“No!” Velixar grabbed him by the front of his robes and lifted him to his feet with surprising strength. Eye to eye they stared. Velixar’s features swirled faster, cheekbones growing out and then sinking back as his eyebrows stretched longer and thinner. “You have not done your best. I had thought you would be tested with my absence, but I was wrong. Look around you, Qurrah. Those that fight against us fight with every last drop of their strength, and many beyond even that. When was the last time you were pushed? When was the last time you had to fight even when your mind was in agony, and it felt your very next spell would send you to death? When, Qurrah? When?”
“Never,” Qurrah said as he glared, his eyes flashing red. “Let go of me.”
The half-orc turned his back to them and pulled his hood low over his face. His pride was wounded, and his anger seethed. He had fought. He had bled. He had killed many, and his strength had grown by leaps and bounds, yet now he stood accused. Tessanna’s words repeated in his head. He sees the same that I see. What did that mean?
He stretched out his hands. The words to the spell returned to his lips. He would show his master that he was not the failure he assumed. Deep in his chest he felt his power stirring. Perhaps he had not poured all he had into the spell. Perhaps, just perhaps, he could do more. His focus narrowed to a razor edge. Higher and higher his hands raised. The power built, and this time it was swirling out of control. He tried to harness it, to command it. He opened his mouth and shouted the words. Within his being he felt fire. His chaotic will stretched about the city, demanding the dead to rise.
The dead obeyed. Another ninety stood.
“I knew you could do better,” Velixar said as the combined dead of the first two spells sauntered toward the center of town.
“Silence,” Qurrah said, the venom in his voice startling. The half-orc fell to one knee and propped himself up with a fist. He gasped for breath. Within his head, he could feel the hundred and sixty, every one moving by his strength alone. It was a weight he had never felt so strong before. It was as if creatures lurked inside his eyes, clawing and biting. At any moment he thought he would pass out. But it was not enough.
“You wanted me pushed,” Qurrah said as he stood. “You wanted me tested. So be it, master.”
He raised his arms to the sky and began casting the spell one final time. Velixar’s eyes narrowed as he stared, but Tessanna only giggled.
“At last,” she said as the power of the spell built. Flecks of white dust gathered around the half-orc’s frozen pose, swirling as if it were a child-sized tornado. Qurrah’s eyes rolled into his head. Everything ached. Everything hurt. The well of his magic, something he felt himself attuned to, felt empty. Drained. But he remembered years ago when he had challenged Velixar’s magic.
The well is limitless, he thought. The power grew steady. Its chaos was gone. With each passing second, he felt his soul rise. The hairs on his body stood. His mouth locked open, the last of the spell finished. The well refused to run dry.
“Rise!” he screamed, and for once his throat did not tear. Magic poured out of him. He demanded obedience of the dead, and the dead obeyed. His heart raced as his body wavered. Delirium overtook his mind. The well would not run dry. All around Veldaren the dead were rising, and still the well did not run dry. He tore his gaze from the sky and looked at Velixar, a wild smile on his face. For one heavy moment, Qurrah’s eyes shone a fierce red.
“A thousand,” he said, and then he fell. As he lay in the dirt the glow about his eyes faded away. He coughed twice, and then he began laughing.
“Go to him,” Velixar said to Tessanna. The girl nodded, still smiling. She knelt beside Qurrah and stroked his hair.
“I can feel them,” Qurrah said. “Inside me. They’ll obey. They are so many…so many…”
Velixar bowed his head as he heard the words of Karak inside his mind.
He has felt my touch. It will not be long before Thulos enters this world and breaks the chains of the goddess. Praise be to you, my greatest servant.
“His eyes,” he whispered.
There is but one way for me to escape my prison. You know this as well as I.
“I was to be your avatar,” Velixar insisted.
Hold faith. I show you no dishonor, but if there is another, I would keep you by my side.
“As you wish,” the man in black said. He raised his head and saw Tessanna staring at him.
“Qurrah is mine first,” she said as she held her laughing, insane lover. “And when your god is freed, he is mine alone.”
“He has tasted what I have always lived,” Velixar said. “I will never take him from you.”
Tessanna helped her lover to his feet. He gripped her tight, his fingers digging into her skin. With wild eyes he grinned at Velixar.
“A thousand,” he said. “Are you still disappointed, master? ”
The features on Velixar’s face slowed in their shifting, and from within the frozen visage the red eyes glared.
“Follow me to the castle,” he said. “And send your pets to the east wall. Let them finish off your brother. We have more important matters to attend to.”
“As you desire,” the half-orc said. He closed his eyes, and all throughout the city his undead heard his commands and obeyed. Velixar led them north toward the castle. Qurrah’s undead took up a chant, and when Velixar heard it, a frown burned across his lips. They did not shout to Karak like they should have. Instead, they shouted their loyalty to another.
For Qurrah! they shouted.
For Qurrah!
For Qurrah!
T he guards had abandoned their posts. The giant doors were unlocked and unguarded. The three of them were alone, small figures in a giant city filled with fire, blood, and death. Velixar stared at the castle, a smile replacing the frown he had been wearing. He raised his arms as he saw the four crenellated towers, the faded gray stone, and the roaring lion carved deep into the walls at the base of each tower.
“Praise be to Karak,” Velixar said. “I’m home.”
The inside was empty and quiet. They walked across the carpet into the throne room. King Vaelor sat on his throne, and in the morning light that shone through the windows, he was an obnoxious yellow figure. At the sight of them, he stood and drew his sword.
“No king has surrendered this city,” King Vaelor said, “and I will die before I become the first.”
“You are not surrendering,” Velixar said, marching ahead of Qurrah and Tessanna. “You are relinquishing the throne to its rightful heir. Karak built this city, and Karak demands that long forgotten loyalty.”
“Blasphemy!” the king shouted.
Velixar laughed.
“Only an idiot would believe stating the truth to be blasphemy,” the man in black said as he curled his fingers. “I have no time for you, worm.”
His fingers uncurled. Blood collected around the king’s eyes, and in one single crack the bones in his face crunched inward. The sword dropped from his hand. He fell forward and bled out on the carpet.
“Not the honorable death he most likely hoped for,” Qurrah said. Velixar dismissed the dead king with a wave of his hand.
“None will remember his name,” he said. “Fools and cowards are soon forgotten.”
Velixar passed by the throne, gently touching its sides with his fingers. The ceiling was high, and behind the elevated dais was a wall covered with a giant, crimson curtain hung from a long, golden rod. Velixar grabbed part of the thick fabric in a fist and whispered a word of magic. Purple fire surrounded his hand. The curtain burned in a sudden flash, becoming ash without smoke or heat. Qurrah gasped at the sight behind the curtain, and even Tessanna grabbed her lover’s arm and held it tight.
A single painting covered the wall, done with skill and detail beyond anything Qurrah had ever seen. Much of it was of a green landscape cluttered with small hills and a few sparse trees. A giant portal swirled in the center. Fire burned out of control within it. Standing before the portal were two men, strong and beautiful. Qurrah recognized one, for he was eerily similar to the statue he had seen inside Veldaren’s temple to Karak. The two could have been twins, except for their hair. The one on the left was blond, the other, brown. Perched on the clouds
