When the second gods’ war ended, the Council had sent only the most cursory of acknowledgments. They didn’t promise Antonil any wealth, or advice, or aid in rebuilding. Just a few sentences on a scrap of paper thanking him for defeating Karak’s followers.
“If that’s the case, turn yourselves in and plead your case,” Harruq said. “All you have to do is swear you had nothing to do with it, and the angels will know immediately.”
Deathmask slowly shook his head. “I will not. I don’t trust them.”
“Why not?”
“Because there’s the chance the angels did this themselves.”
Harruq froze. The angels felling their own city? That was insane...wasn’t it?
“As you’re probably realizing, things aren’t quite as simple as you’d like to pretend,” Veliana said, sliding out the window. “So just...oh shit.”
Harruq tensed when he heard the sound of wings. Atop one of the crumbled buildings landed an angel of Ashhur, golden armor glittering in the starlight. He carried a long spear in one hand, a shield in the other, and he looked ready to use both.
“Deathmask and Veliana of the Ash Guild, I am Syric, Ashhur’s loyal servant. Surrender yourself now for trial and judgment.”
“You led them here,” Deathmask said, glaring.
“Not on purpose,” Harruq grumbled. He faced the angel. “Greetings, Syric. I’m Harruq, steward of the realm. I’m sure you’ve heard of me, maybe seen me kill Thulos, perhaps? I’ve got this situation under control, so, just, fly away now.”
He felt maddeningly impotent making such a request. His position of power never seemed to matter when dealing with the angels. As expected, the angel only raised his spear. Harruq clutched the hilts of his swords, palms sweating. His heart hammered in his chest as a second angel landed, his enormous two-handed sword already drawn.
“Do not resist,” Syric said. “Shoa and I will use force if we must.”
Veliana’s daggers twirled in her hands. Harruq kept an eye on Deathmask at all times, waiting to see how the dangerous man would react.
“Surrender,” Harruq said, desperately hoping he’d see reason. “If you’re innocent, you’ll be in no danger. I give my word.”
Deathmask faced each of the angels in turn, then reached up to remove his mask, revealing a face horribly scarred by fire. He stared at Harruq, almost pleading, and it was strange to see such honesty from the man.
“I fought alongside you, Harruq. I bled with you. I overthrew Melorak and his cult, I freed the people from Karak’s oppression. Remember that, and trust me now. I did not destroy Avlimar.”
Harruq realized the angels should have immediately sensed whether it were a lie or not, and he turned to Syric.
“Is he telling the truth?” he asked.
The two angels shared an uncomfortable look.
“Sorcery,” Syric said. “He masks his involvement, or protects it with clever language. We know his guilt is as certain as the rising sun.”
“So be it,” Deathmask said, pulling his mask back over his face. “You two had your chance.”
“No,” Harruq shouted, and he drew his swords. “Syric, Shoa, both of you stand down, that is an order. Let them go unharmed.”
The angels stiffened as if he’d slapped them across the face.
“Who are you to order us?” Shoa asked.
“The steward of the realm,” Harruq said.
“The human realm,” Syric said, and he turned to Deathmask. “This is your last chance. Surrender, or die. We will not ask again.”
Deathmask laughed. “Come and try, angels. You won’t be the first of your kind I burn to cinders.”
With a sudden burst of wings, the two lunged from their perches, Syric charging for Deathmask, Shoa for Veliana. His mind a stream of curses, Harruq dashed toward the collapsed library. Veliana had been prepared for an attack, but she appeared caught off guard the angels’ speed. She dashed to one side, only to have Shoa already veering in that direction, cutting her off while
“If that’s the case, turn yourselves in and plead your case,” Harruq said. “All you have to do is swear you had nothing to do with it, and the angels will know immediately.”
Deathmask slowly shook his head. “I will not. I don’t trust them.”
“Why not?”
“Because there’s the chance the angels did this themselves.”
Harruq froze. The angels felling their own city? That was insane...wasn’t it?
“As you’re probably realizing, things aren’t quite as simple as you’d like to pretend,” Veliana said, sliding out the window. “So just...oh shit.”
Harruq tensed when he heard the sound of wings. Atop one of the crumbled buildings landed an angel of Ashhur, golden armor glittering in the starlight. He carried a long spear in one hand, a shield in the other, and he looked ready to use both.
“Deathmask and Veliana of the Ash Guild, I am Syric, Ashhur’s loyal servant. Surrender yourself now for trial and judgment.”
“You led them here,” Deathmask said, glaring.
“Not on purpose,” Harruq grumbled. He faced the angel. “Greetings, Syric. I’m Harruq, steward of the realm. I’m sure you’ve heard of me, maybe seen me kill Thulos, perhaps? I’ve got this situation under control, so, just, fly away now.”
He felt maddeningly impotent making such a request. His position of power never seemed to matter when dealing with the angels. As expected, the angel only raised his spear. Harruq clutched the hilts of his swords, palms sweating. His heart hammered in his chest as a second angel landed, his enormous two-handed sword already drawn.
“Do not resist,” Syric said. “Shoa and I will use force if we must.”
Veliana’s daggers twirled in her hands. Harruq kept an eye on Deathmask at all times, waiting to see how the dangerous man would react.
“Surrender,” Harruq said, desperately hoping he’d see reason. “If you’re innocent, you’ll be in no danger. I give my word.”
Deathmask faced each of the angels in turn, then reached up to remove his mask, revealing a face horribly scarred by fire. He stared at Harruq, almost pleading, and it was strange to see such honesty from the man.
“I fought alongside you, Harruq. I bled with you. I overthrew Melorak and his cult, I freed the people from Karak’s oppression. Remember that, and trust me now. I did not destroy Avlimar.”
Harruq realized the angels should have immediately sensed whether it were a lie or not, and he turned to Syric.
“Is he telling the truth?” he asked.
The two angels shared an uncomfortable look.
“Sorcery,” Syric said. “He masks his involvement, or protects it with clever language. We know his guilt is as certain as the rising sun.”
“So be it,” Deathmask said, pulling his mask back over his face. “You two had your chance.”
“No,” Harruq shouted, and he drew his swords. “Syric, Shoa, both of you stand down, that is an order. Let them go unharmed.”
The angels stiffened as if he’d slapped them across the face.
“Who are you to order us?” Shoa asked.
“The steward of the realm,” Harruq said.
“The human realm,” Syric said, and he turned to Deathmask. “This is your last chance. Surrender, or die. We will not ask again.”
Deathmask laughed. “Come and try, angels. You won’t be the first of your kind I burn to cinders.”
With a sudden burst of wings, the two lunged from their perches, Syric charging for Deathmask, Shoa for Veliana. His mind a stream of curses, Harruq dashed toward the collapsed library. Veliana had been prepared for an attack, but she appeared caught off guard the angels’ speed. She dashed to one side, only to have Shoa already veering in that direction, cutting her off while
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