“Praise be, indeed.”
“W hat do you think he’s planning?” Veliana asked as they weaved through the crowd.
“We’ve heard rumors of Antonil ever since Melorak’s army returned,” Deathmask said. “I expect nothing more than some fear mongering and lies, but it is best we hear all the same.”
Veliana shrugged and kept pushing closer toward the steps of the castle, where Melorak was supposed to make his appearance. They wore cloaks with deep hoods, and had even smeared dirt across their skin and hair to make sure Haern didn’t spot them among the crowd. The rapid arrangement smelled of desperation, and given how poorly their own resistance was going, both she and Deathmask were eager for any sort of victory. If they could perhaps prove what Melorak promised was false, maybe they could leverage that, along with the rumors of Antonil, into something workable. As it was, their resistance had become nothing but the two of them plus Bernard. The house guards had disbanded since the rest of the lords were hung from the gates of the city.
“Here is close enough,” Deathmask said.
They were several rows back, but still within easy sight. The people swayed and jostled, but they endured it with practiced ease. They’d come early, expecting an enormous crowd. All throughout every quarter the Lionsguard carried naked swords, ordering attendance. Hardly a soul in sight seemed happy to be there. If he started shouting words of revolt, he wondered if he’d spark a massive riot then and there. Given the sheer amount of priests and Lionsguard that roamed about, perhaps not. Still, the thought amused him, and he imagined scenarios of the destruction as they waited for the priest-king to show.
An hour later, Melorak stepped from the castle, flanked by priests and dark paladins. He wore his robes adorned with silver and gold, and atop his head, a newly fashioned crown glittering with sapphires.
“Rather over the top for one such as him,” Veliana whispered into Deathmask’s ear.
“Is it an act?” he asked. “Or is he trying to appear more kingly?”
Veliana shrugged, not having an answer.
“Men and women of Mordeina, your ruler!” shouted one of the dark paladins. His voice carried far by the careful design of the stairs and curved wall stretching to either side. The noise of the crowd lessened, but was by no means silent. When Melorak lifted his hand, an eerie calm swept over them. No sound, none at all, came from the crowd. Curious, Deathmask clapped his hands once. Nothing.
“People of Mordeina,” said Melorak. He sounded tired, old, but his voice remained deep as ever. “My beloved people. I know you hear rumors. I know your hearts are weak, and turn to thoughts better left unspoken. I am human. I am Karak made flesh, and I understand these weaknesses. But now is not the time for doubt. Now is not the time for cowardice. The world has changed, and we must change with it. I am not alone with Karak, nor am I his only voice.
“Throughout the night, I heard your prayers. They strengthened me. They gave me hope. And now I give to you a gift in return. Look to the castle, and look to the sky! View what your faith hath created. View the power of Karak. Let it sweep across you, burn your heart, and set you on the true path. Rakkar! Come forth!”
A great roar swept over the crowd, seeming to explode from within the castle. Deathmask felt his heart chill at the sound. It seemed to shake his bones, it was so loud. A blade of pure shadow tore into the sky. Smoke billowed behind it, a trail that looked like a scar across the blue. It circled once, kept aloft by enormous wings that were reminiscent of a bat.
Beside him Veliana murmured something in shock, but the spell across them stole it away.
“Rakkar!” Melorak cried again. The beast turned and landed between him and the crowd, its wings curling about itself. The creature looked reptilian, its scales made of deep shadow. Violet eyes shone from the sides of its head, possessing a frightening intelligence as it surveyed the crowd. It walked on all fours, with enormous claws, each the size of a man. Its long neck lifted, and then it roared. The nearest rows collapsed to their backs, while the rest fell to their knees, pushed down by a compulsion even Deathmask struggled to resist. From deep within its throat fire burst in a great pillar, as if the creature were attempting to burn the very heavens. At last the spell ended, and the murmurs of the crowd rumbled to life in deafening waves.
“A dragon?” Veliana asked, having to press her lips against his ear to be heard.
“It’s not possible,” Deathmask said, shaking his head. He seemed to be trying to convince himself. “It just can’t be possible.”
Melorak lifted his arms in praise.
“Let the bastion of Ashhur fall to Karak’s might!” he cried.
Rakkar spread its wings and took flight, heading straight for where Avlimar floated above the city, a constant reminder of the angels and their absence. Deathmask swallowed, feeling a lump in his throat growing. Any chance of a rebellion died before them. No one would resist such a creature. A legend come to life. A dragon made of shadow, smoke and flame.
“What do we do?” Veliana asked.
“I don’t know.”
The creature flew closer, closer, soon just a trail of smoke as it neared the golden city. Deathmask watched, unable to look away. Just when it was to land, it pulled back, and he heard its wail of pain all the way from there. A thin smile spread across his lips.
“It can’t stand its light,” he said, suddenly laughing. “Watch it squirm!”
The creature breathed fire at the city, burning some of the outer pillars, but it could not draw any closer. It circled once or twice, and as the murmuring grew throughout the crowd, it turned back toward the ground. Deathmask looked to Melorak and felt greatly amused at how the priest-king seethed.
“Let’s go,” he said, grabbing Veliana’s wrist. “We need to see if Bernard has any idea how to defeat that thing.”
“He hoped for a far greater victory today,” she said as they cut into a side alley away from the crowd.
“Yeah,” Deathmask said, glancing upward to where a great trail of smoke led to the castle. “I think he’s accomplished enough. Long as that thing lives, our chances are nothing.”
“Then we kill it,” Veliana said.
He stopped and looked at her. In response, she laughed.
“You once prided yourself for accomplishing the impossible,” she said. “Have you really changed so much?”
He ran a hand across his horribly scarred face, burned by Melorak’s fire.
“No,” he said. “And so be it. Let us talk to Bernard, and find out just how to kill a dragon.”
27
T he Eschaton met, fully understanding it might be their final time.
“Glad to have you all here,” Tarlak said. They gathered around a bonfire built far from the camps, for they desired solitude and privacy for their meeting. Some stood, and some sat on the grass. The wizard turned to each of them in turn as, high above, the moon waned.
“Glad to have you back,” he said to Lathaar and Jerico. The two paladins sat beside one another, and they saluted him half-heartedly. “I can’t imagine it a real meeting without some paladins to tell us what we’re doing is morally wrong.”
“Always happy to help,” Jerico said, and he smiled.
“And you brought a friend,” said the wizard.
“I will do my best not to interfere,” said Keziel, brought to speak for the rest of the priests.
Tarlak nodded to the Tun couple, Aurelia snug in Harruq’s arms. He felt glad Qurrah was not at their side, though he also felt guilty for such thoughts. With a sigh, he brushed them aside and did his best to keep his smug grin going.
“Of course, we must be honored by our beloved king’s presence, since he is only an honorary member of my Eschaton.”
Antonil nodded. He’d said not a word since joining them. Tarlak wondered if he missed Bram’s presence. The two had become inseparable as of late. With Mordeina only a day away, his nerves had moved beyond eating him up inside. They seemed ready to devour him whole.
