D eep inside a well-worn mansion seven men gathered wearing gray robes. A fire burned between them in a stone pit, but it gave off no smoke. The seven finished their chant, and the leader among them spoke.
“Our time here is limited,” he said. “And our lives in danger. As we once persecuted priests and paladins of Ashhur, so now are we persecuted. So quickly Mordeina turns her back to our Lord.”
“A reminder,” said one of the seven.
“Yes,” said another. “They need a reminder.”
“Hayden was our greatest, but he will not be our last,” said their leader. “And Karak has spoken to me in dreams. This is still our world’s final moments. Our great prophet remains, spurned and angry. But Karak whispers to me of a second prophet, one we must be wary of. We must be diligent. We must be strong. Above all, we must hold faith.”
“What are we to do?” one asked.
“You said it best,” said the leader. “We give them a reminder.”
“W ith great joy I stand before these two individuals,” Bernard said, his voice carrying far in the silence that had fallen over the crowds. “King and queen of different nations, but coming together in peace and unity. No wounds are too old, no pain too great. Love heals. A simple statement, perhaps, but it is true, and it is powerful.”
Harruq squeezed Aurelia’s hand and leaned over.
“Our wedding didn’t take half this long,” he whispered.
T he seven raised their arms to the ceiling, their hearts throbbing in their chests. Desperate pleas for power poured from their lips. They called for a sign. They called for a message of truth and warning for their city. They called for a revival. The fire flared higher and higher, its strength tied to the strength of their prayers.
“A name,” one of the priests suddenly shouted. “I hear a name!”
The others heard it as well, strong in their ears. Their leader fell to his knees, and he cried out to his god.
“I am unworthy,” he shouted. “Please, pass the burden to another.”
“Take it!” the priests cried. “Take the name offered!”
The fire soared, a brilliant orange and yellow pillar in the gigantic room. Their leader bowed his head and accepted Karak’s will.
“Then let my old name be forgotten,” he said. “Melorak is now my name.”
The other priests cheered, delighted at the long-prophesied arrival of Dezrel’s conqueror. The true Melorak closed his eyes and lifted his palms to the ceiling.
“Let all of Mordan hear our anger,” he said.
T he exchange of rings done, Bernard began the final instruction of the ceremony.
“Each of you holds the love of the other in your heart. Keep it sacred, and keep it close,” he said. “Queen Annabelle, I now pronounce you of the family Copernus. King Antonil, you may…”
He stopped, his skin turning pale and his eyes widening. Whispers spread throughout the crowd.
“Bernard?” Antonil asked.
The ground shook. Wind blew down the streets, random in its swirling. The sky darkened. The rows of angels that surrounded the castle drew their swords as if for battle. Screams of fear and pain pierced the wind as people fled, trampling others too slow to move.
“What’s going on?” Harruq shouted as he clutched Aurelia’s hand and held her close.
“The sky,” Tarlak said. “Damn it all to the Abyss.”
The roar of the lion shook the city. Its sound rumbled through their chests and pierced their hearts. The ground recoiled and broke. People fled to their homes, and the new king and queen hurried to their castle for safety. Those outside looked to the darkened sky, and all who saw it knew what it meant.
Shimmering as if it were made of a thousand red stars, the image of a lion rippled in the air, its eyes angry, its teeth bared, and its claws outstretched. Twice more it roared, cracking walls and rendering the roads broken and uneven.
Harruq watched as a group of angels flew toward the craven image. Azariah led them, his amulet in hand. As one they raised their right hands and shouted out the name of Ashhur. Holy light pulsed about their fingers. The image of the lion shook, its power fading. Again and again the angels prayed, until the wind died, the sky filled with light, and the lion broke apart.
“Just like in Veldaren,” Tarlak said as an uneasy calm settled over the city.
“We have an army to chase,” Harruq said, looking over the wall to the east as Mira and the paladins joined them. “Perhaps now the city will remember that.”
Ahaesarus landed beside them, his beautiful face marred with anger.
“We leave at the rise of the sun,” he said, glaring at where the image had been. “We have waited long enough.”
“Antonil’s army won’t be ready by then,” Tarlak argued.
“Then they can chase after us,” Ahaesarus said. “Prepare your mercenaries, unless you wish to stay behind.”
Tarlak glanced around at his Eschaton, who all nodded.
“We’re going,” he said. “All of us.”
“Good,” said Ahaesarus. “Be ready.”
He flew back to Avlimar, his angels following.
“We’ll be outnumbered,” Mira said when he was gone. “Even with Antonil’s men.”
“So be it,” Tarlak said. “We just fled across an entire continent. For once, I want to be the one giving chase. All of you, prepare your things. We’re leaving at dawn.”
The Eschaton did as they were told. Their resting was done. They had a war to fight.
18
T he three of them huddled before a fire, feeling isolated amid the remnants of the demon army. Qurrah seethed in silence, pondering Harruq’s eyes and the glow of his swords. He went over their battle again and again. At no point had his brother tried to score a killing blow. He had struck with the hilt of his swords, or at his legs and hands. Compared to their previous battle after Aullienna’s death, the whole ordeal seemed tame. Qurrah was baffled.
“What do we do now?” Tessanna asked, disrupting his thoughts.
“We rebuild,” Velixar said. His arms were crossed, and he bent toward the fire as if he were ready to plunge his face into the embers. “We cannot collapse now, not so close to victory.”
“The demons have already replenished their numbers,” Qurrah said. “I feel the strain of their passing with every breath I take.”
“As do I,” Velixar said. “But we must endure.”
“It’s been months since we first opened the portal,” Qurrah said, rubbing his temples. “I am flesh and bone, Velixar. I will break soon, as will you.”
“I am not weak,” Velixar said, his eyes looking up from the fire. For a moment they flared a bright red, a bit of his old self reemerging.
“Neither of you are weak,” Tessanna said. She curled her knees to her chest and hid her face behind her arms. “But you’re dying. You can’t do this forever. But they want more from you, and they’ll keep taking and taking until you can’t stand, can’t fight, can’t do anything…”
They hushed as Ulamn approached. He had taken off his helmet, and if not for the darkness of his eyes and the multitude of scars on his face, he could have passed as one of the angels they had just fought.
“We will fly for much of the distance,” Ulamn said. “Uncomfortable as it may be for you, we will travel much faster that way. Ashhur’s angels will give chase, and we cannot fight them, not until we reinforce our numbers from Veldaren.”
“What of my priests, my paladins?” Velixar asked.
“They have forsaken you,” Ulamn said. “You know this as well as I. You both are too important to leave our
