The Cost of Betrayal (53 page)

K
arnryk was feeding off Tessanna’s power. It was the only thing that made sense. With the girl’s arrival, he had gone on the attack, each blow stronger than the last. Lathaar blocked, his speed easily beyond that of the creature, but the sheer power! Every second, his arms ached a little more. His faith in Ashhur was great, and his Elholad would not break, but his body was an entirely different matter. When the sound of charging men met his ears he smiled for the first time that night.

“Encircle it!” he heard a man shout. Lathaar leapt back as guards of Neldar surrounded his foe, their shields up and their swords ready. A man of honor took position next to him, a grin on his face as well.

“You must be Lathaar,” the Guard Captain said.

“My reputation precedes me,” the paladin said. Onward rushed Karnryk, ignoring the other men in a desperate lunge at Lathaar. His greatsword cut air as the paladin rolled to the left, lashing out with his sword in one hand. The gleaming white blade tore through Karnryk’s calf, shredding bone and rotted muscle. Antonil went the opposite way, using his shield to deflect the sword upward for two quick stabs into the half-orc’s gut. Guards charged from behind, hacking away at undead flesh that was rapidly losing volume. Karnryk grunted his anger and spun, but the guards had already retreated.

“It’s not too difficult,” Antonil shouted, smashing his sword against his shield in an attempt to draw attention his way. “Only one paladin remains, and I’d bet my life that you’re him.”

“Is that so?” Lathaar countered a swing, chopping off part of Karnryk’s nose in the process. He failed to parry the next hit. Desperate, he jerked his body low to avoid decapitation. Antonil did not hesitate. He smashed his shield against Karnryk’s waist while hacking at his tree trunk of a leg. The half-orc was unable to strike a killing blow against the off-balance paladin, instead forced to deal with the nuisance at his leg. He rammed his knee beneath the shield, ignoring its sharp bottom tearing into his skin. The blow wrenched Antonil’s arm and cracked his head back hard.

Several guards again rushed his back. Karnryk sensed their coming and spun, his sword out in a long arc. He cut two in half and took the arm off a third. Even as their comrades screamed in pain or death, the guards charged in. More and more strikes tore at the rotted flesh. His knees were particularly wounded, and each step caused his entire body to wobble. Two more died, horrible gashes in their chests from the greatsword, but they had fulfilled their goal. As one, Antonil and Lathaar charged.

“Take his knees,” Lathaar shouted, lashing out with his sword. Antonil led with his shield, absorbing a direct swing against it. His entire left side of his body screamed in pain as his collarbone broke, but still he ran. Lathaar’s sword cut through the left knee, severing the leg from the body. As Karnryk tilted, Antonil swung his sword with all his might. His strike crushed the other kneecap. Like a giant oak, the half-orc fell.

“He is mine,” Lathaar yelled. Karnryk’s fury had not diminished, but he no longer had height or legs to give his blows strength. One savage block sent the sword back to the ground, exposing the entire body for Lathaar to strike. Holy wrath swarming his hands, he shoved his palm to Karnryk’s chest.

“Back to the abyss,” he shouted. The rotting flesh melted beneath his hand. Karnryk howled and flailed. Lathaar flipped around his sword. “May Karak welcome you,” he said, ramming the tip through the gaping hole where his mouth had been. Rotting flesh melted against its blade. A wave of power surged out of Lathaar, shattering the chain that bound the spirit to the worldly plane. A lone sigh was all there was to signify Karnryk’s final death.

Lathaar gasped for air, pulling free his sword. The glow faded. The Elholad returned to earthly steel. The paladin was given no reprieve, for it was then he heard the great cry come from Tessanna. He turned to see her black wings, her empty eyes, and her terrible power. His mind flashed to an image he had seen before, one so similar it horrified him.

“Mira,” he gasped, for a brief moment confusing the two. He saw the wizard and priest preparing to defend and knew them doomed.

“No!” he screamed, running toward them. “You can’t withstand her!”

Fast as he was, he would not reach them in time. A blur of gray flashed past him, and then the goddess unleashed her onslaught.

E
very ounce of his will was in the magical barrier in front of him. Tarlak was a skilled mage, and only once had he fought an opponent that could break his shield. Combined with Aion’s, the wizard had every reason to believe they could survive. When that black beam hit their shield, he knew their error. His back arched, his hands flailed about in spasms, and his entire mind turned white with pain. In a distant part of his mind, he felt his shield shattering like glass.

Hands wrapped around his waist. Time seemed slow, and he turned almost lazily to see Haern taking him into one arm. The other arm reached for the priest, but the beam was breaking through, the sound was thunder of demon gods, and the assassin had no choice. He activated the magic of his ring. Tarlak felt a quick sense of distortion. When his mind recovered, he found himself to the side of where he had been. He spun around to look and immediately regretted it.

Aion remained before the great stream of power. His shield shattered, just as Tarlak’s had, but there was none there to rescue him. The black power washed over him. It melted his skin. It shattered his bones. It tore his mind asunder, and left only dust where he had been. The stream continued. Several homes exploded into wood, brick and mortar, their occupants ash on the wind.

“No!” he screamed. Beside him, Haern seethed and drew his blades.

“Aion!”

Delysia’s cry was like a dagger stabbing Tarlak’s gut.

“You are wretched,” Tessanna shouted. “You are nothing, nothing to me!”

The Eschaton mercenaries prepared their weapons, be it spells or sword, and faced the dark goddess before them.

26

A
urelia stepped out, her heart sinking. The doors to the tower were splintered and broken. It took little imagination as to why.

“Brug!” she shouted, nearly wrenching an ankle running over the debris. She found him slumped in the middle of the floor, drool on his chin.

“Oh, Brug,” she whispered, stroking his face with her hand. She left him there, praying he could be made well. She dashed up the stairs, her staff clutched tightly in her hands. If she met Qurrah, she knew it would come to spells. The elf swore she would be ready.

Had she looked carefully, she would have seen a patch of shadow by the fire deeper than it should have been. She might have even seen a pair of eyes leering out at her with purest contempt. But she did not, so unseen Qurrah slipped out of the tower and into the pouring rain.

At the top of the steps, Aurelia paused, her fears realized in the form of a slightly ajar door. The world silent in her ears, time a forgotten notion, she pushed open the door.

“Aullienna? Baby, are you there?”

From up in her bed Aullienna turned and smiled at her.

“Mommy!”

“Is everything alright?” Aurelia asked, scanning the room as she made her way toward the stairs. “Are you alone?”

“Uncle was here,” the little girl beamed. “He read me a story.” Aurelia’s throat tightened, but she kept a straight face. She climbed the steps two at a time, desperate to hold her daughter.

“He did, did he?”

Aullienna nodded. “Look!”

She held out a small object in her hand. At first, Aurelia did not recognize it, but then it squirmed and raised its silvery tail. It was Qurrah’s scorpion, the gift Brug had made for him.

“Put that down, now!”

In response to the elf’s shout, it turned, raised its tail, and then buried its stinger into the little girl’s wrist.

“Aullienna!”

Aurelia lurched forward, slapping the thing off with the back of her hand. The scorpion fell to the grass and writhed on its back. Aurelia incinerated it with a small bolt of fire before it could right itself. She pulled Aullienna close, her hand tight on her wrist. She turned it upward to see. A trickle of blood marked the sting, but flowing in her veins could be any possible vile poison that scorpions possessed.

“Honey, do you feel alright?” she asked.

Aurelia knelt down, holding her girl’s head to command her gaze. Aulliena smiled as if she were completely unaffected.

“Pretty,” the little girl said. “Uncle made things pretty.”

“Pretty,” the elf said. “Is that so? Aullienna, we’re going to take you to a priest to get you healed. Come with mommy.”

“No!”

The girl suddenly shrieked, and her face turned icy and vile. She clawed at her mother like a captured animal. One of her slender fingernails jabbed against the side of Aurelia’s eye, cutting across her pupil.

Tears wet Aurelia’s face, and when she blinked, she could see blood.

“What’s wrong?” she asked, torn between anger, horror, and confusion. “Baby…”

In response, Aullienna howled like a rabid animal, then turned and leapt off her bed. Aurelia was so stunned she never even dove to stop her. The girl hit the ground on her shoulder and rolled. Aurelia flew after her, crying out her daughter’s name. She feared the worst, but Aullienna moaned. The wild bestial nature in which she had acted made Aurelia hesitate before reaching out her arm to her daughter.

“Love, please, I want to help you,” she said.

Aullienna looked up from the grass, tears in her eyes.

“I’m scared,” the little girl cried. “Please, uncle made me scared.”

Aullienna crawled to her mother’s lap. Sobbing, she buried her face into her dress. Aurelia stroked her hair, her heart broken.

“I’m scared mommy,” she cried. “I’m scared, please help, please, I’m scared, please…”

“Delysia will make you not scared,” Aurelia assured her. “I’m going to go get her. Do you want to come with me?”

“Don’t!” Aullienna wailed. “Don’t, don’t leave, don’t…”

Then the crying stopped. She fled away from her mother as if she had never met her before. Aurelia reached out a hand, only to watch her shy away.

“What did he do to you,” the elf whispered, tears still staining her eyes. She cast a spell over her daughter. At once, the little girl’s eyelids drooped, and she yawned long and loud. Curling up like a kitten, she fell asleep atop the illusionary grass. Aurelia took her in her arms and carried her into the separate bedroom. Flowers scattered from the covering as Aurelia placed her daughter’s body atop their bed. The elf kissed her cheek, then turned away.

“I’ll be right back,” she said. A blue portal ripped open in their room. Rain swirled in from the other side, accompanied by cold air that blew her dress and chilled her skin. A single glance back, and then she stepped inside.