“Get into the castle,” the elf said to the others. “Now!”
The panic in his voice was enough for them to turn and bang on the castle doors.
“What is going on?” Haern demanded.
“Take Sonowin and go,” Dieredon said. “I don’t know if she can fly or not, but don’t let her die here.”
“I can help you!” Haern shouted.
“The city is lost!” Dieredon shouted back, shoving the assassin. “Now get her to safety!”
Melorak pulled his hood off his head and raised his arms. High in the sky, the lion roared, and as the roar shook the city, the priest glowed with red fire. It did not consume him. The rest of the army stayed behind, not daring to come between their master and his prey.
“We come as conquerors,” Melorak said. “Step aside or be burned.”
Haern leaped atop Sonowin and wrapped his arms around her neck. Dieredon patted her side and whispered something into her ear. The majestic horse snorted and shook her head.
“Go!” Dieredon shouted to Haern. Sonowin spread her wings and took a tentative step. Her wings fluttered, and as their strength remained firm, she leaped from the steps, her wings flapping. She soared into the air, Haern on her back. Dieredon watched, a smile on his face to see his beloved Sonowin able to fly again. The smile faded as his eyes shifted downward, to where Melorak stood shaking his head.
“You should have gone with him,” the priest said.
“One more chance,” Dieredon said as he held his bow with its blades out. “I end you, and this world is better for it.”
“I end you,” Melorak said, “and my world is better for it.”
Dieredon leaped, the blade on the end of his bow aimed straight for Melorak’s throat. He stopped halfway down the steps, slamming into a wall of air that rippled into visibility at his contact. As he fell, Melorak cast a spell, bathing the elf in fire. He screamed and rolled across the steps, but could not extinguish the flame. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a silver vial, then smashed it against his chest. Cool blue light bathed over him, banishing the fire and softening his burns.
“Pathetic,” Melorak said, the fire swarming around his body pooling into his palms. “I expected better.”
Dieredon drew an arrow and fired. The arrow punched through the fire and flesh, its tip sticking out the other side of Melorak’s hand. The priest screamed, his concentration broken. The fire fell like lava to the ground, melting the stone. Dieredon fired a second arrow, but it halted in the air as if gripped by an invisible fist.
“We’ve played this game before,” Melorak said between gasps of pain. A clenching of his fist and the arrow shattered. “I won, remember?”
“It’s a new game,” Dieredon said as he stood. “You’re bleeding.”
Another clenched fist and the arrow stuck in his hand shattered. Blood poured down his arm and dripped across the ground. Dieredon was closer now, and he twirled his bow as he stared down Melorak, watching, waiting.
Melorak hurled a bolt of shadow. Dieredon somersaulted over it, his feet landing on Melorak’s shoulders. He twisted, locking the priest’s neck in his grip and pulling him down. As he landed he spun, ramming a blade straight for Melorak’s head. The priest shifted just enough so that the blade struck the ground, just grazing his cheek. As the blood dripped, Melorak shoved the palm of his hand against Dieredon’s chest and let loose all his fury. Shadows and fire blasted into Dieredon, flinging him several feet back. Dieredon twisted his body so he landed on his feet, jamming his bow into the stone to halt his movement.
Neither said a word as they both struggled to breathe. The elf’s chest was mangled and burned, and his hair hung wild and drenched with sweat over his face. Melorak clutched his bleeding hand and glared, one eye shut from the blood that ran into it. Sonowin circled high above, and upon her back Haern watched. All around, priests and dark paladins gathered, not daring to interfere.
Melorak reached into his pocket and hurled a handful of bones, animating them with magic so they flew like bullets. Dieredon spun his bow and ducked. They punched into his body, leaving deep welts but causing no serious harm. Dieredon drew several arrows, firing them in rapid succession. Melorak caught them all with his mind, shaking his head as if disappointed. But Dieredon was not finished. He dropped his bow and charged, and before Melorak could shatter them, he grabbed an arrow from its position, mere inches from Melorak’s chest, and rammed it forward. Melorak gasped as the arrow punctured his robe, slipped between his ribs, and entered a lung.
In the sky above, the lion roared in fury.
Dieredon snapped off the shaft and then knocked him back with an elbow to the face. Melorak tumbled down the steps, his body rolling to the feet of the onlookers.
The elf retrieved his bow. His ears heard only gasps of shock and horror. He turned about, drew an arrow, and smirked at the servants of Karak.
“Next?” he asked.
“Not yet,” Melorak gasped. He sat on his knees, propping his weight up on one hand while the other clutched the arrow in his chest. “Karak damn it all, not yet.”
Fire swirled around his body, descending from the heavens like an infernal pillar. He closed his eyes and raised his arms to the sky, letting it cleanse, letting it purify him of his weaknesses, his frailty of flesh. His blood froze. Consumed, he grinned at Dieredon, his red eyes burning in a maniacal flame. His flesh was dead. His body was bone and fire. His hands, burnt of all muscle and skin, were nothing but long black extensions, charred bone given life by Karak’s power. They closed around the stub of wood in his chest and pulled out the arrow. He did not bleed.
“We’re not done yet,” Melorak said. An illusion fell over his face, hiding the skull, covering it with flesh and hair that constantly shifted and changed.
Dieredon grabbed his bow and tensed. Power swelled in Melorak’s hands, dark magic that yearned for release. Before it could, Sonowin flew low, and from her back Haern fell, his sabers ready.
“Take her and go!” Haern shouted as his sabers buried deep inside Melorak’s neck. He twisted and kicked, knocking Melorak to the ground. Sonowin banked, stretching her wings wide so she floated just above Dieredon. She neighed, and the elf glanced between the two, unable to decide.
“I said go!” Haern shouted as Melorak’s body suddenly burst into flame. Dieredon hooked his bow on his back and jumped. He flung his arms around Sonowin’s neck and held on as she flew away.
“You fool,” Melorak said as Haern stabbed his sabers again and again into Melorak’s neck and shoulders. The fire grew stronger, and he felt his hands blistering and his eyes watering. The cuts did nothing. It was as if he were assaulting an armored man with only weapons of straw. The priest turned and grabbed Haern’s wrists. His red eyes flared with life. The fire traveled higher, charring Haern’s arms and neck.
“I will torture you,” Melorak swore. “For years you will beg for death.”
Haern only chuckled as his chest jerked forward.
“Ashhur,” he said, his whole body going limp, “has me now.”
He fell into Melorak’s arms as if embracing him. Lodged deep in his back was a single arrow, its aim true, its tip lodged deep inside his heart.
Melorak shoved the body away and glared at the retreating horse in the sky.
“You are lucky to have such suicidal friends,” the priest said, then dismissed the troublesome elf. He had work to do.
“Come!” he shouted to his minions. “The castle is ours.”
He climbed the steps, blasting open the castle doors with a wave of his hand. As the wood and metal splintered and shrieked, he saw several guards with their weapons drawn, determined to protect their queen to the very end. He bathed them in shadow and fire, not slowing his approach. He walked between their bodies, down the red carpet, to the throne where Queen Annabelle sat waiting.