In her mind, the voices whispered.
You turned against me. You betrayed me for a god that will never love you, never forgive you. His angels come, and they carry not a crown in their hands but a sword. You ran from me, and you now run from them. Who is left, Qurrah? Who is left?
Tessanna balled her fists, clenching her jaw so tightly it bared her teeth.
“You’re a dead god,” she whispered. “Your priests are scattered, your paladins in hiding. All faith in you is broken.”
She never expected an answer, but it seemed Karak’s dim voice heard. She felt unseen eyes turn to her, felt her presence finally acknowledged. It sent a chill down her spine, she who had long existed under the watchful eyes of the goddess.
So too were Ashhur’s followers broken, in a time not so distant. The world changes, daughter of balance. You above all should understand it can change again.
The presence vanished, the oppressive weight on her chest lifting, only to be replaced by another presence that burned in her mind like fireflies.
The angels had arrived.
The sound of shouting awoke Qurrah from his slumber. His eyes snapped open, his mind immediately alert. Grabbing his clothes, he began to dress. When he saw Tessanna sitting at the foot of the bed, already awake, he was hardly surprised. No doubt she’d sensed the angels’ presence long before they actually arrived.
“Have they landed yet?” he asked her.
“I don’t know.”
Her voice was calm, emotionless, but there were tears running down her face. Feeling strangely guilty for them, he kissed both her cheeks, then held her close.
“Together we can withstand anything,” he told her. “Anything.”
She smiled up at him, and he pulled her to her feet.
“Where are we going?” she asked.
Qurrah shook his head.
“I won’t cower in here while others die for me. If there’s to be a fight, then I will be a part of it.”
He wrapped his whip around his arm, its tightening weight a comfort to him. Done, he stepped out from the cell and climbed the stairs leading to the dungeon’s exit. To his surprise, he found it locked from the outside. He beat his fist against it, calling out to the guards on the other side.
“Let us out!”
“Forgive me,” a man shouted. “I have orders not to.”
Qurrah groaned.
“That stupid bastard.”
“It seems he knows you better than you thought,” Tessanna said, and a smile flickered briefly on her face.
Before Qurrah could ponder ways of smashing the door open, a voice rang out. Despite the thick walls of the dungeon he heard it clear as day, leaving him certain that it was some sort of clerical or divine magic.
“Qurrah Tun!” cried an instantly familiar voice. “Our council has convened. We have capitulated to man’s law, recognizing mankind’s authority to rule themselves as Ashhur has granted. Come forth, and accept your fate with dignity and grace.”
“Dignity,” Qurrah snorted. “What a damn fool.”
His bluster was fake, and it was obvious Tess knew it as well. That voice, that powerful, intimidating voice, only belonged to one angeclass="underline" Judarius, the most dangerous of all when it came to combat.
Qurrah pressed his ear to the door, for he heard a faint shouting in response, that of Sir Ian.
“Get your bloody-ass wings off our land, you pompous piece of duck shit. You’re not welcome here. Qurrah’s staying, you’re leaving. That clear?”
There was a long pause.
“This is your last chance,” Judarius shouted. “Qurrah, I beg of you, come forth. No man must die needlessly this night. Will you let others suffer and bleed for naught?”
War, Qurrah thought. This moment will spark war. I can stop it. I can be the hero my brother has always been.
He almost did just that, but something stopped him. The thought of kneeling before the angels and presenting his neck filled him with sickness. That wasn’t a noble sacrifice. That was just death. Pointless, meaningless death. Worse, it felt like spitting in the eye of Ashhur for all he’d been given. He couldn’t do that. He wouldn’t.
“Open this door,” Qurrah told the guard on the other side.
“I’m under orders to…”
“Open it, or I destroy it.”
The door opened, and Qurrah stepped out, Tessanna at his side.
Stretching out before them was a great courtyard, the dungeon located just within the castle’s outer walls. Filling the courtyard were over two hundred soldiers, with even more rushing in from the city. Hovering in the air, their bodies clad in shining golden armor, were over thirty angels. Their swords and spears were drawn, tips glistening, looking hungry in the night sky. In the center of the angels’ formation flew Judarius, his enormous mace hanging loose in his right hand. With their departure from the dungeon, the angels’ attention turned his way. He felt dozens of eyes upon him, and it made his skin crawl. Still he stepped forward, refusing to be cowed.
“Here I am,” Qurrah said.
“Get back inside!” Sir Ian shouted. Qurrah ignored him.
“I’m here,” he said instead. “Right here. But I don’t accept your judgment. I don’t accept your execution. You aren’t on the side of righteousness, Judarius. None of you are. Fly away. Fly now. It’s your souls these deaths will weigh upon, not mine.”
Judarius’s body dipped up and down as his wings beat the air. He stared at Qurrah, and behind those gold-green eyes a battle raged.
“So be it,” the angel said, and with those soft words, the courtyard erupted in chaos. Five of the angels dove for Qurrah, with the rest attempting to cover either side of their flank, preventing the soldiers from closing in behind the assault. Feeling his whip tighten hungrily, Qurrah summoned his magic, a grim smile on his face. This was what he was best at. Not hiding. Not politics. An enemy was before him, seeking to challenge his strength. Life or death, it was now in his hands, hands which burned with purple fire as he raised them to the heavens. Violet orbs shot out, two dozen of them swarming with flames. The five angels banked and curved, avoiding death. One failed, his wing clipped by an orb. It burst in a great explosion, flames bathing over his body and sending him crashing to the ground.
The rest were almost there, and Qurrah dove to avoid their slashes. Tessanna, however, appeared to have no intention of hiding. Taking in a deep breath, she let loose with a shriek so loud it seemed the very air roiled with it.
“FLEE!”
It hit the angels like a physical force, two slamming into the ground, the other two banking upward, far away from them. Qurrah lashed a grounded angel with his whip, charring black his golden breastplate. The angel endured, and he blocked the second lash with his vambrace. Sword drawn, he rushed forward. Another lash wrapped around the angel’s foot, trying to trip him up, but a flutter of his wings kept him steady. Sword lunging for Qurrah’s chest, it seemed nothing would stop him.
So Qurrah clapped his hands, not bothering to. His body became shadow for the briefest of moments, just long enough for the angel to pass straight through him. The being spun about, reacting well to the ploy, but Tessanna was the faster. She leapt forward, her hand touching the feathers of his wings. She said nothing, only smiled as fire spread across white feathers. The look upon her face was chilling, even to Qurrah, as a horrible scream escaped the angel’s throat. The angel slashed at Tessanna, a valiant last attempt as his body burned. Tessanna ducked underneath the sword, stepped closer, and pushed against him. His armor cracked, blasted as if struck by a great maul. The angel flew back, landed with a crash, and lay still.
“Stand firm!” he heard Sir Ian screaming above the din. “Stand firm, hold your lines!”
The angels had switched tactics, looping up and around to make simultaneous passes from opposite directions. As Qurrah watched, a dozen angels slashed through the gathered soldiers, their weapons easily puncturing their armor. Before the men could strike back the angels were already lifting into the air, propelled upward by a simple twist of their wings. Tens of men lay dead from the pass, and tens more died as the angels repeated the maneuver. Soldiers continued to flood in from the outer city, but it seemed they were dying as quickly as they came.