‘Is that not what one does with serfs?’ Lileath said.
Jerrod said nothing. He couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe. Why was he here? Had it all been for nothing? Lileath sank down to her knees, her skirts pooling about her. She bowed her head. ‘If you do not believe me, then kill me, Jerrod, Duke of Quenelles. Kill me for what I have done. I ask only that after your honour – the honour I instilled in you – has been satisfied, you hold true to your oath and fight beside the Incarnates. Fight to hold back the darkness, so that a new world may be born.’
Jerrod hesitated. Then he raised his sword, taking a two-handed grip. He was ready, in that moment, to bring it down on Lileath’s head. It was too much for him. The whole of his world, the philosophy by which he and all of his people had lived their lives, was nothing but a goddess’s gamble. A game between inhuman forces, in which he and his were but pawns, raised up and spent with no more thought than a child might give to her toys.
‘Why?’ he croaked. ‘Why did you do this to us?’
‘I have already told you,’ she said, softly. ‘Saying it again will not help you understand. I made your people into the point of my spear, and used you as such. And now, you have turned in my hand, and your tip rests above my heart. Strike if you must.’ Lileath looked up at him. ‘But I would have your oath, before you do.’
‘I… no,’ he said. ‘No, no more oaths, no more lies.’
‘You will give me your oath,’ Lileath continued, as if he had not spoken. ‘You will swear to me, Jerrod of Quenelles, that you will fight alongside the Incarnates. That you will die for them, as you once might have died for me. You will swear this.’
‘I will not,’ Jerrod said. ‘No more games of death on your behalf, or on the behalf of any other. You have broken us, ruined us, and my course is set. I…’ He trailed off. The blade in his hand trembled. Before his eyes, he saw the faces of every slain Companion, and every fallen friend and family member. They had believed, and they had died, thinking that the Lady was watching over them. Instead, it had all been nothing more than a cruel hoax by a goddess who cared nothing for her people, or his.
But something held him back. Some tenuous strand of the man he had been, before Lileath had broken his certainties. Some small part which whispered to him that the deed he contemplated was unworthy of him. That to kill her, was to prove her right. To prove that her meddling and scheming had been necessary… That his people would never have found the light without her.
Jerrod looked down at her. He met her cool, alien gaze and said, ‘You’re wrong.’
Lileath blinked. Jerrod lowered his sword. ‘You’re wrong,’ he said again. ‘We owe you nothing. It is you who owe us, and you will not get out of our debt so easily.’
Lileath’s eyes widened. She made as if to speak, but no sound passed her lips. She snatched up her staff and rose to her feet so quickly that Jerrod thought she meant to attack him. Then he heard the snap of great wings, and knew that Lileath hadn’t been looking at him. He spun, and saw a dark shape explode from the shadows of the glade. Though he had never seen the creature before, Lileath clearly recognised it.
‘Be’lakor,’ she spat.
‘Yes,’ the daemon thundered as he charged forwards. ‘I have come for you, fallen goddess. You denied me once, but now I will have both your soul and the Haven you boasted of for my own.’ Wreathed in smoke and darkness, the daemon prince charged towards Lileath, shadow-blade raised, the glade shaking beneath his tread.
There was no time to think, no time to fear. Instinct took over. Jerrod stepped forwards, between the daemon and his prey. Be’lakor’s sword smashed down against Jerrod’s upraised blade, and the knight’s arm went numb from the force of the blow. For all that the creature seemed barely substantial, it had a strength greater than any he’d ever known. Be’lakor’s hell-spark eyes widened and his wings snapped, pushing him aloft. Leaves swirled about Jerrod, caught in the updraught as the daemon rose into the air.
He wished briefly that he’d thought to bring his shield. Then Be’lakor was dropping towards him, shadow-blade extended like a spear. Jerrod readied himself to meet the creature’s attack but at the last second Lileath shoved past him, her staff in her hands. She raised it, and bolts of blinding light lanced from its tip to strike the approaching daemon. Or they would have, had they not passed through Be’lakor’s form like arrows punching through fog. Jerrod reached out and grabbed the goddess by her shoulder, flinging her aside as Be’lakor swooped down over them.
He caught the creature’s blow on his sword once again, and pain pulsed through his shoulder joint. As he stumbled, Be’lakor’s free hand sliced towards him. The creature’s black talons tore bloody furrows in his face and hurled him to the ground. Jerrod skidded backwards through the mud and fallen leaves. He slammed into a tree and rolled onto his face, struggling to suck air into his abused lungs. He was blind in one eye, and his cheek felt like a punctured water skin. Everything hurt, and thin rivulets of what could only be his blood crept across the ground.
With a groan, he levered himself up onto one knee. Using his sword, he tried to push himself to his feet, but his arms lacked strength. Be’lakor strode slowly towards him, trailing fire and smoke. ‘Why do you fight?’ the daemon prince gurgled. ‘I heard all that passed between you, mortal. Your goddess has used you as badly as my gods once used me. She raised you up, and cast you down when you were of no more use.’
‘While I can stand, monster, I will fight,’ Jerrod groaned. He made to rise again, but his strength was gone. He toppled backwards. Be’lakor studied him for a moment. Then, with a grunt, the daemon lifted one clawed heel and slammed it down on Jerrod’s left leg. Jerrod screamed as the force of the blow split his armour and pulverised the flesh and bone beneath.
‘Now you cannot stand.’ Be’lakor smiled. ‘Do not feel obliged to interfere further, mortal. This is a matter for demigods.’ Seemingly satisfied, the daemon prince turned away. Jerrod rolled awkwardly onto his side, and tried to pull himself towards his fallen sword as the creature closed in on Lileath.
Her eyes were closed, and spirals of glowing white energy began to form about her. Those spirals lashed out at Be’lakor as he drew close, and he bellowed in agony as wisps of his shadow thinned to nothing or were plucked from his body. Snarling, Be’lakor brought his blade down, smashing the staff from Lileath’s hands and knocking her to the ground. ‘You think to banish me?’ Be’lakor roared. He smacked a fist into his chest. ‘I am the First Damned, and older than any exorcism or rite of banishment. I have more right to stride this world than you, and I will not be cast out – not now, not ever!’
Jerrod’s fingers closed on his sword. Biting back a scream, he plunged it into the ground and used it to haul himself upright. He lurched on his good leg, using the sword as a crutch, his eyes locked on Be’lakor’s broad back.
Lileath scrambled away, her eyes wide. Be’lakor laughed. ‘Is that fear I see in your eyes, little goddess? Prophecy was once your gift… Did you see this moment? Have you feared it all of this time? Is that why you offered your neck to the ape, so that you might escape your destiny?’ He reached for her. ‘Take it from one who knows, woman… There is no escaping destiny. There is only pain. Inevitable and unending.’
Lileath shied back from his outstretched talon, and Be’lakor leaned in. But he immediately reared back with a wail of pain as Jerrod lunged and slammed his sword into the daemon prince’s back. Be’lakor thrashed wildly and Jerrod lost his grip on his sword, falling heavily to the ground. He rolled aside as Be’lakor’s foot came down. The daemon prince’s screams threatened to burst his eardrums, and he clapped his hands to the side of his head as the sound rose to agonising heights.