laws, his priests, and his very principles. He is order, pure order, and you are nothing but an agent of chaos.”
Velixar curled his hands, and bolts of shadow flew from them, straight for Preston. He slammed an open palm to the ground. The shadows scattered as a shockwave of air and sound rolled in all directions. Qurrah lashed out with his whip, but several priests protected their appointed Melorak, using their meager magic to summon black shields.
“They are traitors to Karak,” Preston shouted. “Strike them down! Show your faith!”
Krieger’s men remained where they were, waiting for word from their leader. The dark paladin shook his head.
“Jerico should have died the very moment we laid eyes upon him,” he said.
“Show some wisdom,” Velixar said. “You know who I am, what I can do.”
“I know who you were,” Krieger said. “Kill them.”
Before they could follow the order, a giant spear landed among them, burying into the dirt. Over a hundred war demons landed, their weapons at ready. Ulamn landed beside Qurrah, and he pointed his gigantic sword at the dark paladins that surrounded them.
“I have no time for such squabbles,” he said, his voice booming. “Nor your laws and punishments. I will not be stranded here on this young, tiny world. As long as Qurrah and Velixar hold open the portal, they are under my protection. If any question this, speak now! I would hear your challenge.”
None dared speak. Ulamn turned to Velixar.
“You and your apprentice stay among my soldiers from now on. No arguments.”
Ulamn signaled, and his soldiers surrounded the three, flanking them in a protection of wing, muscle, and armor. Velixar offered one last threat before he left with the demons.
“Karak will suffer your blasphemy for only a little longer,” he said. “And I pray that your death will be by my hand.”
Ulamn led them away. Preston hurried to Krieger’s side.
“We must move fast,” he said. “The paladin cannot be far. Send out your men!”
“Get away from me,” Krieger said, brushing the high priest aside. “I know how to do Karak’s will.”
Within five minutes teams of riders rode west into the hillside.
All the while, Jerico ran.
9
T he last survivors of Neldar were a week from Mordeina when the first messenger arrived.
“Queen Annabelle Baedan, ruler of all of Mordan, extends greetings from her throne,” the man said as he saluted from atop his horse. “She has heard of your plight and extends her hand in friendship. Come to the capital. Mordeina will greet you with open arms.”
“It is a kind offer,” King Antonil said, seated around a campfire with his soldiers. “I thank you. Return to your queen, and tell her we accept her generosity.”
Antonil turned to the Eschaton, who had gathered around him when the messenger arrived. “It appears Queen Annabelle is more welcoming than Neyvar Sinistel,” he said.
“Guess so,” Harruq said. “But queen? Thought Mordan had a king.”
Antonil chuckled. “So did I. But is it surprising things change while you march for months across the wild?”
“Course not,” said Tarlak. He removed his hat and scratched the top of his head. His bald spot had filled over the past months, but the habit remained. “I’ll spread word to the people. They’re already excited as is about nearing civilization, but to be greeted so warmly!”
The Eschaton bowed, and Antonil gave them leave. Ever since they had returned from their excursions with Dieredon, the king had treated them like brethren. He consulted them for advice, shared his worries, and relied on them heavily. Tarlak, having needed coin to endure his cold relationship with former King Vaelor, found all this a fantastic improvement, even with the drastically reduced amount of gold.
“So who’s this Queen Annabelle?” Harruq asked as they weaved through the refugees.
“King Baedan’s wife,” Aurelia said. “I think I remember her. She was just a girl when we fled here, twelve or thirteen perhaps.”
“Maybe she’ll be more forgiving than her husband,” Harruq offered.
“Maybe,” Aurelia said.
They stopped at their tent, which was just as meager as the others around them. They had declined special treatment, suffering in the cold like everyone else. The blankets and food the elves had given them were exquisite, and had saved many a life as the winter tore on. Harruq himself had grown rather attached to his bedroll, which had a slit so he could slide inside like a caterpillar in a cocoon.
“I’m worried about Tar,” the half-orc said as he knelt down and started rolling up his belongings.
“Why’s that?” Aurelia asked, busying herself with breaking down their tent. The day was young, and all around others were preparing for hours of marching.
“Because of Delysia,” he said. “He’s not grieved, not since we left Veldaren. Been damn near cheery, even. Now Haern, I know he’s just as hurt as Tar, can tell just by how he looks at me, but the wizard…”
He shook his head. Aurelia stood, kissed his cheek, and returned to her work.
“I’ll talk to him,” she said. “I have an idea why he’s been like he has.”
“What’s that?” he asked, but was only given a shake of her head.
“Just keep packing,” she said. “If I’m right, I’ll tell you later.”
She found him half a mile ahead of the throng of people, trotting along with staff in hand. Tarlak heard her approach and turned, a smile on his face.
“Weather’s finally warming up,” he said. “Course, it waits until we’re already across all the nations, but hey, who am I to complain?”
“You’re the perfect one to complain,” Aurelia said, smiling as well. “You’re so good at it.”
“Bah, just an innate gift. It’s something all us wizards have.”
Aurelia walked beside him, her arms crossed over her chest. Her smile faded a little as she tried to find a gentle way to ease into her desired topic.
“Tar,” she finally said, “we’ve been a little worried about you.”
“Worried?” he asked, his smile weakening. “Why’s that?”
“Your sister,” she said. “She was dear to us, but you most of all. We each grieve in our own way, but…”
“But what” Tarlak asked. “I haven’t wept enough? Bawled and hated the world like a moping half-orc I know?”
Aurelia halted. “That is uncalled for.”
Tarlak sighed and stared at the ground, his forehead resting against the top of his staff.
“I’m sorry, Aurry,” he said. “But look behind us. You see that huge throng? All of them have lost someone, some their entire families. Parents without children, husbands without wives. I lost my sister, and unlike all of them, I was given time to bury her.”
He pulled his head from his staff and chuckled.
“Too many rely on me to lead. Even a new king seeks my judgment. I’ve not the time, nor the luxury to grieve. Ashhur was kind to give me the moments I had, with friends and family, to say goodbye. I cannot ask for more.”
Aurelia put her arms around him, and he accepted her hug.
“You’re sweet,” he told her. “But if anyone needs watched over, it’s Haern.”
“He loved her, didn’t he?” Aurelia asked as she pulled back and smoothed her hair.
“Like a sister,” Tarlak said. “But more. They might have married one day, had he ever found the guts to ask me for permission.” The mage looked away, suddenly uncomfortable.
“I know,” Aurelia said. “He blames Harruq. I was hoping his anger had faded.”
Tarlak pulled off his hat and scratched his head. “Like I said, I’m not the one you need to worry about.”
T hey camped less than a day from Mordeina, and the mood was beyond festive. Tarlak used up the last of
