“Karak has returned,” said King Vaelor, looking dead already.
“Oh shit,” said Pulo.
“We have never fought a god,” said Gull. “It might be interesting.”
Moira stared over at Laurel, her eyes rimmed with purple. “So much for your plan.” There was no humor at all in the statement.
All Laurel could say was, “I know.”
CHAPTER 45
To Velixar’s eyes, Veldaren was a shadow of the city it had once been. It was dark and silent, save for the faint whimpering sounds that drifted along the wind like a cricket’s song. The streets were empty. The larger buildings were scored with giant claw marks; the thatched roofs of outlying homes were burned, leaving behind hollow stone shells. From darkened windows peered the weak and craven, unwilling to show their faces as their god’s army returned. Karak had told Velixar, before the fateful final attack on Mordeina, that the Final Judges now ruled the city, but he couldn’t have imagined what that meant.
If only Karak were with him now.
Velixar led the remaining four thousand of Karak’s Army onto the cobbled North Road. The barrenness of the city caused the soldiers’ moods, which had been high when they first caught sight of the Castle of the Lion’s three spires, to plummet. The only thing that brought them any sort of relief was the fact that they were now on solid ground. The journey through the Northern Plains had been harrowing; the untamed ground coated with thick mud from the thaw, sucking at booted feet and the horses’ hooves and making the nightly camp a dirty, uncomfortable affair. After such a long time away from home, fighting their Divinity’s war, the soldiers likely wished for nothing more than the warmth of a hearth and a soft bed to rest their bones. Velixar couldn’t blame them, though he doubted their comfort would last long. Ashhur would be here soon. And when that happened. .
My Lord, where are you?
Karak had left them in Felwood, the deity walking away from Velixar and Lord Commander Gregorian in a huff one night and riding the shadows away. That had come after Velixar found the god overlooking what had once been the most populated village in the Plains. Felwood was now virtually abandoned, many of its homes crumbling from winter’s heavy winds and snows. Only a few stragglers remained, mostly starving women and their malnourished children. Just as the citizens of Veldaren now hid, so had they. The soldiers were left to plunder whatever stores were still available, which were paltry. It seemed as if most of the village had taken all they had and simply left.
“There is no faith in me here,” Karak had told him that night. His tone was odd, a mixture of anger and sadness.
“There are few people here, my Lord,” Velixar had replied.
The god shook his head and clenched his fists. “I am not speaking of this village, Prophet, but my kingdom. My ability to draw from my essence grows less and less potent each time one of my creations turns his back on me.”
“You are simply weakened, my Lord,” Velixar had replied. “You require time to heal.”
“No. I require faith.” The god had gazed down at him, golden eyes ablaze. “All deities draw strength from their faithful. It is what gives us purpose, what gives our existence meaning. Without devotion, we would fade away to nothingness, re-entering the heavens a speck of what we were, eventually forgotten.”
“Yet you still have power, my Lord. You are still mighty.”
“That is only because of you, my son. Your faith is great; it builds upon my own. As does the Lord Commander’s, and that of others like him.” The deity sighed. “Alas, that is not enough. I will require more, and swiftly, if my vision is to come true.”
“What will you do, my Lord? How will you make the downtrodden love you once more?”
At that, the deity had laughed. “I do not require love, High Prophet. I require faith. And there is more than one way to bring that about.”
And then he was gone.
Velixar grunted at the memory, guiding his horse onto the North Road and the city proper. To his left rose the spire of the Tower Keep. Simply laying eyes on the keep had once filled him with pride, but he felt none of that now. It was an empty structure, devoid of meaning-a partially completed dream, just like this war had become. He thought then of Mordeina, of the walls surrounding Ashhur’s prized settlement, and again felt disgusted with himself. The seventeen years he had spent forming the groundwork for this war could have been put to better use. He should have waited, worked to build up Veldaren instead, raising a wall around the city like the one surrounding Port Lancaster in the south. He should have assisted the First Families instead of undermining them, helping to build Karak’s children into something fearsome, something powerful. He glanced behind him, at the rows of soldiers that marched and rode solemnly through the street. It was entirely possible that these four thousand were the last men in all of Neldar. What future was there if that were the case?
“Something troubles you?” asked the Lord Commander.
Velixar glanced to the right. Malcolm now rode beside him, looking proud in his scratched black armor. He wore his horned helm, its visor down, his milky left eye glimmering in the starlight. That eye was dead, Velixar knew, but it still seemed vibrant more times than not. It was as if all his love for Karak shone out of that single, pale orb.
“I am simply thinking,” Velixar said.
“Fear not, High Prophet,” said Malcolm. “Karak will not abandon us.”
“I know this,” he said with a sigh. “I fear for him.”
“Fear for him?” Malcolm said, frowning. “Why would you fear for a god?”
“Because he is greatly weakened, Lord Commander.”
The one-eyed man scoffed. “Weakened? Karak is never weakened. He is the purest image of vitality and wisdom.”
Velixar hesitated. He wanted to inform the man of Karak nearly losing his head to the giant Gorgoros’s glowing sword. He wanted to tell him how if he himself had not dragged the monster of a man off their god, giving Karak the opportunity he needed to end the fight, everything they had fought for would have been lost. But he said none of that. He remained silent.
Malcolm reached over and squeezed his shoulder while the horses beneath them continued to trot along the North Road. “You are doubtful of that,” he said. “Your expression reveals as much. I know, for I have felt the same. But no longer. I have seen the glory of Karak’s supremacy, as I have seen yours. With the strength of the righteous behind us, we cannot lose.”
“Your faith is admirable, Lord Commander.”
Malcolm released his shoulder. “As is yours.”
After that they fell silent as they led the soldiers farther into the city. They passed by the road leading into the slums of the Black Bend, entering a densely built district lined with gray stone abodes with slanted clay roofs. This was the region of the city that Karak had built, with his own hands, before the creation of man, a span that stretched a mile from the central fountain in every direction. Although drab, the structures on either side of the road were formed into an exacting, gridlike pattern-the purest illustration of architectural order that anyone in Dezrel had ever seen. Finally, confronted with an example of Karak’s true vision, Velixar sensed his spirits begin to rise.
They rose further when a glow appeared in the distance, rising like a dome from Veldaren’s central fountain. A lion’s roar split the night. A charge seemed to fill the air, and columns of soldiers marching behind gasped. Even Aerland Shen and the Ekreissar rangers seemed awed. The glow on the horizon became brighter, the dome growing ever larger.
“I told you, High Prophet,” said Malcolm with a hearty laugh. “Karak has not abandoned us!”
And so he hadn’t. Karak waited at the city hub, kneeling in front of the massive fountain guarded by his life-sized likeness. The dome of light that had been cast seemed to come from the fountain itself; the water inside glowed and sparkled. The Final Judges were with the deity, Kayne to Karak’s right and Lilah to his left. They purred as the god ran his fingers through their golden fur. Velixar felt taken aback by the sight of them. The Judges had always been large, bigger than any wild cat he had ever seen, but the closer he drew, the more he saw how truly massive they were. When Karak noticed their approach and stood, so did the lions. Even on four legs, they rose higher than the deity’s waist. It was awe inspiring.