The Death of Promises (55 page)

K
ing Antonil ducked his head as a spear thudded into a shield held by one of his men. His heart was heavy for he could see just how many of his soldiers lay dead. Even worse, the men, women, and children he had sworn to protect. Blood soaked the hill, the bodies of the slain a barrier needing climbed. His horse charged across the grass as he swung his sword at any nearby enemy. In spite of his exhaustion, his guilt, and his sorrow, he shouted for all to hear.

“Keep climbing! Keep running! To the portal, to safety, do not stop! Do not stop!”

A war demon slammed to the ground before him and swung his glaive. Antonil jerked the reigns, and without hesitation his horse jumped. A sharp neigh filled the air as the glaive tore flesh, but nothing stopped the enormous weight from crashing atop the demon. As his body crumpled beneath the hooves he heard the labored breathing of his horse turn into a dying whinny.

“I’m sorry,” he said as he dismounted. The horse’s front legs collapsed, a giant pool of blood covering the ground below. The king looked about the darkened hill. The clouds had turned even thicker so that it seemed night had fallen. There were no torches, no starlight, just the brilliant blue glow of the portal. He trudged toward it, but three demons landed before him with their swords and axes drawn. They saw his crown and knew they found a chance for glory.

Antonil saluted, determined to kill at least one before he died. He was never given the chance. A bolt of lightning shot past the king, hitting the first demon in the eye before leaping into the chest of the second and the throat of the third. All three fell, wisps of smoke rising from their bodies.

“Hope I wasn’t intruding,” Tarlak said as he grabbed Antonil’s wrist and pulled him on. “Now let’s leave before their friends show up.”

King Antonil followed the yellow robes as if they were light in a giant fog. All around he saw chaos, men missing limbs and women bleeding from giant gashes across their arms and chests. Some were armed. Most weren’t. Climbing adjacent the trail of bodies he saw the four members of the Ash Guild, a deadly combination of daggers and death magic striking down any demon who dared near. They offered no aid to the wounded or those in combat, only pressing onward toward the portal, toward escape.

“How many have made it through,” Antonil asked as they neared the top of the hill.

“Can’t say for sure,” Tarlak said, his eyes constantly darting about in search of threats. “At least half. More than half, actually, maybe a lot more. Hundreds at least. Watch your head.”

He hurled another bolt of lightning, a joyless smile on his face as he pegged a demon out of the air. With the vast bulk of the Veldaren people escaped, the rest of the demons had taken to circling above, preparing one last assault on Mira and the portal.

“How does she still stand?” Antonil asked, shaking his head. Near a hundred corpses surrounded her, the vast bulk wearing the crimson armor of Thulos. Lathaar stood at her side, his weapons tipped to the dirt, his eyes scanning the sky. When the Ash Guild arrived he saluted them. They did not salute back. Instead, they dived through the portal, their part of the battle finished. The king shook his head, disappointed but understanding. It was not cowardice that caused them to leave, just self-preservation.

Antonil heard a primal roar from the half-orc. He glanced back, in awe of the sight. Harruq was soaked in blood. Cuts covered his arms and hands, yet he grinned with a maniacal glee. The demons seemed to have labeled him as a special prey, for while all around him men, women, and even soldiers hurried to the portal unabated, wave after wave dove for Harruq. The half-orc took them in stride, slamming them away with his powerful swords. As Antonil watched, Harruq sidestepped a thrust, beheaded the attacking demon, took two steps back, and then buried both his swords into another demon’s chest. Even as he flung the body away another took its place, striking downward with a gigantic axe.

Swords together he blocked the blow, grinning even as the muscles in his arms twitched. He muttered something, but Antonil couldn’t hear it. Then the axe shook, its haft shattered, and Harruq struck down the demon.

“We have little time,” Tarlak said, pointing upward. The demons were forming ranks. It would not be long before more waves descended. They looked to the king. “Go through,” Tarlak said. “The people will need you.”

“I will not abandon those still here,” Antonil said. “I will defend to the death if I must.”

“I thought you’d say that,” Tarlak said. He snapped his fingers. A sudden gust of wind roared to life. An invisible force pushed up on his feet, stealing any chance he had to resist. Cursing the wizard’s name, Antonil flew through the portal and vanished.

“Don’t get me wrong,” Tarlak said as Lathaar shook his head at him. “Honor and pride has its place, but I’m pretty sure intelligence and reason deserve a bit of respect as well.”

“Jerico,” Lathaar said, gesturing to his wounded brethren. “He’s wounded. Please, get him through the portal.”

“Forget me,” Jerico said, his voice hoarse. “I’m not going anywhere.”

“Like the abyss you aren’t,” Tarlak said.

High above thunder rumbled, and at its sound, Mira shivered.

“The goddess is strained,” she said. “Please hurry.”

“Just a hundred more,” Lathaar said as people rushed into the portal. “We can hold.”

Another crack of thunder, and as its force rumbled through the land the demons dove for Mira and her protectors. They were tightly packed, as if they would bury them in metal regardless if they died or not.

“For war!” they shouted, a communal roar that shook the hearts of all remaining.

“For Ashhur,” Lathaar cried, rising his swords to the sky.

“And may Karak have them,” Tarlak said, fire leaping from his fingers. Aurelia joined him, their barrages of ice and fire swirling together. Demons crumpled and shattered under the power. Harruq and Lathaar stood at either side of Mira, and as the bodies came racing in they cut and blocked, slamming away any who would dare strike her. Lathaar’s swords blinded and repulsed the demons. Harruq’s cut their flesh and broke their wings. Haern circled about, eyeing the battle for any opening. If Harruq faltered, Haern was there, killing the attacker. If Aurelia’s lance of rock or ice missed its target, he was there, his sabers a blur of death.

Lightning filled the sky, some magical, some not. Fire joined it, and smoke blurred the clouds. On and on the Veldaren people entered the portal. The demons could find no opening, no weakness, but still they came. Antonil’s soldiers joined the ranks of the fleeing, unable to fight any longer. The demons’ attacks focused, more desperate and brutal. At last an elderly couple passed through the portal, and only the Eschaton remained guarding Mira. The ground shook, and the ethereal wind surrounding Mira vanished.

“It’s time to go,” Tarlak said. “Everyone, get your ass in the portal!”

“Someone take Jerico!” Lathaar shouted as he parried away the attacks of three demons. The light on his swords flared, and as the blinded demons pulled back, he cut them down.

The runes atop the hill cracked and exploded, showering them with chalk. The portal shrunk to half its size.

“Now or never!” Tarlak said. He tipped his hat to the others, hurled one last fireball, and jumped through.

“Harruq, help him!” Aurelia shouted. She lifted wall after wall of ice from the ground, trying to buy themselves time.

Harruq ran to Jerico, ducking blow after blow from demons that swooped above the walls of ice. He was almost there when he heard a horrible cry. He turned to see Aurelia on her knees, her hands pressed against her neck. Her delicate fingers were soaked in blood. A red-tipped spear lay beside her. Harruq looked back, and when his eyes met with Jerico’s, he saw understanding without anger or pity.

“Go,” Jerico said.

Harruq ran to his wife, took her in his arms, and disappeared through the portal.

More spears fell down, exploding whenever they neared contact with Mira’s skin. Lathaar fought with a frantic new urgency. The demons flocked to the holy light of his blades like moths to a torch. Mira walked to the portal and stood there, shaking her head as the waves of death and suffering assaulted her mind.

“Does the tragedy destroy the valiant sacrifice?” she asked the battlefield.

“Get up!” Lathaar shouted to Jerico. He stood beside Mira, fending off demons one after another.

“We cannot save him,” Haern said, joining his side. His sabers danced, demon after demon died, but at last he would wait no more. He yanked his blades free from a shredded throat, twirled his cloak, and leapt through the portal.

“Leave,” Jerico shouted, his face locked in pain.

Lathaar stabbed his longsword through the eye of a demon, twisted it, and then kicked away the corpse.

“I will not abandon you!”

Jerico knew this true, and that was why he hurled Bonebreaker through the air. The mace struck Lathaar in the chest, and even through the platemail he could feel his bones trembling. He staggered back, his balance lost. Mira saw Jerico’s intent and aided him. She pushed Lathaar through.

The ground shaking, the sky furious, and with demons all about, Jerico laid back to the dirt.

“Thank you,” he said to Mira, who stared at him with an expression he did not understand.

“Die well,” she told him. “And I’m sorry.”

She stepped through the portal, and at her passing the blue vanished. Lightning struck where it had been, and at that final release of power the clouds lost their anger. The wind died. Light pierced through as Jerico lay on his back. He stared at the newly freed sun and prayed that Ashhur would grant his soul passage to the Golden Eternity.

Epilogue

Q
urrah stirred as the sun crept above the dull horizon. He felt a weight on his chest and an ache in his temples. Tessanna huddled in his arms. In her hands she held a knife. She smiled at him as blood ran down her face from five vertical cuts.

“Pieces,” she said as she slashed off her ear without a single grimace of pain. “Mommy left me in pieces.”

A Note from the Author:

Are you having fun yet?

We’re beyond the halfway mark now. If you’re reading this, I want to extend my most heartfelt thanks. You don’t read three novels out of impulse. You read them because you enjoyed them, and that’s all I can hope for. I hope Death of Promises didn’t disappoint.

Things probably look pretty dark at this point. I’ve sent my characters through hell, I’ve killed those close to them, and I’ve only been able to offer them the tiniest glimmers of hope. Aullienna especially haunts over everything. No one was glad for her death, not even me. I cried writing it, and I cried editing it. I see my real daughter in her, and no matter how hard I try, I will never portray Harruq’s suffering great enough to match what I myself would feel in his place.

Perhaps it seems odd, then, for me to ask if you’re having fun. One of my goals was to make sure the deaths of loved ones meant something. I would not bury a character without tears shed, graves dug, and hearts broken. More will die. It’s not some sick promise. It’s fact. The rough draft of the fourth book, The Shadows of Grace, is already finished.

I don’t view myself as a novelist or fantasy writer or self-published author. I see myself as a storyteller. This story, these brother half-orcs, have a tale I’m dying to tell, and it won’t be blunted. I wrote in the back of The Weight of Blood that this was a tale of redemption. By this point, you might think me a liar, although Harruq should appear a far better man than he was. There’s not much I can do except ask that you trust me.

You’ve given me three novels worth of time, time precious to you and precious to me. Thank you.

Other than that, I hope to see you soon. I’m sure I’ll be yammering in the back of The Shadows of Grace, a grin on my face, wondering if you’ll be able to believe what just happened.

A quick sidetrack…my current work in progress is a combination of novels focusing on Haern the Watcher, his childhood, and the creation of the Eschaton Mercenaries. The first should be out in September, 2010. So please, I hope you enjoy a taste of what’s coming in the first book, A Dance of Cloaks.

David Dalglish

Prologue