David Dalglish - The Death of Promises

“The sacrifice will be made,” he said. Words of magic poured from his mouth. Shadow and mist swirled around the dagger as he clutched it with both hands. Tarlak saw the spell, as well as his sister lying unconscious at his feet.

“We have to help her!” he shouted. He started to run, but the pack leader blocked the way. Nearby he heard growling and shouts of pain. Lathaar and Harruq had backed their lion against a wall, and between their coordinated attacks kept it cornered. Jerico’s lion, on the other hand, was battered and beaten. Every time it attacked, Jerico blocked with his shield, letting the holy energy seep in and destroy the demonic flesh of the beast.

“I will keep its attention,” Mira said as she stepped beside him. “Hurry to her side.”

A thousand tiny arrows flew from her hands, adjusting their aim when the lion dodged. At their touch, the creature howled. The arrows did no permanent damage, instead causing sharp, stinging pains. Multiplied by the hundreds, the pain infuriated the beast. Aurelia increased its torment by zapping it on the nose with a bolt of lightning. Mad beyond reason, it roared and charged.

Tarlak ran unnoticed past the lion, his eyes locked on Pelarak.

B e darkness made flesh,” Pelarak said as the spell neared its end. The verbal components were finished. He could feel the power swelling within him as he looked to the still form at his feet. He saw a woman, beautiful and devoted in her faith.

“Flesh so soft and a heart so kind,” he said. “Sacrifice. Everything must involve sacrifice.”

He knew her brother watched. He let that last bit of guilt plunge the dagger into Delysia’s breast.

“No!” Tarlak screamed, a single spear made of fire sailing from his hands. Pelarak did not try to protect himself. He accepted the spear with closed eyes, letting the fire burn the flesh of his chest. The impact knocked him against the fountain. The edge cracked against his hip, and he fell to one knee as pain filled his drained body. The magic was gone. His soul felt empty. The dagger in his hands contained no magic, only a dark stain of blood.

The wizard slowed, tears running down his cheeks as he watched the shadow and darkness swirl into the wound on his sister’s chest. He heard a roar from the sky. Karak was mocking him.

“Damn you, Karak,” he said, his lower lip quivering. “Damn you and your priests too.” He lifted his arms into the air, every bit of his power screaming into the spell. When he thrust his arms down, a bolt of lightning twice the width of an oak tree blasted the fountain, shattering the statue of a long dead king and spilling blood-water everywhere. Pelarak accepted the blast, knowing death was an inevitability for his faith and the path he walked. But death did not come. Karak’s will was strong in the air, and his hands protected his most faithful priest.

When Pelarak stood, Tarlak knew damn well what he was seeing. Karak was not done mocking him. Then Delysia rose from the ground, the darkness settling upon her flesh. Slits opened across her face, shining red eyes underneath. Claws stretched out from her fingers, circular and long as swords. The creature looked to him and snarled, revealing rows of teeth sharper than daggers and just as large. He sobbed, the sounds of battle fading away. His sister…his beautiful sister had become…

He couldn’t think it. Couldn’t bear it. His sister had become a Doru’al, one of the trusted bodyguards of Karak. And now it charged, claws out and teeth ready. It would kill him, and he lacked the heart to resist. Defeated before a single drop of blood was drawn, he slumped to his knees and waited.

J erico dropped his mace and flung his other hand against the inside of his shield. The lion had abandoned all form of tactic. Every time it swiped or bit, his shield was there. Instead, it flung its entire weight in hopes of crushing him against the side of a house. He could feel the wood cracking against his back, and his arms shook against the tremendous weight. He clenched his jaw and focus. His elbows would not bend. His arms would not move. Even if bones broke, he would not relinquish.

The holy power of his shield poured into the demon like a river. At last it fell back, its very being quivering. Too much had entered its body. It collapsed, white light wafting off its body like smoke from a dying fire. Jerico gasped in relief, his shield arm falling limp at his side. He retrieved his mace and took a look around their battlefield. Lathaar and Harruq still fought against their lion, but they appeared in control. He didn’t see Mira or Aurelia, but he trusted their magic. Tarlak though…

He heard the wizard’s cry, and at the sound he felt his heart sink. It was the cry of a broken man. He turned and saw the Doru’al stand, the body a blot of pure darkness hovering above the street.

“Don’t give in,” he whispered, but Tarlak already had. Jerico ran, his shield leading. Meanwhile the Doru’al vanished, only to reappear directly in front of the kneeling wizard. Claws closed around his neck as it lifted him with one hand. The creature snarled at him, its red eyes evil and heartless.

“Make it quick,” Pelarak ordered as he staggered toward the pair. “He was an honorable man.”

The Doru’al growled in response. The priest shrugged his shoulders and watched. With its free hand, it dragged a claw across his neck and sliced open a thin red line of blood. The pain sparked a bit of life into Tarlak. He clutched at the darkness and attempted to cast a spell, but claws closed tighter, choking away his breath. The creature nipped at his throat with the tips of its teeth. Mocking him. Warm, foul breath blew across the blood, further igniting the pain. Torturing. Mocking.

“Back!” Jerico screamed as his shield slammed into the Doru’al’s side. The hit freed Tarlak from its grip. Jerico continued to pummel it with his shield as he shouted.

“In the name of Ashhur, the light, and all that is good, I cast you back!”

The creature howled, the darkness within its being hurt beyond measure by the holy light. Against his constant attacks, the Doru’al had little chance to escape or survive. Pelarak ended them with a curse. Darkness covered Jerico’s eyes, blinding his sight. The paladin swung with his mace, hoping to kill the creature before it realized his weakness, but the hit struck the dirt. He felt something slice into his arm, and then a horrid pain pierce his side. He staggered back while pulling his shield close to his body.

“You may be light in this world,” he heard the priest say. “But can you live in the darkness?”

“Can you?” Haern whispered into Pelarak’s ear before burying both sabers through his back and into his heart. The darkness left Jerico’s eyes. The Doru’al was gone. Marching down the street were priests of Ashhur. Their High Priest Calan led the way. Lathaar joined his side, horrible burns covering his face and hands. Calan approached and put his hands on the wounds.

“Be healed,” he told the paladin. “And forgive us for our failure to arrive in time.”

“Better late than never,” Harruq said, tramping down the street. He held his right arm against his chest, and winced with every step. “But not much.”

At this he looked to Tarlak. Blood ran down the wizard’s neck as he knelt with his hands pressed against the stone. He stared at the remnants of the fountain, his mind cruelly remembering every detail of the dagger plunging into his sister’s chest. Haern approached and offered his hand. Tarlak didn’t take it.

“Get up,” the assassin ordered. Tarlak glared, but Haern’s look remained firm. At last the mage took his hand. Haern pulled him to his feet and then hugged him. “All is not yet lost,” he said. “She still lives.”