David Dalglish - The Death of Promises

Tessanna began to weep as a deep rumbling swept the camp. Darnela herself sensed the change. She had worked valiantly to redeem the souls to the goddess. She had preached over and over forgiveness and humility. And now, at the booming words of the man in black, it would crumble.

“You will die one day,” the elf said to him. “And when that day comes I hope to look down from Celestia’s paradise and laugh at your torment in the fire and darkness.”

“Should that day come,” Velixar said, his voice back to its normal volume, “I will rule as a prince. And even there I will seek to break the will of the goddess and storm your wretched home.”

“Make them stop,” Tessanna whimpered. “Please, Qurrah, make them stop.”

“You will be buried underneath a wave of those you sought to make docile,” Velixar said. He smirked at Darnela’s anger. “Fitting, don’t you agree?”

The priestess slammed her scepter and orb together. Flames consumed both, and a yellow pillar of fire fell from the sky. Orcs scrambled away as the pillar consumed her, swirling about her body as she prayed ceaselessly to her goddess.

“Kneel to me,” Velixar shouted. “All who bow and confess their lives to Karak will live. Those who refuse will die by my hand!”

Dark magic swirled around his hands. He kissed the air as Darnela prepared her assault.

“Hold yourself together,” Qurrah said, grabbing his lover by the arms. “What is the matter with you?”

“No!” Tessanna screamed, shoving him aside. She leapt in between Velixar and Darnela. Her right hand faced the elf, the left pointed directly at the man in black. She looked each in the eye as the orcs cried out in anger and confusion. Pure magical essence curled around her fingers, throbbing with her heartbeat.

“If either of you moves I will leave nothing but dust for the wind to spread,” she said. Wisps of black smoke floated from the corners of her eyes.

“Of course, my lady,” Velixar said, seeming unsurprised by her actions.

“Are you mad, girl?” Darnela asked. Her hair danced inside her pillar of fire. “Do you know what he is? You travel with him, yet still defy his will?”

“I don’t need to know,” she answered. “Let those who believe Velixar’s words leave your camp in peace. The rest may stay under your command. Is this clear?”

“I accept your proposal,” Velixar said, bowing. “Not your command.”

For the first time a bit of anger flickered in his eyes, but Tessanna was unconcerned. She looked to the elf as the magic on her fingers crackled with dark lightning.

“Do you accept?” she asked her.

“You are a disgrace to the goddess,” Darnela said, her jaw clenched tight. “But I will accept. Take the faithless and go.”

Velixar looked around the camp. Almost half the orcs knelt, their heads bowed as the others nearby beat them and cursed the prayers they prayed. The man in black lifted his hands and called out to them.

“Come east, children of Karak. Abandon your weakness, for it is your blood that shall unite the tribes against Neldar!”

Hundreds of orcs took up their possessions and did as they were told. Tessanna remained between the two powerful casters until the stream of orcs had fully left the camp.

“I will see you again, Darnela,” Velixar said as he bowed. “I still have a favor to repay you.”

The priestess only turned and stormed off, the pillar of flame dissipating into fading embers in the air. When she was far enough away, Tessanna closed her hands and let go of the spells she had prepared. Velixar immediately grabbed her by the wrist.

“We will talk,” he said, his red eyes seething.

“I know,” she replied almost casually. He let her go and stormed away. Qurrah took her in his arms, holding her as her resolve vanished.

“Shush,” he said, stroking her hair as he guided her east. “You did no wrong here.”

“I know,” she said, drying her tears against his robe. “But I risk what we have when I do this. He needs me, and he needs you, but he’s patient, Qurrah. So patient, so dangerous.”

“Why’d you do it, then?” he asked her. She looked up to him, kissed his lips, and then held his hand as they walked. She did not answer.

“Very well,” Qurrah said. “I do not need to know the reason. I will still defend your choice to my death.”

“I know,” she said, gripping his hand tighter. “But it’s good to hear you say it anyway.”

V elixar was no stranger to leading armies, especially one made of orcs. They had little supplies, no food, and over three hundred mouths to feed. If they were to survive, they had to pillage. He marched throughout his small army, shouting and encouraging. He knew he needed a warchief, so he looked for the biggest and the strongest. He found his perfect candidate in a one armed mountain of muscle named Gumgog. His eyes were yellow, and his nose flattened upward like a pig.

“Celly wanted us to be nice,” he said when Velixar asked why he left Darnela’s camp. “Gumgog don’t like to be nice. Gumgog like smashing, so you let me smash, me lead like you say.”

Velixar grinned, liking the orc already. Where his arm had once been was now a giant club with a stone tied to the end. To call attention to himself, Gumgog took the second ‘arm’ in his other hand and used his entire body to slam it to the ground.

“GUMGOG SPEAK!” he shouted, and all around orcs quit their squabbles to listen. Velixar laughed. He had traveled with several warchiefs, some appointed by him, others already in power when he enlisted their service. He easily liked Gumgog the most.

“We going to the Mugs,” Gumgog shouted to the three hundred. “We going to make them help us, maybe swear allegiance to us. Then we go to the Duns and the Glushes, and make them do the same! We make an army, and we follow the human in black. All hear me?”

When an orc near him raised a hand to speak, Gumgog gripped his giant club and swung in a great heaving motion that used his entire waist and chest. The stone connected against the orc’s skull with a giant crack. The limp body flew ten feet before crumpling along the grass.

“Any others need help hearing me?” Gumgog bellowed. No help needed. All understood.

W e can travel at least a day without food,” Velixar said as he joined Qurrah and Tessanna by their fire. “I’ve got several hunting and butchering any animals we find, but the wedge is pitiful for living off the land. However, that should buy us time until we reach the first of the Mug camps.”

“Who leads them?” Qurrah asked.

“Lummug,” Velixar said. “At least, he did last I was here. You never know with orcs, do you?” The man in black chuckled. “No, and you never know about how children of a goddess will react either. You cost me troops, Tessanna. Even worse, you went against my will.”

“I never swore my life to you,” Tessanna said. She sounded sleepy, and her eyes drooped as she stared at the fire. “I swore it to Qurrah. And how many troops did you lose? A hundred? Two?”

Velixar narrowed his eyes.

“Those that died I would have brought back,” he said. “At least six hundred would march by my side.”

“How many orcs are there in all the tribes?” Tessanna asked. “How many thousands? You whine like a child.”

She laid her head against Qurrah’s shoulder and closed her eyes. The half-orc looked to his master, trying to gauge how much of his anger was truth and how much was bluster. He doubted Velixar had ever been challenged as he had been by Tessanna.

“Will the other tribes swear allegiance to you?” Qurrah asked, hoping to shift the topic of the conversation.

“In times past I have enlisted the aid of their warchief to keep the orcs in line. The time for such trickery is past. The orcs will swear their loyalty to me, and Karak, or they will die.” He pointedly looked at Tessanna. “Does that please our princess?”