The Death of Promises

13

O ne day from Veldaren. One day, and Qurrah couldn’t find Tessanna. He searched the camps where the wolf-men slept, but she was not there. He searched the legions of orc tents, but she was not there. He searched the tight packs the hyena-men slept and ate in. She was not there. At last he asked Velixar.

“She needs time,” Velixar said. “Will you give it to her?”

He sighed and said he would.

“Good,” the man in black said. “Wait until nightfall, then head south. Follow the stream. Trust me, Qurrah. It is for the best.”

Qurrah had seen Velixar and Tessanna talking over the past weeks as they marched through the Vile Wedge collecting their armies. Some joined willingly, some did not, but the numbers of their soldiers and the power of their magic destroyed any who resisted.

The army began its march, but Qurrah stayed at Velixar’s request. For a moment he felt panic seeing his army leave without him. He knew Velixar needed him, though, just as he needed Velixar. In the sudden calm that filled the army’s departure, his fears and his doubts were free to torment him.

He knew he would meet his brother in conflict. The Eschaton would not let the city fall without a fight. Did he wish his brother dead? What about Tarlak and Delysia, who had taken him in? An image flashed before his eyes. It was of Harruq, his skin pale and his eyes lifeless. He was just one of hundreds, marching mindlessly to his command. Or was it Velixar’s command? He didn’t know. He didn’t know if it mattered. Either way, the image churned his stomach and filled him with dread.

Night came. He followed the stream south. The moon was bright, and even without his orcish blood he would have had little trouble seeing. He had spent so much time with the army he had forgotten how much he enjoyed the quiet solitude of the stars. He kept his thoughts calm and controlled as he walked. He wanted to think of nothing. Once Karak was freed he could be gone from the worries, the fear, and the guilt Dezrel inflicted upon him. He would go where his brother never existed, and none would ever know the atrocities they had done or the murder they shared.

An owl hooted twice, and when he looked up to search for it he saw the pond. It was almost too large to call a pond, the banks stretching for hundreds of feet. The water was crystalline and beautiful. The surface was calm so that the moon and stars shone elegant upon the water. Standing before the pond, her arms at her side and her back to him, was Tessanna.

“Sometimes I remember life before you,” Tessanna said. “All those nights.” Qurrah nodded but said nothing. He did not understand what was going on, but he could feel the significance.

“Many nights were cold or lonely. Sometimes I had bodies for warmth, but always the night stayed cold. But there were good nights, Qurrah. I want you to know that.”

She turned to face him. Her arms were crossed, and she looked so young.

“Since I’ve been with you I’ve known hurt,” she said. “I thought I couldn’t hurt anymore, but I have. I never thought I would ever need someone so much it’d scare me. But I do.”

She uncrossed her arms. With slow, small movements, she let her dress fall to the ground, exposing her naked flesh.

“I love you,” Qurrah said. “Everything I do, it’s because…”

“I know,” she said. “This body is yours, Qurrah. Many have had it, but tonight…” Gently she traced her fingers down her neck, past the curve of her breasts, and to her belly. “Tonight is special. Take off your clothes.”

He did. His heart pounded in his ears. She was so beautiful, but what was going on? He felt he was swimming in power and drowning in magic.

“I want you to know I can live without you,” she said as she dipped a foot into the pond. “I would hate every second, but I would live. Not after tonight. Velixar has given me something I never thought I could have.”

She stopped walking when the water was up to her waist. She reached out a hand and beckoned him. In the dead of winter, he knew he should be cold. He knew his frail body would shiver and break in the water. But the water was warm to his touch. The sense of magic swarming around him thickened. At Tessanna’s beckon, he embraced her.

“Tonight,” she whispered into his ear. “Tonight, under these stars, in this water, I can conceive. Will you give this to me? Will you give this of yourself?”

He had never believed such a thing possible. But as she wrapped her legs around him and guided him into her, he knew the answer. Aullienna’s face flashed before his mind. He had taken her from Tessanna, and tonight, he might somehow make amends.

“After what I have done,” he said as his breaths quickened. “Of course I will.”

Standing within the water they made love. Their movements were slow, careful. At last she wrapped her arms around him and pulled him below the surface, baptizing them in the name of Velixar and Karak. When he tore his head above the water and screamed out in ecstasy, he felt the eyes of gods upon him. His lover emerged with him, gasping in pleasure. A twinkle was in her eye. The act was done.

Tessanna was with child.

T hey elected to walk back to Velixar and the army. Qurrah felt he was exiting a dream. The cold of the wind came biting back, and he shivered underneath his layers of clothing. No matter how close to a fire he sat, or how much clothing he wore, he always felt cold in winter. Tessanna did not complain or show discomfort, but her lips were blue and her teeth chattered with each step. Despite all this, they wanted to walk. They needed to talk.

“Velixar offered this to me,” she said, answering the question she knew her lover kept unspoken. “He said Karak knew my prayers though I never sent them to him. He told me to travel to the pond and wait for you there. If I offered myself to you, and to the dark god, I would have a child. A daughter.” She looked to him, tears streaming down her face though her voice remained firm.

“I’ve always wanted a daughter,” she said.

“I’m not ready to be a father,” he said. “Our life, our actions…what will become of any child following our footsteps?”

She took his hand into hers and kissed his fingers.

“By the time I give birth, we will be gone from here. Our daughter can live a life free of this place. I can give her the childhood I was denied.” She looked to the stars and giggled. “Mommy isn’t happy with me right now, and she isn’t happy with Karak, either.”

“Will you still be able to aid me and Velixar in opening the doorway?” he asked her. To this she turned and glared.

“I am not weak now,” she said, a sudden venom filling her words. “Never think that of me.”

“I didn’t,” Qurrah said. “I just…wait a moment. Something approaches.”

He stopped her, then narrowed in his eyes in the darkness. He saw a shape running toward them. It was humanoid, though its body was hunkered down so he could not see much else. Tessanna lifted her hand so that fire swirled from her fingers.

“Unbelievable,” she said, licking her lips. “Karak has sent us a gift.”

The shape slowed once it reached the edge of light created by Tessanna’s fire. It was a being of pure shadow, its ethereal presence swirling like black smoke in the darkness. Glowing red slits for eyes leered at them. When the creature snarled rows of sharp teeth glistened.

“What is this thing,” Qurrah asked.

Tessanna’s hand closed, and the fire vanished. In only the starlight, the creature was free to approach. It stood directly before them and growled softly. Qurrah felt his skin crawl at the sound.

“I know this scent,” Tessanna said, her hand creeping toward the thing’s neck. “I know this body.” The shadow being retreated before her hand, shriveling back like a snake shedding its skin. Qurrah startled at the revealed face and neck of Delysia Eschaton. She looked catatonic. Tessanna rubbed her neck with her fingers, then pressed them against her lips.

“I love the taste,” she said, licking her fingers. With her other hand she drew her dagger. “The purity of her blood.”

“What are you doing?” Qurrah asked. The girl turned to him and beamed. The wildness in her eyes horrified him.

“Isn’t it clear? Karak gives me a child, so I take a child from Ashhur. She is a gift, a sacrifice, an omen. Choose whatever sounds best to you.”

Tessanna stunned him by leaning forward and kissing Delysia’s lips. Her dagger trailed upward, drawing a thin red line from the bottom of Delysia’s neck to the cleft of her chin. She licked the blood from her dagger and giggled.

“I could get used to this.”

“Enough,” Qurrah said. “Send her back.”

“Why?” she asked. “Do you care for her? She worships a false god, and even worse, lets such a perfect body go to waste.”

The half-orc grabbed her wrist and held it firm. He glared at her, every part of his being refusing to back down.

“You have killed enough of those close to my brother,” he said. “No more.”

He was not prepared for the rage that seethed inside his lover. When she spoke her voice was calm, but her entire body shook and quivered.

“I have killed?” she said. “Is that how you see it? I killed Brug. It was my desire, my idea, that killed Aullienna. Is it? Is that how you sleep at night? Is that how you banish your guilt, by casting it to me?”

She yanked her arm free from his grasp. The love they shared just an hour ago seemed ancient and lost to Qurrah. Even worse, her words tore at his guilt-wracked mind. Again he thought of an undead Harruq marching at his command and felt his heart split.

“You don’t understand,” he began, but Tessanna cut him off by thrusting the hilt of her dagger into his open palm.

“Take it,” she said. “Take it and listen. We are condemned by our actions, or we are free of them. We are murderers, or we are victims. You will kill again. Will you feel its guilt only for those you know? A life taken is a life taken, Qurrah. Will you succumb to guilt or not?”

He closed his hand around the dagger and looked to the imprisoned Delysia.

“I don’t know,” he said. “I don’t feel guilt, I just…I don’t want to hurt my brother. Not any more than I already have, even if he hurts me.”

She slipped behind him, her hands trailing around his neck and shoulders.

“But the choice is the same for him,” she whispered. “If he had never chosen his lover over you, then the hurt would never be. He chose his path. He chose his hurt. Will you be slave to it?”

He looked at Delysia’s beautiful frozen horrified face. She was alive inside, he knew. He could smell her fear. His fist clenched tight.

“Be gone,” he said, waving his hand. The essence of the Doru’al shrieked in anger but could not refuse the power of his words or the magic that spiked from his fingers. The girl collapsed as the rest of the darkness dissipated. Delysia gasped in air, her eyes locked open. The half-orc stood over her, dagger in hand. The hand shook.

“How many times,” he said. “How many times must I question myself? How many times must I doubt the path I walk? How many? How many!”

The priestess coughed once, then blinked. Her fingers clutched the grass, a reflex as the woman gulped in air.

“I will not,” he said. His heart was in his throat. He felt his soul quivering. “I will not do this anymore.”

He knelt down, pulled Delysia’s head up by her hair, and then sliced open her throat. Blood poured over his hands and onto the grass. She made no sound as she stared at him with eyes that were full of despair. He stared right back as deep inside him he felt something die. He dropped her head to the dirt and then looked to the dagger in his hand.

“There,” Tessanna said as she wrapped her arms around his neck. “Now the blood is on both our hands, as it always should have been.”

“A life for a life,” he said, mesmerized by the crimson droplets dripping from the edge. “Will it be enough?”

The darkness swirled around them, then collected into a doorway that Velixar stepped through. Qurrah knelt at his entrance while Tessanna curtseyed. The man in black eyed the body, then clapped his hands together.

“All as I hoped,” he said. He knelt and touched the body. Shadows lifted it from the ground. They took shape, becoming a long-legged, spindly-armed creature without eyes or a mouth. The thing held Delysia’s body in its arms and sprinted east with blinding speed. Velixar bade his disciple to rise.

“A man dear to me passed away this night,” he said. “And now they will suffer in turn. You are strong, Qurrah, and you grow stronger still. Come. Your army awaits.”

“My army,” he muttered. He clutched the dagger tight with both hands and looked at his master. “Please. Take us to my army.”

Another portal of shadow opened. Velixar stepped through, followed by Tessanna. Out of sight, Qurrah finally let the tears free. He wanted to kneel and beg for his brother to forgive him, but instead he placed the dagger underneath his right eye and slashed downward. He screamed. His tears mixed with blood. Before he lost his nerve, he placed the dagger underneath his left eye and did the same.

“I will not cry for you anymore, brother,” he told the darkness. “Let my tears mix with blood so I may remember this vow.”

He slid the bloody weapon into the sash of his robe and stepped through. Neither Tessanna nor Velixar asked about the wounds upon his face. It was if, somehow, they understood.

H arruq awoke with a screaming headache and a throbbing pain in his side. He guessed the headache to be from hunger and exhaustion, and the pain from the hilt of his sword digging into his side. He rubbed his eyes and looked about. The rest of the Eschaton were asleep on the pews. A few torches flickered and died, bathing him in darkness.

Tun…

The half-orc spun, for the voice had come from behind. Nothing, just a closed door. He thought perhaps it was Haern testing him, but he was curled up in a bundle of gray robes beside Aurelia. It wasn’t Tarlak either, for the mage slept in the far corner, twitching and shifting as if trapped in unpleasant dreams.

Betrayer…

He drew his swords. Their red light seemed demonic in the holy place. Harruq debated waking the others. So few would call him betrayer. Only Qurrah…

He felt a shiver crawl up his spine. There was another who would label him as such.

Do you suffer yet?

He knew that voice. That cold feeling. The man in black had returned.

“Show yourself,” Harruq whispered. He stood in the aisle between the pews, constantly spinning and searching.

Listen to me, Harruq Tun. You can avoid more pain. You can avoid more suffering. Take your lover and go.

“What is it you want?” Harruq asked the silence. “What is it that brought you back from the abyss where you belonged?”

You lost a daughter. Do not lose more. You can still come to my fold. You can join your brother and fight at his side. Do not let pain cloud your judgment.

The half-orc approached the giant doors to the temple. His armor creaked, and he kept waiting for someone to wake from his noise. None did.

“I am not what you wanted,” he whispered. “I am not what you tried to make me be. You failed, Velixar, and damn me for letting Qurrah fail with you.”

My life for you. That was your promise. If you deny me what was promised, then I must take it from another, and another, until your life is either mine or ended. There is no other way. You and your friends killed one dear to me. I have done so in kind. Suffer, Harruq Tun. Suffer in your betrayal.

The half-orc kicked open the door, swords raised to strike. Velixar was not there, only the cold body of Delysia. His blood froze. His swords fell from his hands, and their loud ringing upon hitting the stone awoke the others. He staggered back, slamming the door shut to block the sight. He fell to his knees, his hands digging into his face. Her throat was cut, her clothes torn…but most damning was the single word carved across her forehead.

Tun.

“What’s going on,” Haern asked, the first to reach his side. When Harruq did not answer, he pushed open the door. All time halted for the assassin. He did not move. He did not breath. When time resumed, he sheathed his blades and knelt beside her body. He lifted her into his arms and carried her inside. The others were waking, each stirring from a deep sleep. Harruq kept his eyes shut, hating his brother more than he had ever hated someone in his life. And then he heard Tarlak’s cry.

“What happened,” he heard him shout. “No, she’s alright she…she…”

He opened his eyes at the sound of Tarlak’s weeping. Somehow the torches had been relit. Delysia lay on the floor before Tarlak’s curled form. Aurelia was at his side, her arms around him. He accepted the embrace and buried his face into her bosom. Haern stood by them, tears on his face. Even Mira cried, overwhelmed by the sorrow her keen mind drank in from the room. Only the paladins remained firm.

“Hear me, Tarlak,” Lathaar said, kneeling beside Delysia’s body. “There is no emptiness in my words, only truth and compassion. She has gone to a place beyond our suffering. She dwells in a land foreign to our tears. Everything we feel, we feel for ourselves.”

“My sister,” Tarlak sobbed. “My only sister…”

Lathaar took her body into his arms and stood.

“Ashhur gave her life, and now he has taken that life back to his arms.”

He carried her outside. Tarlak followed at Aurelia’s insistence. Harruq stayed where he was. When the wizard cast his eyes to him he dared not meet them. When the door slammed shut, the half-orc thought himself alone. He was not.

“Get up.” Harruq looked up to see Jerico standing over him, his arms crossed. “I said get up.”

“Leave me be,” Harruq grumbled.

Jerico struck his fist against the half-orc’s face. The pain flared his anger, and he glared death at the paladin.

“What the abyss is the matter…”

“It is one thing to mourn,” Jerico said. “But you aren’t mourning. You’re drowning yourself in guilt and grief. That was your name carved upon her forehead, wasn’t it?” Harruq’s look was answer enough. “Why, then? What is the meaning behind it? Answer me.”

“A long time ago, me and Qurrah swore our lives to Karak,” he said. He didn’t want to, but he couldn’t stop staring at Jerico’s eyes. They imprisoned him. “I turned my back on Karak when I fell in love with Aurelia. Qurrah fell in love with a girl named Tessanna. Aurry pulled me away from the darkness, but Tess just pulled Qurrah further and further in.”

“Tessanna is the other daughter of balance,” Jerico asked.

Harruq shrugged. “Don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“No matter,” the paladin said. “Another time. So now Karak tortures you for your choice? He does not take kindly to those who escape his grasp. You may be just one life, but just as Ashhur celebrates with every soul that welcomes him into their heart, so too does Karak fume with each loss.”

“Brug, Delysia, Aullienna…” Harruq shook his head. “How many will he take? How many will suffer for my sins?”

“None will, and none have,” Jerico said. “Your sins haven’t earned you the pain you feel. It is the good in your life. Karak could not hurt those you love without you loving them in the first place. Would you sacrifice everything good just to avoid your pain?”

“I’ve slain children,” Harruq said, confessing though he knew not why. “And when my daughter was killed, I thought it punishment for my crimes.”

“And so you felt the burden yours,” Jerico said, finishing the thought. “Will you let every good deed you perform be overshadowed by your past? If so, there is no point. Go join your brother. Join Karak. But if you wish your sins forgotten, join us with Ashhur and accept the grace he freely offers. The darkness in your life is caused by others, not the past you seek atonement from.”

Harruq fiddled with his swords, uncomfortable and confused. “You make it sound so easy,” he said.

A bit of the hardness left Jerico’s face.

“Trust me. It’s a heavy burden, but I do not carry it alone. I’ll be outside. You should help bury her. It is only right.”

The paladin left Harruq alone in the chamber of worship. In the silence, he thought over Jerico’s words. They did seem too easy, too simple. But how many days had he spent with the Eschaton without guilt, fear, or condemnation of his past? It seemed only his brother obsessed over who they had been. Qurrah never believed people could change. Perhaps that was why he seemed so alien to him now.

“If you’re listening,” Harruq whispered. “Help me figure this out.”

It was the closest thing to a prayer he had made since the death of his daughter.

F or a moment Haern and Tarlak wearily argued for an Eschaton burial, but Lathaar would hear none of it.

“You’ve buried enough,” he had said to the wizard. “Let me bear the burden.”

Lathaar carried her in his arms while the others followed him to the western wall. Two nervous guards stood before it.

“Open the gate,” Tarlak said in a cracking voice. He produced his sigil showing his allegiance with the King. “Now.”

The guards obeyed.

“They’re just on edge after the spell cast over the city,” Lathaar said as they exited the city. “I’d wager that they cowered and hid every time the lion in the sky roared.”

They didn’t go far. West off the road was a large common grave. In its center was a stone slab for those who preferred the burning of bodies to burial. Lathaar picked a spot on the edge of the grounds and nodded.

“There.”

They had no tools to dig. Instead Aurelia raised her hands and whispered a spell. The dirt shook and cracked. A perfect slab rose into the air, hovered a moment, and then broke into tiny pieces. Lathaar set her body within the grave and shook his head at Aurelia.

“No magic for this part,” he said. “Our hands will suffice.”

Silence overcame them as each looked down at the still body. The word Tun glared out at them from her forehead. Disgusted, Mira took a handful of dirt and blew. White sparkles filled her breath. The dirt flew to the letters, smoothing and compressing until a thin layer covered them. Harruq was grateful, but when he opened his mouth to thank her he found it dry and uncooperative.

“It’s always my job to say something,” Tarlak said. Every bit of his being fought to collect itself, to toughen against his pain. It was a monumental effort, and all there could see the will within him was strong. Even so, Aurelia gently placed her hand on his lips and kissed his cheek.

“Not this time,” she whispered.

Jerico and Lathaar exchanged looks. Jerico was the older, and by tradition was to speak at a burial, but Lathaar had known Delysia in person. Familiarity won out over tradition.

“All of us here,” Lathaar began. “Every one of us knows how to kill. Every one of us has. But Delysia was a healer. What we accomplished through strength and magic, she did through love and kindness. As we made a better place through our sword and fire, she made a better place by her forgiveness and compassion. She touched each one of us, and saved so many. While we may harden our hearts against the world for her passing, may each one of us remember that the strength of her love and conviction is no less weakened, nor voided, by her death.”

He took a handful of dirt and let it fall into the grave.

“She is with Ashhur now. Finish the burial.”

When the last of the dirt filled the grave, Lathaar stabbed two thick branches into the earth, forming a simple triangle. Somber and exhausted, the Eschaton lingered, unsure of what to do. It was Haern who broke the silence, and it was a sentiment Harruq recognized. Harm had befallen them, and he wanted vengeance.

“I can lead us to the priests,” he said. His sabers were already drawn. “We have tolerated their presence long enough.”

“Delysia would not approve,” Tarlak said.

“I do not share that sentiment,” the assassin said.

Their leader glanced around, gauging everyone’s feelings. He had denied retribution against Qurrah, and for that Aullienna and Brug had died. He had denied retribution against the dark priests, and now his sister lay buried before him. Could he do it again?

“My heart is not ready for battle,” he said at last. “Not this night. But we will.” He stared straight at the assassin and promised.

“We will.”

Mira wandered amid the graveyard, her eyes closed and her arms outstretched. Her aimlessness reminded Harruq so much of Tessanna as he watched her. Her back was to him, so he could not see the horrible pain across her face. Only when Lathaar called her name did they see her torment.

“Too soon,” she said. “They’re too soon.”

“What do you mean, dear?” Aurelia asked.

She pointed west. They followed her gaze, and there they saw the faint line of torches lining the horizon. Aurelia gasped, for her eyes were far keener than the others.

“An army,” she said, as if she herself could not believe it. “Thousands strong. What devilry is this?”

Lathaar and Jerico exchanged a glance. They had not revealed their failure yet, but it seemed they had no choice.

“Qurrah has Darakken’s spellbook,” Lathaar said. He winced at the ashen look that covered Tarlak’s face. “Please. I’m sorry. He attacked the Sanctuary and stole it from the hearth.”

“It’s not Qurrah,” Harruq said, stealing attention away from the paladin condemning his brother. “It’s Velixar. That’s his army. He’s done this before, several years ago.”

“Doesn’t matter who,” Tarlak interrupted. “The priests were there to soften the city for the attack, and they did a damn good job, too. Do what you can. That army will be here by the dawn.”

Haern grabbed Tarlak’s arm and stopped his casting of a portal.

“Where are you going?” he asked.

“To warn Antonil,” Tarlak said, glaring at the hand on his arm. “And then grab a moment of rest. I’ll be worthless without it.”

He yanked his arm free and finished his spell. He entered the swirling blue portal without another word. The rest watched him go.

“I’ll start rallying troops,” Jerico said, glancing back to the city. “We might have a chance if we hold the two gates. Karak’s image in the sky will have shaken most of the guard’s faith. We need to restore it.”

“Ashhur be with us all,” Lathaar said, bowing to the others. The two paladins ran back to the city. Mira followed.

“You both will be needed,” Haern said, running a hand through his hair. “We’ve all seen what your brother and his lover can do. If Velixar is with them, even the city’s walls will not be enough to protect us.”

Harruq said nothing. Aurelia wrapped her arms around his waist and held him close as the assassin left. The two stared at the line of torches in the dark, Aurelia filled with worry, and Harruq with guilt.

“My brother,” he said. “Because of my brother…”

“And therein lies the blame,” Aurelia said. “Not you.”

“Easy words. How many will die tonight?”

Aurelia pulled on his shoulder and forced his eyes to meet hers. She was a living blessing in the moonlight, a beautiful creature hundreds of years old and filled with grace and wonder. And she kissed the simple, plain man she loved.

“Not us,” she said. “And remember which side of the walls you are on. You will fight to save, not to kill. Now come.”

She took his hand and led him back to the city.

T arlak closed the portal immediately after exiting, not wanting anyone to follow. While he had said he was going to speak with Antonil, he had instead sent himself to the Eschaton tower. With a wave of his hand, he opened the front door and rushed inside. The others had been too focused on Aurelia’s description of what she saw to notice he had cast a divination spell. He had seen wolf-men, hyena-men, bird-men, orcs and goblins, all marching in unison. Not since the original days of the brothers’ war had such an army existed.

He came to the Eschaton tower because he expected never to return.

His room was first. Tarlak scooped up scrolls from his shelves and tossing them into his hat, which seemed to never fill. He went to Delysia’s room next, wincing at all the signs of the life. He took a few pieces of jewelry Brug had made for her and then closed the door. He skipped Haern’s room, knowing the assassin always kept everything he needed close on person. Outside Harruq and Aurelia’s room he paused, thinking of what they might want from within.

“Might as well check,” he said, and placed his hand on the door only to realize it was ajar. His hair stood on end, and somehow he knew it was no accident or happenstance. Slowly he pushed it open, thankful it was well-oiled as to not creak.

Sitting with her legs curled underneath her was Tessanna, gently running her hand through the illusory grass Aurelia had created with her magic. With the door open he could hear her softly singing. His hands trembled. Brug had died by her dagger, and all the while she had laughed. Laughed. Her back was to him.

Helpless, he thought. Power swelled into his hands, begging for release. He held it in. Something was too sad about the scene, and then he heard crying.

“I’m sorry, Aully,” he heard her say. “Big dog’s coming, and he’s coming for you…”

Her grief was so great he felt like an intruder in his own tower. Where was the simplicity he had felt only minutes ago? His hands lowered, and the magic around them faded away.

A piece of bone pressed against the back of his neck. He tensed, and his heart leapt as he heard raspy breathing from behind.

“A life for a life,” Qurrah whispered. “You spared her, so I spare you.”

The bone piece left. When Tarlak turned around, Qurrah stared at him with arms crossed and his whip in hand. The bone hovered in orbit around his head like a morbid halo. Two scars ran down the side of his face, angry and red. His tears have become acid, Tarlak thought. The contempt and vileness he saw in Qurrah’s eyes made it seem almost possible.

“We’ve seen your army,” the wizard whispered. “Do you come to conquer, or destroy?”

“You’ll fight me either way,” Qurrah responded. “So that is an answer you don’t need. Your city is doomed. Tell my idiot brother to flee while he still can.”

Tessanna heard their talking and stood. She smiled back to Tarlak even though tears ran down her cheeks.

“You know he won’t,” she said, answering for him. “Which makes it all the sadder. Tell them I’m sorry, too. But I will kill all of you if I must, as will Qurrah. Leave, Tarlak. Please, leave.”

He walked down the stairs, slow and dignified. He would run from no one. When he reached the outside, he opened a portal to Veldaren. Thoughts raced through his head. Under no circumstances would he give their message to Harruq. He glanced back one last time at his home as a part of him realized why Qurrah and Tessanna had come back.

“You’ll never have what they had,” he said to the highest floor before stepping inside, unaware of the life already growing inside Tessanna’s womb.

A ntonil had slept poorly ever since the lion appeared in the sky. When its roar shook the city he had cowered like the rest of his soldiers, and the shame of it scarred his honor. Several hours had passed with him falling in and out of fitful sleep haunted by dreams of facing legions of dark shapes while he wielded only a broken sword. When the blue portal ripped open in his room, he lurched forward and grabbed his sword, which lay next to him on the bed.

“Easy,” Tarlak said as he stepped out to find the tip near his throat. “It’s just me, your local friendly wizard.”

“Forgive me,” Antonil said, putting the sword down. “I’ve just been edgy since, well…I’m sure you saw it.”

“More than saw it,” the mage said, his whole persona darkening. “Priests of Karak unleashed that blasphemy upon the sky. Delysia is dead. The priests killed her.”

Antonil opened and closed his mouth. The grogginess in his head refused to clear, but piercing that grogginess was the gentle face and red hair of the priestess. His heart panged with guilt.

“We should have been there,” he said. “My guards, my soldiers, we only cowered while you fought…”

“It doesn’t matter,” Tarlak interrupted. “What matters is that an army marches toward the city, almost ten thousand strong.”

“Orcs?” the guard captain asked.

“Yes,” Tarlak said. “But also hyena-men and wolf-men. Even bird-men march alongside. This’ll make the orc attack several years ago look like child’s play.”

Antonil rubbed his thumb and forefinger against his eyelids.

“Are you sure?” he asked as he blinked away the rest of his sleepiness.

“No, I just enjoy waking people in the middle of the night and scaring them. Yes, I’m sure! Get your guards stationed, wake up every man who owns a sword, and then put them before the gates!”

Antonil leapt from his bed, still wearing the underpadding of his armor. He put the rest of his gold-tinted armor on in mere moments, buckling and strapping it on as he talked.

“If they aren’t equipped with siege weaponry, then they’re going to throw their numbers against the gates and see if it’ll break. If we position enough weight on the other side, and place archers…”

“You don’t understand,” Tarlak said. He stepped back as Antonil swung an arm around, nearly clobbering him in the head in his attempt to fasten a buckle near the back of his waist. His room was well furnished but still small. Only the king had a gigantic room for his own inside the castle.

“The man in black, the necromancer who commanded the orcs that last attack…he leads this one as well.”

Antonil paused, his sword belt in mid buckle.

“Are you sure?” he asked. Tarlak rolled his eyes.

“Didn’t I answer that already?”

“Last time that man shook our walls with his sorcery,” Antonil said. “He destroyed the western gate as if it were made of sticks and mud. Are you telling me that same man marches against our town with five times the numbers?”

Now it was Tarlak’s turn to rub his eyes with his fingers.

“Did our great guard captain develop a hearing problem over the last five minutes?”

Antonil buckled his belt and sheathed his sword. He took his shield off a rack and slung his arm through the two straps. At last he donned his helmet. He looked regal and deadly in the golden hue.

“I must alert the king,” he said.

“Send someone else,” Tarlak said. “We need you at the walls.”

“If anyone else tells him but me,” Antonil said, a strange hardness in his eyes, “he will not believe them.”

“So be it. The Eschaton will help you, but we will not follow the orders of the king.” He grabbed the man’s arm as he turned to leave. “Antonil,” he said. “There is a very real possibility the city will fall. They do not march to occupy. They will kill every one of us, some even eating our remains. If that will happen…abandon the city. Please.”

The guard captain pulled his arm free of his grasp.

“I will obey my king,” he said. He left to visit the king’s private bed chambers. Tarlak swore as he paced the small room.

“Everyone has to make things so bloody complicated,” he said as crossed his arms and glared at the floor. If Antonil followed the king’s orders, not a soul would be allowed to flee. He’d bury everyone in his paranoia and selfishness. Ever since the elven assassin had taken his left ear…

“To the abyss with it all,” Tarlak said. “I just want to burn stuff.”

He opened a portal to the city walls and stepped through.