David Dalglish - The Shadows of Grace

As if summoned by his name, the castle doors opened a second time, and out stepped Dieredon. He took his bow from one of the guards and slung it around his back. With a joyless look he bowed to the Eschaton.

“The queen here is far more agreeable than Vaelor ever was,” he said. “A pleasant surprise.”

“We’ve had enough chatter with the queen to last a lifetime,” Tarlak said. “Come, we need to eat, and celebrate!”

“Tar…” Jerico started, but didn’t continue. Dieredon, seeing this, finished what Jerico would not.

“The demon army is but three days away,” the elf said. “There is no time for celebration.”

“Three days?” Tarlak said, the blood draining from his face. “But that’s impossible, how could they have caught up so fast?”

“The dead in their army don’t tire,” Jerico said, shifting the shield on his back and wincing as if remembering a painful memory. “And the demons have incredible stamina. As for the rest, they are fanatical, and push themselves to near death every day without pause.”

“The queen has marshaled her soldiers from all over the country,” Dieredon said. “Many won’t make it in time. As for the outlying farms and villages, she has sent out riders warning of the danger. No matter what she does, though, thousands will die.”

“Enough,” Tarlak said. He grabbed Jerico’s shoulder and led him down the stone steps toward the main streets. “Tonight we celebrate. One we all thought was dead is alive. Tomorrow, we worry about armies and demons.”

Once gathered round a fire with warm food, they let Jerico tell his story. Antonil was not among them, for upon hearing of the enemy’s proximity he had begun rounding up his soldiers, finding them horses and preparing for battle. Lathaar and Mira sat side by side, while opposite them Harruq and Aurelia cuddled in each other’s arms. Jerico and Tarlak sat between the two couples, with the mage prodding whatever information he could out of Jerico.

“It was Tessanna that first kept me alive,” Jerico said. “I’m not sure why. Curiosity, perhaps, or vengeance. Qurrah didn’t approve, and that’s putting it mildly.”

“Does he control the army?” Harruq asked, the first time he’d spoken since they all had gathered.

“No,” Jerico said after a pause. “And neither does Velixar. One of the war demons commands the troops, but they treat Qurrah and Velixar with an odd reverence.”

“They need them to keep the portal open,” Tarlak said. “Lovely as Dezrel is, I’m thinking they want to go home after they’ve conquered everything.”

“It’s possible,” Jerico said. “I fought Qurrah once before, at the Sanctuary. He is a shadow of what he was. He looks sick, and very tired.”

Harruq frowned at this but kept silent.

“What are we looking at in terms of numbers?” Tarlak asked.

“Several thousand undead,” Jerico said. “And Dieredon said his scouts estimated a thousand of the war demons. Toss in the priests and paladins of Karak, and a few hundred of their ‘tested’ as they call them, and we’re looking at one formidable army.”

“You forgot to add Tessanna and Qurrah to that list,” Aurelia said. “They count as another five hundred or so soldiers.”

“If not more,” Tarlak added.

Harruq stood, and when Aurelia frowned he only shook his head.

“Just need to be alone for awhile,” he muttered. Jerico stood as the half-orc wandered off, bowing to the rest of the Eschaton.

“I need a moment with him,” he said. The others nodded, understanding.

Solitude was difficult with so many people about, but Harruq headed for a stretch of wall where no one lingered. Jerico caught up to him and walked at his side.

“Your brother,” Jerico said as he slowed to a walk.

“I know,” Harruq said. “He’s going to get us all killed, Jerico. My fault, my own damn fault.”

“How?” Jerico asked. “How could this be your fault?”

“Because he should be dead!” Harruq said, spinning so he could face Jerico. “I had the chance and I couldn’t do it. You paladins can preach about mercy and forgiveness, but when it all comes down to it, I should have killed him.”

“This is not the time for endless doubting and blame,” Jerico said. He grabbed the top of Harruq’s armor and yanked him close. “And your brother hates what he has become, as does his lover. They are stranded, and don’t know any other way. All they want is to escape.”

“Let go of me,” Harruq said, pushing the paladin away. Jerico spun his arms in a circle, parrying away his arms and grabbing the armor a second time.

“Tessanna is with child!” Jerico said, his voice a forceful whisper. “Now do you understand?”

Harruq’s whole body went limp, as if he had been struck paralyzed by the words.

“A child?” he said, as if distant from the world. “They will have a child?”

“Yes,” Jerico said. “She is close to five months.”

Harruq took a step back, then fell to his knees. Memory after memory of Aullienna flashed before his eyes. He remembered her life, her smile, her crying. The first time she had called him dada.

“How can he hope to raise a life in this world?” Harruq asked.

“He can’t,” Jerico said. “And he knows it. They want to escape. They travel with Velixar not out of vengeance or anger, but out of desperation. It is all they know.”

The paladin knelt down beside him.

“All they know is murder, anger, and betrayal. But what if they knew grace? What if they knew mercy? Qurrah has tasted it only once, and it was from your hand. He didn’t understand it then, and he still doesn’t now.”

“Leave me,” Harruq said. “Just leave me alone.”

“If the world ends, it ends,” Jerico said as he stood. “Even if your brother kills us all, it changes nothing. We will all die in time. I await rest in the golden eternity. What awaits you?”

“Punishment,” Harruq said as Jerico turned to walk away. “For everyone I murdered.”

“It is your choice,” Jerico said, glancing over his shoulder. “But why you would choose that, I don’t know.”

Jerico left him to wallow in his self-loathing.

T he light of the sun was just a hint upon the eastern horizon when Harruq stirred. He made sure Aurelia stayed asleep before grabbing his swords and armor and slipping away. He strapped his swords to his belt and buckled on his armor as he walked.

“A show of faith,” he whispered into the morning air, remembering Mira’s words. “So be it.”

A cold wind blew, and it carried tension and fear in its talons. The past two days had stretched painfully long, with Harruq having little to do. He spent his time mulling over the words of Mira, Bernard, and Jerico. With each passing hour, his mood had darkened, and the city with it. More and more people poured through the gates, fleeing the dark army destroying everything in its path. But now it was here. The day of reckoning had come. Horrific battle awaited them all, but Harruq would meet its challenge.

When he arrived at the outer gate several guards lingered about, edgy and nervous. They saw him and reached for their weapons.

“Open the gate,” Harruq ordered. They looked to one another, and to help their decision along he drew his swords, the steel a deep black, the blades glowing crimson.

“I said open it.”

A quick shout and the doors creaked open just enough for him to slip through.

“Coward,” one of the guards muttered as Harruq exited the city. The half-orc ignored the insult. Without pause he trudged east, his shoulders hunched as if he bore a tremendous burden. He kept his swords drawn. They gave him courage, and that was something he desperately needed. The two walls shrank behind him. One foot after another, he told himself. He had to put the city far away, so he had no chance to run. All or nothing. A sign of faith.