The Death of Promises (34 page)

“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.”