The Death of Promises

11

I t had been a long night for the half-orc Harruq Tun.

“Try not to scream too much,” his tormenter said as he pressed a glowing piece of coal against his neck with a pair of tongs.

A very long night.

“No screaming,” Harruq said through grit teeth. “No screaming.” He felt the searing pain against his flesh. He heard sizzling, his blood hissing and drying. He would have given anything to throttle the man, but the heavy chains around his body denied him his desire as he hung naked against the wall.

“I’m sure your friends are looking for you by now,” the tormenter said. He pulled back the coal and admired his work. An ugly black burn covered the entirety of Harruq’s neck. “Looking, but not finding.”

The half-orc flung his head to one side so his long brown hair didn’t cover his face, and doing his best to ignore the horrible pain it caused his neck. His breathing was heavy from the pain, but still he laughed.

“You have no idea,” he said between labored breaths. “No idea how badly you just erred.”

“Oh really?” the man said. He wore black robes with a feline skull hanging from a chain around his neck. His upper lip protruded a full inch farther than his lower jaw, so when he smiled he looked like a strange combination of horse and man. “What mistake was that?”

“Because I’m not the scary one,” Harruq said. They were deep in the bowels of an old mansion, one with an owner rumored to be eccentric and lonely. Looking around at the various torture devices hanging from the stone walls of the cell, Harruq had to agree about the eccentric part. He did not, however, think the man was alone too often. Not in that cell, judging by the blood staining the floor.

“You’re not the scary one?” the tormenter asked, humoring him.

“I’m the big one,” Harruq continued. He was stalling, and by Ashhur the man didn’t seem to have a clue. “Haern, he’s the creepy one. Sneaky. Kill you before you know you’re dead. But no, that isn’t too scary, dying without knowing it. Aurry, however…” The half-orc laughed, then stopped to cough up and spit out a blob of blood.

“You mean your weak little elf woman?” the man asked him. He dug his fingers into the burn on Harruq’s neck. Harruq sucked in air, denying the man the scream he wanted.

“She sees what you’ve done to me and she’ll be hotter than a dragon napping in a wildfire. Haern’s got some sort of honor. Aurry…”

The man in the black robes slapped him, then kissed the skull that hung from his neck.

“Karak protects me,” the man said. “His power protects me from scrying. No one knows you’re here. No one will hear you. No one will know you’ve died until I dump your body at the Eschaton’s doorstep. Too late, then, too late for you.”

Again Harruq laughed. And coughed. And laughed.

“What was your name again?” he asked.

“Karak has given me the name of Tormentus,” the man said, glowing with pride. “His right hand in driving out blasphemy from this world.”

Harruq lost himself in laughter so loud and chaotic he appeared delusional. Tormentus drove a dagger through the palm of the half-orc’s hand, and even that did little to stop his laughter.

“Tormentus,” Harruq said when he regained control. “You give yourself that name?” His laughter resumed, huge shuddering laughs that shook him against the chains that held him to the wall. “Run, children, Tormentus is coming, crazy man for a crazy god!”

The man slashed him across the face and neck with a knife, furious and humiliated. He had given himself the name thinking it would inspire fear in those he worked upon. On most it had, but this strange half-orc, who seemed impervious to any pain he caused, only found it hysterical. Suddenly he was ashamed of the name, felt almost childlike in its creation.

“You may know me as Gregor, if you would prefer,” he said, wiping the blood off his dagger. “The name I held before Karak blessed me with his power.”

“Sure thing,” Harruq said. “So what is your last name? Cutall? Hurtme? Imakebooboos?”

“Enough!”

Gregor marched over to his rack of torture devices full of prongs, pliers, wrenches, strange shaped blades, and rollers full of spikes and rusty edges. The half-orc had dared trespass onto his property. His servants had subdued him with sleep scrolls they all carried. It took three to drag Harruq’s body downstairs to his torture room and chain him to the wall. The half-orc had tested the chain’s strength when he first awoke, then settled in and endured his punishment.

“What were you looking for,” Gregor asked as he grabbed a device with a wooden handle and a small curved blade. “Eschaton do not steal or rob. What was it you sought in my mansion?”

“Just the usual,” Harruq said. The man turned and approached with a sick grin on his face. “Thieves. Killers. Crazy people. You seem like all three. What you going to do with that, anyway?”

“Oh, this?” Gregor asked, smiling at his tool. “You keep laughing and mocking me. You ignore any pain I cause. So I’m going to cause you pain you can’t ignore. And when you laugh, at least it will be at a higher pitch.”

The room fell silent as Harruq realized what it was Gregor was saying.

“Now that’s just too far,” the half-orc shouted, straining against his chains. “You can hurt and kill me, but really, you can’t be that sick.”

Shouts echoed through the closed wooden door and into the room. Gregor glanced up the stairs, frowning at the intrusion.

“What is going on up there?” he shouted.

“I don’t know,” Harruq said. “You should go see, definitely, that is something you should…”

He stopped when Gregor back-handed him and then pressed the curved blade against his groin. More shouts came from upstairs.

“We can talk about this,” Harruq said, all trace of humor gone from his voice. “Talk about this like men.”

“Like men?” Gregor asked, a wild fear in his eyes. More shouts filled the room. People had entered the mansion. It did not take much thought to guess who.

“Like men,” Harruq repeated with an enthusiastic nod.

“But you’re not a man,” Gregor said. “Not anymore.”

The door exploded inward, and in stepped a furious Aurelia Tun. Fire danced on her fingertips. Gregor tensed the blade against Harruq while his other hand grabbed the half-orc by the throat.

“Stay back,” the man ordered. “Stay back, or I cut him, and no priestess will undo the damage.”

“Listen to what he says, Aurry,” Harruq said, a slight quiver in his voice.

“You play some interesting games,” the elf said as she looked around the room. She saw the torture devices, the wooden racks and the chains on the wall. She saw the blood pooled upon the floor. A sick room, she thought. Sick room for a sick man.

“Where are the others,” Gregor asked. “The assassin, where is he? I see one flutter of gray and I cut.”

“Cut him,” Aurelia said, the fire leaving her hands only to be replaced by ice. “And I will do the same to you, except I will have far more time to make sure it hurts.”

“She don’t mean it,” Harruq said, trying to smile. “You just let me go and we’ll all be happy and leave…”

Gregor leaned closer and shoved Harruq’s head against the wall. He knew he was in a tight spot, and the idea of the elf removing his own manhood did not appeal to him. Only by threatening the half-orc did he remain safe, but if he actually carried out his threat…

“Gregor,” Harruq said, his voice soft as if he did not want Aurelia to hear. “Just be calm. She’ll listen to me, you understand? I’m her husband, she obeys what I say.”

“What do you propose?” Gregor whispered back. The half-orc ignored the horrible glare Aurelia gave him, for while his tormenter was an idiot, Harruq knew full well the elf could hear him despite his whispering.

“Just this,” Harruq whispered before slamming his forehead against Gregor’s nose. The blow knocked him back, and that slight separation was all Aurelia needed. A javelin of ice flew from her hands and pierced his back. Lightning followed the ice, reducing him to a dead, smoking lump of flesh and black robes.

Aurelia crossed her arms and stood at the top of the stairs.

“So, do I always obey what you say, dearest husband?” she asked.

Clever ploy, nothing more,” Harruq said, grinning. “Now please, could you get me to Delysia? I think I’m going to pass out.”

True to his word, the half-orc slumped against the chains, unable to stand now that his adrenaline was fading. The elf pulled up her skirt as she walked down the stairs, not wanting to stain her dress on anything in the foul room. She kicked the curved blade Gregor had held, then looked up at the ceiling. A faded rune carved in blood covered it, designed to prevent magical scrying.

“The magic fades over time,” she told the dead tormenter. “And the runes need reapplied. Just thought you should know.” She looked over Harruq’s wounds, wincing as she did. The man had done a number on her husband, but he had suffered through worse.

“Aurelia?” a voice called down the stairs. The elf turned and shouted back.

“Come on down, Haern. Found the big ox.”

A blond man cloaked in gray appeared at the top of the stairs, twin sabers in his hands.

“The servants have been taken care of,” he said. When he saw Gregor’s body, he sheathed his swords. “And apparently so has the master.”

“Har’s passed out,” she said, fiddling with the locks. “Care to help me get him out of these so I can take us home?”

Haern pulled out a kit from a pouch hidden beneath his cloaks. A minute later, all the locks were undone, and Harruq slumped into Haern’s strong arms. The elf whispered words of magic, and then a blue portal ripped into existence, its blue light scattering the shadows of the room. Haern found Harruq’s swords and armor piled in a corner and tossed them into the portal. He then dragged the unconscious half-orc in. Aurelia entered last, but only after tossing a ball of fire at the rack of torture instruments, setting them aflame.

H arruq awoke the next morning at the touch of feminine fingers against his skin.

“Aurry?” he muttered, his eyes still closed.

“It’s me,” said a voice that was not Aurelia’s. “Lie still. I just started.”

“Hey, Delysia. Pleased as always.”

The priestess chuckled despite her concentration. White light surrounded her hands, filled with healing magic. She focused on the brutal cuts Gregor had made, cuts that looked dangerously close to becoming infected. The light poured into them, killing the sickness and closing the wounds. Each cut took several minutes of concentration, and by the time she had the half-orc looking decent, her entire body ached and her head pounded as if filled with a thousand ogres banging drums.

Harruq lay still for most of it. The healing magic soothed most of his pain, but the ache in his muscles would not subdue for days, and the strange stretching and pulling of his skin against the wounds was uncomfortable at best. As Delysia cast her spells, he heard a door creak open, followed by shuffling of robes.

“So how’s our half-orc doing?” asked Tarlak, the leader of the Eschaton mercenaries.

“Doing good,” Harruq said, eyes still closed. “Remind me to never listen when you suggest splitting up patrols.”

“Whine all you want,” Tarlak said. “You’re still alive.”

Harruq opened his eyes and glared at the mage. He was dressed in a bizarre assortment of yellow robes, yellow sash, and long, yellow pointy hat. Delysia stood beside him, rubbing her pounding temples. They were clearly brother and sister, with matching red hair and green eyes. Tarlak stroked his goatee, all the while trying to hold in a laugh. The half-orc glared harder, determined to whallop the man if he dared mock his predicament.

“I heard you almost lost something precious,” Tarlak said.

“Another word and I’ll shove your hat down your throat and pull it out your rear.”

“Very manly of you. Glad you can still do stuff like that.”

“I swear, Tar, I will.”

“Hush now,” Delysia said, frowning at her brother. “Stop pestering him so he’ll sit still.”

“If you insist,” Tarlak said, sitting down on the bed next to him. They were on the second floor of the Eschaton tower. Normally it was Delysia’s room, but it often doubled as a ward for an injured mercenary.

“At least we got the sick bastard,” Harruq said, closing his eyes and obeying a command by the priestess to shift onto his side.

“Yeah, about that.” Tarlak took off his hat and picked at it. “Turns out that wasn’t the guy.”

“What?”

“Stay still,” Delysia said, smacking him on the head with the palm of her hand.

“Thought you decided some Karak worshipper was doing all the mutilations?” Harruq said, doing his best not to move.

“I did, but that guy you killed…Gregor, right? Well this Gregor worshipped Karak, but he wasn’t a priest. He was just some spoiled son of a rich man that fancied himself a chosen of our dear dark god.” Tarlak put the hat back on his head. “That, and after you and Aurry so neatly dispatched him, we found another body near the castle. I won’t bore you with the details.”

Harruq raised an eyebrow at him.

“Alright fine,” Tarlak said. “You know me too well. Extremities dismembered. Hands were sewn onto his face, palms covering his eyes. Tongue gone. Bowels burned. Oh, and the neatest carving on his chest. They made some skull out of twisted skin and bruises…”

“Enough,” Delysia said, standing and holding her fingers against her chest. “Please, enough.”

“Sure thing, sis,” Tarlak said. He tipped his hat to the half-orc. “Get better. Tonight’s going to be another long one, and like I say, no rest for the orcish.”

“Thought it was no rest for the short?” Harruq said, immediately regretting it.

“Yeah,” the mage said, a pall coming over his cheery attitude at reference to the former member Brug. “Well, no shorties around to keep going, so got to deprive someone of rest, right?”

Harruq did not respond.

“He doesn’t blame you,” Delysia said once Tarlak had left the room.

“He should,” the half-orc muttered.

“You are not your brother,” she insisted, gently running a hand down his wounded back. “And you are not responsible for him or the company he keeps. Even if you were, Ashhur preaches forgiveness.”

The priestess left, not expecting a reply. She was right.

T he rest of the Eschaton gathered around the fireplace on the first floor of the tower, drinking magically conjured drinks and discussing the previous night.

“Three bodies,” Haern said, shaking his head and staring at the fire. “They’re taunting us. No other explanation.”

“Escalation does not mean taunting,” Tarlak said as he came down the stairs. “Though it very well may be.”

“When Antonil asked us to help patrol, it was a single body found every three days,” Haern argued. “That night, and every night after, we have found a body for each night. They know we’re looking.”

“They?” Aurelia asked. She was seated in a luxurious red chair with a blanket over her. She took another sip of a hot brown drink that was deliciously sweet.

“That many bodies can’t be one man,” the wizard said. “And I still swear the priests of Karak are doing this.”

Delysia came down the stairs looking pallid and exhausted. Her brother tossed a blanket around her shoulders and led her to a cushion beside Aurelia.

“He’ll be fine,” she said. “Whatever cut him was far from clean, but I think he’ll…” She stopped, a spell of dizziness taking away her words.

“Thank you,” Aurelia said. Delysia smiled.

“What if it is the priests,” Haern said, his tone softer, more dangerous. “Will we finally strike at their heart?”

The women glanced to Tarlak, who sighed and began to explain.

“The priests have a hidden temple inside Veldaren. Very, very powerful spells hide its appearance, mask the evil energy within, and deny any attempts to scry its location. Supposedly it will reveal itself only to those who seek Karak’s favor.”

Aurelia leaned forward, suddenly very interested.

“But you know where it is,” she said. “Somehow you found it.”

Tarlak glanced to Haern.

“Not found,” Haern said. “I have been inside its walls. The Spider Guild did not take kindly to my faith in Ashhur.”

Delysia winced. She and Haern had spent many nights conversing underneath the stars. Haern had been a trained killer since birth, and so the opportunity to speak and think without fear of judgment or punishment had proven addictive. One night the members of the Spider Guild had assaulted them, dragging Haern toward the temple of Karak while leaving Delysia for dead.

“They thought to purge me of my belief,” Haern continued. Old wounds drained the life from his eyes. “I memorized the way, and I will never forget that building, both the illusion and its true form.”

“Then we tell the guards,” Aurelia said. “The priests of Karak are forbidden from the city. Once King Vaelor hears of an entire temple he’ll…”

“He’ll do nothing,” Tarlak said. “Because he already knows. Every king is informed on the first night they take the throne. They’re also told, in no uncertain terms, that they will die should they try to remove the priests from the capital.”

“How do you know this?” Aurelia asked. Tarlak feigned shock and insult.

“Why, because I’m a wizard, of course. I’m supposed to know these things.”

“The temple’s existence is common knowledge to the upper members of Veldaren,” Haern explained. “The priests focus their attention on the wealthy, and gain safety and power through them. The priests of Karak bring only the most faithful and rich to their temple, and even then they bring them blindfolded.”

“Why don’t the priests of Ashhur do something about it?” Aurelia asked.

“Open warfare on the streets?” Tarlak asked with a chuckle. “Fun as that would be, Callan and his ilk accept the temple as a necessary evil. But we, however, do not fall under their jurisdiction.”

“What was this about war on the streets?” Harruq asked as he came limping down the stairs. Aurelia frowned and rose from her chair.

“You shouldn’t be up and around, you’ll make yourself sick.”

“Haern’s beaten me far worse than this,” the half-orc argued, though his voice was weak and unconvincing. He accepted Aurelia’s arms and used her weight to reach her chair. She wrapped her blanket around him before sitting down beside Delysia.

“We don’t want war on the streets,” Tarlak said. “So we must be certain the priests are committing these murders and mutilations. But do we really have the strength to take them on, in their home no less?”

Haern leaned back and ran his hands through his blond hair.

“No. I don’t think we do,” he said. “But that hasn’t stopped us before. We have never taken such a great risk, so if we do, we must do it with all our abilities. If the priests of Karak survive, we will be guaranteed retaliation.” He looked around at his friends. “And I would not wish that upon any of you.”

“We need to be more vigilant,” Aurelia said. “We keep looking and keep searching. If we find and stop the priests outside the temple, they will view us as mercenaries performing a job. Those we kill will be faulted for being caught.”

“Will that be enough to deter the killings?” Haern asked.

“It will be if we kill enough of them,” Aurelia said, the hardness in her eyes frightening.

“Fantastic,” Harruq said. “Why are they doing these killings in the first place?”

“Karak seeks total devotion,” Delysia said after a long period of silence. “This means inhibition, compassion, and humanity must be purged. These mutilations, these sacrifices, are meant to show their faith. And I think we are ignoring one other aspect. Fear. There is a reason the bodies are being dumped for all to see.”

“If it is fear they want, they’re getting it,” Tarlak said, remembering the talk he heard the previous day. “And it’ll get worse, especially with how those three were found.”

When Harruq asked how, the wizard shook his head.

“Some things are best to remain in the dark. For now, we rest, pray, and do what we do best for the rest of the day. Come night, we’ll scour the city and hope to Ashhur we catch whoever’s doing this before more bodies are found strung from…never mind. Good day everyone.”

He downed the rest of his glass, made it vanish with a snap of his fingers, and then hurried up the stairs. To Harruq’s questioning look, Haern only shook his head and shuddered.

T hat night the Eschaton gathered near the western entrance to the city. The air was cold, and they all wore extra layers underneath their armor and robes, as well as thick cloaks wrapped about their bodies.

“Harruq, Aurelia, you search the southern quarter,” Tarlak ordered. “Del and I will scan the west. Haern gets the east. So far no one’s been taken from the north, so we’ll leave it be until they do.”

“You going to be alright without me?” Delysia asked Harruq.

“Sure thing,” the half-orc said with a wink. “Aurry will keep me safe.”

“If you find any priests of Karak, use your best judgment,” Tarlak said. “If they are too many, seek us out. Even if it is just one, treat him like a wild dragon.”

“Yes, daddy,” Aurelia said before taking Harruq’s hand and pulling him away. Haern bowed, tied his hair behind his head, and then leapt to the rooftops.

“Come on,” Tarlak said, casting invisibility spells over he and his sister. “Let’s see if we can finally catch these murdering crows.”

D espite the danger, the priests wore their black robes openly in the dark streets. Their success had emboldened them. No man or woman who noticed them would dare point an accusatory finger come the dawn. Leading the group of five was Pelarak, the revered priest of Karak.

“Tonight will be special,” Pelarak said, fingering the pendant shaped like a lion skull that hung from his neck. His voice was deep and firm, a powerful presence in the streets of Veldaren. “The fear we have caused is a pittance compared to our task tonight. Before the rise of the sun, the armies of Karak will conquer all.”

“What about the Eschaton?” the priest on his left asked.

“They have a part to play in this,” Pelarak answered. From his belt he drew a dagger. “Come. Our time is short.”

They followed him north, heading straight for the fountain at the center of Veldaren.

O ne good sleep,” Harruq mumbled, rubbing his eyes with his giant fists. “That’s all I want. Why is it when bad things start happening, we always have to scour the city at night?”

“Such a baby,” Aurelia said, jabbing him in the ribs with an elbow. “You’re a step away from dead every time you plop down in our bed. What happened to this fabled orcish stamina we elves always heard about?”

“Bunch of lies,” the half-orc muttered. “We like sleep, we like food, and we don’t like staying up all night staring at empty streets.”

The two were perched atop a building. Aurelia had used a levitation spell to bring them up. Other than a few drunks and stray animals, they hadn’t seen a sign of life.

“People are becoming afraid,” Aurelia said, frowning. “Staying home and avoiding the streets at night. But there is something else going on. Something… Harruq, look up.”

He sighed and glanced to the cloud-covered sky.

“Yup, might rain. Perfect.”

“No, look closer.”

He did, and was stunned he had not seen it before.

“Oh gods,” he said, his jaw dropping. “What does it mean?”

“We need to find Tarlak, now.” Aurelia grabbed his hand and leapt them off the roof, using another levitation spell to slow their fall. Hand in hand they ran as far above them the red skull of a lion blanketed the entire western sky, a ghostly image shimmering across the clouds.

A s Haern leaned over the edge of a building, nothing more than a pair of eyes shining in the night, he heard a strange cry. He could not place it, but it sounded bestial and deep. The stranger part was that he heard it from the sky. He looked up, and there it was, a giant skull with its mouth opened in roar. It was blood red and hovered above the city like an angry god.

“Not good,” he said before breaking into a sprint. Another roar thundered through the city, louder, angrier. Even without his exceptionally trained hearing, Haern could tell where it came from. He leapt from rooftop to rooftop, straight for the heart of the city.

W hen they heard the deep roar, they knew something was horribly amiss. Harruq drew his swords, and Aurelia summoned her staff and prepared her spells. They expected to see guards rushing toward the center, but so far the streets remained barren.

“Where are the guards?” Harruq asked as they ran.

“Afraid,” she answered. “We underestimated what is going on. I’m scared, Harruq.”

“We’ve faced worse,” he said.

“No,” she said. “Stop.” She pulled on his arm, and reluctantly he slowed. He could feel his own horror growing at a rapid pace, a strange cancer that he was unaccustomed too. All he could think of was fleeing to the Eschaton tower and cowering away from the lion in the sky.

“It’s magic,” Aurelia said, brushing her hand across his face as she stared into his eyes. “Look at me. Look, and repeat after me. The fear is weak when the threat is false. Say it.”

“The fear is weak when the threat is false.”

Soft light flickered on her fingertips. “Again.”

“The fear is weak when the threat is false.”

Light flashed between them, but it did not hurt his eyes nor make him blink. The cancer in his stomach vanished.

“That should do for now,” she said, kissing his lips. “Delysia can better ward us against fear should we find her. Come on.”

She grabbed his wrist and pulled. The lion roared as if mocking them.

“Sooner we get rid of that thing the better,” Harruq said, glaring at the lion as it glared back down at him. They ran until they could see the large fountain in the center of the city. They stopped again, but not out of fear.

“What the abyss is that?” Harruq asked. The lion in the sky roared, triumphant. The half-orc felt his swords shake in his hands. Aurelia wrapped her free hand around his wrist, needing its touch.

Five priests of Karak surrounded the fountain, whose waters ran red with blood. Pelarak stood at the north side, his hands raised and his eyes to the sky. The other four were on the opposite end, kneeling in prayer or chanting. Three bodies lay like the corners of a large triangle surrounding them. Their chests were wrenched open, their ribcages broken and twisted wide as if something had burst from within. Standing above the bodies were the lions.

They were larger than horses. Their black flesh rippled with muscle. They had no fur, instead covered with a smoldering coat of embers. In unison the three arched their backs and roared, and from their bellies streams of fire soared into the air. The lion in the sky roared back, pleased.

“What are they,” Harruq asked, his eyes wide with terror.

“Lions,” Aurelia said, gripping his hand tighter. “Servants of Karak. He’s twisted them, made them…we need the guards, we need Tarlak. Where is everyone?”

The panic in her voice only worsened Harruq’s fear. He could imagine one bearing down upon him, its claws made of molten rock, its fur burning his very flesh as its obsidian teeth closed around his neck…

“Faithless children!” Pelarak screamed, drawing his attention outward, away from his nightmarish vision. All throughout the city, his voice could be heard. “Behold the Lion that comes in the night seeking to reclaim his Kingdom. You have turned from Karak, willingly forgetting all that once made this city proud. Now you cower, fearing his judgment. Will you surrender? Will you accept the truth you have blinded yourselves to? Or will you give in to death, and in its embrace hide from your ignorance?”

The priest lowered his gaze and stared straight at the couple.

“Your brother was always the wisest, Harruq Tun,” he said. “He approaches with an army at his side. Your master marches with him. Will you join them? Will you repent, and turn to the life you once lived? Or will you doom yourself and your loved ones by fighting against him?”

Harruq looked to his wife, and in her eyes he saw the floating corpse of his daughter. The half-orc met the priest’s gaze, and he felt his fear shatter underneath his anger.

“I would rather die than become the soulless murderer my brother would have me be,” he said.

Pelarak nodded, accepting the decision.

“So be it. Karak has given us his servants to prepare the way. It is in their teeth you will die.”

The lions roared, all three leering at him with hungry eyes. Harruq snarled back and smashed his swords together. Aurelia clutched her staff, and a flickering shield of red grew around her. Two of the lions belched fire, the powerful streams ripping through the air, only to part against the elf’s shield.

Aurelia twirled her hair and smirked. “That it?”

Pelarak chuckled.

“It is a pleasure to meet you, Aurelia Tun, however briefly. May you die with little pain.”

At his command, the lions charged. They filled the entire street, one leading, the other two side by side behind. The ground shook from their footfalls. The night shimmered under the red embers of their fur. The couple held their ground. When the lions were about to reach them, and the foremost had leapt into the air, Aurelia knelt and pressed her fingers against the ground. A wall of ice grew straight upward, several inches thick. The entire wall groaned from the pressure as the first lion hit it. Hundreds of cracks filled the ice.

“Here,” she said, pressing her hands against Harruq’s chest. Red light surrounded their skin. “That will protect us from their fire.”

She kissed him as he stared at the ice wall, which had begun to crumble.

“And their claws and teeth?” he asked.

“On your own there,” she said as the barrier shattered. She flung boulders of ice from her hands as deadly concentration blanketed her face. Harruq stayed at her side, determined to protect her no matter the cost. The foremost lion snarled as the boulders crashed against its face and legs. A second lion leapt past with frightening speed.

“Come try me,” Harruq yelled, running to one side and batting his swords together. The lion veered toward him, its mouth open in roar. A stream of fire shot between the gaping jaws and enveloped the half-orc. He crossed his arms and braced his legs, but Aurelia’s spell held strong. The fire flickered across his armor and skin without burning. He felt the heat, and sweat poured across his skin, but he was not burned.

It seemed the lion was not surprised by his survival, for it leapt with its paws leading, obsidian claws hungry for blood. Harruq dodged to one side, slashing out with his magical blades, Salvation and Condemnation. The sister swords cut through the molten armor and into black flesh. Dark fluid seeped out, bursting into flame at contact with the crisp cold air. The wounded lion cried out in pain and wrenched its body away from the swords. When it landed further down the street, it spun, its eyes glaring with an intelligence that was terrifying.

As Harruq prepared for another leap, Aurelia used a spell to raise her high into the air. The other two lions belched fire and leapt skyward. Lance after lance of ice batted them back, angling them so their claws passed inches from her dress and their teeth snapped air instead of flesh. Frustrated, the two lions circled underneath, snarling up at her.

“Poor kitties,” the elf said as more ice swirled around her fingers. “You want to come and play?” She fired thick lances of ice, which thudded against the muscular feline bodies. She wasn’t harming them much, but at least the two lions were focused on her instead of Harruq. She threw two more boulders of ice. One missed while the other cracked in two as it collided against the spine of a lion. As its cry of pain ended, she heard a voice.

“Well done,” Pelarak shouted. Dark circles sparkled on his fingertips. “But it is time your foolishness ended.”

Aurelia felt a tingling throughout her body, and then the firm grip of gravity took hold. She hooked her fingers and cast another levitation spell, but the magic would not take. The elf fell, her green dress flapping in the air as the lions waited hungrily below. They were denied their meal. Strong arms gripped her as she passed by the houses, jarring her to one side. Together they rolled along the roof. She came to a rest still inside those arms.

“Having fun without me?” Haern asked as he helped her stand.

“About time you…” She stopped. “Are you alright?”

The assassin was clutching his amulet of the golden mountain as his entire body shook.

“The amulet helps,” he said. “I will not cower before the demons of Karak.”

“You poor dear.” She put her hands on his own. White light flared as she cast the same spell she had cast on her husband. Haern’s shaking subsided.

“Delysia and Tarlak will be here soon,” he said. He grabbed her hand and held it firm. “Thank you,” he said.

The lion in the sky roared once more, and it seemed the entire city shook under its power. The two lions leapt atop the building, the wood and plaster cracking under their weight. Their eyes shimmered as they tensed for a pounce.

“Can you keep the lions at bay?” Haern asked.

“Have so far, haven’t I?”

The one on the right dug its claws, waiting for the slightest movement to react.

“The priests are mine,” the assassin whispered. From a standstill he leapt twenty feet to his right, gently falling to the roof of another building. Both lions charged. One gave chase for Haern, but stopped when Aurelia pelted its side with a bolt of lightning. The force spun it sideways, ruining its jump. The thing tumbled to the street, belching fire all the way down. Aurelia fell as the other lion descended upon her. She had nowhere to go. Its muscular body was all she could see. She closed her eyes, hooked her fingers for one last spell, and prayed.

H aern jumped from roof to roof, his twin sabers held tight in his hands. He and Tarlak had spent many nights pondering what would happen if the priests of Karak revealed themselves to the city. Now, with the event upon them, it seemed all their preparations and strategy were as pointless as could be. The lion dominated the sky. If they did not end the fear that filled the city, Veldaren would be theirs.

He saw the five priests standing around the fountain that ran red with blood. He saw Pelarak, recognizing the leader. The others prayed and knelt while he watched and commanded. From the corner of his eye, he saw a flash of lightning knock back the lion that had given him chase. He didn’t know if it would resume after him or return for Aurelia. He prayed Ashhur would watch over her, but he could not go back. Swords ready, he ran, nothing but a blur of gray in the night.

The houses ended, Haern catapulted himself into the air with all the strength in his legs. He dove for the fountain, his sabers leading like the claws of a bird diving for its prey. His cloaks trailed behind him, somehow silent though they thrashed wildly.

He fell amid the farthest two, his arms stretched wide. One saber pierced through the back of a priest’s neck. The one next to him gasped, the curved blade cutting his throat. They died still kneeling in prayer, their faces slumped to the dirt. The one on the right had shifted from his prayers, as if he had heard the commotion. The other continued shrieking out his devotion to Karak.

Haern rammed both his sabers through the lungs of the one on the right. His back arched in pain. He opened his mouth to scream but the assassin had already angled a saber around, cutting deep into his neck. He let out only a gurgle of blood. Loud as he was, the other priest realized the sudden quieting of prayers. He opened his eyes, only to see a brief flicker of light before the tip of a saber pierced through his eye socket.

With a grunt, Haern kicked the dead priest off his sword. Before he could turn, he felt a weight press against his shoulder. Pain spiked through his body. The magical hand of Pelarak was upon him, gripping his body and sending wave after wave of torture. The priest watched the assassin writhe, all the while keeping his right palm stretched flat. Red light swirled around his hand, as well as Haern’s body.

“You murdered my followers,” Pelarak said. “They died quick, and with little pain. I will not grant you that same courtesy.”

The light turned crimson, and Haern’s screams grew louder. The whole time Pelarak smiled.

“Enough!” Delysia shouted.

White fireflies zipped around Pelarak’s body, their light burning his eyes. One by one they crashed against his body, dissolving into luminescent sparks. Their holy energy burned delivered a throbbing stab against his soul. His concentration broke. The red light around his hands faded.

“So the priestess finally shows her face,” Pelarak said as Delysia ran to Haern’s side. He shrugged off the pain and let unholy energy gather at his fingertips.

“Same could be said for you,” she whispered as glanced over Haern’s body. He didn’t appear too wounded, just in shock from the pain. He’d recover, if given the time. Time, though, was something she would have to fight for.

“You are a healer,” Pelarak said as the darkness about him intensified. “Do you think you can withstand the purity of my hatred?”

Ten small projectiles flew toward her, their centers swirling an ugly brown while their outsides glowed black. Delysia put her hands out as if she were resisting a fall and then braced her mind. The projectiles hit, each one filled with an image and accompanying emotion. She saw fields of desecrated bodies. She saw innocents burning in fire. She felt anger, hatred, disgust and contempt. More images, those of mutilated children, starving women, bleeding animals and ruined forests, pushed into her mind. To each one she countered with the image of Aullienna smiling happy in her arms as she held her. All around were her friends. She remembered the joy and happiness, and against it the anger and vile images broke.

“Clever,” Pelarak said as the mental link the projectiles had established broke. “But Karak has long wanted your meddlesome group removed. I have seen what you dare not see.”

Two more orbs of dark memories formed at his fingers. He threw the first, then the second. His smirk was gone. The images he was sending hurt him as well, but against a priestess of Ashhur, they would be devastating.

Delysia prepared her defense. The image came, and it too was of Aullienna, running happily through the forest behind their tower. A pang of dread hit her as she realized what she was being shown. The girl climbed over a log, ducked through brush, and then found a stream. She giggled and smiled before diving into the water. The priestess tried to remember her happy, her laughing in her arms as a child, but all she could see was Aullienna flailing, water filling her tiny lungs and stealing away her life. The emotion coupled with the image was also something she had not expected: terrible, wracking guilt.

“You see the horrible things this world must endure because of the faith you preach,” she heard Pelarak say. “You see the ruination that Ashhur breeds by your rejection of the half-orc’s brother?”

The second projectile hit. She knew this one well, and against her weakened heart she could not shrug it aside. She saw Brug, lying numb and helpless on the ground as Tessanna stood over him with her dagger in hand. As the blade pierced through his eye, she shrieked and begged the image to end. Again she felt horrible guilt, this time coupled with regret. She could not bear it.

Pelarak smiled as the priestess collapsed to her knees, sobbing. Haern lay beside her, his eyes closed. Two of the most powerful defenders of Veldaren, both laid broken by his strength of will.

“Praise be to Karak,” he prayed as he approached with death in his hands.

T he flames felt much hotter than before. Harruq grimaced and hoped Aurelia’s spell would hold out. The last thing he wanted to be was a charred meal for an overgrown cat, but he would be the first to admit things never went as hoped.

“Best you got?” he shouted as he ran down the street, the lion hot on his heels with fire shooting from its mouth. Harruq decided not to test his defensive spell anymore than he had to. He rolled underneath the first blast and dodged the second by ducking into an alley. The lion spun its body and dug its claws into the ground. Huge grooves cut into the dirt as it halted its momentum. Harruq clashed his swords together, taking strength from their magic.

“Don’t think you can fit in here,” he said to the lion. “But if you can, I don’t think your claws can match my swords. Want to try it?”

Evidently it did. The lion snarled and lunged. Both shoulders slammed against the side of buildings. Their walls shook, charring black from the heat. Harruq leapt back, but only a little. The lion tried again. Beams broke. Plaster crumbled. Even if the buildings had to fall, it would reach him.

“Persistent bugger,” Harruq muttered. When the lion charged again he lashed out, cutting a deep line across the bridge of its nose. The pain only spurred it further. Fire flooded the alley, and this time the half-orc felt his skin blister. The protection spell was nearly spent.

“Not good,” he said. “Not good, not good, not good.”

He cut at a searching paw, then went on the offensive. Salvation and Condemnation cut and spun. The lion could only bat at the swords, unable to use its greater size to its advantage in the cramped alley. When the paw struck blade, Harruq pressed with all his strength. The creature howled as it lost two claws, nubs of flesh hanging from them. The lion hobbled back, limping on its wounded right paw. Black blood poured across the dirt.

Harruq picked up one of the claws and hurled it at the lion, the mockery angering it further. It bared its teeth and prepared another blast of fire. The half-orc braced his arms, seeing nowhere to go. If he survived he could perhaps kill it before it recovered from the wound. The rush of fire, however, never came.

Three bolts of lightning slammed into its rear, the force knocking the lion to the ground. A whimper escaped its throat, strange and unbecoming. A lance of ice followed it, crashing against its face. The ice tore through its left eye, rendering it blind. The creature turned to run, but now Harruq was leaping out of the alley, his twin swords hungry. He slashed the tendons in its back legs, tumbling the lion to the ground.

Before it could stand, a final bolt of lightning struck from the sky. The giant body convulsed, and a stream of molten black gunk oozed from its open mouth. It moved no more.

“How in the abyss are you not a pile of ash right now?” Tarlak asked as he walked down the alley and slapped the warrior on the shoulder.

“Aurry,” Harruq said. The wizard chuckled.

“Of course. Where is our lovely elf, anyway?”

The ground shook beneath them, and high in the sky the blood lion roared in exaltation. The two exchanged a single look, then without a word they ran toward the fountain, weapons drawn and magic ready.

A s the huge teeth closed on her neck, Aurelia cast a desperate spell. Her body turned translucent, as if it were made of smoke and light. She fell through the roof, her body like a ghost. She landed beside a bed where two children cowered in the arms of their father. Their eyes were wide, and all shook with deep, constant fear.

“What’s going on?” the father asked. Sweat ran down his chin.

“Get under the bed,” she told them. At first they did not move, but then giant claws tore away the wood above their heads, and red light flooded the room as fire poured in. The elf hooked her thumbs and held her hands high, palms outward. A ward against fire materialized before the family, a shimmering concave barrier that darkened from orange to deep red as the fire parted against it. The father grabbed a son in each hand, held them to his chest, and then made a frantic rush for the door.

“No, wait!” Aurelia shouted. More of the roof tore away. The giant feline mass crashed down, claws raking and teeth biting. Directly beneath that mass was the family. The elf cast a spell on pure instinct. She clapped her hands, then opened them. A giant shockwave billowed out in a conic tornado of concentrated sound. It struck the lion as it descended. The creature bellowed in anger as it flew through a wall and out onto the street. As the spell ended, she heard one of the boys crying as if far away. Everything else was drowned out by the ringing of her ears.

“Stay inside,” she said, though she did not hear the words. She ran to the opening in the wall and looked out. The lion was struggling to stand on a broken leg. Another marched in circles around it protectively. From her vantage point she had a clear shot at both. Ice formed and cracked around her hands. She pointed her fingers, and then the ice fractured and flew. The hundred shards grew larger until they were long as arrows and wickedly sharp. The pacing lion saw the attack and leapt before the wounded one, roaring as the ice shards pelted through its thick skin and into the muscle beneath.

As Aurelia prepared another spell, the two fled toward Pelarak. The wounded one trailed behind, still limping, but the distance was not far. Unable to see, the elf jumped through the hole and landed on the street. She saw Pelarak before the fountain, the blood-stained water swirling like a living snake around his legs and arms. His eyes looked to the sky, his mouth open in worship.

Lying before him was the still body of Delysia Eschaton.