David Dalglish - The Shadows of Grace

Lord Penwick shook his head.

“I fear you come at an ill time. How long until my guards wake up?”

“About half an hour,” Tarlak said.

“Good, then tell me your tale, and I will tell you mine.”

Tarlak started first, telling of how the creatures of the Vile Wedge had crossed into Neldar. He described their attack upon the walls, of the orcs' vicious assault upon the gates, and Velixar’s magical aid. Penwick’s face darkened with every word, and his shoulders drooped lower.

Then it came time to describe the war demons and the portal behind the throne. Tarlak left Qurrah’s involvement out of it, placing all the blame on Velixar. He told of Mira’s portal to the elves, and of their narrow escape. Last he told of their plans to flee west.

“A horrific tale, if told truthfully,” the old man said when Tarlak was done. “Most of my people are doomed if what you say is true, and I wonder if any action on my part will change that.”

“You must try,” Lathaar said. “Now, tell us what happened to your king.”

Lord Penwick spoke with a gravelly voice, steady but weary. King Stephen had been a kind but ineffective king. The surrounding barons of Ker had threatened revolt, but Lord Penwick had managed to broker an unsteady peace. King Stephen had no legitimate heir, for he had never married. The barons would let Stephen reign until his death, but afterward, the barons would appoint amongst themselves a new king.

Originally the choice had been obvious, a powerful baron named Gregor White. However, he had died the previous winter, leaving two sons to squabble over their inheritance.

“How long has the king been dead?” Tarlak asked, interrupting.

“Three weeks,” Penwick said. “The barons will tear Ker asunder fighting over the throne. I had hoped to prolong the charade long as possible, praying that one might prove himself a clear heir. So far, that is not the case. I cannot muster troops, for the moment I do the barons will think I am making a play for the throne.”

“Do you desire the throne?” Lathaar asked.

“Of course I do,” Lord Penwick said. “But I’ll die if I try for it, and those foolish barons will darken our soil with blood. And now comes an army. What am I to do? Amid evil times you have come, Tarlak Eschaton, and evil tidings you bring.”

Tarlak glanced back at the doors, where the soldiers were starting to stir.

“I think it’s time to go,” he said. “And as for your situation, Lord Penwick… I think it’s all irrelevant. Kinamn does not have the forces to stand against the army that approaches, not even if all the troops of Ker were mustered. Tell everyone to flee, whether they believe you or not. We’ll be in the streets of your city, telling the same tale.”

“You will not be believed,” the old man said. “And I will be mocked.”

“We have to try, damn it,” Tarlak shouted. “Can you not at least concede me that?”

A bitter smile lit up Lord Penwick’s face. “You’re right. Let us try. Good night, gentlemen. I need my rest. Come the morning, I will issue a decree that will mean the end of my tenuous hold over the city.”

He turned and exited the door. Closing his eyes, Tarlak envisioned their room at the inn and summoned a portal home. The Eschaton leaped through, and with a hiss of air, the portal closed.

“Do you think he will?” asked Lathaar when they were safely in their room.

“Not a chance,” Tarlak said, shaking his head. “What proof do we have? He told us what we wanted to know, and made a weak promise he will not honor. This city is doomed, and there appears little we can do about it.”

“Will we do as you said?” Dieredon asked. “Shall we shout from the rooftops that an army comes?”

“Until Harruq and the others return, we’ll cry out warning,” Tarlak said. “Hope for a miracle, friends. That’s what it’d take to save the people of this city.”

“I fear the time for miracles is ended,” Lathaar said.

“That’s no way for a paladin to talk,” the wizard said, slapping him on the shoulder. “The world’s coming to an end. If there’s a time for a miracle, it’s now.”

S eleven drifted lower as Kinamn came into view. Harruq stretched and used his fists to pop his back.

“Can’t wait to walk on solid ground again,” he shouted.

“Don’t get used to it,” Aurelia shouted back.

They swung about, angling toward the main entrance on the southern wall. With a swoosh of feathers and flying clumps of dirt, they landed. Harruq leaped off first, catching Aurelia when she followed. Haern patted Seleven on the neck before dismounting.

“Think they’ll let us through the door?” the assassin asked.

“We’ve made doors through walls before,” Aurelia said. “Does it really matter what they say?”

Haern shrugged.

“Your call. I find people better hosts when I haven’t thrashed their place, though.”

Harruq took Aurelia’s hand and led them on toward the gate. When they were halfway there, a winged horse shot into the sky from deep within the city.

“That’s, um, them,” Harruq said, pointing. “Right?”

“Can’t imagine who else it’d be,” Haern said. “Wait a moment.”

The horse banked around, and sure enough, three riders sat atop her back. The horse dipped down, and with a great gust of air landed before them.

“Welcome back,” Tarlak said as he hopped off and tipped his hat. “Enjoy your trip?”

“Tremendously,” Harruq said. “Aurelia flung me across a cliff, and I nearly got brained by a flying boulder. We stopped a feud between the lords in the Hillock and destroyed an orc bridge. They’ll be patrolling the Bone Ditch, watching for more bridges. How’d you three do?”

“Terrible,” Tarlak said. “The king here is dead, and his advisor’s too scared to do a damn thing. We’ve been yelling from the rooftops that doom approaches. Needless to say, we’ve not convinced very many people.”

“Have any arrived from Neldar yet?” asked Haern.

Tarlak rolled his eyes, too frustrated to answer, so Lathaar answered for him.

“A few show up, but they’re mocked or ignored. Some buy or steal provisions and then continue west. Others have joined us in our warnings, but they’re few and far between. Most have just disappeared into the city. They’re probably hoping that Kinamn’s walls will protect them better than Veldaren’s did.”

“Little chance of that,” said Haern. “So do we return to Antonil, or do we stay?”

They looked to one another, and when no answer seemed apparent, they turned to Tarlak, who sighed.

“Always the leader,” he muttered. “We leave. We’ve done everything we can to warn this city, and while some have left, it’s been far too few. I will not stay and watch a massacre.”

“These people have done nothing wrong,” Lathaar insisted. “We must convince them that…”

“That what?” asked Tarlak, gesturing east. “That an army of winged soldiers and rotting undead march this way, determined to wipe out all life? I think they’d rather die in their walls than live out their lives fleeing west in terror.”

Silence fell over the group. Aurelia put a hand on Tarlak’s shoulder.

“You’ve done what you could,” she said softly. “Don’t blame yourself. Let us ride out to meet Antonil. We will make our stand as one.”

The wizard sighed, then nodded.

“Let’s get out of here,” he said, hopping back onto Sonowin. Dieredon whistled, and Seleven flew over and let himself be petted.

“Once we find Antonil, I will return,” Dieredon said. “It may be to find only rubble, but I must do what I can to track Karak’s army. Nothing can keep up with Sonowin at full wing, so fear not for my safety.”