buried into a tree. His smile grew.
“More,” he said, lunging toward her with his sword leading. “Show me more!”
She whirled, and a funnel of air surrounded her, swirling higher and higher until it reached the sky. Thulos tried to stab through it, but a bolt of lightning struck the blade the moment it touched the air. He gritted his teeth and pulled back, refusing to let go of the weapon despite the pain. Thunder boomed, the elements seeming to grow angry at their battle. From within the vortex Mira’s eyes shone white.
Unimpressed, Thulos slammed his sword to the ground. Its shockwave tore a giant hole in the funnel, and before it could close he slashed the ground, sending another forceful blast onward. Mira clapped her hands. The sound rolled outward with physical energy, disrupting his attack and pushing him back. The air funnel vanished. Lightning struck her uplifted hand, swirling around her body like a wild snake.
“Dezrel loathes your presence,” she said. “It is time you suffered for the untold worlds you’ve destroyed.”
“Stronger than you have tried,” he said. He dodged the first bolt, deflected the second with his sword, and then accepted the third directly into his chest. He shook his head, disappointed.
“Better,” he said, his voice nearly a snarl. “You have to do better!”
She ripped chunks of dirt from the ground and hurled them, but he slammed the boulders aside. The last one she threw he cut in half with his sword. Twisting it, he swung so the flat of the blade smacked the boulder back at her. She dropped to the ground, narrowly avoiding it. The chunk cracked the bark of one of the oaks, and leaves scattered down like an autumn rain. A snap of her fingers and every leaf burst into flame. Thulos winced in the sudden brightness, and then the fire erupted beneath him. He roared as he dove to the side. His skin was hard as stone, but faint black marks marred its perfection.
Mira thought he’d mock her, or congratulate her, but instead he attacked with such speed she had but a split-second to react. A defensive spell wrapped about her skin, and when the blade struck her side it failed to cut. Sparks flew, the powerful magic in his blade unable to sunder the equally strong defense. The energy still traveled through, and Mira cried out as she smacked against the trunk of a tree. The sword flew end over end after her. Shadows swarmed about her, protecting her. The sword flashed a bright red, then bounced off, unable to penetrate.
“Is this better?” she asked, stepping toward him while the shadows swirled. “Is this the power of the goddess you seek?”
White wings stretched from her back. The shadows faded, becoming streams of gold that formed a long dress, its skirt filling the clearing. Higher and higher she hovered, the ethereal wings showering the clearing with petals with each flap, petals that dispersed into wisps of shimmering light.
Thulos grinned at the display.
“About damn time.”
A massive beam of power shot from her hands. Thulos rolled out of the way. The beam continued, exploding several trees as it blew a hole clean through the forest. A large gash remained in the dirt, carved by the blast. She unleashed another, this one angled lower. Thulos met it with his sword, all his power summoned into the blade. The magic enveloped him, surging into a dome that pushed the earth aside and bowled over the ancient oaks as if they were twigs.
When the light faded, Thulos remained. His sword shimmered with dark energy. His muscles bulged, every sinew in his body required to remain standing after the assault. Smoke wafted off his armor, and its edges shone red as if heated to near melting. Mira flapped her wings, and the feathers floated down.
“Such a pretty bird,” he said, sounding out of breath. “Must I put you back in your cage?”
“Your strength is simple in its primal nature,” she said. Her voice took on a strange, dual tone, as if two women were speaking. Thulos’s eyes narrowed, for he knew that second voice well.
“Simple?” he asked. “Come now, Celestia. Must you insult what you cannot destroy?”
He swung his sword, and the shockwaves shone red as they travelled toward her. Mira batted them aside with her hands until she saw blood flick to the ground from her palms. Suddenly worried, she tried to soar higher, but the slashes continued, this time not for her but her wings. They tore through their ethereal nature, banishing their magic. The feathers poured into the sky like butterflies freed from a jar. Where she fell, Thulos stood ready, his sword raised heavenward.
Mira shrieked just before landing. Raw magic poured out of her, rolling across the land for miles in a destructive wave. Branches broke as their leaves ripped off their stems. Animals howled as their bones snapped. The ground cracked and heaved. Thulos screamed as his whole body shuddered. He felt his mortal form ready to give, to surrender to a death he could never imagine possible. Only his sheer rage kept him standing, kept him fighting against the power of the goddess he so vehemently loathed.
And then the wave was done. Mira fell limp to the ground before him, her golden dress fading to a simple green, torn and bloodied. With a shaking hand he pointed his sword at her throat.
“You could destroy the world and still not destroy me,” he said, but his voice quivered with a newfound fear.
“It is the world that will destroy you,” she said. Her eyes drooped, so great was her exhaustion. “Even now, mother sees your fate.”
“Has she seen yours?” he asked.
She smiled. “She did, and she wept from the very moment of my birth for it.”
He plunged his sword into her breast. No magic stopped it. No spell veered it aside. The blade pierced her heart, twisted, and then pulled free.
“Lathaar,” she whispered as the blood spilled across her breast. “Please, remember…”
“I ’ll be waiting,” Lathaar said, and his body trembled. “That is all she said. Please, remember I’ll be waiting. Waiting. Which means she’s gone.”
Jerico wrapped his arms around Lathaar’s shoulders as his friend cried.
“The Eternity isn’t so far away,” he said. “Our lives are but a spark from a fire. Stay with me, Lathaar. Stay with us.”
Simple words, thought Lathaar. Honest, perhaps, and maybe true. But only words.
Only words.
17
I n the light of dawn Thulos’s army approached. The war demons floated lazily toward them, while in the vanguard swarmed the undead. Behind the lines of undead, making up the bulk of the army, marched the men of Felwood and Angelport. Qurrah saw the numbers arrayed against them and felt a tug of fear in his heart. They were outnumbered ten to one, at best, worse if he accounted for the undead Velixar was sure to raise as the battle raged.
“They’ll be here in an hour,” a man beside Qurrah said to another.
The land of the delta was flat and fertile, with no trees or hills to block sight of the army during its steady march. Murmurs and shouts rippled through the soldiers gathered at the bridge. A trumpet sounded, and then Theo strode forward, shouting commands. Men with shields lined the front, filling half the bridge with them tightly packed together. Spearmen wedged behind them. Along the riverbanks he lined up archers, far fewer in number than any preferred. Qurrah worried the archers might be vulnerable, but they had an excellent angle on the bridge.
Qurrah stayed with the archers, knowing the chaos at the front was not for him. He had one role, and he meant to play it well: counteracting Velixar.
“For the king!” shouted men all around him, and the half-orc glanced about to realize Theo had made his way to the back.
“I have my men in position,” the king said. “It is such a shame your brother could not be here to bolster the front line.”
“He has his fight waiting for him in Mordan,” Qurrah said, hoping that would be the end of it.
“Perhaps,” Theo said. “But instead I have you. Where should you be in this stand? What do I do with you?”
