The Death of Promises

16

Q urrah eyed the fire with mild amusement. It was a simple barrier of flame that would burn for hours in a thick line, but inside the cramped gateway it was lethal. The orcs parted for him, recognizing his power and station. Only one did not move, and it was Gumgog, waiting for him with his real arm and his giant club arm crossed across his chest.

“I tried smothering the fire with orcs,” Gumgog said. “But they just burned. Waste of orcs. You gonna put it out?”

Qurrah chuckled at the Warmaster.

“Yes. I will put it out. Keep back your horde until I say it is safe, understood?”

“Alright,” Gumgog said. “You got some orc blood, so you be trustworthy, eh?”

Qurrah said nothing as he approached the fire. To his right he saw an orc crawling toward his army. His legs had been crushed by an ice boulder from Aurelia. He was in pain, but he was alive.

“ Kerlem frau spevorr! ” Qurrah shouted, stretching out five fingers. The orc shrieked as horrendous pain spiked up his back. Qurrah’s hand shook, magic pouring out his fingers. Blood spurted out the orc’s lower back. His tailbone tore through the flesh. The orc’s shrieks grew louder as his ribs cracked and his muscles tore. With a cry of victory, Qurrah lifted his hand high. The spinal cord ripped out the orc’s body, dripping blood and gore. The shrieks ended. With a word of magic, Qurrah lit the spine and skull aflame, burning it clean.

“To me,” Qurrah said, beckoning with his fingers. The spine floated to his hand. He held it like a staff. Those who had watched the spectacle cheered and howled, not caring for the loss of one of their own, only thrilled by the awesome display of power. Both hands clutching the staff, Qurrah approached the fire. It burned strong, and it was so thick he could not see through it. He had an idea what awaited him on the other side. Aurelia or Tarlak protected the gate, perhaps even both. If he banished the fire, they would just recast the spell. He would have to defeat them, despite what Velixar might say.

Fifty feet from the fire, he slammed the bottom of the staff against the ground. A wave of counter-magic streaked toward the gate, invisible to the naked eye. The two walls of fire sputtered and died. The orcs cheered, but Qurrah did not move, nor did he give signal to attack.

Aurelia stepped into the gateway, her staff in her left hand. She glared at Qurrah but said nothing. Qurrah felt a chill at the sight of her, but he also felt excitement lifting the hairs on his neck. He could kill her. He would kill her. No guilt would claw at his throat. He let no worry eat his insides. Aurelia would die.

The elf hurled a lance of ice from her right hand. Qurrah struck it with the skull of his staff. The lance shattered into harmless frost and snow. He threw a bolt of shadow into the entrance. Aurelia summoned a magical shield, and his attack splashed and dissipated against it. Lightning sparkled on her fingers. With both hands, she clutched her staff and lunged the bottom half at him. From the wood, a giant beam of yellow streaked straight for Qurrah. He clutched his bone staff and slammed the ground. Another wave of counter-magic flowed, defeating the beam.

His pale fingers caressed the skull of his staff, coercing the magic out. The jaw clattered, and a haunting laughter came from within. Twenty orange and red balls shot from the eyes, dancing and twirling in the air before shooting straight for Aurelia. The elf leaned against her staff and summoned her shield. The orange balls exploded into fire and ash, each one sapping a bit more of her strength. When the last exploded, they stared at one another, neither saying a word.

Tarlak stepped beside her from within the city. Fire swirled around his hands. A ball of flame seared through the air, but Qurrah hooked his hands and stole control of it. The fire turned away from him and headed straight back at Tarlak. The mage crossed his hands and spread his fingers. A magical ward against fire surrounded his body, so that when the flame struck he felt little of its heat. Smoke filled the gateway, and for a brief moment Qurrah could not see the spellcasters. Then two blasts of magic, one fire, one ice, shot through the smoke, both in thick beams the size of his body. The fire Qurrah merely sidestepped, letting it kill several behind him. The ice he detonated early with a piece of bone from his pocket.

Qurrah whispered words of magic, letting the dark power flow from his tongue. Ten orcs collapsed and died, the bones from their bodies tearing through their flesh and into the air. They flew in a river toward the gateway, dripping blood. Aurelia created a wall of ice to protect them, but Qurrah blasted a hole in its center with a wave of his hand. The bone pieces shot through, striking her skin. Tarlak leapt in front and slammed his hands to the ground. A shockwave rolled outward, destroying the rest of the ice wall and turning the bone pieces to chalk. Before either could muster an attack, Qurrah hurled a wave of counter-magic with his staff. Both were knocked back, an alien feeling overcoming them as all magic was temporarily denied from their bodies. As the wave passed, Qurrah approached, for he could see how little strength they had left to fight him.

“Why?” Tarlak asked as he neared. “What honor is in this? What justice? What reason?”

“No honor,” Qurrah said, washing another wave of counter-magic over them. “No justice. Punishment for a city that banished me. Vengeance against those who sought to kill me. Retribution against those who turned my brother against me. That is what I bring.”

Harruq stepped in front of the gateway. He leaned against the side as if his legs could barely support him. He looked groggy and dazed, as if he had just awaken from a sleep.

“No one turned me against you,” he said to his brother. “You did that yourself. You’re a slave of Karak now, nothing more.”

Qurrah laughed. He spread his arms wide, clutching his bone staff with one hand. It seemed the entire wall shook with his laughter.

“I am no slave!” he said. “And I am no servant! Do you know what I am, brother? Do you know?”

Harruq watched as Qurrah’s eyes flared red, first once, then twice. It was like watching the first gentle flames of a fire kindling. Harruq knew those eyes. He knew that glow.

“I am Karak’s left hand,” Qurrah said, his hissing voice washed over by a deep, rumbling sound of foreign power. “I am his fire, and I will burn everything I touch.”

His eyes shone a fierce red, glowing even in the morning light. Running down scars underneath his eyes were constant streams of blood that burned aflame, like the tears of a demon.

Aurelia unleashed a barrage of lightning, but Qurrah caught its power with one hand, collected it in a ball inside his fist, and then hurled it back. She screamed in pain as the last of her magical wards broke. She flew back, badly burned. Her thin form crumpled in the street. Sergan’s soldiers swarmed over her, their shields raised to protect her from any more harm. Furious at the sight, Tarlak tried to cast a spell of fire, but a flash of red from the skull’s eyes blinded him and scrambled his thoughts. Before he could resume, bone pieces slammed against his forehead and neck, beating him back.

Only Harruq stood against him. Qurrah looked at his brother with eyes that were not his own.

“You did not kill me when you had the chance,” he said. “Somewhere within you is the desire to stand at my side. Join me. Velixar dreamt of you leading his armies. It is not too late.”

Salvation and Condemnation shook in Harruq’s hands. Sadness and rage whirled inside him, greater than Qurrah would ever know.

“You believe no one can change,” Harruq said. “But you’re wrong. You know nothing of me. Be gone from my home.”

He slammed his swords into the sides of the gate. Stone shattered and broke. He struck the left wall with both his blades. The foundation shook.

“Die in darkness, brother,” Qurrah said, a beam of black magic shooting from his right hand. Harruq screamed, his rage inside burning. He crossed his arms and let the blow hit. He felt the magic strike his skin but he did not care. He would not succumb to it. He would not fall, even if all the world came crashing down on his shoulders. White lightning crackled from his weapons. Qurrah saw him resisting. He poured all his strength into his spell. Harruq’s entire body shook, and Qurrah thought him ready to fall, ready to die, but he was wrong.

“I am not the weaker!” Harruq screamed. He pushed back the magic. His arms flung wide, and inside the gateway a sound like thunder shook the Tun brothers. Salvation and Condemnation struck the stone walls at either side, and through the stone a shockwave rumbled, blasting away its foundations. The evil spell flew back from Harruq and assaulted Qurrah. He felt the pain sweep across his body. The force of it knocked him back, and he flew through the air as the gateway crumbled in on itself. When he hit the ground his body writhed in pain, from both the spell and the fall, but Qurrah’s thoughts were far away. All he could focus on was how in those last few moments Harruq’s eyes had shimmered gold.

H arruq!” Tarlak screamed as the gateway collapsed. Dust billowed everywhere, and he closed his eyes against the sting. As it settled, he saw Harruq standing before the rubble, his swords held at his sides. His entire body was lifting and falling with his breathing. Every muscle was taut. He looked like a paragon of strength, and Tarlak was awed by the sight of it. When Harruq sheathed his swords and turned, the image vanished.

“Where’s Aurelia?” Harruq asked. He noticed the look Tarlak was giving him but misunderstood its meaning. “Where is she?” he demanded.

“She’s here, lad,” Sergan said, pushing aside the soldiers that still guarded her with their shields. “A little burned, but she’s breathing.”

Harruq rushed over and took her into his arms. Her dress was blackened across the front, and ugly burns marred her chest. Her eyes were closed, but her breathing was soft and constant. As he brushed the side of her face with his fingers, Tarlak cast a spell across the rubble, covering it with a thin sheet of ice.

“Let’s see you climb up that,” he said. He took off his hat and reached inside, frowning as he did. He had stashed a wide assortment of potions in his mad dash through his tower, but wasn’t sure of how many. Four? Five? More? From within his hat he pulled out a single healing potion and sighed.

“Good enough,” he said. He knelt beside Harruq and offered it to him.

“Thanks,” the half-orc said. He twisted off the cork and gently tilted it against Aurelia’s lower lip. At first she coughed, but Harruq was persistent. He covered her mouth with his hand, and when her coughing died she swallowed the rest on instinct. The burns on her chest lost their angry red. Her eyes fluttered open.

“Where…is he still here?” she asked.

“Qurrah’s outside,” Harruq said. “I sent him away.”

“Good,” Aurelia said, closing her eyes and leaning against his chest. “I’ll sleep here for awhile then.”

Sergan placed his soldiers in front of the crumbled gateway in case any orcs tried to climb over. This done, he hefted his axe onto his shoulder and stood beside the Eschaton.

“So what now?” the old veteran asked.

“Rest,” Tarlak said. “You won’t get many chances. Hop atop the wall and see how the other gate fares.”

Sergan motioned for one of his men to climb atop and see. When the man returned, he looked baffled.

“It looks like a web is covering the entrance, sir,” the soldier said. “It’s white and it glows. Damned if I know what it is.”

“Some sort of magic protecting the entrance,” Tarlak said. “Consider it good. Keep your men sharp, and be ready for anything. Who knows what Qurrah and his minions might do to enter.”

Sergan moved away, leaving the Eschaton by themselves. As Aurelia rested, the mage scratched his head and looked at the half-orc.

“Do you know what you just did back there?” he asked.

“Aye,” Harruq said. “I did something I don’t understand. Clear enough for you?”

“Not even close. You toppled the wall with your swords alone. We both know, enchanted or not, your swords don’t possess that strength.”

“What are you saying, Tar?”

Tarlak plopped down beside them. “I’m saying I have no clue what I just saw, Harruq, but it scared me to death.”

“Yeah,” Harruq said, looking down at Aurelia so he didn’t have to face Tarlak’s inquisitive gaze. “To tell you the truth, it scared me too. But I knew what I was doing. I just knew. And for one moment there, just one moment, everything felt right.”

Tarlak paused, a strange worry churning in his gut. “We have to get to the center,” he said.

“What? Why?” Harruq asked.

“Trust me on this, alright? We need to go!”

The half-orc lifted Aurelia into his arms and nodded. “Lead on.”

They left Sergan to guard the remains of the gateway as they hurried north.

Q urrah returned to Velixar with his head hung low. Another dark paladin had offered him a ride back, which he took ungratefully. When he dismounted he knelt before Velixar and offered his apologies.

“I failed you, my master,” he said. “The southern gate is sealed off with rubble. My brother defeated me.”

“Stand, Qurrah, it is no matter.” Velixar gestured to the white shield summoned by the priests of Ashhur. “Do you know what you see? A last desperate measure by a dying city. The wall is broken, the way into the city clear. It is now just a matter of time. When their strength fails, we will push through. And fail it will.”

Velixar waved his hand over his throat, casting the spell with but a thought. When he spoke, he spoke not to those around him but to the entire city.

“People of Neldar,” he said. “Your walls have fallen. Your last measures are failing. Your army has abandoned you to death. I am the word of Karak. I am his witness, his prophet, and his sword. Fall to your knees and worship the true god and you will live. Ashhur has not abandoned you, for you were never in his care. Cast aside your delusions. Worship Karak. Cry his name. Seek his forgiveness. If you do not, then you will die by the sword, and you will not rest. Your corpse will rise, and even in death you will serve. Choose, people of Neldar. Service in life, or service in death. You have no other choice.”

Velixar smiled and ended the spell.

“I have long waited to give that speech,” he said. “And it was as glorious as I had always hoped. Order Gumgog to bring his troops to the western gate. Our victory is near.”

A ntonil rushed up the steps of the castle. The guards stationed there threw open the door so he could enter. He marched down the carpeted hall, feeling a strange anger at the luxury around him. He was covered in blood, and his boots left red footprints across the carpet. He took off his helmet and held it in his hand. In his other hand he held the hilt of his sword as it swayed in its sheath. Sitting on his throne, still wearing the ungainly gold armor, waited King Edwin Vaelor of Neldar.

“Your highness,” Antonil said as he bowed on one knee. “We must get you to safety. The walls will soon be breached. There are tunnels to the forest, and from there we can flee to Felwood castle.”

At first Vaelor only stared at Antonil as if he were staring at a half-finished puzzle.

“You wish us to flee,” the king said at last. “You would let them plunder our city while we cowered in the woods. I will not be a beggar king. Lord Gandrem would sooner hold me prisoner and retake Neldar in his name after the orcs are slaughtered.”

Antonil felt his cheeks flush red. He could feel the heat of his anger baking off of him.

“It is either that or death, my lord,” he said.

“Is that a threat?” The king stood, towering over Antonil because of the raised platform his throne rest upon. “We will die fighting and in glory, not hiding. Is your spine so soft, you coward?”

At one time Antonil might have felt intimidated, but now he felt only fury.

“You bathe in scented oils and perfumes,” he said, rising to his feet. “I have bathed in the blood of my friends and foes, yet you call me a coward?”

“How dare you speak to me in such a manner!”

Antonil put his helmet back on his head and glared at the pathetic man before him.

“I will save as many lives as I can and then flee this city of tombs. I swore to protect Neldar, and so I shall.”

“Then you are a traitor to the crown,” King Vaelor shouted. “How dare you commit such treason?”

Antonil turned and pulled the crown from Vaelor’s head. In one smooth motion he placed it on the ground and then smashed it with his sword. Gems broke from the gold and rolled across the floor. He grabbed the king by the top of his armor and pulled him close so that he could smell the stink of blood on him.

“There is no crown,” Antonil said. “And the blame is yours.”

He stormed out of the castle. As he marched down the steps, the king rushed out, screaming at his guards.

“Seize him,” he shouted. “He is a traitor, a coward. I demand you execute him!”

Antonil stopped and glared at the two guards. They looked between one another, their swords wavering unsteady in their hands.

“I will not spare your lives,” Antonil said. “Lower your weapons.”

To the king’s horror they did as they were told and then joined Antonil in their march away from the castle. Vaelor returned inside, closing the giant doors on his own. It was the last time Antonil would ever see him.

T he priests’ shield was weakening. It no longer harmed those that struck it, so Trummug had every orc in his army hurling his weapon at the shimmering white magic. Velixar laughed, enjoying every second.

“Let the dead rise,” he whispered. Karak’s power flooded his being. He shouted out the words of his spell. Over a thousand dead bodies of orcs, hyena-men, and bird-men rose from the ground, held sway by his command. A chill swept through Qurrah at the sight.

“Beautiful,” Tessanna whispered.

In his joy, Velixar could wait no longer. A solid black beam shot from his hands and into the white shield, which flickered and bowed inward against the barrage. The ground shook as the priests’ last protection for the city broke. The orcs needed no command. Into the city they poured, where the priests waited. Their strength was spent. Their role was played. They raised their arms to the sky and let the axes fall, knowing the Golden Eternity waited for them.

Velixar gave his last warning to the city.

“Your walls are breached. Your city is lost. Come out of your homes and kneel. Cast aside your weapons, your faith, and your lives. Serve Karak as you were always meant to serve.”

The thousand undead shouted the name ‘Karak’ in perfect unison, the sound horrifying to every soul within the walls. Velixar cast one last spell on his orc army. They heard his voice in their ears, and the power of his command was great. Those that kneeled, lived. Those that did not, died. The orcs obeyed. The slaughter began. Those hiding behind locked doors and barred windows lived as long as the barricades held, which under the biting axes and raging muscle of the horde, was not long. In minutes, the entire west side of the city was filled with blood and the cries of the dying.

S hit,” Harruq said as he heard Velixar’s message. All around were the people of Neldar. They were terrified, and every one was filled with an instinct to flee. They had nowhere to go, no safe haven. And then they started kneeling. More than half cast down what meager weapons they had and kneeled. A few prayed. Others just waited for death.

“Cowards!” Harruq screamed to them. “Karak brings you nothing! He’s no savior. He doesn’t know mercy!”

“They’re just scared,” Aurelia said. “Put me down, Har.”

He did as he was told. The sight of so many on their knees filled his blood with anger. How many had died to protect their lives? Would they blaspheme against the sacrifice made for them by their worship of a death god?

“Aurry,” Harruq asked, “can you make my voice loud, like his?” He gestured west, toward the general direction Velixar’s voice had come.

“I can,” Tarlak said. “What you have in mind?”

“We go east,” he said. “And we go fast.”

He ran down the street, not caring if they caught up. His heart was racing. He could hear it throbbing in his ears. All about men, women, and children were opening their doors and kneeling. He wanted to shout and curse their names, but he did not. There were those loyal to Ashhur, he knew. He would call them to him. Those with the will to live. Those with the courage to fight.

Since the eastern side had no gate, and therefore no traffic, the more wealthy had built their homes within. Harruq watched as the homes grew nicer and the streets better cared for. At the end of the road he saw the wall, looming high above the homes. A glance behind him showed Tarlak and Aurelia both running after. When he reached the wall he stopped, not the least bit winded.

“Cast the spell,” he said. Tarlak glared, still trying to catch his breath. He put his hand on Harruq’s neck and then muttered the spell. The half-orc felt a tingle in his throat and assumed it ready. He sheathed his swords, cupped his hands to his mouth, and began shouting.

“People of Neldar! Come to the east gate! If you want to live, if you want to fight, then here is your salvation. Come east! Come east!”

He turned back to Tarlak and nodded. The mage snapped his fingers, ending the spell.

“So,” Harruq said. “You two ready to make us a gate?”

He backed away as the two casters put their hands upon the stone. They muttered amongst each other, picking a spell to cast in unison. When decided, they began. Words of magic flowed from their lips. The wall shook as invisible waves assaulted the stone. Harruq watched as Aurelia grimaced, pain etched on her every feature. His heart ached at the sight. Their spell finished. The stone exploded outward, leaving a giant gap in the wall. Six men could walk side by side through if their shoulders touched.

The last of the rubble had not yet hit the ground when Aurelia collapsed to her knees. Harruq drew his swords and let her be. He faced the west. The road was broad. Many people could travel through. How many would come, though? How many?

“I’ll be fine,” Aurelia said as Tarlak helped her to her feet. “My head, I just can’t think straight, I can’t…give me a moment.” She leaned against the wall and closed her eyes. Tarlak rubbed his temples, knowing how she felt. Near the end he had almost fainted. He doubted he could throw a fireball larger than his thumb.

“So we guard our new gate,” Tarlak asked as the first few survivors came running toward them.

“ I guard our new gate,” Harruq corrected. “You two aid the refugees. They’ll need protected.” To emphasize this, he pointed to the ring of dark paladins and clerics that encircled the city. “They’ll kill any that try to cross.”

More people arrived. They held little, a few random provisions or possessions dear to them. The death and carnage on the opposite side of the city seemed worlds away.

“You be careful,” Aurelia said, kissing Harruq before taking Tarlak’s hand.

“Don’t do anything dumb,” Tarlak said, tipping his hat. The two followed the fleeing civilians out. Harruq did not watch them go. He didn’t want the distraction, nor the worry. Blades in hand, he watched for the first of the orcs to arrive, all the while screaming above the crowd.

“Come east! Come east!”

C ome east?” Velixar asked as he heard Harruq’s rallying cry.

“There is no east gate,” Qurrah said. “Has he lost his mind?”

Once the entire orc army had funneled inside the city, Velixar ordered his undead to enter. They poured in through the broken west gate like a river of rotten flesh. Qurrah did not watch, instead focused on a dark paladin rider arriving. The paladin pulled heavily on his reigns to halt his horse.

“The people of Veldaren are fleeing,” the rider said. “There is a gap in the east wall. One of their mages must have created it.”

Velixar looked at his undead entering the city and wondered. “It is too far around to seal the other side,” he said. “Push our forces harder. We will overcome them from behind.”

The man in black turned to Tessanna.

“Yes, lovely?” she asked him.

“Fetch Bloodheel,” he ordered her.

She placed two fingers in her mouth and whistled. Neither Qurrah nor Velixar heard a sound, but the five-hundred wolf-men waiting behind them howled. From the giant pack a towering behemoth of fur, muscle, and fang emerged, his entire body decorated with the bones of dead foes he had eaten.

“We come to fight,” Bloodheel said, his rumbling voice deeper than Velixar’s. “But we truly came to feast. The city is bleeding. When will we taste blood?”

In response, Velixar pointed past the southern tip of the city’s walls.

“The people of Neldar are fleeing the city to the east. Unprotected. Unprepared. Slaughter them all.”

Bloodheel arched and howled to the morning sky, his yellow eyes shimmering with hungry lust.

“We will not fail you,” he said. He dropped to all fours and began running. On either side the rest of the pack passed, howling and drooling.

“The carnage will be complete,” Velixar said, a smile growing on his ever-changing face. “Praise be to Karak.”

“Praise, indeed,” Qurrah said as the wolf-men vanished around the walls of the city.

W ell, here we are,” Lathaar said as they arrived at the fountain in the center of the city. “Ready for some fun?”

“Always am,” Haern said. He leapt to a nearby home and kicked off an open window to propel himself to the roof. From there he scanned the major roads in all directions. Thousands of people filled the streets, herding to the center and then turning east toward the supposed safety and freedom there.

“You see anything,” Jerico shouted over the commotion of the frightened people. Beside him Mira clutched at her robes, her arms crossed and her hands shaking. The fear around her was leaking in, but the bloodlust from afar was worse. When Jerico saw her tired, crying face he only wiped the tears away with his thumb and smiled.

Haern turned his eyes west. All he saw was a sea of gray flesh and burning buildings. Its progress was steady. Every home was broken into and its occupants slaughtered. The orcs who couldn’t find a warm body to butcher moved further into the city. The bulk of the army was on the main roads, but like a disease it had spread throughout the entirety of the western half.

“Almost time,” Haern shouted back. He took three steps and then leapt to the top of the statue. From there he wrapped himself in his cloaks and waited. Swarms of men and women passed, the panic on their faces obvious.

The orcs’ arrival was sudden. Thirty came barreling near, their axes and swords cleaving innocent flesh. Behind them, the few remaining humans knelt and cried out to Karak for salvation. The sound of their pleading was far worse to Haern than any scream of pain from the dying. He jumped, activating the power of his ring as he did. His momentum forward continued, even after his body vanished in a puff of shadow and reappeared ten feet west. He descended on the orcs as a swirling gray death. Two had their throats cut as he landed. A twist, a step, and two more dropped, tendons cut and necks bleeding. The orcs surrounded him, but the assassin had begun his cloak dance. The first to try a wild chop in the center of gray cloaks had three of his fingers severed. The axe dropped to the ground, soaked in blood. The orc tried to retrieve it with his good hand. He died.

“For Ashhur!” Lathaar shouted, slashing the nearest orc across the shoulder. They had encountered no resistance since entering the city. They were not prepared for the Eschaton that had gathered in the center. Most had their backs turned to them, fighting against Haern as he slaughtered their kind from within. When Lathaar tore through their ranks, the orcs knew their error. Any who turned to face the paladin felt steel biting into their backs from Haern. They screamed and fled, wanting no part of either.

“The west is dead,” Mira said, watching them go. “Those who remain alive have given themselves to Karak.”

She spread her arms, gathering her power. Her eyes closed as she focused on the magic that dwelled within her. From the sky a giant meteor of fire materialized, traveling at blistering speeds. It slammed into the street, crushing the orcs with the force of its impact. Houses beside it crumbled. Dust filled the air, blocking all vision of the road.

“South!” Jerico shouted, pushing his way through the crowd with his shield. More orcs had come, flooding the streets from the back ways of the western quarter. The paladin watched in horror as the orcs butchered over a hundred unarmed men and women. Only nine lived, all falling to their knees and shouting Karak’s name at the top of their lungs. Jerico felt his mace shaking in his hand at the sight. The last of the human survivors ran past, and only he stood before the gray mass.

“Death’s waiting,” Jerico said, slamming his shield with his mace. “Come and you shall receive.”

The orcs charged. He blocked the first strike against his shield, smiling at the sound of the weapon shattering. He stepped back and swung his mace, cracking the orc’s skull open. Two more rushed, but he parried both their attacks, stepped closer to the first, and then slammed his shield across its face. Holy power flared, killing it instantly. Jerico backed off, rotating from side to side, letting the orcs endure the pain they felt every time their swords or axes struck his shield. Several tried to run past to flank, but every time he’d spin and slam Bonebreaker into their gut or face.

He was nearing the fountain when he saw a gray blur fly overhead. Jerico charged, knowing all too well what that meant. Howls of pain came from the pack as Haern did what he did best. Jerico struck down the two nearest, slammed aside a third with his shield, and then met Haern amid the bodies.

“Well met,” Jerico said to Haern before running toward the larger group of orcs further down the street. At least thirty by his count. Probably more. He shouted the name of his god and met the charge. His legs braced, his shield raised, he felt the tremendous weight slam against him. Axes cut across his platemail. Fingers pried at his eyes and the open areas of his armor. The orcs tried to bury him beneath their feet, but he was a pillar of stone that would not be broken.

As the last of their momentum died, he screamed in mindless agony. He could feel the blood running down his body, much of it his. And then he pushed them back. A glowing image of his shield filled the entire street, its light blinding even in the morning sun. When he stepped forward the shield struck. The orcs shrieked as it crushed their bodies, broke their bones, and knocked them hundreds of feet back as a pile of twisted corpses that rained upon the street.

Jerico staggered, his strength fading. When he turned to the fountain he saw Lathaar making his stand against streams of orcs. Mira fought behind him, killing tens at a time with fireballs and lances of ice. Haern weaved around the sorceress, taking down any who avoided Lathaar and tried to attack the unarmored girl.

“Too many,” Jerico shouted as he ran to them. “We go to Harruq!”

Over a hundred filled the southern roads. Some approached them at the center, while others continued east, slaughtering those who refused to kneel. He looked to the north, expecting the same scene, but instead he saw soldiers marching in rows. Their swords were drawn and their armor was caked with blood. Antonil led them.

“Pull back!” Antonil shouted to the Eschaton. “We will cover your retreat.”

Lathaar swung side to side, forcing his opponents to step back, and that room was all he needed. He turned and ran east, grabbing Mira’s hand as he did. Haern spun his cloaks to hide his form and then cut down the first two who tried to run past. Before he was buried by the orcs, he activated the magic in his ring and reappeared on the other side of the fountain.

Antonil’s men were down to two-hundred, having lost twenty during their march south from the castle. He positioned five at the start of the eastern road, saluting them with his sword.

“Hold,” was all he told them. The men saluted and then turned to the mass of orcs. They locked together their shields, braced themselves, and prepared for death.

“They’ll be slaughtered,” Mira said as they ran.

“They sacrifice so we may live,” Antonil said. “And may Ashhur forgive me for demanding such a thing from them.”

The girl pulled her hand free from Lathaar’s grip and turned back to the five. The orcs pushed and slammed against them, but they held firm, stabbing over their shields and pushing back the greater numbers. When over a hundred more orcs neared, the men only raised their swords high and cheered.

Mira did not understand what she was witnessing, did not understand the valor and courage driving them, but she knew she would honor it. They would not be defiled and made to suffer. She hurled a giant fireball as they were buried beneath the wave of orcs. It turned them to ash and slaughtered more than forty of the orcs they had fought.

“Come on,” Lathaar said, taking her hand once more. An army on their heels, they ran.

S tay hidden among the people,” Tarlak told Aurelia as they hurried away from Veldaren. “If we can catch them off guard, the better.”

The sea of refugees neared the circle of priests and dark paladins. A hundred were ahead of them, their legs fueled by fear and adrenaline. Their hearts in their throats, Tarlak and Aurelia watched as the first reached the black circle. The men and women tried running past. The dark paladins drew their swords, offered a prayer of thanks to Karak, and then slaughtered any who neared. Bodies piled at their feet, killed by their burning black blades. The priests poured prayers to Karak and touched those near them with their hands. Horrible pain flooded those inflicted, and wounds like knife cuts covered their bodies. Of the first hundred, only twenty made it past alive.

“Butchers,” Tarlak said. “Take out the priests first.”

“I’ll try,” Aurelia said. The two picked a target and attacked. Tarlak’s priest was caught unaware and without any wards for protection. A bolt of lightning struck him square in the chest, obliterating his heart. Trailing behind it was a lance of ice by Aurelia. Her priest managed to bring up his hands, and a spell was half-finished on his lips when the lance punched through his throat and pinned him to the ground. They both turned on the final priest. He summoned a protective shield, but Aurelia’s fireball broke its power, and Tarlak finished him with a barrage of twenty magical arrows.

The dark paladins attacked, cutting down those unlucky enough to be in their way. They split, one after Aurelia, one after Tarlak. Aurelia knew any spell she cast to protect herself would not be strong enough against their blades, so instead she did her best to keep them back. She tore up chunks of earth and hurled them at him. As he punched and pushed his way through she knelt and touched the ground. A patch of ice stretched from her fingers to his feet. In his bulky armor he had little hope of keeping his balance.

She tried to cast a spell, but then those behind her jostled her forward. The people were running scared, and there were too many for them to recognize the battle transpiring. She fell onto the ice, cracking her forehead. Purple lines marred her vision. She tasted blood. As if underwater she heard the rest of the refugees, their shouts and crying a garbled murmur. But worse was the knowledge that the dark paladin surely approached.

“I got you,” a voice whispered, still muffled. It felt like swabs of cotton clogged her ears. Someone picked her up and balanced her on her feet. She looked up and saw the dark paladin dead, smoke rising from his armor. She glanced to her side to see it was Tarlak holding her. The two were levitating an inch above the ice. The swarm of people fleeing were avoiding the ice, and therefore avoiding them.

“They’re dead,” Tarlak told her. “Are you alright?”

“I can’t think, I can’t…” She closed her eyes and put her head on his chest. “I’m sorry. I’m not weak, not like this, shouldn’t be, I shouldn’t be…”

“Shush,” Tarlak said. “We both are. My head is going to explode if I cast another spell, but we have no choice. More are coming, Aurelia.”

She looked back to the city, and there she saw the wolf-men, almost five-hundred running on all fours. They were less than a mile away, yet already they could smell the fear in the sweat of their prey.

“I can’t,” Aurelia said, turning away. Her eyes downcast, she shook her head again and again.

“You can,” Tarlak said, taking her head in his hands and forcing her gaze back up to him.

“No,” she said, tears running down her cheeks. “Please, I can’t.”

“You will,” Tarlak said. “And so will I. If we fail, we fail. But I will not let any more die, even if it means dying myself.”

The ice below them faded, its duration ended. Tarlak lowered them to the grass, took off his hat, and reached inside. He pulled out a single vial. He had hoped for more but he had been too quick to scavenge items from his tower.

“Drink this,” he told her. “It’ll clear your head and make you feel like you just had a solid hour of sleep.” The two stepped out from the stream of refugees running a blind east, with no goal other than to leave the city far behind. A few spotted the wolf-men, and their screams of fear alerted the rest. They fled faster, pushed harder. Those who tripped or were too weak to continue were trampled.

“Pay no attention to behind us,” Tarlak said. “Stand still and cast until you can’t cast anymore, and even then continue. If we take enough, then maybe they’ll have a shot.”

The wolf-men howled in unison, ready to kill, ready to feast. Aurelia drank the contents of the vial, all her will keeping her from gagging on the foul taste. Her mind did clear, and the terrible ache in her temples faded. She dropped the vial to the grass.

“Thank you,” she said.

“Don’t mention it,” Tarlak said. He took out a wand from within his robe and held it with both hands. “Let’s just hope I get the chance to make you another.”

A worn and battered pair, they waited for the wolf-men to close the distance and the slaughter to begin.