The Death of Promises

14

A t first the soldiers barred them from the walls, but then Haern showed them his sigil.

“My apologies, Watcher of the King,” one of the soldiers said, offering a clumsy bow. He moved away from the stone steps, letting them pass. Haern led the way, followed by the paladins. All along the wall, soldiers prepared arrows and readied armor. Jerico guessed at the numbers, and was none too pleased with his estimate.

“There can’t be more than three hundred,” he said. Haern nodded as he scanned the horizon. They were above the western gate, which was sure to take the brunt of the attack. He watched the sea of torches marching closer, his stomach hardening.

“The king lost too many to the orcs’ siege, and then the elves at Woodhaven,” Haern said. “Three hundred archers and two thousand footmen are all he commands.”

“Rumors say it’s more than just orcs coming,” a soldier beside them said. He looked old and grizzled. Neither paladin was familiar with Veldaren’s military ranks but the man was clearly not of a lower station.

“Do they?” Lathaar asked.

“The whole Wedge is coming, the wolf and bird and hyena.” The man nodded towards the torches, both his hands gripping his bow tight. He was missing two of his fingers on his left hand.

“And where did you hear this?” Jerico asked.

“That man,” the soldier said, pointing farther south along the wall. It was still dark, but in the torchlight Tarlak’s pointy yellow hat stood out above the metal and armor.

“Excuse me,” Haern said, slipping past and chasing after. He found Tarlak cheering and slapping archers on the backs and arms, encouraging as only he could.

“Kill twenty of those orcs and I’ll polymorph your mother-by-marriage into a goat,” he said. “Fifty, and I’ll make her a toad! Hate your hair? Hate your face? I’ll change it too, only fifteen kills each. Oh, you sir, I’ll even give you a discount, since you’re nose is so…”

“Tarlak,” Haern said, grabbing the wizard and turning him about. “We need to talk.”

“Howdy Haern,” Tarlak said, grinning at him. “Ready for some mindless slaughter?”

“I hear there are more than orcs coming,” the assassin whispered. “What did you see?”

His grin faded, but when he saw others looking at him and perked right up.

“When they hit the walls they’re all yours,” Tarlak shouted. “So don’t have too much fun as they pretend they can climb with their bare hands!”

He leaned in next to Haern and whispered, “All races of the Wedge, Haern. Every blasted mongrel. We’re outnumbered ten to one.”

The assassin grabbed him by the collar and yanked him closer.

“They will bury us,” he whispered back. “The whole city will burn.”

“Then we’ll burn with it,” Tarlak whispered. “Scared of a little fun, Haern? Besides, you’re worth a couple hundred kills. I’m good for a few hundred as well. Aurry, Lathaar, Jerico…how many can Mira handle? We’re their hope, their only chance, and I will not let us descend into cowardice and retreat. Now go back to the west gate and cause chaos like I know you can. That’s an order.”

“Yes, Lord Eschaton,” Haern said, his voice and subsequent bow filled with sarcasm. He returned to the paladins and drew them close so others would not hear.

“Twenty thousand against our two, according to Tarlak.”

Both nodded, neither appearing surprised.

“To the ground,” Jerico said. “I will defend the west gate if it breaks. The troops there will need me.”

Lathaar drew his swords, their glow shining bright in the night.

“I’ll be there with you. I was not there at the Sanctuary. I will make amends.”

Mira grabbed Lathaar’s hand and squeezed it tight.

“I’ll stay here,” she said. “And I’ll do what I can. They won’t be ready for me.”

“No one ever is,” Lathaar said.

He kissed her cheek and joined Jerico and Haern down the stairs. Mira, a tiny, diminutive figure amid the bustling soldiers, waved. She looked so out of place, the man with missing fingers put his hand on her shoulder and asked her to seek shelter.

“No,” she said, a bit of fire sparking in her eyes. “I’m here to protect you.”

The soldier let her be, and if any raised eyebrows or gestured toward her, he only shook his head and sent them on their way.

H arruq and Aurelia stationed themselves at the southern gate, using a portal to get up top. At first the soldiers there startled and drew their swords, but a glare from the half-orc sent them back.

“Get to work,” he growled. “We’re here to help, and you best like it.”

“Such a silver tongue for a brute,” Aurelia said. She smiled and poked his side. “Save the gruff. It’s going to be a long night.”

“You mean day.” The half-orc pointed east, where the first glimmer of sunrise pierced the sky. “It’s already been a long night.”

The distant army grew closer, the glow of the torches stronger. Aurelia watched, her brow wrinkled.

“Orcs see perfectly in the dark,” she wondered. “Why do they carry torches?”

“Velixar’s making them do it,” Harruq replied, gripping his sword hilts for comfort. “Has to be. It’s the fear, the numbers. Same for that damn lion in the sky. If he had his way, we’d throw open the gates the second he got here and beg him to command us.”

“His priests failed,” Aurelia said. “As will he.”

“And if not?”

The elf crossed her arms and frowned at her husband.

“Alright mister, enough of that.” She gestured to the soldiers about her, scared and exhausted. “For their sake,” she said, her voice quieter.

He nodded and kept the rest of his fears silent. His mood brightened a bit when Tarlak appeared walking along the walls, slapping and joking with every archer along the way. When he reached the two, he smiled and tipped his hat.

“Ready for an orc roast of epic proportions?” he asked.

“More ready than I thought,” Harruq said, smiling in spite of it all. “Good to have you here, Tar.”

“Same for you,” the wizard said, the joy and foolishness in his eyes bleeding away. His whole body was trembling. It seemed the specter of Delysia hovered behind his eyes, just waiting for him to break. The smile returned. With greater strength than Harruq could imagine, Tarlak pushed the ghosts away.

“It does mean a lot, you know,” the wizard said.

“We know,” Aurelia said. “You’re a good friend.”

“Aye,” Harruq said, his hands latched tight around the hilts of his swords. Together the three waited for Karak’s axe to fall upon their city.

T he king slept in a bedchamber beside his throne room. Two guards stood beside the door, anxious and alert. The roars of the lion had scared them, and now they heard alarms of an orc army approaching. When Antonil pushed open the huge double doors to enter the throne room, the guards knew by his armor that the alarms were true.

He strode over to them and saluted.

“Wake the king,” he ordered. The right guard tapped against the door. Antonil pushed him aside and slammed his fist against the thick wood.

“King Vaelor,” he shouted. “Your majesty, you are needed.”

He heard shuffling, then a clank of wood and metal as the lock was thrown open. The door crept open a crack.

“For what reason do you interrupt my sleep?” the king asked through the crack.

“My apologies,” Antonil said after bowing. “An army comes, and I seek your council.”

“Remain here until I am ready,” his king commanded. The door slammed shut. Antonil opened his mouth to argue, then closed it. His blood boiled, and he slammed his shield against a wall, not caring that he dented it.

“Damn fool,” he muttered.

His glare to the guards made it clear that repeating that outburst meant death. The two saluted, understanding perfectly.

Antonil paced before the door, seething as the time passed. He needed to be commanding his guards, positioning and rallying them into a fighting state. Instead he was stuck inside the castle, bereft of all news. Twenty minutes later, the king exited his bed chambers.

He wore armor made of gold. It was soft, impractical, but it looked beautiful in the torchlight, and Antonil knew that was what mattered to his liege. A garishly jeweled sword swung from a belt trimmed with silver. A red cape hung from his neck. Upon his head was the crown of Veldaren. It had once been a simple ring of gold with a ruby upon the front, but Vaelor had declared it unfitting of a true king, adding several large gems and rubies. Attached to the bottom of the crown was a veil of red silk, recently added to hide the loss of the king’s left ear.

“Sir, your attire…” Antonil said.

“Is this not how a king should be dressed for battle?” Vaelor asked.

“My men have needed me,” he argued. “Could you not have spoken with me before you dressed for…for battle?”

“Do you dare question your king?” Vaelor asked. He crossed his arms and frowned. He was not much older than Antonil, and when they were children training together they had been mistaken for brothers due to their similar looks. But now Antonil’s face and hands were worn and calloused. The king lacked a single scar on his pampered skin. His beard was trimmed and hair neatly curled around his shoulders, not a strand too long or too short. Only his ear marred the image.

“No sir,” Antonil said, bowing. “Forgive me, I am just worried. They are far more than I have ever faced. All the races of the Vile Wedge have allied against us. They will destroy every life in our fair city if we let them.”

King Vaelor walked to his throne and sat down. “Do as you must,” he said. “I trust you to keep our city safe.”

“No, sir, you don’t understand.” Antonil stepped forward, his worry overcoming his discipline. “We have no troops mustered from the reaches of Neldar. The green castle, as well as all of the Hillocks, are most likely destroyed. If this were a siege, we could hold out for months. Lord Gandrem would ride the host of Felwood through the northern plains and crush our foes against our walls. So too would Lord Meren ride up from Angelport, a whole legion of his archers ready to feather our enemies.”

Antonil knew he treaded on dangerous ground, but he had no choice but to continue. “But they will not,” he said. “This is no siege. The beasts of the wedge will storm our walls. Our troops are weak in number and wholly unprepared. We should order the populous to ready a retreat. If one of the gates falls, we can…”

“What is this?” King Vaelor asked, his voice thundering in the empty throne room. “Retreat? You would surrender our walls to orcs and dogs? I will not be written into the history of our world as such a coward. Already Woodhaven has been lost to the elves because of your weakness. You will fight to the death to protect what we all hold dear. You have defeated the orcs once. You will do so again.”

“It is not cowardice to think of protecting the commonfolk should we fail.”

“But it is cowardice by failing those helpless before that battle was even begun!”

The guard captain turned away, his fury rising with the stinging mention of Woodhaven. He was arguing with his king. Had times truly sunk so low?

“Very well,” he said, falling to one knee and bowing his head. “I will not fail you.”

King Vaelor put his hand on Antonil’s shoulder. “We will be praised in songs for ages to come after our victory this night,” he said.

Antonil thought a funeral dirge was more likely. With his king’s permission, he left to join his men.

When Antonil arrived at the western gate, he was immediately aware something was amiss. His generals had done well to position and defend during his absence, but they were all terrified. Even the grizzled old men who had fought many a battle appeared ready to cast aside their weapons. The guard captain bound up the steps and joined his archers, determined to find out the reason. When he saw the ocean of bodies approaching, he understood their fear.

Leading the army were the bird-men, clutching their torches in their clawed and misshapen hands. Long feathers stretched out from their forearms, a mockery of their lost ability to fly. Their heads were small, dominated by their giant beaks of all colors. Behind them were the wolf-men. They were bigger than the hyena-men, their skin gray and their bodies lean and muscular. Their backs were heavily curved, causing their long arms to drag near the ground. Their awkward walk vanished when they ran, their bodies balanced for running on all fours.

The hyena-men were the last of animal men, and their yipping was already reaching the city. They looked like smaller cousins of the wolf-men, except their skin was yellow and black and their legs better suited for walking and running upright. Then came the orcs, howling and waving their torches. Antonil frowned as he saw their banners. It was the lion standard of Karak.

“You’re right to be afraid,” a quiet voice told him. He glanced left to see Mira smiling at him with twinkling eyes. “But you needn’t be. They haven’t seen what I can do. Go down the stairs. The paladins are waiting for you.”

“Paladins?”

He looked behind him, and sure enough he saw the telltale glow of white and blue. He gave one last strange look to the girl with black eyes and climbed back down from the wall.

“Paladins of Ashhur!” he shouted. Buried in the center of the hundreds of footmen lined before the gate shone two swords and a shield. “Come forth!”

Jerico and Lathaar knelt before the guard captain as the man approached.

“We come to offer our aid, and the aid of Ashhur,” Lathaar said.

“If there was ever a time we needed Ashhur’s aid, it is now,” Antonil said. “But I thought only one remained.”

“I hid, but no longer,” Jerico answered. “I ask you let us fight alongside your men in defense of this city.”

Antonil pointed to the locked and barred gate.

“I have heard stories of paladins fighting off hundreds before falling in death. Let’s put those stories to the test. To the front.”

“If the heathen creatures burst through, Ashhur’s light will wait for them,” Lathaar said as he stood. The two took their positions. Antonil watched them shouting and ordering around his men. The sun was rising, but darkness remained heavy in the hearts of his men. Fear was the weapon of Karak, and Antonil knew nothing turned aside that weapon better than a paladin.

“We will hold the gate,” someone whispered into Antonil’s ear. He didn’t need to look to know who it was.

“If you are here as well, Haern, then I’m sure we will,” Antonil said.

Archers and ground troops ready, the guard captain and his personal guards marched to the southern gate. They had half the ground troops but the gate was thinner and the street narrower. Antonil expected the strongest blows to fall against the west. When he arrived he saw his best general, Sergan, shouting with a voice rapidly approaching hoarseness.

“Greetings Sergan,” Antonil said, saluting the old veteran. “Think we have a chance?”

“Compared to Woodhaven this will be a picnic,” the man replied. “Long as we don’t got elves shooting at us…hey, who the abyss taught you how to buckle a sword?”

Sergan stormed over to a young footman who appeared lost on how to strap his sword to his waist. The general grabbed it from him, flipped it around, buckled it tight, and returned to Antonil in the span of five seconds.

“It’s always the simplest stuff,” Antonil said, a grin on his face.

“Wasn’t my trainee,” Sergan grumbled. The two quieted as each looked to the men on the ground and walls and pondered the strength of their forces.

“Sergan…” Antonil began.

“We can hold,” the general said. “Even if they send more than you’re thinking, we’ll hold.”

“And if the gates fall?” Antonil asked.

“You mean like last time?”

The guard captain nodded. Sergan sighed and gestured wide with his hands.

“They won’t find the going easy. Lead your men, and I’ll lead mine. We’ll hold. Believe it, and we’ll do it.”

“See you at the battle’s end,” Antonil said. He drew his sword and held it high, rallying the soldiers around him.

“A pint of ale for every man who beheads an orc!” he shouted. The men shouted back, but their cheers were hollow. After saluting Sergan, he sheathed his sword and marched back to the western gate.

W hen the last of the sun rose above the horizon, the priests of Karak made their presence known. They slipped out of the king’s forest, garbed in their finest black robes. They formed a loose semicircle around the city with forty of their members. They spread their hands and faced Veldaren. They opened their mouths. A single, solid roar of a lion shook the city and filled all who heard with fear. Every third minute they released Karak’s power into that roar, so that all within knew that a god himself had come to destroy.

G reat master,” the goblin said, groveling on his hands and knees as if Qurrah were a deity. “Men come to speak with you, and they kill orcs who say no.”

“Where are they?” Qurrah asked.

“Leave us,” Velixar told the goblin. “Our guests are here.”

Marching through the horde of orcs were twenty-five knights arranged in rows of five. Their armor was black, their eyes were blacker, and waving from banners attached to their saddles was the skull of a lion. The half-orc glared, recognizing his new arrival.

“The priests herald our arrival,” the centermost of the leading five said as he removed his helmet. “And now the last of the obedient are joined as one army.”

“High Enforcer Carden,” Velixar said, embracing the man after the dark paladin had dismounted. “It has been far too long.”

“Aye, it has, prophet. And I am High Enforcer no longer. Krieger has assumed my mantle.”

Krieger dismounted from the horse beside them and knelt.

“It is an honor to be at your side at the final purge,” he said.

Velixar bade him rise. “The dark paladins have done far more than I in swaying hearts to the true god. It is I who is honored by your allegiance. The sun has risen, the walls are in view, and the great lion roars. The battle is ready to begin.”

He turned to Qurrah, who along with Tessanna had remained quiet beside Velixar, wanting little to do with their new guests.

“Prepare the torches,” he said to them. “Afterward, stay at my side.”

“And us?” Krieger asked.

“Join the priests in their circle. Not a single soul is to escape. Let the lesser races shed their blood for Karak first.”

The dark paladins rode out, their banners held high. They filled in gaps of the circle, and when the priests released the lions roar, they held their swords high and shouted the name of their god.

“When we start the fun!” boomed an intoxicated voice. Gumgog pushed his way through the orcs, using his club arm to beat senseless any who didn’t move. His face was painted white, and on his chest was the skull of a lion. The orc lumbered up to Velixar and slammed his club to the ground.

“WHEN?” he roared.

“Calm yourself, Warmaster,” Qurrah said, not giving Velixar a chance to speak. “Order the beast-men to raise high their torches. When the fire hits the city, order the bird-men to attack the western gate. You do know which is west, right?”

“Bwah hah hah!” Gumgog lifted his club arm and shifted his shoulder so he could point at the gate directly across from them. “That one. Gumgog drunk, and Gumgog want to kill, but me still know what is what. What about the south gate?”

“The hyena-men will assault that one,” Velixar replied, grinning at Qurrah. “Keep the wolf-men back. Their use is later. When the gates fall, have Trummug unleash the horde.”

“What Karak wants, Karak gets,” the orc bellowed before turning around and beating his way back through the orc ranks. “Raise your torches!” he shouted throughout the army. “All of you, get them torches high!”

“Amusing orc,” Velixar said, laughing. The fear wafting from the city was intoxicating, and by the smile on Qurrah’s face he knew his disciple sensed it too. “Will you begin the assault on your own, or do you wish my help?”

“Let the first strike be mine,” the half-orc said. “It is only just.”

Tessanna kissed his cheek and stepped back, giving him room to cast his spell. The horde army completely surrounded the city, with the bird-men and hyena-men near their designated gates. They held their torches high as ordered. Qurrah closed his eyes and let the magic pour out. Dark words flowed across his tongue. He felt the torches in his mind, lighting his inner vision like stars across a sky. He grasped them as he would with a fist, except he used his power, his will, to command. The fires of the torches flared hot, blinding even in the morning light. With a triumphant cry he tore the fires into the sky.

They soared upward, yellow tails streaking after them as if they were comets. Hundreds upon hundreds dotted the blue, crackles of black within the heart of the flames signifying the dark magic that controlled them. With another cry, Qurrah sent them rushing toward Veldaren like a river of fire. They rained down upon the walls, the buildings, and the castle. Flesh, cloth, and wood blackened. The soldiers crossed their arms and ducked their heads. Screams lifted to the sky, first few but then many as the fires spread. Veldaren was burning.

Qurrah opened his eyes to witness the destruction of his spell. At his side, Tessanna slipped her hand back into his.

“Beautiful,” she whispered into his ear.

The priests lifted their arms and opened their mouths. Karak’s roar shook the city, this time angrier and ominous amidst the fire. Gumgog slammed the ground and roared for his army to attack. The bird-men squawked and charged the west gate, while hundreds of hyena-men yipped in earnest fervor. The archers along the walls released their first volley, and as the tips pierced the flesh of bird and hyena, Velixar lifted his eyes to the sky in thanks.

Veldaren’s purge had begun.

B ird-men to the west,” Mira shouted, using magic to escalate the volume of her voice so that all the soldiers near her heard. “Hyena-men to the south.”

“Fill them with arrows!” Antonil shouted as he ran up the stairs and joined Mira’s side. The first volley fired, the twangs of bowstrings in perfect unison. Hundreds of arrows fell upon the bird-men, piercing their tough skin and shoddy armor. They ran with their heads low and wings spread wide, so those that fell were trampled without slowing the charge. They squawked with fanatical anger and determination. A second volley lessened their numbers even further, so that by the time they neared the gate they numbered only eight hundred.

The outermost gate was made of wood, with the inner side reinforced with iron. Lacking any sort of siege weaponry, Antonil wondered what lunacy made them think they could break through. Then from his perch he saw their sharp claws shred inches into the wood, showering the ground with splinters.

“Fire at will,” he ordered his archers. “Focus on the door!”

“Yes sir,” Mira said, a grin spreading across her face. Fire swirled around her hands, begging for release. She slammed them together, unleashing a giant funnel of flame. The fire struck just before the gate, incinerating tens of the grotesque creatures. Then the spell detonated. Dozens more flew back, leaving ugly, featherless corpses in the spell’s wake. The archers along the wall assaulted the scattered remnants who tried to mass at the gate.

“Well done,” Antonil whispered. “Better than hot oil.”

“Perhaps not,” Mira said. She pointed to the greater army waiting. “I think I made a friend.”

T here,” Velixar said, his eyes locked on the fiery bomb igniting his forces on the western side. “Foolish to give away her position so early in the fight.”

Darkness clouded his fingers, but Tessanna halted his spell.

“No,” she said, glaring at the wall even as she laughed. “She’s mine. She is me, and mommy wants me dead.”

“The other daughter of balance?” the man in black wondered. He had figured the spell to be cast by Harruq’s wife. “So be it,” he said.

“Here kitty-kitty,” Tessanna said, twin red orbs of magic growing inside her palms. “Big dog’s coming and he’s coming for you!”

She threw them, the force of the spell knocking her to her knees. Mouth agape and eyes sparkling, she watched her spell.

“Get back!” Mira shouted, seeing the two orbs rotating around each other as they approached. She spread her hands wide, mentally pushing Antonil and the other archers to safety. She had but a second to cast a shielding spell before the orbs struck.

“Mira!” Lathaar shouted as half the western gate swarmed with yellow fire. The fire burned hot and died, drifting to the sky in a putrid smelling smoke. The paladin cheered as it dissipated, for hovering a foot above the wall was Mira, her hair swirling and her eyes black as night.

“Get off the wall,” she ordered the rest of the archers, who obeyed without hesitation. Antonil grabbed Lathaar’s shoulder and twisted him around to face him.

“How can she survive that?” he asked.

“Better question,” Lathaar said, pointing at the girl. “How can they survive that? ”

A solid beam of magic over ten feet wide screamed straight for Tessanna, who waited with her right arm out and her palm open. When the blast hit, she opened her eyes, dark lust inside them. The white beam parted at her fingers and swirled around her body like water parting around a stone. Her arm shook. Her body wavered.

“Help her,” Qurrah shouted, but Velixar shook his head.

“She doesn’t need help,” the man in black said. “Are you so blind to your lover’s strength?”

The beam intensified in strength, and Tessanna’s fragile body seemed ready to break, weak and insignificant versus the sheer power unleashed against her. But then she pulled back her hand and spun, her arms high above her like a dancer. Qurrah cried out, thinking the magic would shred her to pieces, but instead it swirled around her body like a funnelstorm. The white faded to red, then to black.

From within, Qurrah heard laughter.

The tornado froze with a vicious tearing sound. All its magic pulled in on itself, folding and bending into a single black orb the size of a pebble. It hovered above Tessanna’s palm, which shook as she fought to control it. Shrieking, she hurled the volatile orb back at Mira.

Mira summoned her defenses, but when the pebble hit her translucent shield she knew her mistake. Pain sheared through her mind. A white flash marked the explosion, followed by a giant eruption of lightning and smoke and darkness. Her shield broke. Her tiny body flew off the wall. Haern was there in an instant, leaping through the air to grab her in his arms. With a thought, he teleported them to the ground and put her safely down.

“The gate,” Mira cried, struggling against the assassin’s arms which pinned her. “The gate, its vulnerable, the gate is…”

“The gate will break,” Haern whispered to her. “Whether you protect it or not. Will you break with it, or regain your strength to fight again?”

Before she could answer, the great roar of the lion filled the city. It felt as if it rose from the dirt beneath them, lifting the dust and blowing the hairs on their skin. In the sudden silence following, Mira accepted his wisdom.

“Get them away from the gate,” she said, pointing to the soldiers wedged in front of it. “Hurry.”

Haern helped her to her feet and then turned, seeking Antonil.

“Get them back!” he shouted, waving both his sabers above his head to gain the guard captain’s attention. “Antonil Copernus, I said get them back!”

T arlak and Aurelia watched as the hyena-men charged with frightening speed. The first volley by the archers fell far behind the coming force. The archers compensated for the speed for their second volley, killing twenty. Twenty, out of nearly nine hundred.

“Get them arrows out there,” Sergan shouted as he paced before the locked and barred gate. “You want us to throw open the city so I can show you how to kill?”

“That can be arranged,” Tarlak mumbled as the hyena-men spread apart to lessen the damage of the third volley. The makings of a fire spell was on his lips when Aurelia grabbed his wrist and stopped him.

“Velixar is out there,” she said. “If he knows where we are, he’ll counter. Wait for them to enter the city, where our magic will go unseen.”

“Spoilsport,” Tarlak said.

“Incompetent wizard,” she shot back.

“Orc lover.”

“Don’t make me polymorph you.”

The hyena-men slammed against the gate, their claws sharper and thicker than those of the bird-men. The soldiers inside the city shook from the combination of yipping, growling, and clawing on the other side.

“They’re just overgrown mutts, you pansies!” Sergan shouted to his ground troops. “And archers, I want empty quivers by the end of this battle. Now get to it!”

The arrows rained down on the hyena-men clawing at the gate, but when one fell, those behind it pulled it back and tossed it to the side. Using the bodies of their own dead, they built walls on either side of the gate. Then, to Tarlak’s shock, a squad of ten hyena-men came running forward with crudely cut planks of wood in their arms. They threw the planks atop the two walls of dead bodies. The hyena-men had to crawl underneath, but it worked. The archers could not reach the hyena-men that clawed against the gate, shredding the wood and twisting the iron behind it.

“That’s got to go,” Tarlak said. He glanced at Aurelia, who nodded in agreement.

“Make it fast,” she said. “And whatever you do, don’t make it flashy.”

Below them a hairy arm burst through the wood in between the straps of iron. It flailed around wildly, as if hoping a victim was near.

“This is going to be fun,” Harruq said from the front line. He ran up, both his swords drawn. With a single blow, he chopped the arm off at the elbow and kicked it to the side. Two clawed hands replaced it, prying at the wood to make the hole bigger. Harruq thrust both swords into the hole. They came back soaked in blood.

“That all you got?” he screamed to the other side of the door.

“Get back here, soldier,” Sergan shouted at him. “You want trampled the second that door knocks open?”

“But we’ve got to…”

Harruq stopped as a loud explosion rocked the outside of the gate. Smoke poured through the tiny hole along with the scent of burnt fur.

“Gate’s clear again!” he heard Tarlak shout. The archers resumed their firing.

“You want to fight at the front you do as I say,” Sergan commanded, to which Harruq shrugged and obeyed.

“Wizards get all the fun,” he grumbled as Tarlak and Aurelia pondered their next choice of attack.

A s the hyena-men clawed and tore at the door of the southern gate, the last remnants of the bird-men fled the battlefield. Most had been killed by arrows or Mira’s fire spell. Plenty crawled wounded along the ground, but none would come to aid them.

Velixar frowned in disgust.

“Such cowardly creatures,” he said. “But expected. Ashhur did create them.”

When the retreating bird-men reached the line of dark paladins and clerics they cried out for mercy. Instead the dark paladins butchered them with their weapons as did the clerics with their spells.

“Not a single kill to their name,” Qurrah said. “What a waste.”

“They will serve their purpose soon,” Velixar said. “But for now…”

The man in black closed his eyes and began casting. Qurrah had taken the fire of torches the hyena-men and bird-men carried and the display had been incredible. Velixar took the fire from his thousands of orcs under his command. The fire swirled into the air, forming a giant streaking comet. Velixar forked his hands as he concentrated, breaking the ball of flame in two. Each one curled around, smoke and fire trailing after as they careened for the barred gates of the city.

Antonil was still ordering his men back when the ball slammed into his gate, blasting apart the wood and melting the iron. A cloud of heat blew down the street, killing fifty of his soldiers that could not escape in time. Antonil slammed his sword against his shield, even as his men scattered and broke ranks.

“To me!” he shouted. “Form up! To me!”

With pure will, Antonil gathered his army and reformed their ranks before the shattered remnants of the gate. They saw the ring of servants of Karak, and behind, the horde of orcs with their banners waving in the morning sun.

“As long we hold breath our city will not fall,” Antonil shouted, ignoring the quaking fear in his heart. “As long as we hold firm, our enemy will break. Stand, men, stand!”

Lathaar held his sword high, as did Jerico with his shield. Their light shone across the soldiers, and as the two paladins prayed the soldier’s fear melted like snow within a fire.

“If your heart is with Ashhur, then death holds no sway against you!” Jerico shouted. “Accept the light and fight the darkness!”

Their fear was great, but the light was greater. Their ranks tightened. Their swords stopped their shaking. Ready to fight, ready to die, the men at the western gate waited.

A urelia prevented the attack from being the disaster it should have been. As the comet of fire burned through the hyena-men and slammed against the gate, she leapt from the wall. She had no time to levitate, no time to think. She collapsed from the impact, and her teeth bit down hard on her tongue. Head bent, blood in her mouth, she raised her hands and summoned a shield of magic. She prayed it would be enough.

The fire burst through, shards of wood and iron exploding inward. Aurelia screamed, unable to hold the shield. But then Tarlak summoned an enormous blast of air from the ground before her, pushing the fire and shrapnel to the sky. Harruq ran to her side, ignoring Sergan’s cries for order. As he sheathed his swords and took her into his arms, he saw hundreds of hyena-men yipping at him with hungry eyes. The gate was down, and their way was clear. Harruq ran to the side while the soldiers of Neldar collided with the claws and teeth of their attackers.

“I’ll protect her until she’s ready,” Tarlak said as he hovered down beside them with a levitation spell. “Get yourself into the fight.”

Harruq turned to the chaos of steel, fur, and muscle.

“With pleasure,” he growled.

He let out a roar, his adrenaline taking over. He charged the gate. Soldiers had surrounded the entrance so that any hyena-men who entered found a circle of steel waiting. The hyena-men were dying far more than the humans, but sheer numbers pushed them back. Then Harruq joined. He slammed his way past the Veldaren soldiers, having no fear for the claws of his enemy. Salvation and Condemnation drank freely as he sliced and chopped. He did not retreat as the other soldiers did. Instead he waded forward, slaughtering any who met his charge.

“Hot damn,” Sergan shouted, witnessing Harruq in action. “Now that’s fighting!”

Not willing to let the half-orc have all the fun, Sergan took his axe and rushed to his side. Together they hacked and chopped until they were at the rubble of the gate. The entrance was narrow, and only three could come at once. The room to maneuver diminished, it favored the two even more. The claws of the hyena-men were no match for the weapons that tore through them. Their thick hide was no match for the enchanted steel and well-sharpened edges that cut them.

“Get ready to fall back,” Harruq said through grit teeth as he disemboweled one hyena-man while stabbing the throat of another.

“Lead on,” Sergan told him.

The initial rush of hyena-men had been scattered and uneven due to the destruction of the fiery comet that had broken the gate. The archers had done their best to thin their attack, but now the hyena-men pressed forward as a single unit.

“Back,” Harruq yelled, turning and running into the city.

“Shields, now!” Sergan ordered, hot on Harruq’s heels. The two split once they were past the gateway. Rows of soldiers took their place, their shields locked together into a single wall. The hyena-men hurled themselves with wild abandon. The men screamed, their shoulders throbbing and their wrists aching. But they did not move. Men behind them pushed forward, aiding those who were weak or wounded. The hyena-men howled and tried, but their momentum was broken.

Atop the wall, the archers emptied their quivers, for with their enemy packed and unable to move, they couldn’t miss. The soldiers on the front started stabbing in between the shields, filling the street with blood. Harruq rejoined the two casters, knowing there was no place for him without a shield.

“You alright?” he asked his wife.

“Head hurts,” she said. She leaned against the wall. Tarlak was beside her, staring at the intense combat.

“Any spell we cast will hit our own,” he said. “Either that, or make our position known.”

“They’ll hold,” Harruq said.

“Good,” Tarlak said. “Because it’s going to get harder.”

As if on cue, the city shook from the roar of the lion, except this time the shaking did not stop. Harruq looked about, confused and worried.

“What the abyss?” he asked.

“No point staying hidden now,” Aurelia said, gingerly rising to her feet. “The orcs are coming.”

Harruq looked back at the row of soldiers guarding the door. About thirty had fallen, leaving less than two hundred to hold the gate. Several hundred hyena-men remained still, fighting and clawing with every ounce of their strength to enter. Of the thousands of orcs, if even half marched to their gate…

The half-orc charged the front line. Shield or no shield, he was going to fight, and he was going to kill, because the numbers they faced were about to get a whole lot bigger.