David Dalglish - The Shadows of Grace

“The sky,” Tarlak said. “Damn it all to the Abyss.”

The roar of the lion shook the city. Its sound rumbled through their chests and pierced their hearts. The ground recoiled and broke. People fled to their homes, and the new king and queen hurried to their castle for safety. Those outside looked to the darkened sky, and all who saw it knew what it meant.

Shimmering as if it were made of a thousand red stars, the image of a lion rippled in the air, its eyes angry, its teeth bared, and its claws outstretched. Twice more it roared, cracking walls and rendering the roads broken and uneven.

Harruq watched as a group of angels flew toward the craven image. Azariah led them, his amulet in hand. As one they raised their right hands and shouted out the name of Ashhur. Holy light pulsed about their fingers. The image of the lion shook, its power fading. Again and again the angels prayed, until the wind died, the sky filled with light, and the lion broke apart.

“Just like in Veldaren,” Tarlak said as an uneasy calm settled over the city.

“We have an army to chase,” Harruq said, looking over the wall to the east as Mira and the paladins joined them. “Perhaps now the city will remember that.”

Ahaesarus landed beside them, his beautiful face marred with anger.

“We leave at the rise of the sun,” he said, glaring at where the image had been. “We have waited long enough.”

“Antonil’s army won’t be ready by then,” Tarlak argued.

“Then they can chase after us,” Ahaesarus said. “Prepare your mercenaries, unless you wish to stay behind.”

Tarlak glanced around at his Eschaton, who all nodded.

“We’re going,” he said. “All of us.”

“Good,” said Ahaesarus. “Be ready.”

He flew back to Avlimar, his angels following.

“We’ll be outnumbered,” Mira said when he was gone. “Even with Antonil’s men.”

“So be it,” Tarlak said. “We just fled across an entire continent. For once, I want to be the one giving chase. All of you, prepare your things. We’re leaving at dawn.”

The Eschaton did as they were told. Their resting was done. They had a war to fight.

T he three of them huddled before a fire, feeling isolated amid the remnants of the demon army. Qurrah seethed in silence, pondering Harruq’s eyes and the glow of his swords. He went over their battle again and again. At no point had his brother tried to score a killing blow. He had struck with the hilt of his swords, or at his legs and hands. Compared to their previous battle after Aullienna’s death, the whole ordeal seemed tame. Qurrah was baffled.

“What do we do now?” Tessanna asked, disrupting his thoughts.

“We rebuild,” Velixar said. His arms were crossed, and he bent toward the fire as if he were ready to plunge his face into the embers. “We cannot collapse now, not so close to victory.”

“The demons have already replenished their numbers,” Qurrah said. “I feel the strain of their passing with every breath I take.”

“As do I,” Velixar said. “But we must endure.”

“It’s been months since we first opened the portal,” Qurrah said, rubbing his temples. “I am flesh and bone, Velixar. I will break soon, as will you.”

“I am not weak,” Velixar said, his eyes looking up from the fire. For a moment they flared a bright red, a bit of his old self reemerging.

“Neither of you are weak,” Tessanna said. She curled her knees to her chest and hid her face behind her arms. “But you’re dying. You can’t do this forever. But they want more from you, and they’ll keep taking and taking until you can’t stand, can’t fight, can’t do anything…”

They hushed as Ulamn approached. He had taken off his helmet, and if not for the darkness of his eyes and the multitude of scars on his face, he could have passed as one of the angels they had just fought.

“We will fly for much of the distance,” Ulamn said. “Uncomfortable as it may be for you, we will travel much faster that way. Ashhur’s angels will give chase, and we cannot fight them, not until we reinforce our numbers from Veldaren.”

“What of my priests, my paladins?” Velixar asked.

“They have forsaken you,” Ulamn said. “You know this as well as I. You both are too important to leave our side. You stay with us. If we’re lucky, your disloyal brethren will buy us time. Rest well tonight. Tomorrow will be long.”

He bowed and left. Velixar shook his head, and his features shifted between sadness and anger.

“So many good paladins,” he said. “So many faithful. I will make them pay. All of them.”

Qurrah grabbed Tessanna’s elbow and stood.

“We must rest,” he said. Velixar dismissed them with a wave, not watching them go. They hurried away. Qurrah wasn’t ready for sleep, but he couldn’t stand seeing Velixar in such a state.

“He vows revenge,” Tessanna said, echoing his thoughts. “But what strength does he have to keep such a promise?”

“He doesn’t,” Qurrah said. “And neither do I.”

Tessanna kissed her lover’s cheek, but her comfort was hollow. Never before had she hated Karak as much as she did then.

T arlak slipped inside the room, trying not to make any noise.

“I’m awake,” Haern said from his bed, his eyes still closed. “And beaten or not, my ears still work.”

They were in a dark, windowless infirmary within the castle. There were many beds, but only Haern, with so many bones broken and shattered, remained.

“We’re giving chase,” Tarlak said, sitting on the bed. “About an hour from now. Antonil’s army will follow in a day or two.”

“I should go with you,” Haern said, frowning.

“You’re damn lucky to even be alive,” Tarlak said. “Trying to travel so soon will kill you.”

“You leave to banish a demonic army from our world, and you expect me to stay and hope for the best?” Haern asked.

The wizard gently squeezed the assassin’s shoulder.

“I expect you to get better,” he said, his point made clear by the pain flashing over Haern’s face. “You want to chase after us in a few weeks, you go right ahead. I hope we have a victory party waiting for you in Veldaren.”

Haern sat up enough to hug Tarlak goodbye, then collapsed back onto the bed.

“Tarlak?” Haern said, right before he left.

“Yeah?”

“I’m sorry,” Haern said. “For how I’ve been.”

“Apology accepted,” Tarlak said, winking. “See you in the months ahead.”

He left. Haern tried to sit up, tried to ignore the pain flaring throughout his body. He couldn’t, and he crashed back onto the bed, groaning and covered with sweat.

W ith much fanfare the angels departed, hundreds and hundreds of winged soldiers in perfect formations. The Eschaton rode in the arms of the angels, their weight seemingly nothing to their powerful white wings. They flew east in pursuit of the demons.

Antonil watched them go from the outer wall, scratching at his chin as he did.

“Itching to go with them?” his old general Sergan asked. “Can’t say I blame you.”

“I just led thousands of refugees across the continent,” Antonil said. “And now I am to travel back with an army at my command. To think, I always thought King Vaelor had it easy.”

“He did have it easy,” Sergan said. He plopped his ax to the stone and leaned on its hilt, staring after the rapidly fading army. “He sat on his throne, issued paranoid edicts, and expected respect without earning it. You, however, have led your people as needed, fought beside them, bled with them, and gave everything you had. A good king, that’s what I see.”

“And if we fail?” Antonil asked, turning toward his trusted friend. “And if I lead so many to their deaths, and return to Mordeina with her army broken, her food spent, and the whole world lost to fire?”