Lying before him was the still body of Delysia Eschaton.
12
H aern sensed Pelarak’s approach as his wits slowly returned to him. He heard the priest’s cold thanks to Karak. Nearby Delysia sobbed. The assassin let a slit of light enter an eye. He saw Pelarak standing over them. He was smiling.
“Only in absolute emptiness is there order,” he heard him say as he put his hand on Delysia’s pale forehead. The unholy energy surrounding his fingers crawled into her mouth and nose like vile worms. The priestess’ neck snapped back, and wide-eyed, she stared at the sky. Coughs retched from her throat. Haern felt a sickness stir within him. He had watched Brug die, powerless to help him. He would not suffer that fate again.
His arms weighed a thousand stone, but still he lifted them. Numb fingers closed around the hilt of a saber. The darkness was crawling deeper into Delysia. Her heart was pure, and the presence of unholy energy filled her with unbearable pain. All doubt and fear within her was magnified tenfold. Her spine locked tight, and she had no control over her body. She knew she was gagging. She knew she was dying.
Haern took two deep breaths and flung the saber. The blade spun through the air, its aim true. The curved end sliced across Pelarak’s wrist, leaving a shallow cut. The pain jerked his hand. The darkness snapped out of Delysia’s body. She collapsed, her eyes open, unseeing. The priest clutched his bleeding wrist and glared.
“You will suffer dearly,” he snarled.
Haern laughed weakly, an exhausted grin on his face.
“I know,” he said. “But at least you have something to remember me by.”
Pelarak was not amused. He pointed his hooked fingers, a bolt of shadow shooting from his palm. Just before the bolt hit, Haern enacted the magic in one of his rings. He teleported ten feet into the air. The bolt harmlessly hit the dirt where he had been. Haern shifted in air, trying to angle his body just right. The magic in the ring would only send him straight ahead, and only once every few seconds. He would have one chance when he hit the ground. And only one.
The priest saw the assassin above and glared. He would enjoy extracting what little life remained in the priestess. As for Haern, he was a nuisance he had long tired of. He fired another bolt of shadow. Just before he landed, Haern enacted the magic of his ring. He reappeared forward, mere inches away from the priest. His elbow smashed against Pelarak’s forehead. As the priest staggered, Haern reached for Delysia’s hand. If he could just touch her, he could use the ring to take her with him and escape.
He brushed the cold skin of her fingers, but then a brutal pain stabbed his chest. Darkness swirled around his vision, and then he felt himself soaring through the air. He grabbed one of his cloaks and pulled it from his body. The cloak snapped firm, the magic within activated. Haern floated to the ground, blind, wounded, and half a mile from Veldaren’s center.
Pelarak towered over Delysia, his breathing deep and controlled in an attempt to reign in his anger. He glanced about, seeing his lions battling in the streets and upon the rooftops. He had expected the Eschaton to prove a difficult foe, but this was beyond his original estimation.
“Underestimate your foe, underestimate your losses,” he said as he knelt down and grabbed Delysia by her long red hair. He dragged her closer to the fountain, which still pulsed red with blood from the curse he had cast upon it. He placed her beside one of the mutilated bodies, then let go of her hair. All around lay his dead brothers, killed by perfect strikes from the assassin. They would suffice for reinforcements.
Pelarak took out a dagger, flipped the bodies onto their backs, and then carved a rune onto their forehead. He felt the lion watching him from high above. The power of Karak was heavy in the air. A glorious night, he thought. One he had waited many years for. He sheathed his dagger and let his faith fill him.
“I call forth your servants,” Pelarak said, his hands to the sky. The water in the fountain thrashed and bubbled, the curse growing within. He felt tendrils wrap around his body, flowing with power. He gasped in pleasure.
“My faith denies this world,” he shouted. “And I demand you burst the chains that hold you and give unto me your servants so we may cleanse this land!”
The runes on the dead priests’ foreheads flared red before exploding upward in smoke. The ground shook. The sky roared. The bodies of the priests erupted in blood as from their chests lions emerged. At first they were the size of their worldly counterparts, but then grew larger and stronger once they were free of their passageway into Dezrel. The lions shook off the blood that stained their coats. They uttered quick growls to each other, greeting their fellow pack members. The two wounded lions joined them, dipping their heads in greeting.
Pelarak lowered his arms as he felt the incredible power fade from his body. His knees wobbled, and he gripped the side of the fountain to steady himself. He had not expected to need more of the lions, but battle was chaotic, after all. When he saw the lions looking at him, he bowed.
“I am a humble servant,” he said. The leader of the pack sniffed at him, then nudged the unconscious Delysia with a paw. Pelarak stood and redrew his knife.
“Do not doubt my strength,” he told the creature. “The Doru’al will walk this world again.”
The pack leader roared, and the rest of his pack took up the roar as far away a different kind of pack gathered to face the new threat.
S ee now,” Tarlak said as he watched the four lions tear into their world through the bodies of the priests. “That’s not fair.” They reached Aurelia, who stood shocked by the sight.
“Two are wounded,” she said as Tarlak and her husband neared. “But even so, there are six of them. Haern’s gone, and Delysia…”
She couldn’t finish.
They watched as Pelarak drew his dagger and hovered over her still body. Tarlak’s hands shook. He turned to the others, unable to watch.
“Not in vain,” he said, the hard look in his eyes scaring the couple. “Not here, not now…and not in vain.”
Lightning crackled around his hands, painfully bright. One of the lions spotted them and roared. Harruq turned, his swords drawn and his hands shaking. Aurelia’s spell had done much to banish the unnatural fear from the aberration in the sky, but his normal fear went untamed. It grew when all six of the creatures turned and belched fire toward them. The awesome display nearly broke his spirit.
Aurelia latched onto his arm, a spell on her lips.
“There,” she said. “You will be protected from the fire again. And don’t run on me, Harruq Tun. Don’t you dare run.”
He faced the lions, which approached in a tight pack of power and muscle.
“I won’t,” he said.
As one the spellcasters unleashed blasts of ice and lightning. The front lions dodged, but those behind were knocked back. More blasts followed, and then came boulders of earth and ice, cones of air, and invisible walls of magic. Harruq watched the display, awed and humbled by Aurelia’s and Tarlak’s power. His swords felt small and useless in his hands by comparison. The lions shook their heads from side to side and endured the brutal hits, using their giant mass and momentum to continue forward. The three would be crushed.
“Not in vain,” Harruq whispered, hoping he could keep such a promise.
Tarlak tried to lift one of the lions off the ground with a brute levitation spell, but the creature resisted. The wizard collapsed to his knees, exhausted. Aurelia fired lances of ice, but they were small compared to the previous barrage. Harruq stepped forward, prepared to sacrifice his life to give them time to escape. He was never given the chance.