David Dalglish - The Shadows of Grace

“We can’t withstand that assault,” Haern said as the elf neared. Aurelia nodded, her gaze still distant.

“You trust me, Harruq?” she asked.

“Yeah, why?”

“Roll when you land,” she said, pushing her palms against his chest. Before he could respond, he felt something sharp ram into his stomach, and then he was flying. He spun about, his arms and legs flailing wildly. Only sheer panic kept his swords clutched tight in his fists. A powerful force of wind continued blowing against his back after he turned, and feeling a strong sense of vertigo, he watched the other side of the chasm approach.

“Roll, just roll,” he muttered, his heart pounding and his legs feeling like water. He glanced back once to see Haern flying after him, a grin on his face. The four catapults fired again, the boulders passing far too close for comfort.

“Woooohooooo!” the assassin shouted at the top of his lungs.

Harruq vowed to kill him if they actually survived the landing.

At least the orcs were as surprised as he was when he tucked his shoulder and barreled through their ranks. He went head over heels three times, rolled along his side twice more, and then jumped up to his feet. Dirt covered his armor, and bits of grass stuck to his hair. The first orc unlucky enough to attack Harruq died in three pieces, completely unprepared for the vicious wrath unleashed upon him. Three more closed in, surrounding the raging half-orc.

Harruq grinned darkly at them.

“I’m not the scary one,” he said.

And then Haern came whirling in, his feet hardly touching the ground before he changed course. His sabers cut around their axes, giving them no time to block or strike. As they fell, Harruq and Haern linked up, standing side by side as the rest of the orcs not manning the catapults turned to fight.

“No reprieve,” Haern said as the orcs charged. “Scare the shit out of them.”

“Will do.”

The two Eschaton met the rush head on, Harruq leading the way. With his magical blades and greater reach, he cut down the first two, then flung his weight into his run. He slammed through them, lacking Haern’s skillful weavings and parries. Instead he flung his opponents aside, tore through their defenses with incredible strength, and emerged coated in blood. Haern followed, his sabers deftly cutting ankles, wrists, and necks. He left a wounded, immobilized force in his wake, his cloaks also soaked. Together they spun, raised their weapons and attacked.

The orcs broke, having already lost half their numbers while hardly incurring a scratch. They were the weak, the ones left behind to build and construct while the warriors traveled with Velixar into Veldaren. Against such skill, they had no chance. Harruq cut down a few before turning back to the catapults. He watched as they unleashed a barrage of four boulders. Two of them halted in midair and fell into the chasm, while the others crashed and rolled through a distant mass of warriors.

“Take the left,” Haern said, sheathing his sabers before breaking out in a sprint. Harruq chased after, veering off as his mentor asked. A couple noticed their approach and shouted, as if in disbelief that they were still alive. Harruq let out a bellow from the pit of his stomach. The orcs had only hammers and ropes for weapons. It was no contest. Harruq gutted one, cut down another, and then slammed his shoulder into a third. The orc flew off the cliff, his scream slowly fading as he fell.

One catapult out of commission, he turned to the second. Its orcs let off one last boulder, then fled. Harruq shrugged and looked for Haern. The assassin had made quick work of his own catapults. Half the orcs were dead, the other half fleeing into the Vile Wedge. Harruq trudged over and then pointed.

“The bridges weren’t for the orc soldiers,” he said. “They were for the catapults.”

“This should slow them for a few weeks,” Haern agreed. “Neither the Green Castle nor Felwood would survive long if the orcs had actual siege weaponry.”

“Let’s hope we bought them a chance, then,” Harruq said. “How’s the battle going over there?”

Haern squinted, trying to make out shapes.

“Looks like the horsemen are running rampant through their lines,” he said. “It will be over soon.”

Sure enough, tiny figures were falling down the chasm, the bodies of hundreds of orcs as they were corralled and pushed to their deaths. When the battle ended, the dead bodies followed after. Harruq and Haern cleaned their weapons and armor as best they could, then waited. Aurelia arrived soon after, riding atop Seleven.

“Enjoy the ride?” she asked as she landed.

“You’re evil,” Harruq said, accepting her offered hand and hopping onto the winged horse’s back.

“So, no?”

The half-orc rolled his eyes as Haern joined them.

“They seem to be getting along all right,” Aurelia shouted as they took flight. “Either way, our time here is done. Tarlak will be waiting for us in Kinamn.”

They swooped over the combined human forces, Aurelia waving. Sir Kull’s men saluted with their blades while the horsemen cheered.

“That’s better than our last greeting,” Harruq said.

“To Kinamn,” Aurelia said, banking Seleven southward.

“Let’s hope Tarlak’s had as much luck as us, eh?” said the half-orc.

It took three days to fly across the Hillock, and when they reached Beaver Lake they stopped again for food and rest. The Bone Hills loomed before them, tall and barren. Nestled against the southern tip of the hills would be Kinamn, capital of Omn and in the very center of the trading paths between what had been the largest and wealthiest nations, Neldar in the east and Mordan in the west.

“Kinamn will be more like Veldaren,” Aurelia said as they lay down for the night. “An expansive city, though not as large. More importantly, it’s far less defended. They have little chance of surviving against Qurrah’s army.

“Velixar’s army,” she corrected. Harruq kissed her cheek and rolled over underneath their blankets. The cold winter night dragged on, silent but for the lapping of the lake against the shore. A lone owl hooted once, then quieted.

Harruq turned about and pulled Aurelia into his arms and held her tight.

“What…” she started to ask, but he stopped her with a kiss. He pressed his forehead against hers. When she stroked his face with her fingertips, she felt tears. She needed no explanation, no excuse. After a quick glance to make sure Haern slept far away by the lake’s bank, she climbed atop her husband.

Afterward, she cuddled him, feeling her body meld with his. His rough hands encircled her waist.

“Forever,” she whispered. “You’ll have me forever.”

“I don’t deserve it,” he whispered back.

“And you never will. But since when did that matter?”

They slept until morning, the winter’s bite held at bay by their warmth.

“I hope Harruq and them are doing better than us,” Tarlak grumbled as he joined his companions in their meager lodgings. Lathaar looked up from his seat at the table, several cards in hand. Dieredon sat opposite him, holding cards as well. They were in their room above an inn. It was cramped, with two beds, a table, and a small chest to store their belongings. Over the past week they’d drawn straws to decide who slept on the floor. For the third night in a row Tarlak had drawn poorly, and he had begun to wonder if Dieredon was cheating.

“Cards?” the wizard asked, pointing toward Lathaar’s hand. “Since when do you gamble?”

“I gamble nothing, except perhaps my pride,” Lathaar said, scrunching his face as he looked at his hand. “Though I wonder if I have even that left. Take a look. What do you think I should discard?”