19 The Old Heroes' Sin

An explosion of light surrounded me, and then there was only fire.

Well, at first I could only see fire. Little by little, the world seemed to take shape around me. I heard shouts and screams and the clash steel on steel, and I saw a dark sky glowing red, and dark shapes rushing past me in the burning night. And yet I felt nothing; no warmth from the glow of flames, and no chill from the night's breeze. It lent the whole experience a surreal, artificial quality.

A muscular gray humanoid rushed past me, screaming in rage from a mouth filled with jagged teeth and framed by tusks, his blood-red eyes fixed on the city walls ahead of me. It took me a moment to recognize the walls as belonging to Istalfax, and another moment to realize that I hadn't felt the air move when the monster ran past me, hadn't smelled the sweat that covered his skin.

"This was the day my brother became legend."

I jumped, and turned in the direction of the voice. Cordelia stood beside me, her inscrutable skull-face looking over the walls of the city. There was a melancholy in her posture that I couldn't quite place.

"This is an illusion," I said, my verbal abilities having apparently been reduced to observing the obvious.

"Yes," Cordelia said. "I figured it would be easier to show you… You… Forgive me, I never asked your name."

"Corvus."

The lich nodded, and the world around me suddenly seemed to lurch backward. My eyes told me I was sliding forward, closer to the gate of Istalfax, but my body felt no such movement. It felt more like we continued to stand in place while the ground moved beneath us.

A man with long blond hair, wearing steel armor stained with red, stood alone between the open gates of the city. In his hand, he carried a sword that seemed to glow with the brightness of the sun, and upon his brow was a golden crown. His face was set in grim determination, and he held his ground as wave after wave of Orcs rushed forward, and wave after wave was cut down by his blade.

"Arcturus," Cordelia said. "On the day he earned the name Orcslayer. He stood alone at the gates of Istalfax, and fought all through the night, and when the sun rose, he still stood, the gates now barricaded by a pile of Orc bodies."

I watched, spellbound, as the image of Arcturus moved. There was a grace to his motions that seemed out of place with the heavy armor he wore, and he seemed to dodge enemy attacks with an effortlessness that seemed downright unnatural. Orcs fell, and their blood dyed the ground beneath Arcturus' feet red. A part of me recoiled in horror at the wanton violence I saw, and my stomach lurched at the sight of the slaughter, and yet I could not tear my gaze away from the forms and flurries of Arcturus' swordplay. He was a dancer, and this was his grisly stage.

"There was a second invasion force," Cordelia said, her voice cutting through the sounds of battle.

I started, realizing that I had been lulled by the sight of Arcturus' skill. It took a few seconds for my mind to process what Cordelia had just said, but once it had I snapped my attention to the lich. "I never heard about that."

Cordelia opened her jaw slightly, and I saw subtle motion in her shoulders, and realized that she was imitating a sigh. "Few souls ever knew."

Suddenly we were back in the great hall in the catacombs, but the stones seemed newer, and the coffin was nowhere to be seen, and lanterns illuminated everything about us.

There were also Orcs.

They rushed forth in a fury, and as they approached the frontmost Orcs were suddenly struck down by red spikes that fell upon them from above. I heard a bestial roar, and looked up in time to see an even greater monster descend on the Orcs below.

It's fur was golden brown, and a great mane, like a lion's, covered its neck, even as its hideous face bit into an unlucky Orc before it. It had two great draconic wings, and a bladed, armored tail that it flicked about, slicing foes back and forth.

In contrast to Arcturus, there was no artistry to this slaughter, no beauty to offset the grotesquery. This was savage and animalistic, and I could only watch a few seconds before I fell to my knees and retched up my breakfast.

I looked up to find all the Orcs dead and broken, save for one. His leg was shattered, but he hobbled forth, over the bodies of his fallen comrades. The monster stared at the lone survivor, but made no move to attack.

And then a woman in a blue robe stepped past me, approaching the Orc slowly and cautiously. Gold hair cascaded down her back, and I couldn't help but notice a familial resemblance to Arcturus. When she reached the Orc, she bent and blew a handful of dust in his face. The Orc fell to the ground, his chest still rising and falling.

"The Manticore, I found during my travels," Cordelia told me. "They are ancient and rare beasts, first molded by the gods to punish mortal civilizations. The one I encountered was but a youth, and using my magical talents I was able to subjugate its mind to my will. Thus I bound it, and used it to protect the city from the Orcs who sought to enter the catacombs from below."

She stepped forward, approaching the sleeping Orc and the image of her past self. "And the Orc I captured here proved invaluable to my research."

Abruptly, Cordelia stopped and spun to face me. "You know of how the Orcs were ended?" she asked.

I nodded. "Arcturus raised an army, and they fought their way across the lands the Orcs had captured. Eventually, they descended on the citadel of Kiltaris Dahrk, and when the battle was ended, the sorcerer and all of his forces were dead."

Cordelia nodded. "But what of how the Orcs began?"

I shrugged. "Dahrk made them to be his army."

"That is true," Cordelia said. "They were made as warrior slaves, born to fight and kill and die on the battlefield. The slaughter they perpetrated was not of their own choosing, but rather imposed upon them since the moment of their conception. Even back then, I pitied them." She turned and stared at the shadows, and was quiet for a time. I wasn't sure I wanted to know what she was remembering.

Slowly, the chamber grew darker, and within that darkness I saw a new shape begin to form. At first, it seemed to be a sphere of light, but eventually it coalesced, and I realized it was a reptilian creature, curled up into a ball.

"The souls of the Orcs cried out for freedom," Cordelia told me. "And with death, there comes a clarity; an understanding of the world unshackled by the confines of mortal experience. With each Orc killed on the battlefield, the psychic cry for freedom grew ever louder, and from it was birthed a new dragon."

I gawked as the shape before my eyes became more concrete, and I realized that there was indeed a dragon curled up before me.

"There is a god for the Orcs?" I asked.

"There could have been," Cordelia sad quietly. "I don't believe even Dahrk knew; if he had, he would doubtless have begun to fear that his army would soon turn against him. But I was able to piece together what was happening, what's more, I even found the dragon on the Astral Plane, not yet fully formed, not yet awakened into godhood."

"That's incredible," I breathed.

"Indeed. My heart soared at the prospect that this war would soon end, and peace would reign. But then, as I thought about it, my elation began to turn to dread."

Cordelia affixed her eyeless gaze to mine. "The Orcs had known nothing but bloodshed since their creation. It would be foolish to suppose they would give that life up, simply because they now had the freedom to. And even if they did, where would they go? What would they do? Their victims would never forgive them, and there would be more bloodshed. And then there was the question of generations. Would the Orcs wish to continue their race? They were a doomed people, not born but created. Would they wish to continue making themselves as Dahrk had? Or would they wish to propagate through interbreeding? Was such a thing even possible? And surely if they tried, they would be met with hostility at every corner."

I saw the image of Cordelia's younger, living self appear behind her, standing beside the sleeping dragon. "These questions plagued me, until I convinced myself that there was only one path to peace. And so, on the eve of my brother's final assault, I traveled to the Astral Plane, and I learned that all infants, even infant gods, are helpless."

Cordelia's image held her hands out, and blue flames burst from her fingers and enveloped the dragon child.

As the illusionary images faded, the lich told me: "the new god was never born, and Arcturus was the only soul I ever told."

I blinked. The illusions were gone. Once more, we were in that great hall, standing before the stone coffin.

"The guilt of genocide weighed heavily on my brother's conscience," Cordelia said. "After the war, he withdrew from life. I could only watch as he slowly withered away, his will to live gone. As for me? I was condemned. The gods had banished me from the Heavens, and I knew that I was doomed only for the Hells."

"The gods banished you, but not your brother?" I asked.

Cordelia made a sound that I could only assume was a bitter laugh. "Genocide is the sin for which I cannot forgive myself," she said, "but it is not the sin for which the gods forsook me. No, that crime was deicide. The lives of the Orcs were meaningless in the eyes of the gods, but for me to strike down one of their own, unformed though it might have been? That was unforgivable."

I had no idea what to say.

Cordelia approached me. "At the time, I believed I did what I had to do," she told me. "I believed it was the only chance to stop the fighting and let the world heal. Now, I wonder if I only took the easy option. I wonder if I was motivated more by fear of uncertainty, and of weariness, and an unwillingness to build a peace that included the Orcs themselves. It would not be unfair to call me a coward; after all, I ripped my soul from my body and became undead rather than face an eternity in the Hells."

She reached me, and placed a skeletal hand on my shoulder. "Make no mistake, I do not dwell on useless regrets. The past is set, and I can never undo my sins. I tell you this because I can see the mark on your soul. Fate, that fickle three-headed drake, has branded you with a symbol of peace. To end conflicts is your destiny, but how you shall end them is your choice."

The lich removed her hand, and turned to look at the coffin. "I ask only that you consider your actions carefully, Corvus. Peace always has a cost, no matter how it is achieved. I hope you shoulder this burden better than I did."