David Dalglish - The Death of Promises

“I am not ready,” Antonil said, but the words came out weak.

“No one is ever ready,” she said. She reached out and took his quivering hand. With her other she drew his sword, flipped the hilt toward him, and grinned.

“What is it you humans say?” she asked. “The King is dead, long live the King?”

“It is. So will the portal work?” he asked as he took the sword.

“I haven’t the slightest idea,” she said.

Despite his terror, King Antonil laughed.

“If you are ready,” she said as he wiped his eyes, “then I have this for you.” She removed his golden helm, held it to her lips, and kissed it. The helmet shivered and the gold drained away. The precious metal reshaped, and from the top seven spikes jutted into a warlord’s crown.

“It is awesome,” Antonil said as he stared at the gift she offered back to him.

“Just an illusion,” the elf said. “But in times like these, illusions will suffice. Your strength will give strength to others. Now wait here for my return.”

Aurelia did not want the newly crowned king to come strolling into the camp. No, he would ride in atop a horse and demand the courage and respect he deserved. They had no horses, but that wasn’t a bother to her. A few well placed teleports and she was much farther south, staring out across a chill field. Several wild horses trotted about, nibbling from grass that still held a bit of green.

“Come to me,” she said, casting a simple charm spell across the largest and most elegant. The beautiful beast strode up and snorted while shaking his head. His body was deep black, with only a thin line of white underneath his neck.

“It will be cold where I take you,” she told the horse. “But you will be the mount of a king. A fair trade, yes?”

Another shake of the head, another snort. Aurelia giggled. She knew the creature was intelligent, but not enough to understand her words. Only pegasi were smart enough for that. But the horse understood her tone and could feel her desires, the charm spell made sure of that. She put her arm atop his neck and lead the horse through portal after portal.

“Holy piss bucket,” Antonil said when Aurelia appeared before him with the horse.

“Such language for a king,” she said. “Climb up. He will obey your commands. Just make sure I have a bit of time alone with him every night or he’ll suddenly decide you’re not near as friendly.”

“I’ve been thrown before,” Antonil said. “I’ll do what I must to prevent that again.”

K ing Antonil rode into the camp. He nodded at the soldiers that he passed. Every one, even those that stood slack-jawed, stood erect and saluted. The peasants that saw him cheered his name, the weather suddenly not so cold, the future not so bleak.

“At last our king wears a crown,” one shouted.

“All hail Antonil!” shouted another. Slowly word spread from campfire to campfire. At Aurelia’s instructions he circled the perimeter of the camp, letting soldier and commoner see his armor, his crown, and his steed. When he finally returned to his tent and dismounted, the entire place was stirring with shouts and songs.

Sergan waited for him, his axe hefted across his shoulders.

“About the finest damn thing I’ve seen in years,” he said, his grin spreading from ear to ear. “And since when could you create crowns from dirt and horses from logs?”

“Since today,” Antonil said. He went to hug the old sergeant, but Sergan stunned him by falling to one knee and laying his axe across the ground.

“I swear my axe to you, King Copernus,” he said. “Will you accept this gift, humbly offered?”

“I accept it,” Antonil said, “and I am humbled by its offering.”

Sergan stood, and the two embraced. All around soldiers raised their weapons and cheered. The newly honored king winked at Aurelia, who had remained in the background, admiring her work. She feigned a curtsey, then laughed.

“Impressive illusions,” Tarlak said, sliding up beside her. “So what is he really riding? A donkey? A large dog?”

“The horse is real,” Aurelia said. “If it had been an illusion, I’d have made sure its face resembled yours.”

“Touching,” Tarlak said. “Now follow me. We’ve got a problem.”

I told you this was crazy,” Veliana said, a large rock in her hands. “And I know I wasn’t the only one.”

They were gathered atop a solitary hill. Strewn about the dead grass were slabs of stone with runes carved atop them. Some were intricate in detail, while others were only half-finished. Deathmask stood where the portal was to go, a chisel in his left hand.

“Genius will always have its doubters,” he said, waving the chisel about.

“So will madness,” Tarlak said as he and Aurelia arrived at the top of the hill. “Funny how much those two have in common.”

Mier and Nien laughed. The two were busy juggling stones, a chisel and a hammer. Oddly enough, with each pass the runes on the stones grew a tiny bit sharper and longer.

“Deathmask doesn’t trust us,” Nien said.

“Deathmask doesn’t trust anyone, but this time he doubts us,” Mier said.

“What are they talking about?” Aurelia asked.

“The portal…” Tarlak began.

“Will still work,” Deathmask interrupted. “We just need to shorten the distance.”

“What do you mean?”

“We’re not enough,” Nien said.

“Not strong enough,” Mier said.

“Please, just one person at a time,” Aurelia said.

“Even with all of us helping,” Tarlak said, glaring at Deathmask as if daring him to interrupt again, “we’re looking at hundreds of miles to the edge of the Quellan forest. Multiply that by the thousand or so we must transport and we’ll all crumble under the strain.”

Aurelia crossed her arms and stared at the stones. The others stilled their movements. They had all reached the same conclusion, but they wanted to know if the last major spellcaster agreed.

“You want us to make two portals,” she said, glancing back up at them. “One halfway to the forest, and once we’re all safe, one the rest of the way. Cut the strain in half.”

“We’ll still make far better time,” Deathmask said.

“I know you’re right, but the strain on all of us will…”

She stopped, for she sensed something both alien and familiar. It was an aura of brooding silence, constrained power behind a cracking dam. Gently limping, Mira walked up the hill.

“You’re building a portal,” the girl said.

“Aye, we are, my beautiful lady,” Tarlak said. He frowned at the sight of her torn dress and multiple bruises. Lathaar had told him a little about Mira’s trip back to Veldaren. Still, he was surprised by just how fast she had healed. Even the deep stab to her chest was only a vicious red line of scabbed blood. “Should you be up and about, hurt as you are?” he asked.

To this she said nothing, only trudged to the circle of stones. “Where will you take them?” she asked.

“Two hundred miles south,” Deathmask said. “After that, another hundred.”

“The Quellan forest,” Mira said.

“Yes,” Deathmask said. “That is our goal.”

The girl smiled, but it was a dead smile. “You mustn’t make two portals. One will suffice. I will hold it, and I alone.”

The twins halted their juggling. Tarlak and Aurelia glanced about nervously. Deathmask only laughed.

“What sorceress do you think you are?” he asked her. “No, what goddess?”

“No goddess,” Mira said, her black eyes flaring with sudden life. “But if you must judge me by my blood, then know me as Celestia.”

She raised her arms, and at once the many runes snapped rigid. Fire burned across them, changing and reshaping the runes. She arranged them in a circle about the hill. Out of her mouth words of magic poured, quick and sharp. Clouds circled above, pulled in by the power that swept through them. Lightning struck the hill. In the deafening thunder a massive blue portal ripped open. Mira’s dress flapped in the wind that swirled into it. The other casters stared in awe.