David Dalglish - The Death of Promises

“Have we been spotted?” Qurrah asked Velixar as they stood at the outskirts of their camp and looked upon the fortress.

“I’m sure we have,” Velixar said. “The walls are bristling with orcs. The question is, will Lummug still be inside his tent?”

“He won’t leave until the fighting begins,” Qurrah said. Velixar glanced at his disciple and raised an eyebrow.

“Do you know that for sure?”

The half-orc shrugged. “I wouldn’t bet my life on it. I’d bet yours though.”

The man in black laughed.

“Summon Trummug,” he said when his laughter died. “It is time the orcs worshipped Karak once more.”

Qurrah went to fetch him, leaving Velixar to grin alone. He had been in a joyous mood for days. Everything was proceeding without a hitch, and the inevitable release of Karak seemed closer than ever.

“Me ready to kill!” Trummug bellowed to signify his arrival. Velixar turned to him, his smile growing larger.

“A fine sight you are,” he said, and he meant it. The orc’s armor was cleaned and polished. Massive amounts of gray muscle bulged underneath. On his head he wore a helmet made of iron. Surrounding it was six pairs of antlers, positioned so that tens of sharp points stretched out from his eyes and mouth toward his enemy. Two sharp spikes stretched out from his shoulders, an addition made by Velixar. His gauntlets, also made of iron, were stained red from blood.

“Almost ready,” the man in black said, admiring the sight. “But now you must accept the rewards Karak offers to those who keep his faith.”

He placed a hand on Trummug’s chest and closed his eyes. The orc fidgeted, unsure of what sorcery was about to take place. Then he felt the power flood into him. His muscles bulged. The armor, which had hung loose on him by Qurrah’s demand, suddenly latched tight and firm. He held his giant axe in one hand, though he had always needed two to lift it.

“Karak made me strong!” he shouted, his voice carrying further than it ever had. Qurrah smiled, a sad smile. He remembered how Harruq had looked when infused in a similar manner. Even Trummug, with his armor and muscle, paled in comparison.

“Always bless his name,” Velixar said, his voice captivating Trummug. “Let every kill honor your god. When you are Hordemaster, may every orc in Dezrel know the strength Karak offers.”

Trummug held his axe high above his head and bellowed out a war cry.

“Send me to fight!” he screamed. “I’ll go crazy if I don’t kill!”

Velixar slammed his hands together and whispered words of magic. A black portal tore into the air, its destination unknown.

“Enter,” he told the giant orc. “Slay your enemy, and take your place as ruler.”

With a mindless roar, Trummug leapt inside, his axe high and ready. Qurrah followed with a silent Tessanna coming shortly after. Velixar entered last, but only after commanding Gumgog to prepare his army for battle. If the armies of the Mug Fortress poured forth, they needed to be prepared.

“We be ready,” Gumgog said, saluting with his club arm. Velixar smiled.

“Failure would be most unwise,” he said before vanishing within the swirling darkness.

Q urrah was lucky enough to have ducked when he entered the portal, for otherwise a wild swing by Trummug would have taken off his head. The orc was storming about the giant tent in the center of Fortress Mug, screaming for challengers. Qurrah crouched lower and stepped back, cursing their luck. Lummug was not in his tent.

“Get back, dullard,” he said, hooking his fingers and pushing them in the air. An invisible force pushed Trummug away from the portal so his axe did not harm Tessanna and Velixar when they appeared.

“We must find him quickly,” Velixar said as he looked around and realized the problem. Trummug, nearly foaming at the mouth with rage, did not wait for council. He stormed out of the tent and shrieked at the top of his lungs.

“WHERE LUMMUG?”

Orc guards saw him and fled, wanting no part of the angry giant. Trummug raised his axe and chased, lopping off any heads within reach. Again he screamed for his brother, and throughout the entire fortress his voice thundered.

“Keep him alive,” Velixar ordered as he held open the flap of the tent for Qurrah and Tessanna. “But make sure he strikes the killing blow against Lummug.”

At first it didn’t appear to be that difficult a task. Orcs fled in all directions, wanting no part of the strangers that had magically appeared within their gates. The curious or the slow found their heads chopped or their chests shattered. Then a giant swarm of orcs approached from the north gate, shrieking with battlelust. Within the mass was Lummug, his shield and sword held high.

“Take out his entourage,” Velixar said. Qurrah chuckled.

“Is that what we should do? I might never have guessed.” He prepared his magic as Velixar glared.

“Boys, boys,” Tessanna said as she prepared her own spells. “Behave before I spank you both.”

Trummug charged the orcs head-on as if he were impervious to any wounds. Qurrah and Velixar accompanied his charge with twin blasts of bones torn from the nearby corpses. Guards crumpled to the ground, gagging from torn throats and clutching massacred eyes. Tessanna kissed the palm of her hand and blew. Red smoke swirled like a snake through the air past Trummug and into the lungs and noses of the orcs. Those that breathed it in dropped their weapons and gagged, their eyes immediately swelling red with blood. Two dropped without uttering a sound. A third vomited his intestines. The rest fell, their stomachs bursting open and pouring blood across the grass.

“A magnificent spell,” Velixar said.

“Thank you,” Tessanna said, her voice calm and emotionless. “But I have better.”

With their leader near, the rest of the camp had the courage to attack the three frail forms that stood seemingly unprotected. The girl twirled, her arms dancing through the air. Orange light shone from her fingertips. The blood of the dead orcs ran across the grass and pooled at her feet. Like a spider it latched upon her legs and climbed, swirling and covering her exposed legs. When it reached her dress it spread wide and covered it as well, so she appeared to have one long skirt of blood. With each of Tessanna’s heartbeats it pulsed with life.

“Disturbing,” Qurrah said, “but what does it…”

He stopped when Tessanna violently wrenched her body like some vicious dancer. The skirt spread wide, cracked, and then flew from her, the blood becoming snakes that flew with open mouths and dripping fangs. The snakes latched onto the gathering orcs, sinking their fangs into their necks and faces. Upon biting, the snakes dissolved back into normal blood, their poison spent. Orcs shrieked and scratched at their skin like it was on fire. They tore out their eyes so the pressure behind them would subside. They gnawed on their fingers, stabbed themselves with their swords, and writhed on the ground in unbearable agony.

“By the abyss,” Qurrah muttered, watching the macabre display.

“I stand corrected,” Velixar said. “ That is a magnificent spell.”

“Your pet,” Tessanna said, still quiet and apathetic. She pointed to where Lummug and Trummug fought. “He’s in danger.”

The two men turned, having forgotten their reason for being there. The orc brothers were deep in combat, and it appeared Lummug had the upper hand. Despite his magical strength, Trummug was a much worse fighter in terms of skill. He swung wild and crazy with his axe, trying to use sheer strength to win. Lummug, the size of an ox himself, used his shield to absorb the blows before retaliating with his sword. His cuts were not severe, but they were quickly adding up. Blood soaked both their armor.