The Death of Promises (48 page)

“Take my hand,” he heard a voice say, and in the madness he sensed a stability he had never thought possible. He reached out blindly. A hand took his, and its grip was iron. He collapsed, unable to see the words of the book but not needing to. Every thought, every image, every breath was dominated by the power of the spell. He screamed, and even as he screamed he continued.

A tiny sliver of blue swirled in the center of the wall. The spell was nearing completion. Qurrah tried to speak the final lines, the lines that would wrench open the wall and end Dezrel, but he could not. His screaming was too loud, the pain too incredible. Through tear-filled eyes he looked to Velixar and saw his true visage. He was a skull with eyes, bones with a robe, death in a body. His features no longer changed, for he had no features. Just his eyes, which were dull and colorless. He too was screaming, and his wail was the final blow against his shattering psyche.

“Forgive me mother,” a voice said, its sound a perfect calm amid the thunder. “Forgive me, but I wish to be free of your desires, your eyes, your power. Please, mother. Forgive me.”

Tessanna placed a hand upon the wall. Wind swirled in every direction. The ground heaved in protest. Images and sounds from the far corners of the world assaulted them, random and wild. Amid it all, the girl with blackest eyes felt at home. So softly she whispered the final words that neither had the strength to say.

“Take away it all,” she whispered as the portal ripped open in a sudden, violent explosion of noise and air. Qurrah and Velixar flew back, their limp bodies rolling across the ground. Tessanna arched her back and lifted her arms as the chaos swarmed over her, followed by a blinding white light that quickly turned red. Her vision returned as the light lost its strength. The portal gently swirled, its being filled with what looked like millions of tiny stars. Compared to the original portal it was tiny, only the size of an ordinary man. Tessanna brushed its edges.

“I’m sorry,” she said. Backing away, she laughed as she cried. “But I couldn’t be happier, mommy.”

Velixar was the first to his feet. “We did it,” he gasped. His voice was raspy and weak, but with each passing moment it sunk deeper and firmer. “Celestia has lost! Ashhur has lost!”

Qurrah’s haunting laughter echoed in the cavernous room. “Do you sense it?” he asked as he lay on his back. “Can you feel the hatred? The goddess is furious, Velixar, oh so furious.”

The portal shimmered and shrunk as if in response. Qurrah and Velixar screamed in turn as they felt sharp pains spike into their minds. Celestia was trying to close the portal.

“Leave them be!” Tessanna shouted as Velixar fell to the floor and Qurrah rolled around on his back, his laughter and screaming an intertwined sound of lunacy. The castle rumbled as if the earth itself were angry.

“Desperation,” Velixar said as his own screaming faded. “There is nothing she can do but strike at us in futile frustration.” He knelt on knee and stared at the portal as a red liquid ran from both his eyes. A wave of his hand and the shimmering stopped. The portal swirled faster, stronger. The stars pulled back, leaving a deep blackness fixed in the center. The blackness grew.

“Something is coming through,” Tessanna said as she backed away. Qurrah stood, turned to one side, and spat blood. He grinned as he wiped the back of his hand over his mouth.

“Who approaches?” he asked Velixar. “A lowly demon? A commander of an army? Or is it Thulos himself? Will he bow to you, or cut off all our heads before we can speak a word?”

Velixar pulled his hood low over his face and smirked. “If you thought the latter was the case, you wouldn’t be smiling. Stay on your best behavior. While Karak has sought an alliance with his brother, the same cannot be said for Thulos. For centuries they have hunted for this world.”

Tessanna wrapped her arms around Qurrah’s shoulders and braced her chin on his shoulder.

“Unless its Thulos, we can kill it,” she said. “So we might as well be polite.”

Air hissed out of the portal as if it were exhaling, and then the creature stepped through. He looked human, albeit a magnificent version of one. Giant muscles flexed inside his crimson painted armor. Only his arms were exposed, the rest covered in well-crafted mail made of plate and chain. A golden helmet rest atop his head, its nose guard hanging long past his chin. In the back was a small hole so that the man’s brown ponytail could be pulled through. Emblazoned across the chest piece, colored a vibrant yellow amid the crimson, was the symbol of a fist. Hanging from his hip was a giant sword sheathed in black leather, gems, and rubies. The man stared at them with wide amber eyes. His skin was bronze, and every inch covered with scars. When he spoke his language was that of the Gods.

“We have opened doors to many worlds, but this is the first brazen enough to open a door to ours,” the man said. “Who is the idiotic dabbler in magic that created this rift? Name yourself so that I may punish your stupidity.”

The man from the other world drew his sword, its length nearly equal to Velixar’s height. In response, Velixar bowed low and beamed a smile frightening in its authenticity.

“I am the one who opened the portal,” he said, “and long have I desired such…idiocy. Do you know where you are, minion of the war god?”

The man glanced about, and the confusion in his eyes was like a crack in his armor of confidence. All he saw was a castle, one like thousands he had destroyed before, but the man with the ever-changing face spoke his language and knew of his master.

“I do not know,” the man said. “But when you speak I have understanding. My name is Ulamn, General of the First Legion and servant to the war god. With whom do I speak?”

Velixar again bowed as he introduced himself. “I am Velixar, voice of the lion, and I welcome you to Dezrel, a world you have long sought after.”

“The lion,” Ulamn said. His sword lowered as his mouth hung open. “Do you mean…?”

In answer Velixar drew from underneath his robe a pendant he had held ever since the end of his mortal life. It was shaped like a triangle. In one corner was mountain, another a lion, and in the third, a clenched fist.

“Proof of my claim,” Velixar said as Ulamn shook with rage. “I speak for Karak, and he welcomes you.”

“The cowards fled here then,” Ulamn said, gesturing about the castle with disgust. “Failing in their duty and unwilling to accept the consequences. For what purpose does Karak call upon the Warseekers?”

“Conquest,” Velixar said. “He yearns to fight alongside his brother. But he has been trapped by the goddess of this world. If Thulos can defeat her, Karak will be free to join your side.”

Ulamn sheathed his sword and crossed his arms. “Thulos is not one of mercy or compassion. Karak’s cowardice…”

“Is forgivable,” Velixar insisted. “Thulos may not be one for compassion or mercy, but he is one of honor. Let Karak atone his disgrace by serving. Do you dare tell me your master would refuse such a powerful ally as his own brother?”

Qurrah felt Tessanna tighten her grasp around his shoulders. Her hair tickled the side of his face as she kissed his ear. “When the soldiers come,” she whispered, “who is subordinate to who?”

“I will speak with the war god,” Ulamn said. His amber eyes widened with excitement. “We are always eager for new worlds to conquer.” He bowed, and Velixar bowed back. Without another word, Ulamn turned and vanished back into the portal to his homeworld.

Velixar laughed, long and loud. The sound chilled Qurrah, but not as much as it once did.

“The war demons are coming,” the man in black said. “Let Dezrel fear and the heavens shake with the coming rupture. Karak will be freed!”

“Amen,” Qurrah said, a crooked smile on his face. Tessanna kissed his cheek.

“Amen,” she said. She tossed her hair and giggled. “So many are going to die. We’re bad, Qurrah, bad-bad-bad.”

Qurrah only laughed.

19

T
hey came in waves, thirty or so of shambling undead biting with bleeding teeth and clawing with broken fingers. Each wave threatened to break their line, but Harruq held firm as the wall of the dead grew ever larger. Lathaar’s Elholad had faded, and he swung normal steel with exhausted arms. Even Haern’s slender sabers felt like giant clubs to him. The potent magic in Bonebreaker kept Jerico dangerous, with even his mildest of swings smashing bone. Harruq, however, seemed no longer mortal.

Salvation and Condemnation blasted away flesh and sliced off limbs without pause. He no longer felt his arms, but he didn’t need to. He just kept on swinging, the shower of gore proof enough that his numb hands still followed orders. Blood soaked him from head to toe, much of it his, but he didn’t care. Any time his resolve threatened to break, or his exhaustion steal him away into unconsciousness, he heard the words that spurred him on.

For Qurrah! For Qurrah!

They chanted it, and in return he shattered their jaws and took the blasphemous life that enabled them to speak. To Harruq, it was a fair trade. The gap in the wall narrowed further and further, filled with corpses of all shapes and sizes. Harruq kept ordering the others back, until only he stood before a four foot expanse that the undead pressed through. They kept coming, kept trying to drown him in numbers, but his arms never ceased.

Haern wanted to say something, to hear his student speak, but dared not disturb his concentration. Lathaar leaned beside him and whispered amid the slaughter.

“What is he?” he asked.

Haern shook his head. “Just a half-orc,” he replied.

“Ashhur is with him,” Jerico said, hoisting his shield onto his back. “Even more so than with Lathaar and I. His will, his strength…but his body will break.”

Tears filled Harruq’s golden eyes. He didn’t even see his attackers anymore. He just saw his friends, his family, and the face of his brother. He would kill them. He would kill all of them. For Aurelia. For Tarlak. For Brug.

And then the undead changed their chant.

For Aullienna!
they shouted.
For Aullienna! For Aullienna!

The sound was a horrendous blasphemy, the beautiful name of his daughter flooding the streets through dead throats and lifeless vocal chords. As Harruq cried, his heart filled with pain equal to the pain in his chest, his legs, his head. He couldn’t think, he couldn’t breathe. Too tired, too damn tired. Delysia. Brug. Aullienna. Was Aurelia still alive? Tarlak? He fell to his knees, his weapons falling limp beside him. The confidence in which he fought dissolved into emptiness. Deep in his head, he heard Qurrah laughing.

“Harruq!” Haern shouted, seeing his student’s sudden collapse. Lathaar reacted first, slamming his shoulder into Harruq’s side. The two fell to the side of the gap in the wall. Jerico smashed his shield forward, pushing back the undead.

“Harruq, snap out of it,” Haern said, pulling the half-orc’s face up by the hair. But Harruq’s eyes were rolling into his head, and he kept shaking side to side. His lips were moving but nothing came out. Wisps of dark smoke rose from his tongue.

“Damn you, Qurrah,” the assassin whispered. “What game is it you play now?”

H
e stood on stars hidden beneath glass. Blue fire rose and fell in a ring around them, and high above floated a small red sun.

“Where am I?” Harruq asked.

Qurrah pulled back his hood. His eyes were a deep red. His skin was ashen. With each word he spoke the blue fire flared higher.

“Where does not matter, dear brother, only why. Forgive me for such a ploy. To use Aullienna’s death as a weapon against you is a cheap dishonor, but I needed you to fall. Your mind has grown stronger. Entering was no easy task.”

“Such a shame,” Harruq said. Seeing the stars below his feet filled him with vertigo, so he stared straight at Qurrah. His eyes reminded him of Velixar, and the chilling thought kept his mind sharp.

“Celestia’s wall has fallen,” Qurrah said. “As we speak, an army of war demons enters the city. There is no limit to their size, Harruq. Hundreds of thousands loyal to Velixar, and to me. We will lay waste to all life.”

“Why?” Harruq asked. “What have you suffered to slaughter so many? What loss have you endured that is greater than my own?”