David Dalglish - The Death of Promises

“It’s not Qurrah,” Harruq said, stealing attention away from the paladin condemning his brother. “It’s Velixar. That’s his army. He’s done this before, several years ago.”

“Doesn’t matter who,” Tarlak interrupted. “The priests were there to soften the city for the attack, and they did a damn good job, too. Do what you can. That army will be here by the dawn.”

Haern grabbed Tarlak’s arm and stopped his casting of a portal.

“Where are you going?” he asked.

“To warn Antonil,” Tarlak said, glaring at the hand on his arm. “And then grab a moment of rest. I’ll be worthless without it.”

He yanked his arm free and finished his spell. He entered the swirling blue portal without another word. The rest watched him go.

“I’ll start rallying troops,” Jerico said, glancing back to the city. “We might have a chance if we hold the two gates. Karak’s image in the sky will have shaken most of the guard’s faith. We need to restore it.”

“Ashhur be with us all,” Lathaar said, bowing to the others. The two paladins ran back to the city. Mira followed.

“You both will be needed,” Haern said, running a hand through his hair. “We’ve all seen what your brother and his lover can do. If Velixar is with them, even the city’s walls will not be enough to protect us.”

Harruq said nothing. Aurelia wrapped her arms around his waist and held him close as the assassin left. The two stared at the line of torches in the dark, Aurelia filled with worry, and Harruq with guilt.

“My brother,” he said. “Because of my brother…”

“And therein lies the blame,” Aurelia said. “Not you.”

“Easy words. How many will die tonight?”

Aurelia pulled on his shoulder and forced his eyes to meet hers. She was a living blessing in the moonlight, a beautiful creature hundreds of years old and filled with grace and wonder. And she kissed the simple, plain man she loved.

“Not us,” she said. “And remember which side of the walls you are on. You will fight to save, not to kill. Now come.”

She took his hand and led him back to the city.

T arlak closed the portal immediately after exiting, not wanting anyone to follow. While he had said he was going to speak with Antonil, he had instead sent himself to the Eschaton tower. With a wave of his hand, he opened the front door and rushed inside. The others had been too focused on Aurelia’s description of what she saw to notice he had cast a divination spell. He had seen wolf-men, hyena-men, bird-men, orcs and goblins, all marching in unison. Not since the original days of the brothers’ war had such an army existed.

He came to the Eschaton tower because he expected never to return.

His room was first. Tarlak scooped up scrolls from his shelves and tossing them into his hat, which seemed to never fill. He went to Delysia’s room next, wincing at all the signs of the life. He took a few pieces of jewelry Brug had made for her and then closed the door. He skipped Haern’s room, knowing the assassin always kept everything he needed close on person. Outside Harruq and Aurelia’s room he paused, thinking of what they might want from within.

“Might as well check,” he said, and placed his hand on the door only to realize it was ajar. His hair stood on end, and somehow he knew it was no accident or happenstance. Slowly he pushed it open, thankful it was well-oiled as to not creak.

Sitting with her legs curled underneath her was Tessanna, gently running her hand through the illusory grass Aurelia had created with her magic. With the door open he could hear her softly singing. His hands trembled. Brug had died by her dagger, and all the while she had laughed. Laughed. Her back was to him.

Helpless, he thought. Power swelled into his hands, begging for release. He held it in. Something was too sad about the scene, and then he heard crying.

“I’m sorry, Aully,” he heard her say. “Big dog’s coming, and he’s coming for you…”

Her grief was so great he felt like an intruder in his own tower. Where was the simplicity he had felt only minutes ago? His hands lowered, and the magic around them faded away.

A piece of bone pressed against the back of his neck. He tensed, and his heart leapt as he heard raspy breathing from behind.

“A life for a life,” Qurrah whispered. “You spared her, so I spare you.”

The bone piece left. When Tarlak turned around, Qurrah stared at him with arms crossed and his whip in hand. The bone hovered in orbit around his head like a morbid halo. Two scars ran down the side of his face, angry and red. His tears have become acid, Tarlak thought. The contempt and vileness he saw in Qurrah’s eyes made it seem almost possible.

“We’ve seen your army,” the wizard whispered. “Do you come to conquer, or destroy?”

“You’ll fight me either way,” Qurrah responded. “So that is an answer you don’t need. Your city is doomed. Tell my idiot brother to flee while he still can.”

Tessanna heard their talking and stood. She smiled back to Tarlak even though tears ran down her cheeks.

“You know he won’t,” she said, answering for him. “Which makes it all the sadder. Tell them I’m sorry, too. But I will kill all of you if I must, as will Qurrah. Leave, Tarlak. Please, leave.”

He walked down the stairs, slow and dignified. He would run from no one. When he reached the outside, he opened a portal to Veldaren. Thoughts raced through his head. Under no circumstances would he give their message to Harruq. He glanced back one last time at his home as a part of him realized why Qurrah and Tessanna had come back.

“You’ll never have what they had,” he said to the highest floor before stepping inside, unaware of the life already growing inside Tessanna’s womb.

A ntonil had slept poorly ever since the lion appeared in the sky. When its roar shook the city he had cowered like the rest of his soldiers, and the shame of it scarred his honor. Several hours had passed with him falling in and out of fitful sleep haunted by dreams of facing legions of dark shapes while he wielded only a broken sword. When the blue portal ripped open in his room, he lurched forward and grabbed his sword, which lay next to him on the bed.

“Easy,” Tarlak said as he stepped out to find the tip near his throat. “It’s just me, your local friendly wizard.”

“Forgive me,” Antonil said, putting the sword down. “I’ve just been edgy since, well…I’m sure you saw it.”

“More than saw it,” the mage said, his whole persona darkening. “Priests of Karak unleashed that blasphemy upon the sky. Delysia is dead. The priests killed her.”

Antonil opened and closed his mouth. The grogginess in his head refused to clear, but piercing that grogginess was the gentle face and red hair of the priestess. His heart panged with guilt.

“We should have been there,” he said. “My guards, my soldiers, we only cowered while you fought…”

“It doesn’t matter,” Tarlak interrupted. “What matters is that an army marches toward the city, almost ten thousand strong.”

“Orcs?” the guard captain asked.

“Yes,” Tarlak said. “But also hyena-men and wolf-men. Even bird-men march alongside. This’ll make the orc attack several years ago look like child’s play.”

Antonil rubbed his thumb and forefinger against his eyelids.

“Are you sure?” he asked as he blinked away the rest of his sleepiness.

“No, I just enjoy waking people in the middle of the night and scaring them. Yes, I’m sure! Get your guards stationed, wake up every man who owns a sword, and then put them before the gates!”

Antonil leapt from his bed, still wearing the underpadding of his armor. He put the rest of his gold-tinted armor on in mere moments, buckling and strapping it on as he talked.