The Death of Promises

15

S tand firm!” Antonil shouted as the lion’s roar filled their ears. It’s effect was pitiful compared to the light of the paladin’s swords and shield. As it died, they felt the ground beneath their feet shake. The orc forces were charging. The guard captain positioned himself in the center of the first line. To his right was Jerico, his left, Lathaar.

“Antonil,” Jerico said. “Listen to me. When the orcs are a hair’s width from sword reach, we need to charge.”

“If we brace our shields then…”

“Guard captain,” Jerico said, pulling on Antonil’s shoulder to force him to meet his gaze. “Order your men to charge just before the strike. Trust me. Trust Ashhur.”

The coming horde roared and bellowed. Half broke south, a giant river of gray flesh and armor. Antonil whispered a prayer for Sergan and his men.

“I’ll trust you,” he said aloud when finished. “We’re all dead men anyway.”

“Not yet,” Lathaar said, overhearing the comment. “Not by a long shot.”

He held both his swords high and shouted out the word ‘Elholad.’ His swords flared brighter than any torch, sun, or star. Those who saw it knew no fear. They felt the sun on their skin for the first time, knew comfort in the weight of their armor and the strength in the grip they held on their swords. The orcs passed through the ring of priests and dark paladins, not daring to touch any even in their frenzy. Archers released their arrows, but it was like spitting on a bonfire.

“At my command,” Antonil shouted over the commotion, “I want you to charge as one. Do you understand?”

The soldiers shouted in unison.

The army closed the distance. Jerico stepped out from the front row and knelt to one knee. His shield leaned before him. Its light shimmered and swirled, as if a rainbow were trapped within the metal. The paladin closed his eyes and prayed.

The orcs were almost upon him. They funneled through the shattered ashes of the doors and into the giant gateway. Their axes and swords were drawn. Their mouths were open in mindless cries of bloodthirst. Jerico heard none of it. He felt his shield become weightless on his arm. He felt his heart stop. The whole world was silent. He opened his eyes. He felt his faith like a knife in his chest, unbreakable, immovable. In one smooth motion, he stood and pushed his shield against the air. A white image rammed forth, similar to his shield but larger and made of purest light.

Sound returned. The world resumed. Jerico watched as the glowing shield slammed the nearest orcs. They howled with pain, and every one toppled as if a hammer had struck their chest. Those behind tripped over them and died, trampled by the next wave of their comrades.

“Charge!” Antonil screamed. The men rushed forward, Lathaar and Antonil leading the way. Lathaar’s swords sliced through gray flesh. Antonil’s shield bashed and pushed, his sword cutting into any weakness. The orcs had no footing, no momentum. Those who funneled into the gateway died, their bodies becoming a barrier the rest had to climb over. And then Jerico joined them, his mace Bonebreaker more than living up to its name. He shattered the jaw of one orc, kicked his body back, and then crushed the skull of his replacement. Over a thousand orcs pressed and fought to enter the city but were held back by the front seven of Neldar.

“Fall back,” Antonil shouted. The horde were pulling away, preparing for another rush. Many were dragging bodies and dumping them to the sides so they could have a clear battlefront. A few tried to give chase and deny the soldiers a chance to flee, but then Haern appeared in the gap between the two armies, a wicked gleam in his eye. He spun through the orcs, his curved sabers slashing out tendons and throats as he passed. The orcs tried to converge on him but he leapt further away from the city. He descended upon the orc army like a storm cloud.

Once outside the gateway he had even more room to maneuver. He double stabbed one’s throat, then leapt into the air and jumped off his chest. He sailed over the orcs, his entire body rotating. Sabers slashed and cut eyes and faces. Those near his landing tried to flee. They died. When several rushed, hoping to bury him with numbers, he turned toward the gate and activated the magic of his ring, vanishing and reappearing past their blockade. He ran through the gateway, which was a bloodied mess. The rest of the soldiers were inside and in formation, while Jerico knelt once more, his eyes closed and his shield ready.

“What in the abyss was that, that…shield?” Lathaar asked Jerico. While the others around them were gasping for air, both paladins appeared to be only winded from the fight.

“Like that?” Jerico asked, his eyes still closed. A slight smile broke the corners of his lips. “I’ve done it only once, when I was alone.”

“Can you do it again?”

He looked to the orcs, who were snarled and lining up for another charge.

“I don’t know,” Jerico said. “I’ll try.”

Antonil ran through his ranks, pulling fresh men to the front. When done he ran back with his sword high and gleaming.

“Charge at my command!” he screamed.

“Yes sir!” The soldiers’ shouts were louder, heartier. They had withstood the first assault without nary a life lost. No longer did they feel they fought a hopeless battle.

“Get ready,” Lathaar said as he stepped back to the line. “They won’t be surprised this time around.”

“We don’t need surprise,” Haern said, blood covering his golden hair. “We have strength they can’t dream of.”

The orcs entered the gateway with their arms crossed and their weapons held in defensive positions, but it did no good. Jerico waited even later, hurling the magical shield into the gateway even as the orcs swung at his body. They flew back, screaming in pain. The ground became a tangled mess of limbs as they fell atop one another. Instead of charging, the orcs behind them retreated, wanting no part of that chaos. Lathaar and Haern attacked, giving them no quarter. Antonil raised his hand and held his army back, in case the orcs tried to assault. They didn’t. Glowing swords and sharpened sabers slashed through those who tried to stand and fight. Even those who lay in pain found steel piercing through their throats and eyes.

Lathaar reached the end of the gateway and stared out at the giant mass sent to kill them. The orcs glared and howled, but dared not move. The paladin raised his swords high, and he laughed despite the blood that soaked his armor.

“Is this the great army of Karak?” he shouted. “Is this the legion that will wipe life from this world?”

His words carried, and one man amid the host of orcs heard and was made furious.

“That damn pally just won’t die,” Krieger spat on the ground and drew his scimitars. Beside him, Carden drew his giant sword and watched the black flame surround it.

“Leadership through action,” the old man said. “Let us show our brethren the strength of Karak.”

Side by side the two dark paladins pushed their way through the orcs, the flame of their weapons filling all who saw it with fear.

T his is it?” Harruq shouted as he slammed the body of a hyena-man against the wall. Condemnation hacked off his head. Meanwhile, Salvation buried deep into the gut of another. The creature yipped and clawed the air. A twist of the sword finished it. All around him, men with shields charged forward, slashing at their enemies before falling back. Only Harruq remained where he stood, a bloodied behemoth towering over them. Claw marks marred his face and covered his arms, but their pain was insignificant. Side to side his swords swept, his long arms covering every inch of the gateway’s width. His swords glowed brighter from the blood that stained them.

The orcs were the only thing keeping the hyena-men fighting. Many tried to turn and flee, but a wall of flesh and swords pushed them on. Many never even fought back as Harruq slaughtered them. He didn’t care. He felt no guilt. His home was under attack, and he would defend it. Two claws slashed across his cheek. He tasted blood. In return, he slashed out the creature’s throat and spilled its intestines along the gore-slick ground. Another leapt onto his swords just so he could bite his neck. The others charged, thinking him vulnerable. Harruq screamed, louder and crazier than the dying hyena-man. He flung him away, his vision red and his pain distant. Those that thought him vulnerable found their claws cut from their hands, their teeth smacked from their jaws, and their lives rent from their bodies.

“Pull back, brute!” Sergan yelled to him from behind the wall of shields. “Pull back before you get your sorry ass killed!”

The half-orc kicked a body off his sword, knocking down two more behind it. He roared out in mindless primal fury. Soldiers stormed past him, locking together their shields so Sergan could grab and pull him further into the city. Harruq pushed the general back and walked inside, wiping some gore away from his eyes with his thumb. When he neared Tarlak and Aurelia, he sheathed his swords.

“How many?” Tarlak asked.

“Lost count,” Harruq said. The ground suddenly shifted on him, as if it was rumbling and bumping, but he was the only one to drop to his knees while the others looked on. He heard the other two talking, but their voices were strangely distant.

“He’s lost a lot of blood,” he heard his wife say.

“I’m fine,” he said.

“Where’s Calan?” Tarlak asked.

“I said I’m fine!”

The half-orc staggered to his feet and drew his swords. He knew it was morning, but the sky was darker, the city dark as well.

“We need more time,” Aurelia said. She ran to the gate, lightning crackling on her fingertips. Tarlak pulled on the back of Harruq’s armor. He tried to resist, but the ground betrayed him again. Salvation and Condemnation fell from his hands. The wizard sat down on his knees in front of him and took off his hat.

“Drink this up like a good little boy and we’ll let you kill more baddies, alright?”

Tarlak pulled a vial out of his hat like a petty magic trick. He popped the cork off the top, pried open Harruq’s lips, and shoved the silvery liquid down. The taste reminded him of somewhere, but he couldn’t place it…couldn’t…

He slipped into unconsciousness, still trying to remember.

A urelia watched as the last of the hyena-men fell to the swords of the Neldar troops. Orcs tried to drag away the dead, but the archers above fired volley after volley. The piles of bodies grew larger. In the momentary reprieve, Aurelia stepped just inside the shield wall.

“Kneel down,” she said. Sergan, recognizing her for who she was, ordered the front to their knees. “Keep them off me,” she said as she began her spellcasting. She had a small window in between the shoulders of the men to either side of her. She’d have to be careful. The orcs funneled into the gateway, ready to bury them in their numbers.

A bolt of lightning tore through their center, killing seven. A second took five more. Her hands stretched over the men’s heads, and from her fingers flew a hundred arrows of fire. Those that avoided her spells hurled their bodies at her, but the soldiers had seen her power. Three shields pelted one orc’s body as he tried to hack off the sorceress’s fingers. Another had two swords pierce his belly and hold him back as Aurelia flung a ball of fire through the gateway and into the mass of orcs. It exploded over fifty feet in diameter. Orcs shrieked and died.

“Roast ‘em!” one shouted beside her. The elf smiled amid her concentration.

“Sure thing,” she said, ten black orbs dripping from her fingers. She flicked her hands, and the orbs flew into the charging orcs. Each orb exploded when it struck flesh or armor, engulfing the hapless victim in fire. Faster and faster her spells came. She hurled a ball of ice over the wall, crushing two poor orcs underneath. Magical arrows buried into gray throats. Lightning blasted huge lines of them to the ground, but still they came. The soldiers pushed them back, one even flinging his arms in front of an axe strike so the elf could complete her spell.

“There’s too many!” Sergan shouted to her.

“Trust me,” Aurelia said. Her head pounded, her back ached, and her fingers felt made of lead. “I know!”

She made a ripping motion with her hands. A wall of fire stretched from the ground to the top of the city’s outer entrance. She cast the spell again, forming a second barrier of fire on the inner side. A few orcs howled as they were pushed into the fire to test its strength. Blackened and dead, they rolled out the other side.

Aurelia grabbed the shoulders of the nearest man and pressed her head against his chest. With eyes closed, she tried to gather her strength. She had used so much magic, it felt as if her eyes would melt out of their sockets and blood would seep from her ears.

“Well, hello,” the man said. “Always knew I’d sweep you off your feet one of these days.”

She opened her eyes to see the soldier she had collapsed against was actually Tarlak.

“Comfy?” he asked with a grin.

“You sure know how to ruin a good thing,” she said, pushing away from him. “Did you find Calan?”

“Aye, I did,” he said. “And I must say, they know how to have fun.”

Aurelia raised an eyebrow, but the wizard just shook his head.

“Either you’ll see it or I’ll tell you about it later. For now, how are things here? Nice fire walls, by the way.”

“We’re holding,” she said, rubbing her eyes with her fingers. “But once you and I are exhausted, and Harruq’s bled out every bit of strength he’s got, what then? They’re so many…”

“At least we have the archers,” Tarlak said.

“Yeah,” she said. “At least.”

V elixar said not a word as he watched the assault progress. Qurrah found it difficult to read his face, for every second the chin shifted higher, or the cheeks sunk lower, or the eyebrows changed color. His anger, though, was loud and clear.

“Ashhur has done well,” Velixar said. “Guided the strongest of this world to his side and then brought them to fight against us. But I have done the same, have I not?”

“We are ready to obey,” Qurrah said.

“I know,” Velixar said. “Kill the archers.”

Qurrah raised his hands and went over the words of a spell he had learned from Velixar’s journal. He had become a master of manipulating the bones of the dead, but the spell he was about to try was far beyond anything he had attempted before. Just before beginning the spell, he tried something new: prayer.

Aid me in this? Karak, he prayed. Prove to me your allegiance, and I will prove to you mine.

Words of magic poured from his lips. Hundreds of dead lay piled beside the two blasted gates of the city. Every single one was an entity he felt in his mind, their death lingering in anger. He harnessed the power of that death and then turned it on their broken bodies. His hands hooked and curled. The words came faster and faster. In the dark recesses of his mind, he heard the growl of the lion.

In one giant explosion, the bones of the dead tore into the air, numbering in the thousands. There they hovered while beneath them blood poured down like rain.

“Let death ride along the walls,” the half-orc whispered.

The bones swirled together, a storm of white and red. It started at the west. Like a floating meat grinder, it descended on the archers atop the walls. The bones pelted their bodies, tore across their skin, and shredded their flesh. From there it traveled south. Many archers leapt from the wall, accepting the broken bones in their legs or arms to the carnage they witnessed upon their brethren. By the time it reached the second gate, half of the archers had fled down ladders and steps. The other half died.

Qurrah was not done. He pulled the bone tornado higher, letting the blood and gore within it fall across the city. The tornado sucked in on itself, collecting into a giant grotesque ball of bone.

“Death is rain,” Velixar said, seeing what was about to happen. “Let them learn it.”

Qurrah slammed his fists together. The ball of bone exploded. The pieces pelted the city. The effect was dramatic. The stench of fear rose high from the city, and the necromancers drank it in with pleasure. Tessanna kissed Qurrah’s lips, giggling madly as she did.

“Do it again,” she said. “Break their buildings. Knock down the walls. Bones, Qurrah, the bones!”

The half-orc kissed her twice. “Perhaps later,” he said.

“One of the gates will fall soon,” Velixar said. “When that happens, the entire city will collapse.”

“What if too many die before then?” Qurrah asked. “You have the strength to sunder the walls, so why don’t you?”

The man in black laughed.

“Those who die will serve me in death just as well as they would serve me in life. Does it truly matter?”

“No,” Qurrah said, staring at the western gate and wondering if his brother was inside. “I guess it doesn’t.”

“As for the walls…the soldiers are here for a reason. They are to fight, and they are to die. I would not deny them their right. Besides, we must save our strength. Breaking Celestia’s will to open the portal to Thulos’s world will require everything, Qurrah, and then even more.”

Velixar gestured to the combat, his anger gone.

“Enjoy the battle. Enjoy the death. We have sown these seeds for centuries. Let us enjoy the reaping.”

T he smell of blood was overpowering as they neared the west gateway of the great wall surrounding Veldaren. This should have excited him, but the blood was not the intermixed carnage of battle. No, it was the stench of a massacre, and even worse, it was his army suffering the great loss of life. Worst of all to Krieger, the pathetic paladin Lathaar helmed the defense.

“This is no time for private duels,” Carden said to Krieger as they approached. With the archers dead or hiding after the bone tornado, they approached the sundered gate without worry. “The paladin’s death proves our strength, regardless the circumstances.”

“Then my failure to kill him showed Ashhur’s strength,” Krieger said. “Or does it not work both ways?”

Carden turned, his eyes burning with anger.

“You are the High Enforcer now,” he said. “Act it. Our enemies are strong and clever. We will overcome them by sheer faith and will, not by assumptions and ego. Draw your swords, paladin of Karak.”

Krieger did. Beside him, Carden raised his enormous sword, the dark fire visible throughout the battlefield. All around orcs gathered. Their bloodlust was high, and the sight of the fire heightened it further. If only they could get inside. If only the gateway defenders could be broken.

“Paladin of Ashhur!” Carden shouted. “Your kind is dead. Your god is fallen. Do you weep for your souls, knowing no arms wait to embrace you in death?”

Lathaar emerged from the line of shields inside the city, the glow on his swords strong. Krieger felt his blood boil at the sight of him. He should have killed him when he had the chance, he realized. He could have slaughtered him as a faithless, broken man in a backwater village. That was the fitting end for him, not some heroic last stand in the greatest battle of his life.

“Ashhur be damned,” Carden said, stirring him from his thoughts. “You were right. There is another.”

Jerico stepped beside Lathaar, and together they raised their holy armaments, their glow combining into an awesome display. Carden held his sword near his face, letting its dark fire absorb the painful glow.

“His name is Jerico,” Krieger said. “They are the last. We can eliminate their kind right here, right now.”

“We cannot draw them out,” Carden said. He turned to the orcs around them. “So we must meet them within. Orcs! Your cowardice ends now! You will charge, you will fight, and you will slaughter. Let the name of Karak sound from your lips!”

The force of his voice whipped them into a greater fervor. Krieger felt the authority in Carden’s voice and realized just how much he still had to learn and grow in his faith.

“Fight hard,” Krieger shouted, determined to fill the role he was given. “Break through the guards and you will have an entire city waiting. Pillage! Rape! Every sin, every vice, you can have it all!”

The orcs were screaming now, ready to tear apart their own kin to engage in battle. Krieger slammed his sabers together, the sparks showering around his enormous frame. As one, the dark paladins charged, the orc army hot on their heels.

“Let’s see how tough you are,” Jerico said, hurling another giant shield of light. Carden raised his sword and bellowed out the word ‘Felhelad.’ His sword became a blade of pure fire, its color darker than the night. When the shield of light approached he slashed the air, cutting it in two. A force struck the two dark paladins but they were not harmed and they were not held back.

“Ashhur be with you,” Jerico said to Lathaar as he stood to fight.

“You as well,” Lathaar replied. “Elholad!”

His swords became pure light, the counterpoint to the black fire that bore down upon them. Jerico raised his shield as Carden’s sword slammed against it. He had never felt a blow he could not withstand. He had never tried blocking a Felhelad. He screamed in pain, needing every bit of strength to hold back the sword. Anger fueled his determination, and then it was Carden’s turn to experience something he had never felt in all his long life: the holy retribution of Jerico’s shield. His Felhelad jerked back, pain stabbing his hands, shoulders, and stomach. The struggle had been mere seconds, but each one stared at his opponent with newfound respect.

Krieger bore down on Lathaar, his weapons also Felhelads.

“Did you miss me?” he shouted as his sabers connected with Lathaar’s swords. Crackling power swirled between them. Lathaar winced and pushed back.

“How’s your back?” he asked. He parried a thrust, stepped aside, and then blocked a vicious chop. Behind him soldiers of Neldar readied their shields and stepped forward. The orcs had arrived, howling bloody murder. They filled the gateway, pouring around the paladins. The formation of shields wavered. Antonil shouted and urged them on, wading deep into the river of gray, but his valiant efforts were nothing compared to the hundreds pressing in.

Jerico parried a sideswipe with his mace, whirled his weapon around, and struck Carden across the chest. He was strong, but the power from his faith was in his shield, not his weapon. The mace recoiled, the enchantments on the armor too tough for his weapon to break. The dark paladin saw this and laughed.

“Those who cannot kill will be killed,” he said, slamming his Felhelad against the glowing shield. Again they both recoiled, wounded by the exchange. Two orcs ran past Carden and leapt at Jerico, their axes swinging. Jerico blocked one, clubbed the second in the jaw, and then slammed his shield against the first. Three more moved to attack Jerico but Carden cut them down with one giant swing. Despite his lecture with Krieger, he was determined to finish off the stubborn paladin without interference. Black fire leapt around his fist, and shouting the name of Karak, he punched Jerico’s shield.

Jerico knew what Carden was doing. Several of the stronger paladins of Karak could harness their faith into a single blow that could shatter stone and fell trees. The stronger their faith, the stronger the blow. He knew Carden’s faith was immense. When the fist connected with his shield, he knew immense didn’t come close. The center of his shield bowed inward, the metal cracking and melting. His arm shook in spasms while his fingers locked open. His mouth opened in a scream that felt unending. The pain stretched beyond intolerable.

When Carden’s fist pulled back, Jerico collapsed to his knees.

“Still alive?” Carden said as he hefted his Felhelad in both hands and raised it for a killing blow. “Accept my respect as I remedy this.”

Down came the sword.

L athaar pressed the attack as the soldiers of Neldar made one last push to seal the gateway against the orcs. Krieger tensed his legs and braced against the powerful blows. He grit his teeth as his biceps throbbed under the strain. The dark paladin refused to budge when he reached the inner edge of the gateway, instead crossing both scimitars and locking Lathaar’s weapons together in their center.

“Your city is falling,” Krieger said as the veins in his neck bulged. “Your faith is a false hope to be extinguished. Karak is the true god. As you die, you will see the proof.”

Lathaar met Krieger’s stare without blinking. Human soldiers fought at his side, their coordination having beaten back the orcs to the broken gate. Screams of the wounded and dying filled his ears. As he poured his strength into his arms and swords, he saw the insanity lurking within Krieger’s eyes. All around, people were dying. Those he could aid. Those he could heal. Those he could protect with his swords.

“We don’t matter,” Lathaar said, the knowledge striking him like a hammer. He pulled back, slashed Krieger’s scimitars wide, and then rammed him with his shoulder leading. The dark paladin fell back, entangled in the horde of orcs behind him.

“Fighting to prove Ashhur’s faith is folly,” he said as Krieger slaughtered the hapless orcs that hindered his return to combat.

“Then why fight?” Krieger screamed as he slammed the hilts of his weapons together. The two interlocked when he twisted them, so that he held a long bladed staff instead of two separate scimitars. He twirled it in his hands as overwhelming rage burned in his heart. Several orcs tried to assault Lathaar, but Krieger beat them back, severing the head of one who did not react quickly enough. The paladin was his to kill!

“Thousands will die within these walls if I don’t,” Lathaar said, quiet enough to ensure the dark paladin did not hear. “That is all that matters.”

He slammed his Elholads together, the bright light blinding the orcs that stampeded into the city. The human soldiers had spread out, their tight line bulging into a semicircle that threatened to break with every passing moment. Only Lathaar stood in its center, no orc foolish enough to attack. Lathaar, however, did not care about his duel. He didn’t care about Krieger. All around were bringers of death, and he would end them. He spun, his swords cutting and slicing. Tens of orcs died as they tried to rush around him for the easier targets behind. Krieger lunged, twirling his staff as if it weighed nothing.

Lathaar batted aside his opening thrust, stepped closer, and slammed an open palm against Krieger’s chest. Ashhur’s voice was all he could hear. He didn’t know what it was he did, but when his palm touched the black metal of Krieger’s breastplate his vision turned white. Just as Carden had struck Jerico, Lathaar struck Krieger. The power hurled the dark paladin backward, through his troops of orcs and out of the city. Smoke drifted from the hole in his chestpiece. But Lathaar was not done. He sheathed his short sword and held the longer Elholad with both hands. Its blade stretched out another foot. It should have been unwieldy, but it was pure light, weighing nothing, killing everything.

A swipe to the right, and five orcs fell dead. A swipe left, and six more died. He whipped the blade around, cutting off the legs of a charging orc, and then slammed his Elholad to the ground. A shockwave of holy power lanced into the gateway, slicing through flesh and armor like butter. The orcs engaged with the humans, having lost their reinforcements, collapsed and fled. Shields pressed into the entrance, the Veldaren soldiers creating tight formations. Lathaar spun and saw the other dark paladin towering over Jerico as if he were a conquered prize.

“Jerico!” he shouted as he charged after Carden. The dark paladin was surrounded by soldiers of Neldar. The long black sword swirled around, slicing through shields and armor, but Antonil and his men did not let him rest, nor to score a killing blow upon Jerico. Time and time again he would swing his sword in a full circle, knocking away all who neared, and then try to stab the blade into Jerico’s chest. Each time Jerico lifted his shield and blocked the blow. The shield’s glow had faded, and he looked beyond exhausted, but he was stubbornly alive.

“Cowards,” Carden shouted to the men who encircled him. “Will none of you stand to fight, or will you flee like diseased dogs?”

Antonil thrust at Carden’s back, but he had been baited. Carden was ready. The enormous length of his blade should have severed his head and sent it rolling through the street, but the Felhelad stopped. Lathaar protected him, sparks exploding between them as their blades collided.

“Your faith isn’t enough to challenge me, boy,” Carden said.

“Ashhur thinks otherwise.”

They pulled back and swung again. At the collision of their god-blessed blades, orcs and men alike shielded their eyes against the light. Lathaar and Carden pushed against each other with all their strength, locked in a stare of death. Whoever blinked, whoever faltered, would die.

“The city falls,” Carden said through clenched teeth. “No heroism will save it.”

“Shut up already,” Jerico said as he swung his mace from his prone position. Bonebreaker struck Carden’s ankle, bent in the metal, and then touched flesh. The magic within activated, and Carden screamed as the bones in his foot shattered. Antonil leapt in, thrusting his sword through the exposed gap in the armor underneath Carden’s arm. Blood soaked his sword, but before he could twist it the dark paladin spun. His giant blade batting them all away like insects. But as the blade spun around, Haern appeared directly before Carden, a wicked grin on his face. He sliced his sabers across the sides of Carden’s neck, severing an artery before somersaulting away.

Lathaar saw the blood, saw the pain, and knew his opponent beaten. In one single move, he spun a full circle and swung. The momentum and power pushed aside Carden’s last attempt to block. The Elholad melted his armor, cut through his arm, and cleaved his body in two. The black fire around the Felhelad vanished.

Outside the gate, Krieger shrieked in mindless fury.

W hat is the matter?” Qurrah asked. Velixar’s face had grown ashen in a rare expression of sorrow.

“Ashhur has always been bitter in defeat,” Velixar said. “Two of my dearest friends are dead. Still, we have not entered the city.”

“Are you sure we can’t play yet?” Tessanna asked, smiling and batting her eyes like a child. Meanwhile, a dark paladin rode up on horseback and saluted Velixar.

“A spellcaster has formed twin walls of fire at the southern gate,” he said. “Their forces are ready to break, but we have no means to combat the magic.”

“So damn stubborn,” Velixar said, a bit of frustration leaking into his voice. Qurrah kissed Tessanna’s lips and then bade the dark paladin to give him a ride.

“You cannot go,” Velixar said. “You are too valuable. The portal must be opened, and if you are killed…”

“If I am killed,” Qurrah said, “then I never had the strength to aid you in the first place. Our armies are dying. There is no honor in this, not for either side. Let death come swift.”

The dark paladin waited for a sign from Karak’s greatest prophet. After a moment, Velixar nodded.

“So be it,” he said. “The south gate is yours. Return the moment our minions enter the city.”

Qurrah bowed. The horse turned and rode for the south entrance.

“So few,” Tessanna said, laughing at the man in black. “All our numbers, all our power, and we are held back by so very few.”

“Valiant efforts disgust me,” Velixar said. “The west gate is yours to destroy. Let in our troops however you see fit.”

Tessanna beamed and blew him a kiss. “I knew you’d let me have my fun,” she said.

She eyed the city as her breathing quickened and her pulse raced. Fire consumed many buildings. The smoke floated in a gentle breeze. Somewhere within was her reflection. Mother had told her to shatter her reflection, and she would obey. The pleasure in the imagining was overwhelming. But the men at the gate with their shields and swords were keeping her from her pleasure.

“Blood is a strange thing,” she said. Her fingers crossed. Magic leapt out of her like a river. A hundred orcs lined before the gate lurched and howled as their blood exploded out their bodies. The blood flowed through the air in rivers, pooling above the ground as Tessanna held it firm in her mind. “It is our life, and at its loss we die…but no other substance in our world holds so much magic and desire for death. Well, other than you, Velixar.”

The blood sank to the ground. It grew thicker, stronger, congealing and reshaping as necessary. From the great pool three forms stood, each with feminine features. They had no eyes, but they did not need them. They could sense the blood of their foes. Tessanna shook her fingers, and strange words poured faster and faster from her mouth. The beings grew larger, drawing in the blood from which they formed. Soon they were five times the size of a normal man. Around their heads blood congealed into long ropes of hair that flowed down to their ankles. Although they had no eyes, they did have mouths, and each one opened and let out a shriek that pierced the sounds of battle.

“You must teach me that spell,” Velixar said as he watched in awe.

“Blood elementals,” Tessanna said as she smiled. “Aren’t they beautiful?”

The elementals marched toward the gateway where Antonil’s men stood horrified. The two paladins rushed the front and stood side by side. Haern, however, had other plans. He weaved through the ranks of the soldiers to Mira, who sat resting against a wall.

“You’re needed,” Haern said to her.

“Haern,” she said. “Will you protect me?”

He took her hand. “Until death, my lady. Now come.”

The first of the blood elementals neared the entrance. It was taller than the walls, but rather than duck inside the gateway it struck with its fists. The stone cracked and crumbled. A second stepped beside it and rammed its shoulder against the wall. Soldiers dove back as the gateway collapsed in on itself. At first it appeared the rubble would still hold them at bay, but then the three grabbed chunks of stone and hurled them away.

Antonil stood at the front of his soldiers as the first elemental stepped through the wall and into the city.

“Can these things be killed?” he asked Haern.

“Everything can be killed,” the assassin replied. “Be brave. Your men need it.”

Mira raised her hand to the air, a tiny pebble of light swirling inside her palm.

“Demon elemental,” she shouted. “Be gone from my sight!”

It raised its foot to crush her. The light shot from her palm, leaving a trail of red in its wake. When it hit the skin of the elemental it pierced through, traveling up its leg to its waist before exploding. The thing shrieked as it was severed in two, its upper body collapsing in a shower of blood. The legs toppled in the gateway. The magic holding the elemental together was broken. Streams of red poured across the feet of the soldiers. The second elemental stepped inside, bellowing in rage. Mira raised her hand, and another white pebble formed across her palm. The elemental, however, grabbed an enormous chunk of stone and hurled it at her. Mira released the light, shattering the stone into a giant rain of pebbles. Clanks and pings filled the air as the stone fell upon armor and shields.

Before Mira could prepare, a piece of the wall hurled through the air toward her.

“Get back!” Haern shouted. He took Mira in his arms and leapt aside. The rock smashed where she had been then continued, crushing several soldiers in its path. The elemental passed through the wall and into the city. At Antonil’s command, his soldiers charged, hacking at the elemental’s legs and feet. The swords cut through the thick dried layer that made up its skin and released the blood swirling inside. It poured over them all in sheets, coating their armor and weapons.

The thing let out a shriek, a strange sound akin to a wounded bird of prey. Furious, it slammed its fists to the ground, crushing men in their armor, then kicked a soldier so hard he flew through the air and landed atop a house. Two more it hurled back to the orc army. Still the cuts grew in number, biting into its skin and keeping it at bay.

Haern put Mira down far to the side of the entrance. The blood elemental was still visible, fighting against soldiers that came up only to its knees.

“It’s just blood,” the girl said as she watched the fight. “Just blood.”

Fire enveloped her hands. She unleashed her power in a stream of flame, its width greater than the length of her own body. The stream arced as if shot from a cannon, striking the elemental in the chest at the height of its ascent. The elemental shrieked, its skin hardening into long black strips that fell from its body. Jerico slammed his shield against its leg, and then it went down. Antonil led the rest, hacking and cutting its body as it lay vulnerable.

The last elemental picked up giant rocks in each hand and hurled them at the soldiers slaughtering its sister. Both pieces shattered in the air, broken by unseen magic. Lathaar glanced down the street, and his heart lifted at the sight.

Marching in rows of five were the priests of Ashhur, their hands to the air and holy power crackling around them. Swords made of light sliced across the elemental’s chest, face, and arms. It took a step forward, but Mira blasted it with a ball of fire. Antonil called back his men, knowing their part was over. More holy power washed over the creature, sundering Tessanna’s hold upon it. With one last shriek, it crumbled. Blood showered down upon the gore-covered dirt.

“No celebrating yet!” Antonil shouted, running through his troops and forcing them to line up. “Form ranks, form ranks, the city is vulnerable!”

What had once been a chokehold was now a giant opening in the wall. Rows of orcs were raised their banners to Karak and cheered.

“Antonil Copernus!” one of the priests shouted from the formation. Calan stepped out and beckoned the guard captain to him.

“My gratitude for your aid,” Antonil told the old priest, “but the orcs are about to charge and…”

“I know,” Calan said, interrupting him. “Listen to me. Our wall has been breached. The city is lost. Take the king and flee. There are ways out to the King’s Forest from the castle. The soldiers, peasants, the children…take them with you.”

“Who will hold the wall?”

Calan gestured to his priests. “We can hold them for a time. Take your men and do what must be done to preserve the lives of our people.”

Antonil glanced to the orc horde. He was terribly outnumbered, with a paltry force left to hold the opening. And once they fell, the city was doomed. Everything inside him hated the thought of fleeing, but he knew more was at stake than his pride.

“I will take my soldiers to the king,” he told the priest. “Hold as long as you can.”

Calan nodded, and he put his hand on the man’s shoulder.

“You are a good man, a good leader,” he said. “The people will need you in the coming months. Be strong for them.” He turned back to the priests and raised his hands high above his head. “Let our voices be heard by Ashhur, and let our faith be a shield against the coming darkness,” he prayed.

Calan turned back to the broken wall, braced his legs, and held out his left hand. Behind him the rest of the priests did the same. They closed their eyes, bowed their heads, and gave themselves to Ashhur. A white beam flew from each of their palms, collecting together into a massive stream. It bubbled outward, through the gap in the wall, and out into the field. There it turned back in on itself, sealing the shattered gateway away from Velixar and his horde.

“Soldiers of Neldar,” Antonil shouted. “To the castle!”

The Eschaton there gathered together, watching the remaining troops march east.

“He doesn’t believe we can hold now the gateway is destroyed,” Lathaar said.

“He is right,” Haern said. “The priests will hold them at bay until their strength fades. They are buying us time.”

“What do we do?” Jerico asked.

“Follow him,” Lathaar said. “Until we know more, we follow.”

They did, even as the orcs hacked at the white shield with their weapons, ignoring the pain it gave them, for they too knew the shield could not last forever.

Once it fell, the city was theirs.