was already casting a spell before Ulamn could advance.

“Hemorrhage,” he shouted. Ulamn’s right arm jerked back, and blood poured from within the armor. The demon snarled and clutched his shoulder, holding his sword with his wounded arm. Red light shone around his hand. The flow of blood ceased as one of the rubies in his sword faded black.

“You are fools,” Ulamn said, gripping his sword with both hands and angling his body into a stance. “I coddled you, cur, and now you betray me?”

“Call me a fool all you want,” Qurrah said, his mind racing through the spells he knew. “You’re still going to die.”

Harruq lunged, but Ulamn batted his swords away as if they were toys. His wings spread wide, and with a single flap the force they generated knocked Harruq back down the stairs a second time, muttering and grumbling as he rolled.

“Your wings,” Qurrah said, his mind locked on a spell. “They trouble me.”

He crossed his arms, and red fire danced around his body as if he were a candle struggling to light. When he closed his eyes the fire roared, but not around him. The feathers on Ulamn’s wings burst into flame, surrounding him with thick black smoke. Ulamn pulled his wings tight and screamed in fury. He leaped down the stairs, his sword slamming deep into the ground where Harruq had been. The halforc stepped back, not daring to meet the demon’s strength head on.

And then he could go no further, for he stood directly before Qurrah.

“We might need to run,” he said as Ulamn charged like an enraged bull.

“Stand,” Qurrah said, magic dancing on his fingers. “Fight him!”

Trusting his brother, Harruq met the demon’s attack, blocking it with both his swords. He expected his arms to spasm with pain, and his body to fly back as it had before, but instead Ulamn’s sword retreated. Sparks showered between their weapons, deep black with purple centers. Dark flame surrounded Ulamn’s weapon. He swung, but his own blade resisted his movements, like a limb fighting against its own body. Harruq shoved the attack aside with ease, stepped forward, and stabbed one of his swords through a crease in the demon’s armor.

Ulamn screamed in pain, and as he did the dark fire on his blade vanished. Qurrah gave him no time to recover. His whip lashed, wrapping around fingers. The whip burst into flame, but instead of dropping the sword Ulamn jerked the whip right out of Qurrah’s grasp. The fire vanished, and he shook off the leather with a glare. A few well-placed strikes with his sword sent Harruq staggering back.

“You will beg,” Ulamn said, still stinking of burned feathers. His glare at Qurrah was full of promises. “When your bones are pebbles, and your flesh is peeled and gone, you will beg.”

“Good luck getting to him,” Harruq said, bracing his legs for another charge.

Ulamn burst into a run with such speed Harruq was completely unprepared for the elbow that slammed into his face. He could have been gutted, but Ulamn’s sword slipped right past, aimed straight for Qurrah’s stomach. Qurrah slammed his hands together, yanking a wall of shadow from the ground. The sword could not penetrate. Harruq fell back against the shadow wall, lashing out with his blades. Salvation clacked against armor, but Condemnation nicked a piece of neck, drawing blood. Ulamn swung, attempting to sever Harruq in two. Quick as he had summoned the shadow wall, Qurrah released it. Harruq fell, the gigantic blade slicing the air above his head.

“Hemorrhage,” Qurrah shouted again, leaping past his brother with his hand outstretched. It connected with Ulamn’s chestplate, and from it magic poured out stronger than ever. The demon screamed as the flesh of his chest exploded with blood. He fell to one knee, gasping through the pain. He backhanded Qurrah with his gauntlet, strong enough to draw blood from his nose. With a quivering arm, he grabbed his sword and shoved it forward, hoping to gut Qurrah while he staggered. Harruq, however, had other ideas. From his perch on his back he slapped the blade away with both his swords, rolled to a sitting position, and then lunged. His knee smashed Ulamn’s face. As they heard the sick crunch, Harruq slipped Salvation’s edge against Ulamn’s throat.

“You can yield,” Harruq said as he pressed hard enough to draw blood. “Pull your troops out and be gone.”

“I’d rather die,” Ulamn said. He lunged for his sword, knowing full well he would never reach it. Harruq snarled like a beast as he yanked his blade, tearing open the demon’s throat. Gurgling and gasping, Ulamn clutched the wound with his hands and bled until he died.

“Come,” Qurrah said, grabbing his brother’s arm and pulling him further up the stairs. “Our time is short.”

“Yeah,” Harruq said, wiping blood from his face and following after.

T
essanna stood before the throne room, openly weeping. Her face was not of sorrow, though, but of vicious, unbridled fury. In the corner Velixar lay curled on his hands and knees, gasping out labored breaths as he watched the girl with blackest eyes approach the dying portal.

“You both were fools to try what you did,” she said to Velixar without looking at him. “Neither of you could have survived without my help. Mommy would have torn you to pieces.”

She spun and glared at Karak’s prophet.

“I’ve carried the burden, same as you both,” she said. “But I hid it. You never saw it, never felt it, but I’m why you two never crumpled under the weight. Thousands of troops, you damn fool.”