David Dalglish - The Death of Promises

Atop the wall, the archers emptied their quivers, for with their enemy packed and unable to move, they couldn’t miss. The soldiers on the front started stabbing in between the shields, filling the street with blood. Harruq rejoined the two casters, knowing there was no place for him without a shield.

“You alright?” he asked his wife.

“Head hurts,” she said. She leaned against the wall. Tarlak was beside her, staring at the intense combat.

“Any spell we cast will hit our own,” he said. “Either that, or make our position known.”

“They’ll hold,” Harruq said.

“Good,” Tarlak said. “Because it’s going to get harder.”

As if on cue, the city shook from the roar of the lion, except this time the shaking did not stop. Harruq looked about, confused and worried.

“What the abyss?” he asked.

“No point staying hidden now,” Aurelia said, gingerly rising to her feet. “The orcs are coming.”

Harruq looked back at the row of soldiers guarding the door. About thirty had fallen, leaving less than two hundred to hold the gate. Several hundred hyena-men remained still, fighting and clawing with every ounce of their strength to enter. Of the thousands of orcs, if even half marched to their gate…

The half-orc charged the front line. Shield or no shield, he was going to fight, and he was going to kill, because the numbers they faced were about to get a whole lot bigger.

S tand firm!” Antonil shouted as the lion’s roar filled their ears. It’s effect was pitiful compared to the light of the paladin’s swords and shield. As it died, they felt the ground beneath their feet shake. The orc forces were charging. The guard captain positioned himself in the center of the first line. To his right was Jerico, his left, Lathaar.

“Antonil,” Jerico said. “Listen to me. When the orcs are a hair’s width from sword reach, we need to charge.”

“If we brace our shields then…”

“Guard captain,” Jerico said, pulling on Antonil’s shoulder to force him to meet his gaze. “Order your men to charge just before the strike. Trust me. Trust Ashhur.”

The coming horde roared and bellowed. Half broke south, a giant river of gray flesh and armor. Antonil whispered a prayer for Sergan and his men.

“I’ll trust you,” he said aloud when finished. “We’re all dead men anyway.”

“Not yet,” Lathaar said, overhearing the comment. “Not by a long shot.”

He held both his swords high and shouted out the word ‘Elholad.’ His swords flared brighter than any torch, sun, or star. Those who saw it knew no fear. They felt the sun on their skin for the first time, knew comfort in the weight of their armor and the strength in the grip they held on their swords. The orcs passed through the ring of priests and dark paladins, not daring to touch any even in their frenzy. Archers released their arrows, but it was like spitting on a bonfire.

“At my command,” Antonil shouted over the commotion, “I want you to charge as one. Do you understand?”

The soldiers shouted in unison.

The army closed the distance. Jerico stepped out from the front row and knelt to one knee. His shield leaned before him. Its light shimmered and swirled, as if a rainbow were trapped within the metal. The paladin closed his eyes and prayed.

The orcs were almost upon him. They funneled through the shattered ashes of the doors and into the giant gateway. Their axes and swords were drawn. Their mouths were open in mindless cries of bloodthirst. Jerico heard none of it. He felt his shield become weightless on his arm. He felt his heart stop. The whole world was silent. He opened his eyes. He felt his faith like a knife in his chest, unbreakable, immovable. In one smooth motion, he stood and pushed his shield against the air. A white image rammed forth, similar to his shield but larger and made of purest light.

Sound returned. The world resumed. Jerico watched as the glowing shield slammed the nearest orcs. They howled with pain, and every one toppled as if a hammer had struck their chest. Those behind tripped over them and died, trampled by the next wave of their comrades.

“Charge!” Antonil screamed. The men rushed forward, Lathaar and Antonil leading the way. Lathaar’s swords sliced through gray flesh. Antonil’s shield bashed and pushed, his sword cutting into any weakness. The orcs had no footing, no momentum. Those who funneled into the gateway died, their bodies becoming a barrier the rest had to climb over. And then Jerico joined them, his mace Bonebreaker more than living up to its name. He shattered the jaw of one orc, kicked his body back, and then crushed the skull of his replacement. Over a thousand orcs pressed and fought to enter the city but were held back by the front seven of Neldar.

“Fall back,” Antonil shouted. The horde were pulling away, preparing for another rush. Many were dragging bodies and dumping them to the sides so they could have a clear battlefront. A few tried to give chase and deny the soldiers a chance to flee, but then Haern appeared in the gap between the two armies, a wicked gleam in his eye. He spun through the orcs, his curved sabers slashing out tendons and throats as he passed. The orcs tried to converge on him but he leapt further away from the city. He descended upon the orc army like a storm cloud.

Once outside the gateway he had even more room to maneuver. He double stabbed one’s throat, then leapt into the air and jumped off his chest. He sailed over the orcs, his entire body rotating. Sabers slashed and cut eyes and faces. Those near his landing tried to flee. They died. When several rushed, hoping to bury him with numbers, he turned toward the gate and activated the magic of his ring, vanishing and reappearing past their blockade. He ran through the gateway, which was a bloodied mess. The rest of the soldiers were inside and in formation, while Jerico knelt once more, his eyes closed and his shield ready.

“What in the abyss was that, that…shield?” Lathaar asked Jerico. While the others around them were gasping for air, both paladins appeared to be only winded from the fight.

“Like that?” Jerico asked, his eyes still closed. A slight smile broke the corners of his lips. “I’ve done it only once, when I was alone.”

“Can you do it again?”

He looked to the orcs, who were snarled and lining up for another charge.

“I don’t know,” Jerico said. “I’ll try.”

Antonil ran through his ranks, pulling fresh men to the front. When done he ran back with his sword high and gleaming.

“Charge at my command!” he screamed.

“Yes sir!” The soldiers’ shouts were louder, heartier. They had withstood the first assault without nary a life lost. No longer did they feel they fought a hopeless battle.

“Get ready,” Lathaar said as he stepped back to the line. “They won’t be surprised this time around.”

“We don’t need surprise,” Haern said, blood covering his golden hair. “We have strength they can’t dream of.”

The orcs entered the gateway with their arms crossed and their weapons held in defensive positions, but it did no good. Jerico waited even later, hurling the magical shield into the gateway even as the orcs swung at his body. They flew back, screaming in pain. The ground became a tangled mess of limbs as they fell atop one another. Instead of charging, the orcs behind them retreated, wanting no part of that chaos. Lathaar and Haern attacked, giving them no quarter. Antonil raised his hand and held his army back, in case the orcs tried to assault. They didn’t. Glowing swords and sharpened sabers slashed through those who tried to stand and fight. Even those who lay in pain found steel piercing through their throats and eyes.