David Dalglish - The Death of Promises

“You murdered my followers,” Pelarak said. “They died quick, and with little pain. I will not grant you that same courtesy.”

The light turned crimson, and Haern’s screams grew louder. The whole time Pelarak smiled.

“Enough!” Delysia shouted.

White fireflies zipped around Pelarak’s body, their light burning his eyes. One by one they crashed against his body, dissolving into luminescent sparks. Their holy energy burned delivered a throbbing stab against his soul. His concentration broke. The red light around his hands faded.

“So the priestess finally shows her face,” Pelarak said as Delysia ran to Haern’s side. He shrugged off the pain and let unholy energy gather at his fingertips.

“Same could be said for you,” she whispered as glanced over Haern’s body. He didn’t appear too wounded, just in shock from the pain. He’d recover, if given the time. Time, though, was something she would have to fight for.

“You are a healer,” Pelarak said as the darkness about him intensified. “Do you think you can withstand the purity of my hatred?”

Ten small projectiles flew toward her, their centers swirling an ugly brown while their outsides glowed black. Delysia put her hands out as if she were resisting a fall and then braced her mind. The projectiles hit, each one filled with an image and accompanying emotion. She saw fields of desecrated bodies. She saw innocents burning in fire. She felt anger, hatred, disgust and contempt. More images, those of mutilated children, starving women, bleeding animals and ruined forests, pushed into her mind. To each one she countered with the image of Aullienna smiling happy in her arms as she held her. All around were her friends. She remembered the joy and happiness, and against it the anger and vile images broke.

“Clever,” Pelarak said as the mental link the projectiles had established broke. “But Karak has long wanted your meddlesome group removed. I have seen what you dare not see.”

Two more orbs of dark memories formed at his fingers. He threw the first, then the second. His smirk was gone. The images he was sending hurt him as well, but against a priestess of Ashhur, they would be devastating.

Delysia prepared her defense. The image came, and it too was of Aullienna, running happily through the forest behind their tower. A pang of dread hit her as she realized what she was being shown. The girl climbed over a log, ducked through brush, and then found a stream. She giggled and smiled before diving into the water. The priestess tried to remember her happy, her laughing in her arms as a child, but all she could see was Aullienna flailing, water filling her tiny lungs and stealing away her life. The emotion coupled with the image was also something she had not expected: terrible, wracking guilt.

“You see the horrible things this world must endure because of the faith you preach,” she heard Pelarak say. “You see the ruination that Ashhur breeds by your rejection of the half-orc’s brother?”

The second projectile hit. She knew this one well, and against her weakened heart she could not shrug it aside. She saw Brug, lying numb and helpless on the ground as Tessanna stood over him with her dagger in hand. As the blade pierced through his eye, she shrieked and begged the image to end. Again she felt horrible guilt, this time coupled with regret. She could not bear it.

Pelarak smiled as the priestess collapsed to her knees, sobbing. Haern lay beside her, his eyes closed. Two of the most powerful defenders of Veldaren, both laid broken by his strength of will.

“Praise be to Karak,” he prayed as he approached with death in his hands.

T he flames felt much hotter than before. Harruq grimaced and hoped Aurelia’s spell would hold out. The last thing he wanted to be was a charred meal for an overgrown cat, but he would be the first to admit things never went as hoped.

“Best you got?” he shouted as he ran down the street, the lion hot on his heels with fire shooting from its mouth. Harruq decided not to test his defensive spell anymore than he had to. He rolled underneath the first blast and dodged the second by ducking into an alley. The lion spun its body and dug its claws into the ground. Huge grooves cut into the dirt as it halted its momentum. Harruq clashed his swords together, taking strength from their magic.

“Don’t think you can fit in here,” he said to the lion. “But if you can, I don’t think your claws can match my swords. Want to try it?”

Evidently it did. The lion snarled and lunged. Both shoulders slammed against the side of buildings. Their walls shook, charring black from the heat. Harruq leapt back, but only a little. The lion tried again. Beams broke. Plaster crumbled. Even if the buildings had to fall, it would reach him.

“Persistent bugger,” Harruq muttered. When the lion charged again he lashed out, cutting a deep line across the bridge of its nose. The pain only spurred it further. Fire flooded the alley, and this time the half-orc felt his skin blister. The protection spell was nearly spent.

“Not good,” he said. “Not good, not good, not good.”

He cut at a searching paw, then went on the offensive. Salvation and Condemnation cut and spun. The lion could only bat at the swords, unable to use its greater size to its advantage in the cramped alley. When the paw struck blade, Harruq pressed with all his strength. The creature howled as it lost two claws, nubs of flesh hanging from them. The lion hobbled back, limping on its wounded right paw. Black blood poured across the dirt.

Harruq picked up one of the claws and hurled it at the lion, the mockery angering it further. It bared its teeth and prepared another blast of fire. The half-orc braced his arms, seeing nowhere to go. If he survived he could perhaps kill it before it recovered from the wound. The rush of fire, however, never came.

Three bolts of lightning slammed into its rear, the force knocking the lion to the ground. A whimper escaped its throat, strange and unbecoming. A lance of ice followed it, crashing against its face. The ice tore through its left eye, rendering it blind. The creature turned to run, but now Harruq was leaping out of the alley, his twin swords hungry. He slashed the tendons in its back legs, tumbling the lion to the ground.

Before it could stand, a final bolt of lightning struck from the sky. The giant body convulsed, and a stream of molten black gunk oozed from its open mouth. It moved no more.

“How in the abyss are you not a pile of ash right now?” Tarlak asked as he walked down the alley and slapped the warrior on the shoulder.

“Aurry,” Harruq said. The wizard chuckled.

“Of course. Where is our lovely elf, anyway?”

The ground shook beneath them, and high in the sky the blood lion roared in exaltation. The two exchanged a single look, then without a word they ran toward the fountain, weapons drawn and magic ready.

A s the huge teeth closed on her neck, Aurelia cast a desperate spell. Her body turned translucent, as if it were made of smoke and light. She fell through the roof, her body like a ghost. She landed beside a bed where two children cowered in the arms of their father. Their eyes were wide, and all shook with deep, constant fear.

“What’s going on?” the father asked. Sweat ran down his chin.

“Get under the bed,” she told them. At first they did not move, but then giant claws tore away the wood above their heads, and red light flooded the room as fire poured in. The elf hooked her thumbs and held her hands high, palms outward. A ward against fire materialized before the family, a shimmering concave barrier that darkened from orange to deep red as the fire parted against it. The father grabbed a son in each hand, held them to his chest, and then made a frantic rush for the door.