“What the FUCK!” he screamed.
“Sorry,” Moira called out, chancing to glance over her shoulder.
Patrick’s eyes widened as he huffed. “Moira?”
“It’s me,” she said. “Look out!”
Patrick tilted to the side, and a soldier’s blade passed through the air where he’d been. The hunchback planted a meaty fist in the soldier’s face, breaking his nose before gutting him with that massive sword of his. When he shoved the dying man away, he looked back at Moira. His face whitened.
Moira whirled back around and saw that another five elves had joined the one in black, who looked wild with rage, the dual scars, like red teardrops, tracing down his cheeks. Moira shifted position, standing sideways with her front leg bent and the rear leg straightened, one of her shortswords angled above her head while the other one was held out straight. A moment later Patrick was by her side, holding his blade by his waist with both hands.
“Just like old times?” he asked out the corner of his mouth.
“Just like old times,” Moira echoed. “Only channel your anger. Don’t be stupid.”
“Yes, mistress,” the deformed redhead said.
The elves rushed them, and Patrick sprang forward, this time swinging with measured strikes. Moira used his back as a pole, spinning from one side of him to the other, parrying jabs, and knocking aside slashes. One of the elves fell, then another, devastated by Patrick’s sword. During one of Moira’s revolutions, the elf in black was there to greet her, planting a boot squarely in her chest. The wounds the Judges had given her flared to life. She shrieked and twisted back to the other side, but there was no relief there. Another of the elves lashed out with his khandar, a blow Moira had no choice but to block. Had she tried to duck beneath it, the blade would have dug into Patrick’s neck. A spike of pain coursed through her upper body when their swords met.
A hand wrapped around her, and Patrick scooped her up while ramming his shoulder into the elf in black. Patrick screamed, that shoulder obviously wounded and soaked in blood, but he pumped his legs nonetheless. He used his strong arm to toss Moira into the air. She did a pirouette, driving her foot into the square-faced elf’s nose. He barked and stumbled away, blood gushing from his nostrils.
Patrick faced the massive elf while Moira landed and scampered back around him. They stood back to back, staring at the enemies that surrounded them.
“Sorry our reunion ended so quickly,” said a winded Patrick.
“It’s not over yet,” answered Moira.
“No? Too bad. I’m getting tired of this.”
“You can rest when you’re dead.”
“Ashhur help me, that’s sort of the point.”
The elves charged from all sides, holding their khandars like spears. Moira tensed for impact, but then the elves were thrown off balance by a mighty gust of wind. A round of explosions came next, as if people themselves were suddenly bursting all at once. Blood and viscera flew into the air in geysers all around, so thick that it fell like rain, coating everything.
“What the fuck was that?” shouted Moira.
“The undead,” said Patrick hesitantly, obviously confused. “They. . exploded.”
A single word then rumbled over the battlefield, as potent as a million thunder strikes happening all at once.
“ENOUGH!”
It seemed for a moment as if the battle had ceased. In the middle of the chaos rose Ashhur, his silver armor layered with blood. He took a massive step, scattering the soldiers, Sisters, and Wardens before him. Never before had Moira seen a god look so angry, not even Karak. One of his hands was gathered into a fist, and the other held the limp form of one of the massive Judges-Lilah, the female. With a mighty swing of his arm, the deity tossed the giant lioness through the air, where she crashed down into another group of combatants. Moira heard a feline whimper. The thing wasn’t dead.
Neither was the male. Kayne bounded through the throng, roaring, trampling soldiers beneath his claws. Ashhur slammed his palms together just as the lion hurdled toward him. The god’s fingers knotted together, and he clobbered the male upside the head, snapping Kayne’s head to the side and sending him soaring as well.
“KARAK, SHOW YOURSELF!” the deity roared.
“You will only face the true god of the land if you prove yourself worthy!” said another voice, softer but no less threatening, from behind her. She turned just as the soldiers guarding the portcullis parted, revealing a man she recognized standing there, his eyes glowing red, his cloak fluttering even though there was no breeze.
“Jacob, stand aside,” Ashhur said coldly. “You do not frighten me.”
Jacob Eveningstar? thought Moira. Here in Veldaren?
Beside her, Patrick growled.
“I am Velixar,” the cloaked man said, laughter playing on his lips. “And honestly, my Lord, I should frighten you. Even the gods trembled before the beast.”
The man who had once been Jacob slammed his hands together. A massive arc of black light shot forth, swallowing all in its path. Moira was caught in the wave and sent careening through the air along with at least two hundred others, Patrick included. They all landed in a heap fifty feet away, clearing a path between the god and the man who challenged him.
Moira groaned and shoved at the men piled atop her, trying to get loose. Nearby she heard Patrick cursing. Armor creaked, dying men moaned out their last breaths. But the one sound Moira didn’t hear was the clash of steel on steel.
She finally wedged herself free from the tangled mass of humanity. Patrick was nearby, his powerful arms quivering as he tried to pick himself up off the ground. She ran to him, urged him to stand. The fighting around her began anew as Moira and Patrick fled to the shelter of the half-demolished stables nearby. While the others waged war, their attention was fixed on Ashhur and the First Man.
Ashhur held out his hand, and a radiant sword of pure light appeared in his grip.
“This ends now,” the god said.
Moira couldn’t turn away.
CHAPTER 48
Castle gates didn’t exist. All that mattered was Ashhur. He would assail the deity while Karak remained inside the castle, waiting for the moment Ashhur was near defeat before emerging to finish him off.
He reached into Karak’s deep well, siphoning the god’s power as he had done many times before. Drawing upon the fount of knowledge of the demon inside him, he reached across time and space, deciphering ancient spells and incantations, building up his inner reserves, imprinting them onto his brain. He cast out a wide web, drawing energy from not only the God of Order but the God of Justice as well. I am the child of two gods. I am the child of ALL gods!
Velixar’s body thrummed with energy, the very air around him growing unstable with charged particles, as if his tiny pocket of creation existed wholly separate from the world on which he stood. Electricity caused the pendant around his neck to vibrate. Thunderclouds billowed before his eyes, lightning crashed. Never before had he swallowed this much power. His nerve endings were on fire, pushing well past the threshold of pain. He ignored a speck of cowardice, which cried, It is too much-too much! For Velixar knew it was never too much. The demon whose name he had taken had told him so.