“It was Tessanna that first kept me alive,” Jerico said. “I’m not sure why. Curiosity, perhaps, or vengeance. Qurrah didn’t approve, and that’s putting it mildly.”
“Does he control the army?” Harruq asked, the first time he’d spoken since they all had gathered.
“No,” Jerico said after a pause. “And neither does Velixar. One of the war demons commands the troops, but they treat Qurrah and Velixar with an odd reverence.”
“They need them to keep the portal open,” Tarlak said. “Lovely as Dezrel is, I’m thinking they want to go home after they’ve conquered everything.”
“It’s possible,” Jerico said. “I fought Qurrah once before, at the Sanctuary. He is a shadow of what he was. He looks sick, and very tired.”
Harruq frowned at this but kept silent.
“What are we looking at in terms of numbers?” Tarlak asked.
“Several thousand undead,” Jerico said. “And Dieredon said his scouts estimated a thousand of the war demons. Toss in the priests and paladins of Karak, and a few hundred of their ‘tested’ as they call them, and we’re looking at one formidable army.”
“You forgot to add Tessanna and Qurrah to that list,” Aurelia said. “They count as another five hundred or so soldiers.”
“If not more,” Tarlak added.
Harruq stood, and when Aurelia frowned he only shook his head.
“Just need to be alone for awhile,” he muttered. Jerico stood as the half-orc wandered off, bowing to the rest of the Eschaton.
“I need a moment with him,” he said. The others nodded, understanding.
Solitude was difficult with so many people about, but Harruq headed for a stretch of wall where no one lingered. Jerico caught up to him and walked at his side.
“Your brother,” Jerico said as he slowed to a walk.
“I know,” Harruq said. “He’s going to get us all killed, Jerico. My fault, my own damn fault.”
“How?” Jerico asked. “How could this be your fault?”
“Because he should be dead!” Harruq said, spinning so he could face Jerico. “I had the chance and I couldn’t do it. You paladins can preach about mercy and forgiveness, but when it all comes down to it, I should have killed him.”
“This is not the time for endless doubting and blame,” Jerico said. He grabbed the top of Harruq’s armor and yanked him close. “And your brother hates what he has become, as does his lover. They are stranded, and don’t know any other way. All they want is to escape.”
“Let go of me,” Harruq said, pushing the paladin away. Jerico spun his arms in a circle, parrying away his arms and grabbing the armor a second time.
“Tessanna is with child!” Jerico said, his voice a forceful whisper. “Now do you understand?”
Harruq’s whole body went limp, as if he had been struck paralyzed by the words.
“A child?” he said, as if distant from the world. “They will have a child?”
“Yes,” Jerico said. “She is close to five months.”
Harruq took a step back, then fell to his knees. Memory after memory of Aullienna flashed before his eyes. He remembered her life, her smile, her crying. The first time she had called him dada.
“How can he hope to raise a life in this world?” Harruq asked.
“He can’t,” Jerico said. “And he knows it. They want to escape. They travel with Velixar not out of vengeance or anger, but out of desperation. It is all they know.”
The paladin knelt down beside him.
“All they know is murder, anger, and betrayal. But what if they knew grace? What if they knew mercy? Qurrah has tasted it only once, and it was from your hand. He didn’t understand it then, and he still doesn’t now.”
“Leave me,” Harruq said. “Just leave me alone.”
“If the world ends, it ends,” Jerico said as he stood. “Even if your brother kills us all, it changes nothing. We will all die in time. I await rest in the golden eternity. What awaits you?”
“Punishment,” Harruq said as Jerico turned to walk away. “For everyone I murdered.”
“It is your choice,” Jerico said, glancing over his shoulder. “But why you would choose that, I don’t know.”
Jerico left him to wallow in his self-loathing.
15
T he light of the sun was just a hint upon the eastern horizon when Harruq stirred. He made sure Aurelia stayed asleep before grabbing his swords and armor and slipping away. He strapped his swords to his belt and buckled on his armor as he walked.
“A show of faith,” he whispered into the morning air, remembering Mira’s words. “So be it.”
A cold wind blew, and it carried tension and fear in its talons. The past two days had stretched painfully long, with Harruq having little to do. He spent his time mulling over the words of Mira, Bernard, and Jerico. With each passing hour, his mood had darkened, and the city with it. More and more people poured through the gates, fleeing the dark army destroying everything in its path. But now it was here. The day of reckoning had come. Horrific battle awaited them all, but Harruq would meet its challenge.
When he arrived at the outer gate several guards lingered about, edgy and nervous. They saw him and reached for their weapons.
“Open the gate,” Harruq ordered. They looked to one another, and to help their decision along he drew his swords, the steel a deep black, the blades glowing crimson.
“I said open it.”
A quick shout and the doors creaked open just enough for him to slip through.
“Coward,” one of the guards muttered as Harruq exited the city. The half-orc ignored the insult. Without pause he trudged east, his shoulders hunched as if he bore a tremendous burden. He kept his swords drawn. They gave him courage, and that was something he desperately needed. The two walls shrank behind him. One foot after another, he told himself. He had to put the city far away, so he had no chance to run. All or nothing. A sign of faith.
Ahead of him, approaching with frightening speed, were lines of soldiers, both dead and alive. The first sliver of light darted above the horizon, and within it he saw the multitude of undead, and flying above them, the armored demons. They were distant dots, but soon, too soon, they would arrive.
The half-orc stopped. He had gone far enough. He spun his swords and buried them in the ground before him. His chest quivering, his hands tingling and his head light, he knelt down on one knee and bowed his head.
“I’ve never prayed to you before,” Harruq said as he closed his eyes. “And I sure this isn’t the last time, either. Here I am. Take me.”
He wasn’t sure what he expected, but he knew what happened wasn’t it. Nothing happened. He felt no sweeping change. He saw no sudden burst of light, or heard the sound of singing. Instead, he felt like a fool. What would the guards upon the walls think of him, kneeling in seeming reverence toward the approaching army?
He shook his head. It didn’t matter. Since when did he care what others thought, anyway?
“This is right,” he prayed, and he knew it, even if he didn’t know how. “Please, Ashhur, he is my brother. Help me do what’s right.”
He kept his head bowed and his eyes closed. Until his death, or his prayer’s answer, that was how he would remain.
A urelia awoke to a sudden jab in her side. She snapped open her eyes and lifted one hand, ice sparkling on her fingertips.
“Where is your husband?” Haern asked, standing over her with his arms crossed.
“He should be…” She stopped and looked around. “I don’t know. Where is he?”
“If I knew, would I ask you?” Haern said.
