David Dalglish - The Death of Promises

The dead obeyed. Another ninety stood.

“I knew you could do better,” Velixar said as the combined dead of the first two spells sauntered toward the center of town.

“Silence,” Qurrah said, the venom in his voice startling. The half-orc fell to one knee and propped himself up with a fist. He gasped for breath. Within his head, he could feel the hundred and sixty, every one moving by his strength alone. It was a weight he had never felt so strong before. It was as if creatures lurked inside his eyes, clawing and biting. At any moment he thought he would pass out. But it was not enough.

“You wanted me pushed,” Qurrah said as he stood. “You wanted me tested. So be it, master.”

He raised his arms to the sky and began casting the spell one final time. Velixar’s eyes narrowed as he stared, but Tessanna only giggled.

“At last,” she said as the power of the spell built. Flecks of white dust gathered around the half-orc’s frozen pose, swirling as if it were a child-sized tornado. Qurrah’s eyes rolled into his head. Everything ached. Everything hurt. The well of his magic, something he felt himself attuned to, felt empty. Drained. But he remembered years ago when he had challenged Velixar’s magic.

The well is limitless, he thought. The power grew steady. Its chaos was gone. With each passing second, he felt his soul rise. The hairs on his body stood. His mouth locked open, the last of the spell finished. The well refused to run dry.

“Rise!” he screamed, and for once his throat did not tear. Magic poured out of him. He demanded obedience of the dead, and the dead obeyed. His heart raced as his body wavered. Delirium overtook his mind. The well would not run dry. All around Veldaren the dead were rising, and still the well did not run dry. He tore his gaze from the sky and looked at Velixar, a wild smile on his face. For one heavy moment, Qurrah’s eyes shone a fierce red.

“A thousand,” he said, and then he fell. As he lay in the dirt the glow about his eyes faded away. He coughed twice, and then he began laughing.

“Go to him,” Velixar said to Tessanna. The girl nodded, still smiling. She knelt beside Qurrah and stroked his hair.

“I can feel them,” Qurrah said. “Inside me. They’ll obey. They are so many…so many…”

Velixar bowed his head as he heard the words of Karak inside his mind.

He has felt my touch. It will not be long before Thulos enters this world and breaks the chains of the goddess. Praise be to you, my greatest servant.

“His eyes,” he whispered.

There is but one way for me to escape my prison. You know this as well as I.

“I was to be your avatar,” Velixar insisted.

Hold faith. I show you no dishonor, but if there is another, I would keep you by my side.

“As you wish,” the man in black said. He raised his head and saw Tessanna staring at him.

“Qurrah is mine first,” she said as she held her laughing, insane lover. “And when your god is freed, he is mine alone.”

“He has tasted what I have always lived,” Velixar said. “I will never take him from you.”

Tessanna helped her lover to his feet. He gripped her tight, his fingers digging into her skin. With wild eyes he grinned at Velixar.

“A thousand,” he said. “Are you still disappointed, master? ”

The features on Velixar’s face slowed in their shifting, and from within the frozen visage the red eyes glared.

“Follow me to the castle,” he said. “And send your pets to the east wall. Let them finish off your brother. We have more important matters to attend to.”

“As you desire,” the half-orc said. He closed his eyes, and all throughout the city his undead heard his commands and obeyed. Velixar led them north toward the castle. Qurrah’s undead took up a chant, and when Velixar heard it, a frown burned across his lips. They did not shout to Karak like they should have. Instead, they shouted their loyalty to another.

For Qurrah! they shouted.

For Qurrah!

For Qurrah!

T he guards had abandoned their posts. The giant doors were unlocked and unguarded. The three of them were alone, small figures in a giant city filled with fire, blood, and death. Velixar stared at the castle, a smile replacing the frown he had been wearing. He raised his arms as he saw the four crenellated towers, the faded gray stone, and the roaring lion carved deep into the walls at the base of each tower.

“Praise be to Karak,” Velixar said. “I’m home.”

The inside was empty and quiet. They walked across the carpet into the throne room. King Vaelor sat on his throne, and in the morning light that shone through the windows, he was an obnoxious yellow figure. At the sight of them, he stood and drew his sword.

“No king has surrendered this city,” King Vaelor said, “and I will die before I become the first.”

“You are not surrendering,” Velixar said, marching ahead of Qurrah and Tessanna. “You are relinquishing the throne to its rightful heir. Karak built this city, and Karak demands that long forgotten loyalty.”

“Blasphemy!” the king shouted.

Velixar laughed.

“Only an idiot would believe stating the truth to be blasphemy,” the man in black said as he curled his fingers. “I have no time for you, worm.”

His fingers uncurled. Blood collected around the king’s eyes, and in one single crack the bones in his face crunched inward. The sword dropped from his hand. He fell forward and bled out on the carpet.

“Not the honorable death he most likely hoped for,” Qurrah said. Velixar dismissed the dead king with a wave of his hand.

“None will remember his name,” he said. “Fools and cowards are soon forgotten.”

Velixar passed by the throne, gently touching its sides with his fingers. The ceiling was high, and behind the elevated dais was a wall covered with a giant, crimson curtain hung from a long, golden rod. Velixar grabbed part of the thick fabric in a fist and whispered a word of magic. Purple fire surrounded his hand. The curtain burned in a sudden flash, becoming ash without smoke or heat. Qurrah gasped at the sight behind the curtain, and even Tessanna grabbed her lover’s arm and held it tight.

A single painting covered the wall, done with skill and detail beyond anything Qurrah had ever seen. Much of it was of a green landscape cluttered with small hills and a few sparse trees. A giant portal swirled in the center. Fire burned out of control within it. Standing before the portal were two men, strong and beautiful. Qurrah recognized one, for he was eerily similar to the statue he had seen inside Veldaren’s temple to Karak. The two could have been twins, except for their hair. The one on the left was blond, the other, brown. Perched on the clouds above them watched a woman, her hair black as coal and her eyes empty orbs of shadow. The resemblance was unmistakable. She looked like an older, mature Tessanna.

“Right here,” Velixar said, interrupting the long silence that had followed the painting’s revealing. “Where this wall stands is where the gods entered. They created the painting to commemorate their arrival. The Kings of Neldar hid it not long after the great war, as if they were ashamed of those that had shaped the stone and created their city.”

Velixar took out his journal and opened it to the center page. His hand quivered as he glanced over the words.

“So long,” he whispered. “So very long.”

“This is where we will cast the spell,” asked Qurrah. “This is where we reopen the portal to their former world?”

Velixar brushed the stone with his fingers. The stone rippled like water against his touch. “Come, Qurrah. Let it be done.”

Tessanna kissed his cheek. “Make me proud,” she whispered. The half-orc joined Velixar’s side. He glanced at the words on the page. They appeared simple, but he knew better. The strength required to open the portal would be enormous, otherwise Velixar would never have needed aid. He felt sweat trickle down his back as he repeated the words over and over in his mind.