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The Quartz Key Chapter Seventy-One
by Lianne Burwell
February 2004
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Judas's side felt as though it were on fire. Blood oozed, 
bright red, between the fingers of the hand he pressed 
against the wound.

He fell to his knees, his legs suddenly too weak to hold 
him up, then to the ground. He lay on his side, breathing 
heavily, although each breath was a new stabbing pain. 
Above him, Nahanna sneered, humming softly under her 
breath. She wore an expression of triumph, not seeming to 
notice the blood dripping from her hands.

She did notice the bellow of rage from behind her, though, 
and whirled to face the golden figure striding towards 
them. The light that haloed him seemed brighter than the 
sun to Judas's watering eyes. In fact, it almost looked as 
though white wings curved around him, as if he were a 
spirit about to take flight.

Hamar stood frozen for a moment, then seeing the man moving 
towards Nahanna, he stepped in front of the spirit, his 
sword raised. He snarled his defiance, but he did not stand 
a chance. The spirit swung, and Hamar's head went flying. 
Though he and Hamar were not friends, Judas's stomach 
turned at the senselessness of the young chief's death.

Then the winged spirit's gazed turned on Nahanna, and he 
yelled something that Judas could not decipher through the 
roaring in his ears. Moving slowly, Judas pulled the dagger 
from his side, and amazingly, the flow of blood began to 
slow and his breathing began to ease. Strength seemed to be 
returning from a source outside of himself.

He lay there as the spirit attacked Nahanna. Nahanna tried 
to defend herself, but it seemed as though the magic she'd 
used to transport them and three men from the trade towns 
all the way to the southern lands and to cloud his mind 
when she'd served the poisoned tea had deserted her. She 
sang, but nothing happened. The richness that had filled 
her voice when she'd performed for the court of Ajantha was 
gone.

Much as he hated the woman, he had to admit that she met 
her death with a measure of dignity. Her chin was lifted, 
and from his angle, her gaze was defiant as the spirit 
plunged his sword through her heart, and she fell without a 
cry.

Then the spirit turned towards Judas, and Judas felt a 
chill run through him. The glow intensified until he was 
almost blinded by it, and he fought to keep from cringing, 
determined to meet his death as bravely as Nahanna. For he 
now realized that what he was facing was the God-King. How 
could it be anything else? His hand crept to the hilt of 
the sword that Chiram had given him, but he doubted that he 
would have the chance to use it. The clans had taken a 
chance on the belief that Judas would be able to defeat the 
God-King, and thanks to the treachery of Hamar and Nahanna, 
there was no chance left.

The God-King's expression was that of pure fury as he 
raised his sword over Judas's head. "Give him back, bitch," 
he snarled at Judas. "Give him back or I will kill you!"

The words made little since, but Judas could see that 
responding was futile. All he could do was close his eyes 
and wait for the end.

But the sword did not fall. Instead, the ring of metal 
against metal was harsh in his ears, and when he opened his 
eyes he found that a second sword had appeared to deflect 
the killing blow. A sword wielded by Chiram.

"Out of my way, old man," the God-King said quietly, and 
Judas shuddered at the poison his voice. He opened his 
mouth to try to deflect the enemy's attention from Chiram, 
but his throat seemed to close up and no sound escaped.

"I won't let you kill him," Chiram said, calm and 
determined, his dignity shining through.

"Him?" the God-King said. For a moment he sounded confused, 
and something in his voice was familiar to Judas. He 
frowned, and it almost seemed like the man was wearing a 
mask. Judas squinted, trying to see through the mask to the 
man inside, but the moment was gone. "Do you think you can 
deny me?" the God-King said instead, the hint of confusion 
vanishing as quickly as it appeared.

"I can but try," Chiram said calmly, even though Judas knew 
that he did not have a hope of winning against the other 
man. Judas had sparred with the clan chief as part of his 
sword training after leaving the temple, and while he knew 
that the man was a master, he was also older, while the 
God-King had the look of a man less than half his age. As 
well, Judas had seen how easily the God-King had dispatched 
Hamar. He wanted to protest, but his throat closed up 
again. He felt helpless.

There was flurry of sword strokes, chiming softly compared 
to the sounds of battle around them, and at first Chiram 
seemed to have the upper hand. He pushed the God-King back 
towards the circle of watching clansmen who seemed unable 
or unwilling to act. Any one of them could have put a blade 
in the God-King's back, but none even tried.

This also forced them away from Judas, allowing Judas to 
roll even further away, taking his sword with him, trying 
to judge how much of his strength he had regained. He was 
still weak, but improving. However, there was still little 
that he could do.

Judas struggled to his feet as the two men fought back and 
forth. Chiram was faring far better than Hamar had, but 
Judas could not shake the feeling that the God-King was 
toying with the older man. Or perhaps he was simply biding 
his time until his army caught up with him. The sounds of 
battle were growing closer by the moment. Deep in his 
heart, Judas knew that this was the final battle, and even 
if the God-King were to be slain, the southern army would 
be destroyed. The only hope was that if the God-King were 
dead, the north would be thrown into a state of confusion, 
and the south would be able to reestablish itself as an 
independent land.

The bleeding had stopped, and some strength was returning 
to him. The sun had begun its slow slide towards the 
horizon, and Judas knew that the moon would be in the sky 
before the sun had set, although there was still time 
before that would happen. Too much time. Still, Judas could 
feel the moon coming, and he drew strength from that 
knowledge.

Drawing from deep within, he stepped towards the God-King's 
unguarded back, just as Chiram finally faltered and 
stumbled, just as the God-King swung his sword.

"No!" Judas cried as fresh blood spilled onto the already 
soaked ground. Chiram made no sound as he fell, his eyes 
closing, the light already fading from them.

A red light filled Judas's vision as he swung his own 
sword. The God-King was turning, his sword coming up to 
block, but he would be too late.

"Nemir!" a voice shouted from behind Judas. A voice that he 
had not heard in a long time, but which he knew. A second 
voice, deeper, but just as familiar, joined it.

The shout threw him off-balance for one crucial moment. 
Just long enough for him to finally see through the glow to 
the man behind it. Long enough to see the God-King's *true* 
face. A familiar face.

Nemir's face.

Judas gasped and immediately tried to call the blow back, 
but in vain. All he was able to do was twist his blade just 
enough so that instead of splitting his beloved's skull, it 
landed on his shoulder. Judas cried out as though he were 
the one wounded as he felt flesh part and bones break 
beneath his blade. Nemir, however, just sighed softly and 
collapsed.

Judas shielded his eyes as Nemir's form seemed to flare 
into a bright light that burned his skin the way the sun 
strangely hadn't that day. In the distance he could hear a 
melding of shouts of both victory and horror. The God-King 
had fallen in battle.

But that meant nothing to Judas.

All that he saw was Nemir lying broken on the ground. All 
that he heard was the pained gasps of his beloved's breath. 
That Nemir had just tried to kill him mattered little to 
him. He had sworn an oath to the Prince of Ajantha more 
than a year ago that he would protect his heir with his 
life, and he had failed. Even if he had not killed Nemir, 
he had surely crippled him.

Judas released his sword and dropped to his knees next to 
Nemir. Any warrior within reach could have struck him down 
at that moment and he would not have cared. He touched 
Nemir, but Nemir moaned in pain at even that gentle touch. 
He was still alive, Judas told himself.

But how long he would remain so in the middle of a 
battlefield, Judas could not say, and tears of grief and 
frustration began to roll down his face. "I can't lose 
you," Judas told the unconscious man, bending over until 
his forehead touched Nemir's. "Don't die," he whispered.

"Judas," a soft, feminine voice said in his ear. "You will 
not lose him if you have the courage to keep hold, come 
what may. Can you do that?" It was the Lady. Judas had not 
seen her in his dreams since his arrival at the 
battlefield.

Judas looked towards the distant hills where the moon would 
be rising. His fingers clenched in Nemir's hair; the only 
place he could reach that would not cause him pain. "Now 
that I have found him again, I will never let him go," he 
said quietly but firmly. "I am his... and he is mine. I 
will follow him wherever he goes, even into death."

"So be it."

Immediately, Judas's vision began to go dark. It felt as 
though his wounds had opened up again, and his strength was 
bleeding away. He collapsed forward, never losing his grip 
on Nemir. The Lady was giving him his wish: Nemir could not 
be saved, so he would die with him.

Judas sighed, and though the world slipped away from him, 
he never let go.

END CHAPTER SEVENTY-ONE