He raised his sword. He remembered Aullienna, the way she had smiled at him as he tickled her feet. He remembered the way she had floated face down in the water, her life gone. That pain seared him, and the grip on his sword tightened. He stared down at his brother, a broken shell of what he had once been. So many memories. So much pain. What had they done? What glory did they accomplish?
Harruq prepared to swing. He remembered his own kills. He remembered the children he had butchered. He remembered serving Velixar, his body bathed in unholy strength. He remembered the innocents in that small village, pleading as they fled. Women and children. What monsters had he and Qurrah been? Side by side, nothing but monsters.
And then he remembered that moment, broken and on his knees, he had cried out to Ashhur for a shred of mercy, for grace on his pathetic being, all so that he might see his daughter one more time.
“What are you waiting for?” Qurrah asked, his face still cast to the dirt. “Kill me.”
He remembered that first meeting with Qurrah after Aullienna's death. He’d searched for any hint of guilt or regret, and found none. But now, he looked down and saw a broken thing. While Harruq’s hurts had healed, Qurrah was an open wound, festering and bleeding as time only increased the rot. Sad. Miserable. A soul of regret and sadness crippled and abandoned of all hope.
Harruq shook his head. He understood. He finally understood. If he was to receive, he had to give. He sheathed his swords.
“Get up,” he said.
“What?” Qurrah asked, looking up from the ground.
“I said, get up.” Harruq reached down and offered his hand.
“No!” Qurrah shouted. Tears streamed down his face, and his mouth turned into an ugly scowl. “You will not deny me this!”
Harruq grabbed Qurrah’s shoulders and pulled him to his feet. And then he hugged him. Qurrah stood there, his arms hanging limp at his side, his jaw quivering and his heart aching.
“How?” Qurrah asked. “How could you do this to me?”
“I forgive you,” Harruq said. He stepped back and made sure his brother could look him in the eye. “For everything you’ve done, I forgive you.”
The words were like a sword through his heart. All his anguish, all his guilt, it broke, as did he. He couldn’t bear it any more. All his anger, his hate. He’d destroyed how many lives? Part of him refused. He wasn’t worthy. He needed death. He deserved it. But he was so tired, so damn tired. His brother’s arms were around him. His smile was upon him. No malice. No lies. Karak had never loved him so. The drain of the portal, still releasing demons into the city, was something he could no longer endure. He let it go.
Qurrah took a breath, and it seemed an enormous weight left his shoulders. He stepped back, feeling embarrassed and ashamed. He felt naked before his brother, and foolish and confused.
“The others,” he said. “They will not forgive so easily.”
“Then shame on them,” Harruq said. A smile crept at the corners of his mouth. “You’re back, Qurrah.” He gestured to the battle raging above him. “Damn it, you’re back!”
“The portal,” Qurrah said. “It should be closed now, but it’s not. I still feel it lingering.”
“The castle, right?” Harruq asked.
“Behind the throne. If we hurry, I might be able to close it. Velixar should be with it, and if he isn’t crushed by the weight, he should still be rendered helpless.”
“Come on, then,” Harruq said, drawing his swords and grinning. “Follow me. Like old times, just better.”
“Indeed,” Qurrah said, wiping tears from his face. “Lead the way.”
T hey ran toward the castle, avoiding the bodies that fell from the sky. Far behind them the sound of magic and steel rang long and loud. Antonil and his men were pressing into the city, and with Mira, Aurelia, and Tarlak aiding them, they were more than a match for the demonic forces. Pressed by both air and ground, the demons would soon retreat to the portal.
Harruq stopped halfway up the stairs to the castle entrance, turning and waiting for his winded brother. He saw Qurrah glance up at him, his eyes widening. Harruq spun, flinging his swords into a desperate defense. Ulamn landed, swinging his gigantic two-handed sword. Their blades connected, and Harruq felt panic at the immense strength the demon wielded. He fell down the stairs, unable to withstand the blow.
Qurrah was already casting a spell before Ulamn could advance.
“Hemorrhage,” he shouted. Ulamn’s right arm jerked back, and blood poured from within the armor. The demon snarled and clutched his shoulder, holding his sword with his wounded arm. Red light shone around his hand. The flow of blood ceased as one of the rubies in his sword faded black.
“You are fools,” Ulamn said, gripping his sword with both hands and angling his body into a stance. “I coddled you, cur, and now you betray me?”
“Call me a fool all you want,” Qurrah said, his mind racing through the spells he knew. “You’re still going to die.”
Harruq lunged, but Ulamn batted his swords away as if they were toys. His wings spread wide, and with a single flap the force they generated knocked Harruq back down the stairs a second time, muttering and grumbling as he rolled.
“Your wings,” Qurrah said, his mind locked on a spell. “They trouble me.”
He crossed his arms, and red fire danced around his body as if he were a candle struggling to light. When he closed his eyes the fire roared, but not around him. The feathers on Ulamn’s wings burst into flame, surrounding him with thick black smoke. Ulamn pulled his wings tight and screamed in fury. He leaped down the stairs, his sword slamming deep into the ground where Harruq had been. The half-orc stepped back, not daring to meet the demon’s strength head on.
And then he could go no further, for he stood directly before Qurrah.
“We might need to run,” he said as Ulamn charged like an enraged bull.
“Stand,” Qurrah said, magic dancing on his fingers. “Fight him!”
Trusting his brother, Harruq met the demon’s attack, blocking it with both his swords. He expected his arms to spasm with pain, and his body to fly back as it had before, but instead Ulamn’s sword retreated. Sparks showered between their weapons, deep black with purple centers. Dark flame surrounded Ulamn’s weapon. He swung, but his own blade resisted his movements, like a limb fighting against its own body. Harruq shoved the attack aside with ease, stepped forward, and stabbed one of his swords through a crease in the demon’s armor.
Ulamn screamed in pain, and as he did the dark fire on his blade vanished. Qurrah gave him no time to recover. His whip lashed, wrapping around fingers. The whip burst into flame, but instead of dropping the sword Ulamn jerked the whip right out of Qurrah’s grasp. The fire vanished, and he shook off the leather with a glare. A few well-placed strikes with his sword sent Harruq staggering back.
“You will beg,” Ulamn said, still stinking of burned feathers. His glare at Qurrah was full of promises. “When your bones are pebbles, and your flesh is peeled and gone, you will beg.”
“Good luck getting to him,” Harruq said, bracing his legs for another charge.
Ulamn burst into a run with such speed Harruq was completely unprepared for the elbow that slammed into his face. He could have been gutted, but Ulamn’s sword slipped right past, aimed straight for Qurrah’s stomach. Qurrah slammed his hands together, yanking a wall of shadow from the ground. The sword could not penetrate. Harruq fell back against the shadow wall, lashing out with his blades. Salvation clacked against armor, but Condemnation nicked a piece of neck, drawing blood. Ulamn swung, attempting to sever Harruq in two. Quick as he had summoned the shadow wall, Qurrah released it. Harruq fell, the gigantic blade slicing the air above his head.