What hope could he offer them that would not stink of falseness?
A sudden rush of air stirred him, and he turned to see Mira collapse through a blue portal. She fell, still gasping his name.
“Mira?” he asked, pushing up to a sitting position. “Where have you…”
He saw the dagger in her chest. He swallowed his question. She lay on her back, staring up at him as she gasped in air. He put one hand on the side of her face and the other on the dagger’s hilt.
“This will hurt more than it already does,” he told her. She said nothing. Whispering a prayer, Lathaar pulled out the dagger. Blood poured across her dress as her scream of pain awoke many nearby. Without pause the paladin dropped the dagger and pushed both his hands against the wound. He closed his eyes, a twinge of fear in his heart. He was exhausted, mentally and physically. Ashhur had not gifted him with healing talent. Would he still heed his prayer?
“Please,” he whispered. “I’ve nothing left in me. By your hand, let her be healed, for this I beg.”
He felt no warm presence, no divine light, not even a sense of comfort. When he opened his eyes, he saw the white light fading from his hands. He pulled back, and through the hole in her dress he saw the skin knit together into an angry scar. Mira closed her eyes, sleep calling as the pain faded from her breast. She wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him to her.
“I’m sorry,” she said. Tears swelled in her eyes. “I love you, Lathaar, and because of that I’ve done something terrible.”
“Nothing terrible can come from love,” he said.
“You’re wrong,” she said, remembering the vicious hatred in Tessanna’s eyes. “And now I’ve sacrificed us all.”
He stroked her forehead with the tips of his fingers and held her in his arms until sleep stole her away from the world she was no longer meant for. And in the quiet he heard a voice, but it was not the deep calm of Ashhur. This one was feminine, peaceful, and in great pain.
Balance is broken, young paladin. There must be a victor. Will you fight for all things good? Will you protect my daughter?
“With my life,” he whispered.
Then mind your faith.
20
S he could see her breath in the air but she refused the comfort of a fire. Harruq still slept, which didn’t surprise her. She had seen how exhausted he was. As a soft wind blew against her she shivered and pressed her arms against her chest.
“I must say, Aurelia, I was not aware elves were immune to cold. Silly me.”
The elf rolled her eyes. Deathmask, wrapped in a thick blanket, smirked as he approached. “Then again,” he said, “most elves would do anything to escape a human death caravan such as ours, so obviously you are not a normal elf.”
“What do you want?” she asked, her voice as cold as the weather.
“Antonil is forming people into groups with the goal of each group sharing a set portion of food. You’ll be needed soon.”
“That’s fine,” she said, still staring past the hills where the ruins of Veldaren lay hidden. Deathmask turned to go but then stopped.
“You realize we won’t have enough food,” he said.
“We have no choice, if we ration…”
“We ration we make it farther, but not to the Quellan forest. And we have no tents, no blankets, just freezing water and conjured bread that will do little but dull their hunger.”
Aurelia turned on him, anger in her eyes.
“What do you want,” she asked. “You want to flee yourself? Abandon those you could help to save your own skin?”
“No, but I’d rather not die in a hopeless cause without…” He glanced behind her, and his bravado faded. He pulled up his mask from around his neck and covered his face. Aurelia spun, looking for what it was he saw.
Twenty shapes flew from the west, their wings red and their armor crimson.
“What manner of men are those?” Aurelia asked.
“No men of Dezrel,” Deathmask said as he poured ash across his face. Ready, he tilted his head and raised his arms. Dark fire consumed his hands.
“Kill them quickly, before they know our power,” he said. “If one escapes, they will track our location with ease.”
Ice lined Aurelia’s fingers. Side by side, they waited as the winged war demons flew closer. As they neared, they drew spears and swords and held them high, their red hue shining in the morning light.
“Surely they see the campfires ahead,” Deathmask muttered. “They know our location. Why do they press the attack?”
“They want blood,” Aurelia said. “So let’s give it to them.”
Lances of ice flew from her hands at tremendous speeds. The demons dropped and spun, expertly avoiding most. One had his wing shattered at the shoulder, while another dropped dead, a spear of ice pierced through his throat and out the back of his neck. Deathmask laughed at the display of power. The dark fire of his hands swelled. He focused on a single demon, watching with pleasure as fire surrounded him and consumed his wings in a single burst of flame. The demon plummeted, doomed to die by the long fall.
The remaining demons saw their attackers and spiraled to the ground, skimming above the grass in a collision course for the two spellcasters. Deathmask burned the wings of two more, clenching his fist and grinning with each body that rolled and bounced on snapping bones. Lightning arced from Aurelia’s fingers, striking dead one demon before leaping to the next. Only ten remained by the time they neared them.
“Drop down!” Aurelia shouted. She fell to her knees and slammed her open palms to the grass. A wall of fire tore to the sky, and through it the demons flew. It only burned and maimed them, but it also hid their presence. As the last passed through the fire, Aurelia banished the wall and stood. The demons were spread out in two groups, each group looping around and coming in for another pass.
“Know any more tricks?” Deathmask asked.
“I don’t fight flying men too often,” Aurelia said.
“Neither do I. But I do fight over-aggressive ones.”
Deathmask clapped his hands together. Dark magic sparked between them, and a loud roar erupted at their contact. Again he clapped, and the roar was louder, the black sparks stronger. Aurelia spun her arms, and a swirling column or air enveloped them.
“Here they come,” she said, but Deathmask needed no warning. Grinning beneath his mask, he clapped his hands the third time as the first of the demons pushed through the wall of wind. A shockwave of sound and magic rolled in all directions. Aurelia felt it strike her body. Her lungs froze. Her heartbeat halted. For one agonizing second her body was a statue. The feeling passed, and her lungs and heart resumed their dutiful workings. Aurelia smiled as she realized the brilliant trap. Even Deathmask had been stunned by the spell, but they were on firm ground and could recover immediately. The war demons, however…
Aurelia gave them no chance to recover. As they spun and turned in a vain attempt to avoid the ground she blasted them with lightning and fire. Deathmask cursed them with pain and weakness, sapping their strength and clotting their minds. Several died from striking the ground. Only a few remained healthy enough to flee. Deathmask pointed them out and swore.
“Three,” he said. “They’re out of reach.”
“Not yet,” Aurelia said. The demons had flown straight into the air, hoping to gain enough distance to fly safely back to Veldaren. Aurelia stared into the sky, visualizing. She had to be perfect. She whispered the words to the spell, then stepped through the blue portal that tore open before her. She fought off the initial wave of disorientation, for she did not step onto land, but into freezing open air directly above the demons.