bed and took her husband’s hands in her own, halting his preparations.
“I have to do this,” he said to her.
“But you don’t have to do it alone,” she said. Harruq pulled against her hands, expecting her to release, but she held on, something in her stronger than he realized. “Not alone,” she said, a quick movement of her hands releasing his grip and unbuckling his armor so that it slid to the ground. “And not yet.”
She pulled him back to the bed and held him close. His hands did not wander, and she did not desire it. Together, they huddled against the coming trials, enjoying the last moments of darkness before the illusionary dawn rose above the ivy walls, matching the rise of the sun outside.
“I don’t know what to do,” Harruq said as morning came.
“What do you mean?”
“How do I prove him wrong? How do I show him I am not the killer he claims, when the only right path I see is him dying by my hands?”
She stroked his face.
“Do what you think is right. Just don’t do it alone.” At last, she let him go. “All of us,” she said, sliding her green dress over her body. “That is how it should be.”
“If you say so.”
When they came down for breakfast, food was ready, and not surprisingly, all were dressed for battle. Brug grumbled from beneath his platemail, sharpening one of his punch daggers. Tarlak had no staff, but a spellbook lay on the table beside his plate. Haern wore his cloaks, his twin sabers hidden beneath their fabric. Even Delysia seemed regal and dangerous, her white dress so clean and bright it hurt the eyes. The golden mountain on her chest shimmered with angry power.
Out of everyone, only Harruq lacked his armor and did not carry his weapons.
“Well, didn’t expect that,” Tarlak said, tearing a strip of bacon in half and shoving it into his mouth. “Grab something to eat, ol’ buddy, and then get ready. We have a job to do.”
“Of course,” he said, flustered by the sight of so many ready to risk their lives for him. His appetite was greater than he expected. He devoured the entire plate put before him, plus some of Aurelia’s. When finished, he dashed up the stairs and returned with his oiled black leather armor strapped tight across his body. Salvation and Condemnation swung from his hips. The others saw him ready and rose from the table.
One by one, they filed out the door. Tarlak pulled the half-orc aside, away from the others, and talked in a quiet tone.
“Are you sure you can do this?” he asked. The half-orc nodded, remembering that tortured moment when he had yanked Aullienna’s body from the cold water.
“Yeah, I think so.”
“Good.” The wizard patted his shoulder. “Then let’s get to it.”
Q urrah dragged himself out of bed, his shoulders hunched as if carrying a greater weight than his frail body could handle. He kissed Tessanna’s forehead, ignoring the way her eyes stared numbly past him. He flipped through his spellbook, glancing over lines he had read hundreds of times.
“They are almost here,” Tessanna said, the words intoned as if she were informing him that the sky was cloudy.
“I know,” the half-orc said. He took his whip and let it wrap around his arm. “Can you cast spells to protect me?”
The girl nodded, her back still to him. “I can make you safe for awhile. His swords are strong. The medallion makes them stronger. Qurrah?”
“Yes, Tessanna?”
“Promise you won’t be mad?”
“What is it?”
“I don’t want to kill them. But I will. I thought you should know that.”
The words were spoken with a calm, dead voice. Ghosts carried more passion, more life. The half-orc gently rocked his head up and down, knowing that the fire lived underneath, ready to burst forth to wreck and burn.
“I love you,” he said.
“So you say,” she said. She finally glanced back to him. There was no smile on her face. No sarcasm. Her words bit deep. He opened his spellbook, closed it, opened it again, and then sighed.
“How do we end this?” he suddenly asked. “How do we end this right?”
Tessanna looked at him, her eyes aching with sorrow. “I don’t think we can,” she said.
Qurrah nodded. He opened the cabin door.
“We must prepare,” he said, stepping outside. Tessanna followed him out, proud and beautiful and sad.
32
T he Eschaton arrived.
There was no immediate burst of combat. Spells did not flare. Swords stayed sheathed. Haern remained back, told to wait until an opportune moment. Harruq walked ahead, wishing to speak alone with his brother one last time. He entered the clearing surrounding the cabin, his blood chilled at the feeling of death that hung palpable in the air. Nothing good has happened in this place, he thought.
Qurrah and Tessanna waited for him. They stood dressed, anxious, and uncertain. Harruq looked at his brother, seeing for the first time how he had aged. His skin had grown paler. His hair hung dirty past his shoulders. His eyes scared even him. Intensity beyond words. Fire. His entire body seemed to be dying, its life drained into those all-seeing orbs.
“Hello, Qurrah,” he said, the words sending the butterflies in his stomach careening into a thousand different flights.
“Hello, brother,” Qurrah said. He gestured to the swords sheathed at his side. “Do you plan to use them?”
“I do,” he answered.
“I know of your daughter.”
“I hoped you would.”
Harruq waited, wishing to hear his next words. If they were of repentance, guilt, horror, even regret no matter how insincere, he would have stayed his hands.
“We were fools to think our actions would not come back to haunt us,” Qurrah said. “But they have. Will you accept their message, or will you try to kill me?”
Harruq drew his swords. “I am different than you.”
“You are a monster. A killer. One of the greatest.”
“I said I am different!”
The rest of the Eschaton approached, preparing blade and magic.
“No,” Qurrah said, sadness creeping into his voice. “If you were different, then you would not be here. You would not be so ready to kill. You are the same as I, only weaker, and the truth is painful to see.”
The rage built inside Harruq, a fire fueled by hate and revenge. He turned to Tarlak, who waited a step behind.
“Do it,” he told him.
Fire surrounded Tarlak’s hands, mirroring the heat that burned in Harruq’s chest. Great arcs of electricity crackled from Aurelia’s palms. As one, the mages sent their attacks forward, on either side of the charging half-orc. Tessanna cried out in shock, for both blasts were aimed straight for her. She brought up a shield, holding back the attacks with her pure magical strength. Qurrah let free his whip, and with a single crack, the clearing became chaos.
H arruq’s eyes swam red. He saw his brother in a vision of blood and water, wet hair and breathless lungs. He saw his daughter, and through her, he saw the need to finish things, to end it all. No longer was this frail thing of black robes and dying skin his brother. A thing to be murdered, that was all. His last murder.
Qurrah lashed the whip at his legs, but it was too predictable to be a surprise. Harruq swept the flaring
