The Death of Promises

12

H aern sensed Pelarak’s approach as his wits slowly returned to him. He heard the priest’s cold thanks to Karak. Nearby Delysia sobbed. The assassin let a slit of light enter an eye. He saw Pelarak standing over them. He was smiling.

“Only in absolute emptiness is there order,” he heard him say as he put his hand on Delysia’s pale forehead. The unholy energy surrounding his fingers crawled into her mouth and nose like vile worms. The priestess’ neck snapped back, and wide-eyed, she stared at the sky. Coughs retched from her throat. Haern felt a sickness stir within him. He had watched Brug die, powerless to help him. He would not suffer that fate again.

His arms weighed a thousand stone, but still he lifted them. Numb fingers closed around the hilt of a saber. The darkness was crawling deeper into Delysia. Her heart was pure, and the presence of unholy energy filled her with unbearable pain. All doubt and fear within her was magnified tenfold. Her spine locked tight, and she had no control over her body. She knew she was gagging. She knew she was dying.

Haern took two deep breaths and flung the saber. The blade spun through the air, its aim true. The curved end sliced across Pelarak’s wrist, leaving a shallow cut. The pain jerked his hand. The darkness snapped out of Delysia’s body. She collapsed, her eyes open, unseeing. The priest clutched his bleeding wrist and glared.

“You will suffer dearly,” he snarled.

Haern laughed weakly, an exhausted grin on his face.

“I know,” he said. “But at least you have something to remember me by.”

Pelarak was not amused. He pointed his hooked fingers, a bolt of shadow shooting from his palm. Just before the bolt hit, Haern enacted the magic in one of his rings. He teleported ten feet into the air. The bolt harmlessly hit the dirt where he had been. Haern shifted in air, trying to angle his body just right. The magic in the ring would only send him straight ahead, and only once every few seconds. He would have one chance when he hit the ground. And only one.

The priest saw the assassin above and glared. He would enjoy extracting what little life remained in the priestess. As for Haern, he was a nuisance he had long tired of. He fired another bolt of shadow. Just before he landed, Haern enacted the magic of his ring. He reappeared forward, mere inches away from the priest. His elbow smashed against Pelarak’s forehead. As the priest staggered, Haern reached for Delysia’s hand. If he could just touch her, he could use the ring to take her with him and escape.

He brushed the cold skin of her fingers, but then a brutal pain stabbed his chest. Darkness swirled around his vision, and then he felt himself soaring through the air. He grabbed one of his cloaks and pulled it from his body. The cloak snapped firm, the magic within activated. Haern floated to the ground, blind, wounded, and half a mile from Veldaren’s center.

Pelarak towered over Delysia, his breathing deep and controlled in an attempt to reign in his anger. He glanced about, seeing his lions battling in the streets and upon the rooftops. He had expected the Eschaton to prove a difficult foe, but this was beyond his original estimation.

“Underestimate your foe, underestimate your losses,” he said as he knelt down and grabbed Delysia by her long red hair. He dragged her closer to the fountain, which still pulsed red with blood from the curse he had cast upon it. He placed her beside one of the mutilated bodies, then let go of her hair. All around lay his dead brothers, killed by perfect strikes from the assassin. They would suffice for reinforcements.

Pelarak took out a dagger, flipped the bodies onto their backs, and then carved a rune onto their forehead. He felt the lion watching him from high above. The power of Karak was heavy in the air. A glorious night, he thought. One he had waited many years for. He sheathed his dagger and let his faith fill him.

“I call forth your servants,” Pelarak said, his hands to the sky. The water in the fountain thrashed and bubbled, the curse growing within. He felt tendrils wrap around his body, flowing with power. He gasped in pleasure.

“My faith denies this world,” he shouted. “And I demand you burst the chains that hold you and give unto me your servants so we may cleanse this land!”

The runes on the dead priests’ foreheads flared red before exploding upward in smoke. The ground shook. The sky roared. The bodies of the priests erupted in blood as from their chests lions emerged. At first they were the size of their worldly counterparts, but then grew larger and stronger once they were free of their passageway into Dezrel. The lions shook off the blood that stained their coats. They uttered quick growls to each other, greeting their fellow pack members. The two wounded lions joined them, dipping their heads in greeting.

Pelarak lowered his arms as he felt the incredible power fade from his body. His knees wobbled, and he gripped the side of the fountain to steady himself. He had not expected to need more of the lions, but battle was chaotic, after all. When he saw the lions looking at him, he bowed.

“I am a humble servant,” he said. The leader of the pack sniffed at him, then nudged the unconscious Delysia with a paw. Pelarak stood and redrew his knife.

“Do not doubt my strength,” he told the creature. “The Doru’al will walk this world again.”

The pack leader roared, and the rest of his pack took up the roar as far away a different kind of pack gathered to face the new threat.

S ee now,” Tarlak said as he watched the four lions tear into their world through the bodies of the priests. “That’s not fair.” They reached Aurelia, who stood shocked by the sight.

“Two are wounded,” she said as Tarlak and her husband neared. “But even so, there are six of them. Haern’s gone, and Delysia…”

She couldn’t finish.

They watched as Pelarak drew his dagger and hovered over her still body. Tarlak’s hands shook. He turned to the others, unable to watch.

“Not in vain,” he said, the hard look in his eyes scaring the couple. “Not here, not now…and not in vain.”

Lightning crackled around his hands, painfully bright. One of the lions spotted them and roared. Harruq turned, his swords drawn and his hands shaking. Aurelia’s spell had done much to banish the unnatural fear from the aberration in the sky, but his normal fear went untamed. It grew when all six of the creatures turned and belched fire toward them. The awesome display nearly broke his spirit.

Aurelia latched onto his arm, a spell on her lips.

“There,” she said. “You will be protected from the fire again. And don’t run on me, Harruq Tun. Don’t you dare run.”

He faced the lions, which approached in a tight pack of power and muscle.

“I won’t,” he said.

As one the spellcasters unleashed blasts of ice and lightning. The front lions dodged, but those behind were knocked back. More blasts followed, and then came boulders of earth and ice, cones of air, and invisible walls of magic. Harruq watched the display, awed and humbled by Aurelia’s and Tarlak’s power. His swords felt small and useless in his hands by comparison. The lions shook their heads from side to side and endured the brutal hits, using their giant mass and momentum to continue forward. The three would be crushed.

“Not in vain,” Harruq whispered, hoping he could keep such a promise.

Tarlak tried to lift one of the lions off the ground with a brute levitation spell, but the creature resisted. The wizard collapsed to his knees, exhausted. Aurelia fired lances of ice, but they were small compared to the previous barrage. Harruq stepped forward, prepared to sacrifice his life to give them time to escape. He was never given the chance.

A swirling beam of light twice the size of any man screamed between he and Tarlak. It struck the foremost lion, enveloping its entire body in pure magical essence. The power tore its skin and shattered its bones. A second beam followed, and this time the lions had no choice but to retreat. It struck another lion, but the creature rolled out from the blast. Melted rock poured from its nose, and its right shoulder sagged. Stunned, Harruq glanced back to see the source of the attacks.

“Tessanna,” he said, his mouth hanging open. The crazed demoness had come. Stranger still she walked between Lathaar and another man, both wearing the gleaming armor of paladins. Tarlak looked back as well, and his entire body tensed at the sight.

“How dare she,” he said, lightning crackled from his hands despite his exhaustion.

“No!” Lathaar shouted, stepping in front of the girl with the solid black eyes. The lightning had already been loosed. Mira brushed aside Lathaar as if he were a child, and then batted away the lightning with her bare hand. Tarlak’s anger flared, but then Lathaar was running, his swords drawn and light flooding the street.

“Mira!” he shouted. “Her name is Mira!”

Harruq looked to the lions, but they were observing the new power they faced. When he turned back to Mira, he realized the clothes she wore were different. Her dress was beautiful and green, tailored similar to Aurelia’s. Her skin was darker, and her whole body thicker and healthier. Again he heard Lathaar shout the name Mira.

“What the abyss is going on?” he asked.

The other man pulled his shield off his back, and the brilliant light joined Lathaar’s so that the street was bright as day. All their fear and worry faded away.

“Behind us,” the man with the shield shouted, positioning himself in front of Aurelia and Tarlak. Lathaar joined Harruq’s side, glancing at him as he did.

“We fought together once before,” Lathaar said. “Ready to do so again?”

Harruq nodded. The lions were snarling and belching fire, clearly unhappy about losing their numbers advantage.

“So who might you be,” Tarlak asked.

“Name’s Jerico of the Citadel,” the paladin said.

“Good to meet you Jerico. Try not to die on me so I can greet you properly. Oh, and don’t let me die, either.”

The wizard held in a surge of rage as Mira stood beside him. He remembered Lathaar’s words, spoken in a time that felt ages away. She could be her twin, he had said. He hadn’t been lying. The anger passed as he reminded himself, again and again, that the girl with black hair and eyes was not the murderer of his best friend.

“The demons are scared,” Mira said. She lifted her hands and let the wild magic within her pool around her fingers. “They know what I am. Even Karak fears me.” She brought down her hands as the lions charged down the street.

“Time to justify their fear.”

Aurelia and Tarlak fired twin streams of ice shards, but it was Mira’s spell that sent the lions leaping to the rooftops. A maelstrom of swirling air and magic erupted from her hands, spanning the width of the street. It sucked in the other two spells, twisting into a vortex of ice and wind. While the other lions could flee, the one with the wounded leg only whimpered and braced for the hit. Its molten fur shredded away under the power. The ice sliced every inch of its flesh. Dark blood clouded the maelstrom, which dissipated when Mira ended her concentration. Ice and blood rained upon the street as the lion fell dead.

The remaining lions dashed from roof to street to roof as spells darted after them. Magical arrows, bolts, and beams of all elements lit up the sky. At last they reached the party, and the four leapt as one from the rooftops.

“About time!” Jerico shouted as one leapt straight for him. A glowing image of his shield flung outward and struck the lion. The power hit its stomach like a battering ram, killing all momentum. The paladin gave it no reprieve, striking at its sides with his mace as it hit the ground in a graceless tangle of limbs.

Harruq and Lathaar rushed their attacker, their swords hacking. The lion clawed and bit as its huge body slammed into the both of them. It rolled head over feet as it roared, the two fighters rolling with it. The fire of its fur was hot to the touch but Aurelia’s spell spared Harruq. Lathaar had no such protection. The paladin screamed in pain as he stabbed again and again into the belly of the lion. The half-orc slashed at its eyes, scoring a wicked strike along the upper eyelid. He held in a scream when two claws tore across his arm, easily piercing his leather armor and shredding flesh.

The remaining two lions leapt at the casters, both eager to devour the strange goddess among them. Aurelia and Tarlak raised their hands and cast protection spells, but Mira would have none of it. She flicked a wrist at each of them. Winds pushed them aside. The first landed atop her, but it passed through her body like mist. The girl laughed.

“Something wrong?” she asked. Her hand reached out, ghostly and ethereal. When it touched the lion’s skin the spell enacted. Golden light exploded all around her, painful to the Eschaton’s eyes but absolute torture to the demons. The lion flew back from her touch, its right shoulder shattered. The other twisted in mid-leap, trying to hide from the glaring spell. It sailed overhead and landed behind the group. It leapt again, avoiding a blast of lightning. Tarlak looped his right hand twice, and then red webs fell from the sky. The lion struggled but could not resist their strength. It hit the street with a whimper, and lay there writhing against the webs.

It was given no chance to recover. Mira pelted it with a blast of white magic, so strong it peeled away fur and flesh so its bare ribs were exposed. The mighty lion died whimpering. Not far away, the lion with the wounded shoulder snarled in anger. Its pack was dying, and Karak was not pleased. It glanced back to Pelarak, who beckoned for it to return. The lion dodged a parting shot from Aurelia before racing back to the priest.

“Be healed,” Pelarak told it as he put his hands on the wounded shoulder. Light poured across the shoulder, shaping bone and mending cartilage. With a pleased roar, the lion turned back to the Eschaton. Pelarak drew his knife and urged it on.

“The sacrifice will be made,” he said. Words of magic poured from his mouth. Shadow and mist swirled around the dagger as he clutched it with both hands. Tarlak saw the spell, as well as his sister lying unconscious at his feet.

“We have to help her!” he shouted. He started to run, but the pack leader blocked the way. Nearby he heard growling and shouts of pain. Lathaar and Harruq had backed their lion against a wall, and between their coordinated attacks kept it cornered. Jerico’s lion, on the other hand, was battered and beaten. Every time it attacked, Jerico blocked with his shield, letting the holy energy seep in and destroy the demonic flesh of the beast.

“I will keep its attention,” Mira said as she stepped beside him. “Hurry to her side.”

A thousand tiny arrows flew from her hands, adjusting their aim when the lion dodged. At their touch, the creature howled. The arrows did no permanent damage, instead causing sharp, stinging pains. Multiplied by the hundreds, the pain infuriated the beast. Aurelia increased its torment by zapping it on the nose with a bolt of lightning. Mad beyond reason, it roared and charged.

Tarlak ran unnoticed past the lion, his eyes locked on Pelarak.

B e darkness made flesh,” Pelarak said as the spell neared its end. The verbal components were finished. He could feel the power swelling within him as he looked to the still form at his feet. He saw a woman, beautiful and devoted in her faith.

“Flesh so soft and a heart so kind,” he said. “Sacrifice. Everything must involve sacrifice.”

He knew her brother watched. He let that last bit of guilt plunge the dagger into Delysia’s breast.

“No!” Tarlak screamed, a single spear made of fire sailing from his hands. Pelarak did not try to protect himself. He accepted the spear with closed eyes, letting the fire burn the flesh of his chest. The impact knocked him against the fountain. The edge cracked against his hip, and he fell to one knee as pain filled his drained body. The magic was gone. His soul felt empty. The dagger in his hands contained no magic, only a dark stain of blood.

The wizard slowed, tears running down his cheeks as he watched the shadow and darkness swirl into the wound on his sister’s chest. He heard a roar from the sky. Karak was mocking him.

“Damn you, Karak,” he said, his lower lip quivering. “Damn you and your priests too.” He lifted his arms into the air, every bit of his power screaming into the spell. When he thrust his arms down, a bolt of lightning twice the width of an oak tree blasted the fountain, shattering the statue of a long dead king and spilling blood-water everywhere. Pelarak accepted the blast, knowing death was an inevitability for his faith and the path he walked. But death did not come. Karak’s will was strong in the air, and his hands protected his most faithful priest.

When Pelarak stood, Tarlak knew damn well what he was seeing. Karak was not done mocking him. Then Delysia rose from the ground, the darkness settling upon her flesh. Slits opened across her face, shining red eyes underneath. Claws stretched out from her fingers, circular and long as swords. The creature looked to him and snarled, revealing rows of teeth sharper than daggers and just as large. He sobbed, the sounds of battle fading away. His sister…his beautiful sister had become…

He couldn’t think it. Couldn’t bear it. His sister had become a Doru’al, one of the trusted bodyguards of Karak. And now it charged, claws out and teeth ready. It would kill him, and he lacked the heart to resist. Defeated before a single drop of blood was drawn, he slumped to his knees and waited.

J erico dropped his mace and flung his other hand against the inside of his shield. The lion had abandoned all form of tactic. Every time it swiped or bit, his shield was there. Instead, it flung its entire weight in hopes of crushing him against the side of a house. He could feel the wood cracking against his back, and his arms shook against the tremendous weight. He clenched his jaw and focus. His elbows would not bend. His arms would not move. Even if bones broke, he would not relinquish.

The holy power of his shield poured into the demon like a river. At last it fell back, its very being quivering. Too much had entered its body. It collapsed, white light wafting off its body like smoke from a dying fire. Jerico gasped in relief, his shield arm falling limp at his side. He retrieved his mace and took a look around their battlefield. Lathaar and Harruq still fought against their lion, but they appeared in control. He didn’t see Mira or Aurelia, but he trusted their magic. Tarlak though…

He heard the wizard’s cry, and at the sound he felt his heart sink. It was the cry of a broken man. He turned and saw the Doru’al stand, the body a blot of pure darkness hovering above the street.

“Don’t give in,” he whispered, but Tarlak already had. Jerico ran, his shield leading. Meanwhile the Doru’al vanished, only to reappear directly in front of the kneeling wizard. Claws closed around his neck as it lifted him with one hand. The creature snarled at him, its red eyes evil and heartless.

“Make it quick,” Pelarak ordered as he staggered toward the pair. “He was an honorable man.”

The Doru’al growled in response. The priest shrugged his shoulders and watched. With its free hand, it dragged a claw across his neck and sliced open a thin red line of blood. The pain sparked a bit of life into Tarlak. He clutched at the darkness and attempted to cast a spell, but claws closed tighter, choking away his breath. The creature nipped at his throat with the tips of its teeth. Mocking him. Warm, foul breath blew across the blood, further igniting the pain. Torturing. Mocking.

“Back!” Jerico screamed as his shield slammed into the Doru’al’s side. The hit freed Tarlak from its grip. Jerico continued to pummel it with his shield as he shouted.

“In the name of Ashhur, the light, and all that is good, I cast you back!”

The creature howled, the darkness within its being hurt beyond measure by the holy light. Against his constant attacks, the Doru’al had little chance to escape or survive. Pelarak ended them with a curse. Darkness covered Jerico’s eyes, blinding his sight. The paladin swung with his mace, hoping to kill the creature before it realized his weakness, but the hit struck the dirt. He felt something slice into his arm, and then a horrid pain pierce his side. He staggered back while pulling his shield close to his body.

“You may be light in this world,” he heard the priest say. “But can you live in the darkness?”

“Can you?” Haern whispered into Pelarak’s ear before burying both sabers through his back and into his heart. The darkness left Jerico’s eyes. The Doru’al was gone. Marching down the street were priests of Ashhur. Their High Priest Calan led the way. Lathaar joined his side, horrible burns covering his face and hands. Calan approached and put his hands on the wounds.

“Be healed,” he told the paladin. “And forgive us for our failure to arrive in time.”

“Better late than never,” Harruq said, tramping down the street. He held his right arm against his chest, and winced with every step. “But not much.”

At this he looked to Tarlak. Blood ran down the wizard’s neck as he knelt with his hands pressed against the stone. He stared at the remnants of the fountain, his mind cruelly remembering every detail of the dagger plunging into his sister’s chest. Haern approached and offered his hand. Tarlak didn’t take it.

“Get up,” the assassin ordered. Tarlak glared, but Haern’s look remained firm. At last the mage took his hand. Haern pulled him to his feet and then hugged him. “All is not yet lost,” he said. “She still lives.”

“But as that…that…” He didn’t finish.

Mira and Aurelia emerged from around a corner, their lion slain. Mira brushed away a priest who came seeking to help, for she had not a single bruise on her. Lathaar went to her side, but when he tried to speak she shushed him by putting a finger against his lips. Her eyes looked to the stars where the red lion still shimmered.

“You lost this night,” she said. She raised a hand. Her hair lifted as if amid an upward gale of wind. The white of her eyes vanished to black. The lion shook, and its color ran as if it were turning liquid. It gave one last furious roar before all its power broke. The red funneled down, swirling like a tornado, a tornado that ended at Mira’s fingertips. As the last of the color swirled inside her hand, she clenched it to a fist. Her face grew hard as stone, and her eyes filled with anger and determination.

“Hope battles fear,” she said, all eyes upon her. “And hope springs from faith.”

She flung the power back to the sky, but this time a golden mountain shimmered before the stars. Its light was soft, its image subtle, but it was there. Lathaar squeezed her hand at the sight and kissed her cheek. She blushed.

“Come with us to the temple,” Calan said as he wrapped an arm around Tarlak’s shoulder. “We need to talk.”

“Not yet,” Tarlak said, pulling free from his grasp. He walked to where Pelarak’s corpse lay amid the shattered remnants of the fountain.

“Karak has a way of bringing back the dead,” he said. “But not this time.”

He burned the corpse to ash, and then scattered it into the air. A high breeze caught it and sent it south, so not a speck fell amid the city.

That done, he accepted Calan’s arm and walked to the temple.

H arruq remembered the first time he and his brother had come to the temple. Tessanna had taken into her own body a deadly poison flowing through Aurelia’s veins, saving her. The High Priest Calan had cured Tessanna while simultaneously warning Qurrah of the path they walked. As Harruq approached its marble walls, he thought of those words and understood. So many had died because his brother chose the darkness. He had felt an outsider the first time he came, but now he felt somewhat at home. The peace and calm in the air was just what he needed.

Calan led them inside to the giant chamber for worship. Row after row of benches faced an altar covered with purple silk. Young priests rushed in from a side door, carrying blankets and food. The party sat together among the benches, with Calan standing in the aisle beside them. All along the walls torches flickered and shone.

“Sleep here this night,” Calan said. “You need safety after all this, not more travel.”

“We’re most grateful,” Aurelia said, offering thanks when it became clear Tarlak would not.

Calan handed them a few more pillows, then turned to Jerico. A smile emerged on his face, his tiredness and worry unable to hold it back.

“Praise be to Ashhur,” he said. “Another paladin lives.”

Jerico stood and bowed to the High Priest.

“My name is Jerico of the Citadel. I offer you my mace and my shield, should you ever need them.”

“I pray not,” Calan said. “How did you survive?”

As Jerico began his story, Lathaar slid beside Harruq and Aurelia. The elf was curled into his arms, her head resting on his chest. She looked asleep, but he knew she wasn’t. The half-orc nodded in acknowledgment. He opened his mouth to say something, then stopped.

“I spoke with Keziel, the head cleric of the Sanctuary,” Lathaar began.

“Don’t worry about it,” Harruq interrupted.

“I’m sorry, Harruq, but he…what happened? Is Aullienna alright?”

Aurelia stirred. She put her fingers against Harruq’s lips to keep him from speaking.

“She drowned,” the elf said, her voice soft and sad. “Brug is dead as well. Tessanna killed him.”

The paladin’s jaw clenched tight as he held back his anger. He could see the pain in Harruq’s eyes, and he knew any condemnation against Qurrah would only worsen it.

“I’m sorry,” he said.

Meanwhile, Jerico had finished his story and Calan had more pressing matters to attend. Tarlak remained silent and dejected. His face looked ashen. His eyes fixated on the floor. The priest knelt beside him.

“She is not dead,” Calan whispered. “And I don’t say this to offer some meager comfort amid your grief. The spell cast upon her is brutal, yes, but it does not kill the host. The Doru’al will use her life to cling to this world. If we act fast…”

“Enough!” Tarlak looked up. His eyes were red, and tears welled up, ready to fall.

“I know she can be saved,” he said. “You think I don’t know that? You think I don’t cling to that hope? But right now she is helpless while the most vile and horrific thoughts are rammed into her mind by the demon that possesses her. Even if we save her, she might never be the same.”

“You’re wrong,” Mira said. She had remained quiet ever since entering the temple, but now she stood, her shyness shedding away. “The suffering we go through does not change who we are, only reveal our true self. If you love her, then you will have your sister back once more.”

Tarlak stood, taking his blanket with him. He looked around at the priests and the Eschaton, an angry defiance raging within.

“I may not grieve for her death,” he said. “But I can grieve for her suffering. Now leave me be.”

He moved to the other side of the chamber, wrapped himself in the white blankets, and did his best to sleep. Calan chewed on his lower lip as he watched the mage go, then stood and addressed the rest.

“Get some sleep. You all need it, and as do I.”

With that he left for his own bedchamber. Exhausted and troubled, the rest of the Eschaton did their best to sleep.

M iles away, a shape blacker than the night fled west through the forest, guided by the whispers of the dark god. Deep within the shade, Delysia wordlessly screamed.