A Sliver of Redemption (38 page)

“We’ve done this before!” Velixar cried, hurling an orb of darkness that glimmered with stars and planets and many things Tessanna had no names for. Qurrah summoned his shield, and it did not break. Arms crossed, he shoved the orb back. Velixar stepped aside. The orb continued on, its detonation destroying several homes. As the gold and pearl rained down, Qurrah approached his former master. Velixar flung bolts of shadow, but they would not stop him. He flung meteors swirling with ice, but they did not stop him. Qurrah’s eyes shimmered, and then he cast a spell neither Velixar nor Tessanna knew he could cast.

A single shaft of light shone from his hands, its essence clean and pure. When it flashed over Velixar’s skin, he shrieked in pain, his flesh shriveling like cloth within a fire. His ever-changing visage halted, becoming nothing but dead skin clinging to an ancient skull. He lifted his arms to cast a spell, but Qurrah was there, grabbing his wrists. They wrestled, each incredibly strong. Tessanna felt Velixar’s will fighting against her, desperate to give orders to Qurrah and reassert control. She denied him, even as it made her crumple against the ground and weep from the pain.

“Everything you’ve said,” Qurrah said, his eyes shimmering gold. “Everything was a lie.”

He crushed Velixar’s wrists, broke the bone, and tore the hands free. Dropping them, he clutched Velixar’s throat and let loose all his anger, all his frustration, all the despair and betrayal suffered at his hands.

“This is for Aullienna,” he said as flames burst from every inch of Velixar’s skin. “This is for making us your playthings. Go to your beloved Karak, you wretch, and see how free of the fire you’ll truly be.”

Tessanna felt the prophet’s will no longer press against her. He thrashed and howled, but the fire consumed him, consumed his robes, his bones. When only ash remained, she stood, her wings breaking away in a thousand feathers floating on a strong wind. She ran to Qurrah, flung her arms around him, and buried her face in his chest.

“Oh Qurrah,” she cried. “You’re free! You’re free!”

He clutched her tight, and his body quivered.

“Thank you,” he whispered, and even in his dead state she could hear the emotion threatening to overtake him. “Thank you, Tess. Thank you.”

Her tears spilled across the blood on his white robes, but she felt such relief, she could not bear to pull away.

T
he first thing Harruq saw within the tower was two dead demons, and his heart was beyond grateful. Still feeling sluggish, he looked about, trying to get his bearings as well as push Qurrah’s struggle out of his mind. There was too much there he didn’t understand. The tower was thin, and it looked like it contained little more than stairs winding upward. He staggered up them, his swords clacking against the walls. When he reached the top, a demon toppled down, smoke pouring from his mouth. He shoved it aside and climbed into a large chamber with windows on all sides. In the center was a bell, and leaning against the bell was Aurelia. Blood dripped down the bronze surface.

“Aurry!” he cried, sheathing his swords and taking her into his arms.

“I’m fine,” she said, gently pushing him away. “Just a cut on the arm. Lucky he had little room to swing.”

Harruq looked out the windows toward the inner parts of the city. The bulk of the demons were flocking toward a single building. It was the angels’ temple, he remembered from his little time spent in Avlimar. It made perfect sense for Ahaesarus to make his last stand there.

“We’ve got to get to the temple,” he said, pointing. “Can you walk?”

She rolled her eyes. “I’m cut, not dead. And I can do you one better.”

The elf peered out the window, focusing on the temple. After a moment, she closed her eyes and cast a spell, summoning a swirling blue portal before her.

“Let’s go,” she said, taking his hand and pulling him through.

He felt a rapid moment of vertigo, then took in his new surroundings. They were inside the temple, its vaulted ceiling hundreds of feet above them. The windows were filled with painted glass, many broken and cracked from the fighting. They’d entered beside a wall not far from the doors, where the angels formed ranks to fight off the swarming demons.

“Watch the windows,” he heard Ahaesarus shout, and Harruq glanced back at one behind him depicting a single tree growing alone in a field. A shadow passed over it, and then a war demon came crashing through.

“Down!” Harruq shouted, pulling Aurelia with him. They hit the ground as the demon rolled over them, still struggling to draw his weapon. As his wings unfolded, Harruq leapt atop him, slamming his head with his fists.

“Harruq!” Aurelia shouted, tossing him one of his dropped swords. He snatched it out of the air and thrust it between the wings, the blade scraping against spine. Twisting it free, he glanced back up to view the combat. More demons were crashing through windows, their wings folded against their sides to prevent injury. Ahaesarus’s angels rushed to meet them, while at the far back, Azariah and his angel priests cast waves of blessings, healing wounds and bolstering the morale of the defenders.

“Join them at the back,” Harruq said, grabbing his other sword. “Do what you can to protect them with your spells.”

“And you?” Aurelia asked.

He gestured to the main conflict at the doors.

“Where else?” he asked.

Before he could go she grabbed his armor, pulled him close, and kissed him.

“Don’t die,” she said before hurrying to the angels at the altar, stopping twice to hurl bolts of fire through the windows at attacking demons.

Harruq forced himself to look away to the task at hand. He didn’t know how many were left throughout the city, but less than fifty angels held the temple, with Ahaesarus leading them. Twirling his swords, he barreled through their ranks to the center, joining the leader’s side.

“I’m glad to see you safe,” Ahaesarus said, disemboweling his foe with his enormous sword. “I feared the worst.”

Harruq parried a glaive, stepped forward, and tore out the demon’s throat with Condemnation. When another thrust his sword, Harruq shoved it upward, his blades crossed. With his right weapon he shoved the attack aside, and his left, stabbed. Blood spilled from the demon’s neck as he gasped for air. When he fell back, a third came flying in, hurling a spear. Harruq tensed, realizing he had no time to dodge, but then Judarius was there, slapping the projectile to splinters with his mace.

“On your toes, half-orc,” the angel said, his face wrapped in bandages. “I will not be denied more duels because of your sloppiness.”

Harruq chuckled but held back his retort. The sight outside the temple was too horrific for even him to joke about. War demons by the hundreds were funneling toward them. They came in great waves, putting all of his skill to the test. He slashed and spun, giving every movement over to his deeper instincts, honed to perfection by thousands of hours practicing with Haern. Whenever one scored a cut, he never felt it, though he knew the blood ran freely down his armor. One after another he cut them down, matching even Judarius in kills.

“Fall back!” Ahaesarus cried. “Too many come through the windows!”

Harruq yanked his sword free of a punctured armor piece and stole a glance back. Even with Aurelia’s magic, the few angels could not hold back so many pouring through.

“Go!” he screamed, shoving Judarius back. “I’ll hold the doors!”

Half the angels retreated further into the temple, coming to the aid of their hard-pressed companions. Ahaesarus remained, along with two others. Side by side, they filled the great entryway to the temple.

“You do your mortal brethren proud,” Ahaesarus said in the brief lull as twenty demons circled in the air, preparing for another rush.

“Not done yet,” Harruq said, his chest heaving up and down with each breath. “And don’t think you are, either.”

He heard spells explode behind him, screams of death, and blades tearing flesh. He prayed Aurelia was safe among them, but he couldn’t dare look. Down came the demons, their glaives leading. They had to bank upward just before hitting due to the way the stairs led to the door, and that brief slowdown was enough to keep Harruq and his allies from being slaughtered. They twisted and parried the sharp tips of the glaives, though one of the angels gasped as it pierced through the bone of his left wing, pinning him to the wall.

“Hold on!” Harruq shouted, stabbing a demon through the eye, spinning, and cutting another down in midair. He tried to protect the angel, but his sword swung too late. The angel fell, his throat cut. Though Harruq killed the attacker, he felt no satisfaction, only growing rage. Ahaesarus kept his sword swinging in wide arcs, steady and skillful. The bodies built up before them, and at last the demons pulled back, half of them dead, and several more injured.

The three spaced out to fill the void and waited.

“Harruq,” said Ahaesarus. “He is almost here. I want you to stay back. Thulos is beyond your skill. Only with Ashhur’s blessing do I stand a chance.”

Harruq snorted. “Not leaving. We fight him together.”

An honor guard of thirty flew before them, just outside of reach. They saluted in reverence, then landed. As they spread out, their wings folding in, Thulos stepped forward from their center. His armor shone in the light, his breastplate splattered with blood. He pulled his greatsword from his back and held it aloft with one hand. He smiled at Ahaesarus, as if all were right with the world.

“You may surrender,” Thulos said. “Though I would be saddened. Otherwise, you may die honorably in battle. Choose, warrior of Ashhur.”

Ahaesarus lifted his sword and made a single slashing motion. Thulos’s smile grew.

“Excellent,” he said.

His lunge was faster than Harruq would have thought possible, had he not seen it before in Veldaren. Before it gutted Ahaesarus where he stood, Harruq slammed both his blades in the way, snarling to ignore the pain in his arms.

“No!” he heard the angel scream. Before Harruq could pull his swords back, Thulos’s fist smashed the side of his head, flinging him back. The other side of his face smacked the wall, and stars exploded across his vision. The sound of combat met his ears, steel ringing against steel at a horrific speed. He tried to clear his thoughts, but all he could think of was getting to Aurelia. At first he crawled on his knees, then found the strength to stand. The temple swam about him, and he swore the ground shook unsteady beneath him.

“Harruq,” he heard his wife cry, and he felt such relief as her hands wrapped about him.

“Hold him steady,” said another, a voice he vaguely recognized. One of the angels…

Light shone across him, soothing and pure. His disorientation faded, and he looked up to see Azariah standing over him. He wasn’t looking back, though, instead staring at the door.

“Even here, the war god cannot be stopped,” said the angel.

“No,” Harruq growled. He clutched his swords tight. “How can you say that?”

“Because Ahaesarus cannot stop him,” Azariah said. “And now Judarius joins his side, and still they cannot.”

Harruq watched from his knees as the two angels battled Thulos. Their attacks were perfectly synchronized, the sword and mace striking high and low, protecting one’s retreat or feinting to open up the other’s attack. It didn’t matter. Thulos’s sword was a blur as he parried and blocked, just a deadly blur until it drew blood. Judarius fell back, a wicked gash in his chest. Ahaesarus leapt before him, blocking the killing blow. Their swords connected, and Thulos pressed the attack, challenging the angels’ strength to stand against him.

“No,” Harruq said again, feeling his rage grow. He stood, the rest of the battle fading away until all he saw was the war god. “Give me your blessing, Azariah. I can stop him.”

“Harruq,” Aurelia said, sounding worried. “Your eyes…”

“Azariah!” he cried, ignoring her.

The priest placed his hands on Harruq’s forehead and whispered a single prayer. The half-orc prayed along, for the words came natural, the desire shared.

“Give him your strength.”

As Thulos cut Ahaesarus down, Harruq charged. Salvation and Condemnation crashed in, their blades shining white, yet leaving an afterimage of red with the swing. Thulos blocked, and this time it was his turn to be surprised.

“Who are you?” Thulos asked.

Harruq chuckled.

The war god pulled back and swung, again putting every bit of his strength behind it. Harruq flung his sister swords into position, and again they met. The sound was thunder in the temple, showering sparks. Harruq did not falter. He pressed back, stepped close, and then swung. Thulos twisted to the side, shooting out an elbow. Harruq spun to avoid it, his blades twirling above his head. When he exited the spin he was already set to block the next attack. Instead of being cut in half, he shoved Thulos’s sword aside and retreated a half step to reset his favorite stance Haern had taught him.

“Ashhur is with you,” Thulos said, sounding winded. “At last, my brother dares make his presence known.”

Harruq could also feel the presence, a soothing strength flowing through his limbs. His concentration narrowed, and it seemed all others moved slowly through time, all but Thulos. Their swords clashed, parried, and clashed again. Every counter met with block, every riposte met with a dodge. Harruq felt himself slipping into a dance, Thulos a well-familiar partner. The sparks grew, the swords shook, and the dance grew vicious. The elder magic in his swords held them together against the onslaught, blades forged by Karak, cursed by Celestia, and now made holy by Ashhur.