“Your wife will kill me if she finds out,” he said.
“Another risk I’m willing to take,” Harruq said, grinning.
“I’ll talk to Judarius,” Tarlak said. “But Ashhur help you when you see your wife afterwards.”
Harruq tried to laugh it off, but he was right. He wasn’t frightened by the prospect of facing his brother alone. He was, however, terrified of what Aurelia was going to do to him if he survived.
“Perhaps it’ll be best if we kill each other at the same time,” Harruq said, nodding.
“Good luck with that,” Tarlak said. “Let me know how it goes.”
O n the other side of Dezrel, Haern ran through the streets, his sabers drawn and coated with blood. Cloaked figures ran on the rooftops to either side of him. Not far behind, Deathmask chased, bits of shadows sparking from his hands.
“Cut him off,” Haern shouted. The two figures above him vanished, veering off to their respective sides. Further down the street ran a paladin of Karak, barreling his way through anyone foolish enough to be in his way. When a man didn’t move, the paladin gutted him with his sword and shoved him aside as if he were nothing but a nuisance. Haern shook his head and ran faster.
They reached a crossroads. Haern expected him to cut to either side, where one of the twins waited, but instead he kept going, heading straight for the walls to the city.
So be it, Haern thought. No one could outrun him. He leaped and fell with sabers curled, like a bird descending on its prey. The paladin did not hear his silent approach. Sabers crashed through the creases of his armor, deep into the arteries of his neck. The paladin garbled a last cry and then collapsed, Haern’s knees on his back. The assassin twisted his sabers, still furious at the dead man.
“They’re like roaches,” Deathmask said between gasps as he caught up. “They’re slipping in and out like our walls are nothing.”
“How many guards did he kill?” Haern asked as he shook his head. “Eight? Nine?”
“Seven,” Deathmask said. “The rest were innocents.”
“Fighting from the east!” Mier shouted as he poked his head over the rooftops.
“Fighting from the west!” Nien shouted as well, giving his twin a curious look.
“Pressing all sides,” Haern said, stretching to keep his muscles loose.
The ground rumbled, and high above the red lion roared in the sky.
“This could be it,” Deathmask. “We’re starved, we’re pressed, and they’ve slowly killed off most of our troops.”
“So be it,” Hearn said. “We’ll kill whoever enters the city. Take the east. I’ve got the west.”
He leaped to the rooftops, landing beside Nien.
“Lead on,” he said to the twin, who nodded.
“Follow me,” Nien said.
As the two ran off, Veliana charged down the street, her daggers drawn.
“They’re attacking the walls!” she shouted. “All sides. We’re not ready!”
“Go!” Deathmask shouted to Mier. “Kill whoever sneaks in.”
Deathmask scattered ashes about his face, then nodded to Veliana.
“Let’s go,” he said. “If I’m to die, I’m taking as many as I can with me.”
H aern followed Nien until there was no reason to. Smoke and fire billowed near the walls ahead of them. He leaped to the street and continued running, whispering a desperate prayer to Ashhur as he did. Nien stayed on the rooftops, trying to analyze the carnage. Over a hundred undead marched through a tunnel dug underneath a collapsed home. Pieces of buildings were scattered everywhere, set aflame by a magical assault. Nien halted above a nearby home, and from its roof he let loose a barrage of daggers, each one shimmering purple. The daggers punctured bone and rotted flesh, and one by one he downed the undead warriors.
Haern crashed into their ranks, twirling and cutting through tendons, removing their ability to move and attack. More troublesome, though, were the tested that followed. They waved their skeletal hands in the air, shouting out Karak’s name in a fevered wail. Haern slipped back, fighting away the undead as Nien hurled his daggers.
“Get away!” Haern shouted as the undead surrounded the home. Priests of Karak climbed out of the tunnel, curses on their lips. Nien balanced as the undead tore at the sides of the house, ripping at its walls with their bony fingers. He tried to leap to a nearby house, but the priests’ curses gripped his muscles. All his strength left his body. He tumbled off the side, his legs refusing to cooperate.
“No!” Haern screamed, but he could not press forward, not with the tested clubbing at him with their hands. Unable to stand, Nien screamed as the undead tore him to pieces. High above, the lion roared.
Swearing revenge, Haern turned and ran. The vast bulk of Mordeina’s troops patrolled the two walls, their inner forces woefully unprepared for such an assault. He had to locate Deathmask and the others, and perhaps together they could counter the tunnels. Sheathing his swords, he leaped to the rooftops and searched for a similar pillar of smoke and fire. Sure enough, he found one far to the east. He jumped from roof to roof, approaching as fast as he could, but he knew it was too late. Even from his distance he could see the swarms of undead pouring into the city. Many turned north, back toward the main entrances. They were blocking in the soldiers on the walls, he realized, leaving the castle vulnerable.
“This is bad,” Haern said. “Very bad.”
He ran for the castle. If they were to make a last stand, it would be there. He caught a glimpse of the undead swarming the city. They did not beat on doors or try to climb through windows, and for that Haern was thankful. Whoever led the assault had no desire to exterminate them all.
When he reached the stairs before the castle doors he saw a collection of guards with weapons drawn, watching with looks of fear and unease.
“Well met, Watcher,” one said as he approached. “Good news would be much appreciated.”
Haern shook his head and joined them in assessing the walls. Several more fires burned in the city, more tunnels bypassing their main defenses. The soldiers on the walls fired arrows, but they could not stem the tide. Karak’s forces surrounded them on both sides, and they dared not climb down. They were trapped, and therefore useless.
“I wish I had some to offer,” Haern said, sighing. “But I’m a poor liar.”
Undead pooled into the main center street, the tested at their heels. Soldiers lined up at the top of the stairs as one of them shut and locked the castle doors from within.
“Die for our Queen!” one cried.
“For the Queen!” the others shouted in unison.
Haern just closed his eyes and sighed. He lurked behind the line, wishing he had Tarlak’s skill to cheer on soldiers, or the paladins' unwavering sense of faith. All he had were his sabers, his cloaks, and his skill. The first wave of undead neared, never making it up the stairs. Dieredon came crashing in from one of the alleys riding Sonowin, whose giant wings curled up against her sides. They trampled the undead before riding up the steps.
“Well met!” Dieredon shouted, raising his bladed bow. The soldiers cheered and saluted. The elf dismounted and slipped between them to speak with Haern.
“How is it?” Haern whispered.
“Dreadful,” Dieredon whispered back. “And I have yet to test Sonowin’s wings. I’m not sure she can save us.”
“Here comes more,” one of the soldiers shouted, drawing their attention down the steps.
“Fight until we die,” Haern said. “It’s what we’re good at.”
“Perhaps the fighting part,” Dieredon said, firing an arrow through the eye of a limping undead. “The dying I’m terrible at.”
D eathmask stood in the center of the street, Veliana at his back. Fire surrounded them in a protective wall, incinerating any that approached. Dark fire rolled outward, blasting away wave after wave of the dead. The tested tried leaping through the fire, but then Veliana was there, kicking and slicing into their flesh with her daggers. Bodies piled up around them, but they were but a single drop of a rain in a thunderstorm.