“The priests are mine,” the assassin whispered. From a standstill he leapt twenty feet to his right, gently falling to the roof of another building. Both lions charged. One gave chase for Haern, but stopped when Aurelia pelted its side with a bolt of lightning. The force spun it sideways, ruining its jump. The thing tumbled to the street, belching fire all the way down. Aurelia fell as the other lion descended upon her. She had nowhere to go. Its muscular body was all she could see. She closed her eyes, hooked her fingers for one last spell, and prayed.
H aern jumped from roof to roof, his twin sabers held tight in his hands. He and Tarlak had spent many nights pondering what would happen if the priests of Karak revealed themselves to the city. Now, with the event upon them, it seemed all their preparations and strategy were as pointless as could be. The lion dominated the sky. If they did not end the fear that filled the city, Veldaren would be theirs.
He saw the five priests standing around the fountain that ran red with blood. He saw Pelarak, recognizing the leader. The others prayed and knelt while he watched and commanded. From the corner of his eye, he saw a flash of lightning knock back the lion that had given him chase. He didn’t know if it would resume after him or return for Aurelia. He prayed Ashhur would watch over her, but he could not go back. Swords ready, he ran, nothing but a blur of gray in the night.
The houses ended, Haern catapulted himself into the air with all the strength in his legs. He dove for the fountain, his sabers leading like the claws of a bird diving for its prey. His cloaks trailed behind him, somehow silent though they thrashed wildly.
He fell amid the farthest two, his arms stretched wide. One saber pierced through the back of a priest’s neck. The one next to him gasped, the curved blade cutting his throat. They died still kneeling in prayer, their faces slumped to the dirt. The one on the right had shifted from his prayers, as if he had heard the commotion. The other continued shrieking out his devotion to Karak.
Haern rammed both his sabers through the lungs of the one on the right. His back arched in pain. He opened his mouth to scream but the assassin had already angled a saber around, cutting deep into his neck. He let out only a gurgle of blood. Loud as he was, the other priest realized the sudden quieting of prayers. He opened his eyes, only to see a brief flicker of light before the tip of a saber pierced through his eye socket.
With a grunt, Haern kicked the dead priest off his sword. Before he could turn, he felt a weight press against his shoulder. Pain spiked through his body. The magical hand of Pelarak was upon him, gripping his body and sending wave after wave of torture. The priest watched the assassin writhe, all the while keeping his right palm stretched flat. Red light swirled around his hand, as well as Haern’s body.
“You murdered my followers,” Pelarak said. “They died quick, and with little pain. I will not grant you that same courtesy.”
The light turned crimson, and Haern’s screams grew louder. The whole time Pelarak smiled.
“Enough!” Delysia shouted.
White fireflies zipped around Pelarak’s body, their light burning his eyes. One by one they crashed against his body, dissolving into luminescent sparks. Their holy energy burned delivered a throbbing stab against his soul. His concentration broke. The red light around his hands faded.
“So the priestess finally shows her face,” Pelarak said as Delysia ran to Haern’s side. He shrugged off the pain and let unholy energy gather at his fingertips.
“Same could be said for you,” she whispered as glanced over Haern’s body. He didn’t appear too wounded, just in shock from the pain. He’d recover, if given the time. Time, though, was something she would have to fight for.
“You are a healer,” Pelarak said as the darkness about him intensified. “Do you think you can withstand the purity of my hatred?”
Ten small projectiles flew toward her, their centers swirling an ugly brown while their outsides glowed black. Delysia put her hands out as if she were resisting a fall and then braced her mind. The projectiles hit, each one filled with an image and accompanying emotion. She saw fields of desecrated bodies. She saw innocents burning in fire. She felt anger, hatred, disgust and contempt. More images, those of mutilated children, starving women, bleeding animals and ruined forests, pushed into her mind. To each one she countered with the image of Aullienna smiling happy in her arms as she held her. All around were her friends. She remembered the joy and happiness, and against it the anger and vile images broke.
“Clever,” Pelarak said as the mental link the projectiles had established broke. “But Karak has long wanted your meddlesome group removed. I have seen what you dare not see.”
Two more orbs of dark memories formed at his fingers. He threw the first, then the second. His smirk was gone. The images he was sending hurt him as well, but against a priestess of Ashhur, they would be devastating.
Delysia prepared her defense. The image came, and it too was of Aullienna, running happily through the forest behind their tower. A pang of dread hit her as she realized what she was being shown. The girl climbed over a log, ducked through brush, and then found a stream. She giggled and smiled before diving into the water. The priestess tried to remember her happy, her laughing in her arms as a child, but all she could see was Aullienna flailing, water filling her tiny lungs and stealing away her life. The emotion coupled with the image was also something she had not expected: terrible, wracking guilt.
“You see the horrible things this world must endure because of the faith you preach,” she heard Pelarak say. “You see the ruination that Ashhur breeds by your rejection of the half-orc’s brother?”
The second projectile hit. She knew this one well, and against her weakened heart she could not shrug it aside. She saw Brug, lying numb and helpless on the ground as Tessanna stood over him with her dagger in hand. As the blade pierced through his eye, she shrieked and begged the image to end. Again she felt horrible guilt, this time coupled with regret. She could not bear it.
Pelarak smiled as the priestess collapsed to her knees, sobbing. Haern lay beside her, his eyes closed. Two of the most powerful defenders of Veldaren, both laid broken by his strength of will.
“Praise be to Karak,” he prayed as he approached with death in his hands.
T he flames felt much hotter than before. Harruq grimaced and hoped Aurelia’s spell would hold out. The last thing he wanted to be was a charred meal for an overgrown cat, but he would be the first to admit things never went as hoped.
“Best you got?” he shouted as he ran down the street, the lion hot on his heels with fire shooting from its mouth. Harruq decided not to test his defensive spell anymore than he had to. He rolled underneath the first blast and dodged the second by ducking into an alley. The lion spun its body and dug its claws into the ground. Huge grooves cut into the dirt as it halted its momentum. Harruq clashed his swords together, taking strength from their magic.
“Don’t think you can fit in here,” he said to the lion. “But if you can, I don’t think your claws can match my swords. Want to try it?”
Evidently it did. The lion snarled and lunged. Both shoulders slammed against the side of buildings. Their walls shook, charring black from the heat. Harruq leapt back, but only a little. The lion tried again. Beams broke. Plaster crumbled. Even if the buildings had to fall, it would reach him.
“Persistent bugger,” Harruq muttered. When the lion charged again he lashed out, cutting a deep line across the bridge of its nose. The pain only spurred it further. Fire flooded the alley, and this time the half-orc felt his skin blister. The protection spell was nearly spent.
“Not good,” he said. “Not good, not good, not good.”
He cut at a searching paw, then went on the offensive. Salvation and Condemnation cut and spun. The lion could only bat at the swords, unable to use its greater size to its advantage in the cramped alley. When the paw struck blade, Harruq pressed with all his strength. The creature howled as it lost two claws, nubs of flesh hanging from them. The lion hobbled back, limping on its wounded right paw. Black blood poured across the dirt.
Harruq picked up one of the claws and hurled it at the lion, the mockery angering it further. It bared its teeth and prepared another blast of fire. The half-orc braced his arms, seeing nowhere to go. If he survived he could perhaps kill it before it recovered from the wound. The rush of fire, however, never came.
Three bolts of lightning slammed into its rear, the force knocking the lion to the ground. A whimper escaped its throat, strange and unbecoming. A lance of ice followed it, crashing against its face. The ice tore through its left eye, rendering it blind. The creature turned to run, but now Harruq was leaping out of the alley, his twin swords hungry. He slashed the tendons in its back legs, tumbling the lion to the ground.
Before it could stand, a final bolt of lightning struck from the sky. The giant body convulsed, and a stream of
