“What do you want with me?” Harruq asked, unable to meet Qurrah’s gaze.
“Join me. Everyone will die. It is inevitable. Does it matter if life ceases its pointless cycle on this miserable stretch of rock? You, your wife, the rest of the Eschaton, just bow and swear allegiance and you will live.”
“What life could I hope to live in a dead, desolate world?”
“We will leave it,” Qurrah said. “When all is conquered, Velixar will open us a door to a new world, without our troubles, without our death. We can escape, go back to how it had always been. Dezrel will be but a sad memory.”
Harruq looked back up to Qurrah, his lower lip quivering.
“Back to how it was?” he asked. Qurrah nodded.
“Back as if we never met Velixar.”
“Back,” Harruq said. “Back to killing children for your games? Back to trusting you and obeying your commands? You would sacrifice this world, and then ask me to sacrifice my very life to serve at your side?”
Deadly anger swarmed over Qurrah’s face. “You will die otherwise.”
“What you ask for is worse than death.”
“So melodramatic,” Qurrah said, his voice a vile hiss. “Is what I offer truly so terrible? What do you gain by fighting against me? Accept my apologies. Accept my mercy. Live at my side. Don’t die beneath me.”
A chuckle shook Harruq’s belly, vibrating up his chest and out to his arms, until his whole body was quaking with laughter.
“One day I will die,” he said. “But it will never be beneath you. You’re as low as it gets, brother. There’s no way to sink any lower. Get out of my head.”
The fire sunk, the stars faded, and as the sun shrunk into a thin dot Qurrah sighed. The red of his eyes was all that Harruq could see, and in perfect silence he heard the words of his brother.
“So be it. My mercy is spent. You will break before me, and unlike you, I will not show weakness when I strike the killing blow.”
Harruq did not allow him the final word.
“Even back how it was,” he said, “you never would have stayed your hand.”
The darkness broke, and he opened his eyes.
D amn him,” Qurrah said, jarring out of a trance. Tessanna’s hands wrapped around his body, holding him as he reoriented himself. The two cuddled against a wall of the throne room. Near them was the portal, which had been still ever since Ulamn’s departure. Velixar was on the opposite side of the room, deep in prayer to Karak.
“He didn’t accept,” Tessanna said. “I told you he wouldn’t.”
“You give my brother too much credit,” Qurrah said.
“And you give him too little. Will he die to your undead?”
The half-orc rubbed his eyes and then shook his head. “No, he won’t. He’s still strong, as are his friends. He’s almost out of the city.”
Tessanna nestled her face into the side of his neck.
“Have your pets keep chase,” she said, giggling as if it were a humorous joke. “Day and night, they’ll follow. Deny your brother sleep. Deny him rest. He will crumble.” She grabbed Qurrah’s hand and held it against her abdomen.
“Is it true?” he asked her. “Are you with child?”
“Of course,” Tessanna said, her eyes sparkling. “Aullienna will no longer haunt me. I will have a daughter of my own. Cease your pets chanting of her name.”
“Already done.”
She wrapped her arms tighter about his waist and kissed his chin. “Ready to be a father?” she asked him.
“I do not run from my responsibilities,” he said.
“That isn’t an answer.”
He frowned down at her. “It is the only answer I will give. Now please, I need sleep.”
He shifted more of his weight against the wall and closed his eyes so he wouldn’t see the frown he knew was across his lover’s face. She wanted to know. He could feel her presence peering at the edges of his mind, her considerable mental strength curious to his inner feelings. Such feelings were well guarded, for in truth he did not know if he was ready to be a father. He wasn’t even sure he knew what it meant to be one. How many children had he killed? How often had he preached against bringing life into a world of suffering? In doing so, was he a hypocrite and a blasphemer against his own beliefs?
He didn’t know. The stone was cold, the portal was open, and Karak was victorious. All other things were chaos. So he stroked her hair and enjoyed her touch while all around the city burned.
G et him up,” Lathaar shouted as he hacked at the limbs that pressed past Jerico’s shield. “Even if you have to carry him, get him up!”
“I’ll get right on that,” Haern whispered, slapping Harruq across the face. The half-orc’s eyes were vacant. More of the strange shadow floated from his open mouth.
“What is it you are saying?” Haern asked, leaning closer.
“Get out of my head,” Harruq growled. His focus returned. “Where the abyss am I?” he asked.
“Later,” Haern said, standing and offering him a hand. Harruq tried to accept, but his arms swung like wood, his fingers foreign and unresponsive. So instead Haern grabbed the crook of his arm and pulled him to his feet.
“Is our sleeping princess awake?” Jerico shouted. His entire body was braced against the river of undead, which moaned in futile anger.
“Can you feel your legs?” Haern asked, ignoring the paladin. Harruq shook his head. “Well, can you still run?”
“He better,” Lathaar said as he lopped an arm off at the elbow. “Because that’s what we’re doing.”
Jerico braced with his front foot and then used it to push off, hooking his shield onto his back as he ran east. Lathaar swung his sword in a single arc, cutting down the first bunch of undead that toppled through before he too sprinted east. Haern pulled the half-orc along. Harruq struggled to focus. Foot after foot. That was all that mattered. Swing a dead log that was his leg, plant down, and then swing the other. The undead poured through the wall, but they were slow and lumbering. Second after agonizing second the city grew smaller behind them, the chorus of moans becoming distant. Their pace slowed to a steady jog, which soon slowed to a quick walk. They all kept their silence. They were too exhausted for anything else.
T hey had no tent, so instead they found a few withered trees, hacked off their limbs, and arranged them in a circle representing the commander’s tent. The air was cold, and with the setting of the sun it had grown even colder. Fires dotted the hills, each source of heat heavily crowded. In the center of their circle a large fire roared, courtesy of Tarlak. Antonil and Sergan sat beside each other, huddled and dejected. The Eschaton sat with them, as did Deathmask and his group. Grief had come with the stars, and the night was filled with the cries of lost homes, friends, and loved ones.
“Let’s keep this simple, no formalities here,” Antonil said, breaking the silence that had fallen over them. “Tarlak, your Eschaton saved countless lives this day, so that is why I bring you all here. Ashhur forgive me but I must ask for even more. And Deathmask, the reputation of your Ash Guild and your defense of my people has also earned you a seat amongst us. Sergan and I will speak for whatever remains of our kingdom of Neldar. Do any object?”
“You might as well speak for Neldar,” Tarlak said. “No one else will.”
“I need to know what chance we have,” Antonil said. He glanced around, meeting each and every pair of eyes surrounding the fire. “Start with the basics. Food. Water. Shelter. Can we manage?”
“I can conjure spring water from the ground,” Aurelia said. She sat in Harruq’s lap, her husband’s arms wrapped around her to keep her warm. “And once we have a decent sleep, creating fire for warmth should not be a burden.”
“A decent sleep may be a long time coming,” Jerico said, pointedly glancing west. Twenty guards patrolled the area, ready to sound the alarm if a party of undead entered their camp.
“Any sleep will feel divine right now,” Tarlak said. He brushed his goatee with his thumb and forefinger. “Though fire does us no good while traveling. How many with us are too old, or too young, to survive a journey in the cold? We have no blankets, no tents…”
“Let’s not worry about what we can’t change,” Antonil said. “What about food?”
