David Dalglish - The Death of Promises

“Paladins?”

He looked behind him, and sure enough he saw the telltale glow of white and blue. He gave one last strange look to the girl with black eyes and climbed back down from the wall.

“Paladins of Ashhur!” he shouted. Buried in the center of the hundreds of footmen lined before the gate shone two swords and a shield. “Come forth!”

Jerico and Lathaar knelt before the guard captain as the man approached.

“We come to offer our aid, and the aid of Ashhur,” Lathaar said.

“If there was ever a time we needed Ashhur’s aid, it is now,” Antonil said. “But I thought only one remained.”

“I hid, but no longer,” Jerico answered. “I ask you let us fight alongside your men in defense of this city.”

Antonil pointed to the locked and barred gate.

“I have heard stories of paladins fighting off hundreds before falling in death. Let’s put those stories to the test. To the front.”

“If the heathen creatures burst through, Ashhur’s light will wait for them,” Lathaar said as he stood. The two took their positions. Antonil watched them shouting and ordering around his men. The sun was rising, but darkness remained heavy in the hearts of his men. Fear was the weapon of Karak, and Antonil knew nothing turned aside that weapon better than a paladin.

“We will hold the gate,” someone whispered into Antonil’s ear. He didn’t need to look to know who it was.

“If you are here as well, Haern, then I’m sure we will,” Antonil said.

Archers and ground troops ready, the guard captain and his personal guards marched to the southern gate. They had half the ground troops but the gate was thinner and the street narrower. Antonil expected the strongest blows to fall against the west. When he arrived he saw his best general, Sergan, shouting with a voice rapidly approaching hoarseness.

“Greetings Sergan,” Antonil said, saluting the old veteran. “Think we have a chance?”

“Compared to Woodhaven this will be a picnic,” the man replied. “Long as we don’t got elves shooting at us…hey, who the abyss taught you how to buckle a sword?”

Sergan stormed over to a young footman who appeared lost on how to strap his sword to his waist. The general grabbed it from him, flipped it around, buckled it tight, and returned to Antonil in the span of five seconds.

“It’s always the simplest stuff,” Antonil said, a grin on his face.

“Wasn’t my trainee,” Sergan grumbled. The two quieted as each looked to the men on the ground and walls and pondered the strength of their forces.

“Sergan…” Antonil began.

“We can hold,” the general said. “Even if they send more than you’re thinking, we’ll hold.”

“And if the gates fall?” Antonil asked.

“You mean like last time?”

The guard captain nodded. Sergan sighed and gestured wide with his hands.

“They won’t find the going easy. Lead your men, and I’ll lead mine. We’ll hold. Believe it, and we’ll do it.”

“See you at the battle’s end,” Antonil said. He drew his sword and held it high, rallying the soldiers around him.

“A pint of ale for every man who beheads an orc!” he shouted. The men shouted back, but their cheers were hollow. After saluting Sergan, he sheathed his sword and marched back to the western gate.

W hen the last of the sun rose above the horizon, the priests of Karak made their presence known. They slipped out of the king’s forest, garbed in their finest black robes. They formed a loose semicircle around the city with forty of their members. They spread their hands and faced Veldaren. They opened their mouths. A single, solid roar of a lion shook the city and filled all who heard with fear. Every third minute they released Karak’s power into that roar, so that all within knew that a god himself had come to destroy.

G reat master,” the goblin said, groveling on his hands and knees as if Qurrah were a deity. “Men come to speak with you, and they kill orcs who say no.”

“Where are they?” Qurrah asked.

“Leave us,” Velixar told the goblin. “Our guests are here.”

Marching through the horde of orcs were twenty-five knights arranged in rows of five. Their armor was black, their eyes were blacker, and waving from banners attached to their saddles was the skull of a lion. The half-orc glared, recognizing his new arrival.

“The priests herald our arrival,” the centermost of the leading five said as he removed his helmet. “And now the last of the obedient are joined as one army.”

“High Enforcer Carden,” Velixar said, embracing the man after the dark paladin had dismounted. “It has been far too long.”

“Aye, it has, prophet. And I am High Enforcer no longer. Krieger has assumed my mantle.”

Krieger dismounted from the horse beside them and knelt.

“It is an honor to be at your side at the final purge,” he said.

Velixar bade him rise. “The dark paladins have done far more than I in swaying hearts to the true god. It is I who is honored by your allegiance. The sun has risen, the walls are in view, and the great lion roars. The battle is ready to begin.”

He turned to Qurrah, who along with Tessanna had remained quiet beside Velixar, wanting little to do with their new guests.

“Prepare the torches,” he said to them. “Afterward, stay at my side.”

“And us?” Krieger asked.

“Join the priests in their circle. Not a single soul is to escape. Let the lesser races shed their blood for Karak first.”

The dark paladins rode out, their banners held high. They filled in gaps of the circle, and when the priests released the lions roar, they held their swords high and shouted the name of their god.

“When we start the fun!” boomed an intoxicated voice. Gumgog pushed his way through the orcs, using his club arm to beat senseless any who didn’t move. His face was painted white, and on his chest was the skull of a lion. The orc lumbered up to Velixar and slammed his club to the ground.

“WHEN?” he roared.

“Calm yourself, Warmaster,” Qurrah said, not giving Velixar a chance to speak. “Order the beast-men to raise high their torches. When the fire hits the city, order the bird-men to attack the western gate. You do know which is west, right?”

“Bwah hah hah!” Gumgog lifted his club arm and shifted his shoulder so he could point at the gate directly across from them. “That one. Gumgog drunk, and Gumgog want to kill, but me still know what is what. What about the south gate?”

“The hyena-men will assault that one,” Velixar replied, grinning at Qurrah. “Keep the wolf-men back. Their use is later. When the gates fall, have Trummug unleash the horde.”

“What Karak wants, Karak gets,” the orc bellowed before turning around and beating his way back through the orc ranks. “Raise your torches!” he shouted throughout the army. “All of you, get them torches high!”

“Amusing orc,” Velixar said, laughing. The fear wafting from the city was intoxicating, and by the smile on Qurrah’s face he knew his disciple sensed it too. “Will you begin the assault on your own, or do you wish my help?”

“Let the first strike be mine,” the half-orc said. “It is only just.”

Tessanna kissed his cheek and stepped back, giving him room to cast his spell. The horde army completely surrounded the city, with the bird-men and hyena-men near their designated gates. They held their torches high as ordered. Qurrah closed his eyes and let the magic pour out. Dark words flowed across his tongue. He felt the torches in his mind, lighting his inner vision like stars across a sky. He grasped them as he would with a fist, except he used his power, his will, to command. The fires of the torches flared hot, blinding even in the morning light. With a triumphant cry he tore the fires into the sky.