David Dalglish - The Shadows of Grace

“Karak has told me in his prayers,” he said. “They are here to establish a perfect order. Your right as Queen will not be challenged. They are here to exterminate the refuse of Neldar and the fools that still worship Ashhur. Think of your people, my Queen. Is this a war they should be fighting?”

Queen Annabelle stood, her hand slipping into a hidden pocket of her dress.

“I should look upon this army,” she said. Hayden smiled.

“Of course.”

Side by side they walked down the carpeted hallway to the closed doors of the castle. Hayden knocked twice, and the guards on the other side yanked them open. The castle had been built on a tall hill, and atop the raised steps they could see over the walls.

“Do you see?” Hayden asked as he stepped forward and gestured to the horizon.

“Yes,” the queen said, pulling a dagger out from her pocket. “I see.”

She stabbed him in the back. She let go, leaving the dagger in him. The priest staggered about, his eyes wide and his mouth locked open in shock. At last he fell. The two guards at the doors turned and looked at their queen, who glared at them.

“All priests of Karak are to be executed on sight,” she told them. “Spread word throughout the city. There is to be no mercy, not for them.”

“Yes, your highness,” the guards said in unison. They left to follower their orders. Alone, the queen stood at the top of the steps, watching Hayden’s blood flow down them, all the while desperately hoping that she had done what was best for her people.

H arruq had never prayed before, at least, not for a lengthy period of time. As he knelt there, certain his death was imminent, he felt the old wounds of his past reopen with painful strength. He remembered the many children he had slain for his brother at Woodhaven, all so Qurrah could take their organs, mutilate their bodies, and practice his spells. He remembered many of their faces, frightened and helpless. His heart ached in constant pain. He remembered the fights with his brother, and the time he had attacked Aurelia, nearly killing her with a vicious stab through her stomach. His anger, how much of a slave was he to his anger? More wounds, more pains, flashed through him. The village of Cornrows, their children and their elderly. He had butchered them all.

He clutched his swords as he knelt, feeling the heat of the sun on his skin. He remembered Jerico’s question, and suddenly it didn’t seem so trivial, so pointless. What did he expect when he died? He expected what he deserved, and what he deserved was punishment for the blood his swords had spilled. He did not deserve peace. He did not deserve happiness. Because of his own weakness, his brother marched with an army to slaughter thousands. If the priests were right, and the Abyss awaited him, then who was he to deny his place there?

It was then he heard a voice. A distant memory, perhaps, but it seemed so real. In his right ear he heard a simple call, one he’d heard countless times, never realizing its preciousness. He heard Aullienna calling.

Daddy!

His spirit broke. Perhaps he deserved the Abyss. He believed he did. But that was not where his daughter was, and he would give anything, anything, to see her again, to hold her in his arms and kiss her face.

“Take me,” he prayed in between sobs, and this time he knew it true. He did not feel embarrassment. He did not wait for reactions or listen for a divine chorus. Broken and weary, he begged for release.

“Forgive me of it all. Please, just let me see her again.”

He knew he was just one soul, but it seemed the very heavens quaked at his prayer.

A ntonil snapped his head back, just one of many as he heard the sound of thunder. All around him soldiers shouted and pointed. Above the castle, far to the west, a shimmer of gold shook the sky, as if a second sun were rising. Again thunder rumbled.

The king hurried up the stairs to the outer wall and looked upon the approaching army. He then saw Harruq kneeling alone, with several of his friends in rapid approach.

“This isn’t right,” he said, thinking of all the Eschaton had done for him. “It just isn’t right.”

He ran down the stairs and motioned over one of his soldiers.

“Grant me your horse,” he told him, and the soldier quickly obeyed. Antonil raised his sword and circled the area.

“To me, my soldiers!” he shouted. “Bring your horses to me!”

By the time they had gathered there were two hundred of them, crowding through the soldiers of Mordan that gathered.

“Open the gate!” the king shouted. “Let us pass!”

For the third time that morning the gate creaked open. As it opened they saw the army approaching, vastly outnumbering them. Antonil raised his sword even higher, and shouted loud as he could to drown out the fear that swarmed through them.

“We will ride,” he cried. “For Neldar, for our people, and for our beloved dead!”

His men, loyal to the end, raised high their weapons and cheered his name.

“For King Antonil!” they shouted.

“For Neldar!” Antonil shouted back.

The two hundred rode out of the castle, still cheering.

Q urrah walked before the rows of the dead, Tessanna at his right. On his left, Velixar and Ulamn discussed strategy. When they saw Harruq in the distance, alone, they were baffled.

“What do we do with him?” Velixar asked Qurrah as they neared.

“Perhaps he wants to join us?” Tessanna offered.

Qurrah shook his head.

“No,” he said. “Time for that is long past. Perhaps he wants one last blaze of glory in battle before dying. Deny him even that. Ulamn, shower him with your spears.”

“Is he worth the effort?” Ulamn asked.

“He is,” Qurrah said.

Ulamn raised his fist and shouted orders. Above him winged demons heard and obeyed. They flew higher and higher, and as one they hurled their spears hundreds of yards through the air, which fell like a deadly rain upon the kneeling half-orc.

“H arruq!” Aurelia shouted as she ended her spell. Her knees slid on the grass beside him as she grabbed his shoulders and pulled him up to face her. He was still sobbing, but somehow he smiled, even as tears ran down from eyes that shimmered gold.

“Aurry,” he said before letting go of his swords and wrapping her in his arms. “I love you,” he said as he clung to her with desperate strength.

“I love you, too,” she said. She closed her eyes and hugged him tighter. Over his shoulder she saw the hundreds of spears hurtling through the air.

So be it, she thought. She would die in Harruq’s arms. She could think of no better way.

“T hey’ll be killed!” Lathaar shouted as their horse neared. They had almost caught up with Aurelia by the time she flung her arms around her husband.

“Ride in front of them,” Jerico ordered as he pulled his shield off his back. “And pray Ashhur is with us both.”

Lathaar did as asked, tugging on the reins. Jerico leaped off, rolling across the dirt and ignoring the sudden pain to his arms and knees. There was no time. He slammed the lower edge of his shield into the dirt to halt his roll, then shoved it into the air.

“ Elholad! ” he shouted. A white image of his shield shimmered an inch above the steel, and then grew, larger and larger. For a hundred yards it stretched out, spreading outward like the shield of a god. The spears pelted against it, their tips melting, their shafts breaking. Jerico winced, feeling every single spear as it hit the shield, each one sapping a little more of his strength. When the last one broke, their remains raining down between them and the army, Jerico lowered his shield and managed to grin in between gasping for air.

“Praise Ashhur,” he said. “That was awesome.”