“Such tutelage will no longer be necessary,” Azariah said.
Qurrah’s eyes snapped open, and he peered around the chair. The angel remained standing beside the stairs leading higher up into the spire. All around him were paintings of forests, of which Qurrah had no doubt Azariah had both been to, and painted himself.
“Is that so?” he said, trying to hide his surprise. “You seemed rather insistent when we last met.”
“I’m sure I did.”
Qurrah frowned, and he pushed himself out of the chair.
“I came to Mordeina at your request,” he said. “And maybe it is just me, but it’s a bit rude to request someone’s help, then turn them down when they arrive to offer it. Now, I wouldn’t claim myself as brilliant in the ways of Ashhur as you, so perhaps you can answer the question for me…is rudeness a sin?”
“Your wit and sarcasm are both unnecessary and unappreciated,” Azariah said, crossing his arms.
“Then care to tell me why you changed your mind?”
The angel looked to the side, and he seemed confused, almost frustrated.
“My decision should not reflect poorly on you or Tessanna,” he said at last. “My coming to you…that was not wise. If my power from Ashhur is waning, then I should accept that as reality, and not try to hide it. Unfortunately I came to you in pride, seeking to remain the most powerful of angels. I’m sorry to waste your time, Qurrah.”
It didn’t make sense, no matter how many times Qurrah ran the words through his mind.
“You said you came to me in humility,” the half-orc insisted. “Now you say it is pride?”
“I wanted secret training to avoid the mockery of mortal men,” Azariah said. “That is pride. I wanted power to replace the power I lost. That is pride. I cannot do this for such a reason. I cannot let my pride control my actions. I thank you for coming, Qurrah, but perhaps humility is what I need to learn now.”
“So you’re accepting the loss of your clerical magic?”
Azariah sighed.
“Accepting it? Yes. I will not lie and say I am pleased. I will not pretend I do not miss it, nor act like I do not wish it returned. But I won’t have you as a teacher, Qurrah, nor your lover. This is a decision I made on my flight home, one I cannot fully explain. I hope you understand.”
Qurrah didn’t, but then again, he was trying to understand an angel. It seemed that, while on the outside they seemed simple and predictable, the truth of them was anything but.
“Very well,” he said. “We will remain here for a time longer, at least until I’m certain of my brother’s safety. If you change your mind, let me know.”
“I assure you, Qurrah,” Azariah said. “I won’t.”
Something about his tone of voice was strikingly cold. Azariah opened the door, and when Qurrah stepped out, he called for Loen. The angel landed moments later, having spent the time hovering above the spire in a lazy circle.
“Return my friend to the castle,” Azariah said. “I have much studying to do in preparation for the convening council, and cannot afford the time.”
“I would be happy to,” Loen said, turning to Qurrah. “Are you ready?”
Qurrah nodded.
“The night is late. Yes, please take me home.”
Once more they walked through the city to the very edge before Loen wrapped his arms around him and beat his wings.
“I must warn you,” Loen said. “The trip down is far more intense than the trip up.”
At first Qurrah thought it an exaggeration, but as they plummeted off the edge in free fall he changed his mind. Perhaps there were a few things left that might frighten him. Several times he glanced at the angel’s outstretched wings, having to remind himself that yes, they could indeed support their weight. As the city neared, Loen banked upward, stealing much of their speed so that during a second descent they came in much slower toward the castle. With surprising gentleness Loen pulled up at the last moment, setting Qurrah’s feet on the ground without the slightest difficulty.
“Many thanks for being my guide,” Qurrah said, turning to face the angel.
“Perhaps when you are not so tired, and the hour not so late, I can better show you the artwork and structures.”
“I would very much like the chance.”
Loen saluted. Before taking flight, he placed a hand on Qurrah’s shoulder.
“I once doubted your worth, even after the trial,” he said. “But I heard of your stand on Ashhur’s Bridge. And when you killed Karak’s prophet, a great evil left this land. It was like a thorn pulled from all our minds. You have done great things, and I would thank you before I leave.”
The admiration left him stunned. He’d gotten used to his accomplishments being overlooked, or remaining completely unknown.
“What little good I’ve done, I did not do alone,” Qurrah said, feeling his neck flush. “But I accept your thanks nonetheless.”
Loen took to the air, slowly fading away into the clouds as he soared toward Avlimar. His heart troubled, Qurrah stared at the glowing city, like a great star in the night, and wondered.
15
Kinamn looked a desolate wreck, but Tarlak knew looks could be deceiving. After all, why else would he prance around in his yellow robes?
“Are you sure you want to attack?” the wizard asked. Beside him, Antonil nodded.
“This city represents my greatest failure,” the king said. “We can’t ignore it, and we can’t leave so many orcs gathered at our flank. We take it back, or we return now to Mordeina. Those are our choices.”
Tarlak shrugged.
“I’m all for going home, but roasting orcs is fun, too. Give the word, my king, and I’ll begin the bonfire.”
Behind them, thirty thousand men prepared for battle. They were far out of range of any catapult, just in case the orcs there still had them functioning. Dozens of smoke trails lifted lazily into the sky, proving the city occupied.
“It’s been several years, don’t forget,” Tarlak said. “There may have only been five thousand last time, but it wouldn’t surprise me if thousands more flocked out of the unguarded Wedge and into the place.”
“I assure you, Tarlak, treating the situation lightly is the one thing I will absolutely not do this time,” Antonil said. “We go in with eyes open, and more importantly, your magic at the ready. The orcs might have ballista and catapults, but we have an Eschaton, who is worth a hundred catapults.”
“And costs more, too, I might add.”
Antonil laughed.
“No need to mention it,” the king said. “You only remind me daily.”
“I know. And one sweet day you’ll finally listen, and pay me.”
Again they laughed, but for Tarlak the jovialness was forced. He didn’t like this assault one bit, but he wasn’t the one in charge. So what if they hadn’t encountered a single orc raid on their travel east? So what if their supplies had gone untouched, their passage completely unimpeded into enemy territory? Antonil’s generals assured them that their numbers were so great the pitiably few orcs remaining would only flee.
But Tarlak’s gut said differently, and staring at the broken walls of Kinamn, he knew that something was amiss. He just couldn’t decide what.
“The men are ready to move out,” said Sergan, coming up to join the three. Sergan was an old, battle- hardened veteran from Antonil’s days as Guard Captain for the city of Veldaren. His face was scarred, his beard long, but he wielded his ax with a spryness many of the younger men struggled to match after days of marching.
“Remember, I want the archers spread as far apart as possible,” Antonil said. “If they do have war engines, I want their effect minimized.”
“And the city gates?” Sergan asked. “You sure you want to cram all twenty-five thousand of our fighting men
