It was the answer he deserved, he knew.
T hulos looked upon the city from the castle doors, his skin cold marble in the bright moonlight. Velixar stood beside him, quiet and attentive. Thulos had summoned him to listen, and so he would.
“I cannot hear my brothers,” Thulos said, his eyes watching the land beyond the walls where the distant army of Ashhur camped. “Either of them. But you say you hear Karak's voice, and so I speak to you, in hopes that through you he may speak to me.”
The wind blew. Velixar heard Karak whisper for him to hold his silence. In time, Thulos resumed.
“I will tell you much, mortal, so that you may understand what it is I came for, and why it is I seek your lord. I need you to understand, to ensure Karak hears the truth.”
Thulos gestured to the stars above.
“Every one of them holds a single world filled with life. Celestia was the first to create such a place, and I was among the other gods, jealous of her beautiful creation. So we scattered, with the blessing of He Who Judges. We were all mirrors of his glory, but Celestia seemed special, elevated somehow. We created similar lands, for we only sought Celestia's splendor, not knowing how to create it on our own. When she created man, we did the same. But hers were the first, ours just shallow, imperfect imitations.”
Thulos drifted off, his mind in times far beyond their own. Velixar waited, glad for the chance to absorb what he’d heard. Karak had whispered to him of other worlds, but never had he heard of their creation, nor mention of He Who Judges. Did gods themselves also have gods?
“I created men, much as Celestia did,” Thulos continued several minutes later. “I armed them with weapons, and I opened a door to her world and let them through. My pets killed every shred of life. It was petty jealousy, nothing more, and I have forever carried the shame of that single, human moment. As punishment I was banished to my own world. Celestia created elves to heal the destruction, and in turn, the others of my kind copied her creation. She hoped the elves’ docile nature would allow her to rest, and in this she was correct.”
“You created man, and shaped worlds, yet here you stand before me in flesh and blood?” Velixar dared ask. “Why did you not wave your hand and dismiss those you fought today, and with a word split their very beings to water and dust?”
“Wave my hand?” Thulos said, a hint of anger giving life to his words. “Deny combat to a foe, however unworthy? What do skill and strength matter, what do I matter, if I render all need of such things pointless?”
He dismissed Velixar with a shrug of his head.
“You are too ignorant to understand. You crave only victory, not the battle itself. Karak has certainly fallen far if you are his wisest pupil.”
Velixar accepted the stinging rebuke, knowing he should have stilled his tongue. The minutes crawled as again Thulos seemed to dig deep into a memory spanning thousands of years, searching for words to attach to moments that shaped entire worlds.
“Besides,” Thulos said at last. “I can no longer do so. I am not a proper god, not as I once was. Neither is Karak or Ashhur.”
“How is that possible?”
“I came to Him,” Thulos said. “Told Him what I would do. The men of my world were ruthless, vile, and ignorant. I hovered outside it, peering in, and I felt that was the flaw. With His blessing, I shattered myself. Once we were Kaurthulos, all one, but afterward we were Ashhur and Karak, Kirm and Ra, Thulos and Verae, gods of Justice, Mercy, War, Order, Death, Life…”
He shook his head.
“I left the outside. I left all my power, and to the mortal world I fell. In time, I saw my error. The world was no better. Now my creations were divided, battling over worship of my various incarnations, putting one virtue higher than another, as if Justice were at war with Order, or Life in eternal conflict with Mercy. As Thulos, I was everywhere, for I was War. As my power grew, I slew my brothers, prism refractions of my own being. Each time, I felt myself returning to wholeness. But then Karak and Ashhur fled here, to the world they once helped destroy. Tell me, Velixar, what happened here, after my brothers denied me my right to ascend, to look from the outside once more and wield all of my divine power?”
“Karak and Ashhur created man, and then through man, waged war against each other,” Velixar said. “Celestia imprisoned both, and so my master has called out to you. He wishes to be freed from his cage, to campaign at your side.”
Thulos chuckled, the deep sound frightful in the night.
“I'm not sure that is possible. I wish to be whole. This conquest across the stars, it is merely preparation. We were told of a time when He Who Judges would view our creations, preserving for eternity those he deemed good, and casting into fire forever those he considered ill-wrought and vile. I seek to gather the power of all the stars, all the worlds, and all the gods, and in a loud voice declare to Him that all is good, and that I accept no judge. I do not need Karak as an ally. I need him to return to me, so we may be whole once more.”
“You ask his death,” Velixar said, his heart surrounded by the creeping feeling of betrayal.
“I ask his atonement,” Thulos said. “Does a stream die when it joins a river?”
Velixar listened for Karak's answer, but none came to his ears. Thulos waited, saw he would be given no answer, and then swore in a language Velixar knew nothing off. A massive fist slammed into the stone of the castle. Cracks ran in all directions.
“How do I free them from their prison?” Thulos asked.
“Celestia must be defeated,” Velixar said. “She gains her strength from the health of this world. Burn its trees, poison its rivers, and kill off her elves. We will find a way.”
“Pray to your god you are right,” Thulos said, trudging back into the castle. “And pray you both understand the inevitable future that awaits you.”
3
T he army traveled during the day, the angels flying above them, forced to slow to accommodate the collective earthbound troops from Mordan and Neldar. Antonil Copernus, their king, rode among them, but his voice was a hollow lie as he encouraged them on, insisting victory was not yet lost.
When night came, they held their tribunal.
Qurrah stepped into the light of the fire, flanked by two angels. Ahaesarus, leader of the angels, sat directly opposite him. Judarius, his greatest fighter, was on his right. Azariah, his high priest, sat to his left. The three looked upon him with strangely passive faces. The rest of the tribunal was filled with members of the Eschaton- what was left of it. Lathaar and Jerico on one side of the fire, Harruq and Aurelia on the other. Tarlak hovered as far from Qurrah as he could, his arms crossed and his hat pulled low.
“King Antonil has assured us he will abide by our decision in this matter,” Ahaesarus said, nodding toward Qurrah. “But before we start, I must ask you as well, Qurrah Tun: do you yourself agree to honor the decision we make here, even if it results in your death?”
As the angelic voice ceased, Qurrah felt the silence swarm around him, bound tight by the many glares of hatred, pain, and sorrow aimed his way. He glanced from face to face, remembering how he had hurt them. Jerico, his helmet by his side, rubbed his face as if aware Qurrah's eyes lingered on the scar that ran from his ear to his cheek. The angels? They were there only because he had helped release Thulos's demons. Aurelia hugged her bandaged husband, who sat propped against a few logs of wood, his outgoing demeanor uncharacteristically subdued. Their drowned daughter haunted their waking eyes. At last Qurrah looked to Tarlak, whose sister he had cut open from ear to ear and bled out upon cold, wet grass.
“I will accept and honor it,” Qurrah said. It felt akin to suicide.
Ahaesarus nodded at the words. He crossed his arms and addressed the gathering.
“This is not a court of man,” he said. “No, this is a court unlike any before. We come to judge the worth of a life. Let there be no lies. We know of his crimes, as do you all. That is not in question. It is punishment we seek here, nothing more, nothing less.”
“Punishment?” Tarlak said, spitting as he did. “How many thousands are dead because of him? You want to discuss punishment? Fire, rope, or blade: those should be our choices.”
