The Death of Promises (40 page)

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.

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.