Haern shrugged.
“Your call. I find people better hosts when I haven’t thrashed their place, though.”
Harruq took Aurelia’s hand and led them on toward the gate. When they were halfway there, a winged horse shot into the sky from deep within the city.
“That’s, um, them,” Harruq said, pointing. “Right?”
“Can’t imagine who else it’d be,” Haern said. “Wait a moment.”
The horse banked around, and sure enough, three riders sat atop her back. The horse dipped down, and with a great gust of air landed before them.
“Welcome back,” Tarlak said as he hopped off and tipped his hat. “Enjoy your trip?”
“Tremendously,” Harruq said. “Aurelia flung me across a cliff, and I nearly got brained by a flying boulder. We stopped a feud between the lords in the Hillock and destroyed an orc bridge. They’ll be patrolling the Bone Ditch, watching for more bridges. How’d you three do?”
“Terrible,” Tarlak said. “The king here is dead, and his advisor’s too scared to do a damn thing. We’ve been yelling from the rooftops that doom approaches. Needless to say, we’ve not convinced very many people.”
“Have any arrived from Neldar yet?” asked Haern.
Tarlak rolled his eyes, too frustrated to answer, so Lathaar answered for him.
“A few show up, but they’re mocked or ignored. Some buy or steal provisions and then continue west. Others have joined us in our warnings, but they’re few and far between. Most have just disappeared into the city. They’re probably hoping that Kinamn’s walls will protect them better than Veldaren’s did.”
“Little chance of that,” said Haern. “So do we return to Antonil, or do we stay?”
They looked to one another, and when no answer seemed apparent, they turned to Tarlak, who sighed.
“Always the leader,” he muttered. “We leave. We’ve done everything we can to warn this city, and while some have left, it’s been far too few. I will not stay and watch a massacre.”
“These people have done nothing wrong,” Lathaar insisted. “We must convince them that…”
“That what?” asked Tarlak, gesturing east. “That an army of winged soldiers and rotting undead march this way, determined to wipe out all life? I think they’d rather die in their walls than live out their lives fleeing west in terror.”
Silence fell over the group. Aurelia put a hand on Tarlak’s shoulder.
“You’ve done what you could,” she said softly. “Don’t blame yourself. Let us ride out to meet Antonil. We will make our stand as one.”
The wizard sighed, then nodded.
“Let’s get out of here,” he said, hopping back onto Sonowin. Dieredon whistled, and Seleven flew over and let himself be petted.
“Once we find Antonil, I will return,” Dieredon said. “It may be to find only rubble, but I must do what I can to track Karak’s army. Nothing can keep up with Sonowin at full wing, so fear not for my safety.”
“I’m not sure there is such a thing as safety in this world,” Tarlak replied before the elf flew away.
7
S outhward, the demon army followed the Kingstrip road, the undead lumbering at the lead, flattening a huge swath to each side of the beaten wagon path. Fallow fields stretched as far as the eye could see with harvest long past. So deep into winter, there was little to scavenge. The war demons relied on hard rations that seemed impervious to rot or mold. Jerico ate little of it, the taste of the meat foul and salty.
As weeks passed, their path gradually turned west. Upon reaching a fork, the army camped for a day. The southeastern path led toward the elves of the Erze forest as well as the Lords in Angelport along the coast. To the west were Antonil’s forces. Jerico assumed they discussed strategy, but he was privy to none of it. His days and nights were one long march, undead before him, fanatical tested and dark paladins behind, and flying demons above. He felt cold and alone, and with each stare of Velixar’s eyes, he felt his faith eroding. At last, the army seemed to reach its decision. At daybreak they continued west, resuming chase of Antonil’s forces.
They pillaged as they traveled, though the spoils grew ever scarce.
“Like rabbits,” Qurrah had muttered after veering off the Kingstrip to ransack a small farming village. They’d found little supplies and no residents, only scattered remnants of chaos.
“Look west,” Jerico said, mocking as a bit of his old self flared up. “I’m sure you’ll see their cotton-white tails.”
Tessanna punished him severely for that.
Pulling her cart had at least one benefit, and that was exercise. If he had been bound and carried, Jerico feared his finely honed muscles might have withered and decayed. Instead, he found them growing stronger, though his flexibility suffered. Every night he lay down with bare earth for his bed, cold grass for a pillow, and a night sky his blanket. Sometimes Tessanna came with her knife. He’d begun to appreciate her subtle skill. He could deal with physical pain. It was Velixar’s taunts that cut deep.
The days and weeks melded together, so that the paladin lost all track of time. His throat was forever parched, his lips cracked and bleeding. Scars lined his shoulders and chest, which was sometimes bare in the cold, sometimes not. Qurrah watched with distaste. The rest of the army, seething glares. But one night, as Jerico lay shivering, his legs curled up to his chest and his arms around his ankles, he heard footsteps approach. They were steady and light.
“It seems winter is Karak’s time,” Velixar said. Jerico kept his eyes shut, hoping sleep might steal him away. The prophet continued, as if he didn’t care whether the paladin slept or not.
“The light is failing. The stars themselves dim. The elves see their goddess in the stars, did you know that? Even Celestia loses her luster within the cold. But Karak remains strong. The darkness comforts. It does not blot out the beauty of the stars, only enhance it. Do you feel the light touch on your skin, Jerico? It has begun to snow.”
Jerico stirred from an uneasy doze. He felt numb, yet strangely warm. With blurry vision, he saw a thin layer of white across his body. Velixar chuckled.
“Were you hoping for an easy death? You will not pass away in your sleep. I am death’s most comfortable friend, and I do not sense it about you. Get up and seek a fire, paladin.”
Jerico sat up but did not leave his spot. He brushed snow off his shoulders and curled his knees to his chin. His jaw chattered as his body reawakened to the cold infusing itself deep within him.
“I will find no comfort here,” he said.
“Not even the comfort of another’s body?” Velixar asked. “Tessanna would give it to you, if you would only accept the offer. What harm would there be in it? Do you think Ashhur would prefer you to die?”
Jerico chuckled through his chattering teeth.
“I thought vipers were cold-blooded,” he said. “Yet you seem quite lively in winter.”
Velixar’s red eyes sparkled with humor.
“Such a strong spirit. You waste it, Jerico. Your fanatical allegiance will mean nothing, not with it devoted to the wrong god.”
“Funny. I’ve always thought the same of you.”
Velixar grabbed Jerico’s neck and lifted him off the ground. A steady heat spread from his hand, melting the snow and filling his chest with a burning pain. His chills faded, and as much as he hated it, he felt thankful. Setting him on his feet, Velixar grabbed the paladin’s wrist and led him west. A ring of soldiers ordered them to halt at the edge of the camp, but realizing who it was that approached, lowered their weapons.
“Where are you taking me?” Jerico asked, once the camp was far behind. He thought of escape, but his body was sluggish, his reactions slow. He had no chance against the dark power of Velixar.
“I want you to see something,” Velixar said, as the snow gathered atop his robes. The white seemed appropriate somehow, as if it were a burial shroud atop a being that should have been long dead. They traveled across ground that steadily turned rockier, until at last they climbed a hill that seemed almost solid stone. At the top, Velixar gestured outward. In the far distance, blurred only by the swirling lines of snow, was a great city.
“That is the city of Kinamn,” Velixar said. “The Jewel of Ker. Do you see its walls? They are thin, paladin, and
