The Death of Promises (Half-Orcs Book 3)

by David Dalglish

  “Be healed,” Pelarak told it as he put his hands on the wounded shoulder. Light poured across the shoulder, shaping bone and mending cartilage. With a pleased roar, the lion turned back to the Eschaton. Pelarak drew his knife and urged it on.

  “The sacrifice will be made,” he said. Words of magic poured from his mouth. Shadow and mist swirled around the dagger as he clutched it with both hands. Tarlak saw the spell, as well as his sister lying unconscious at his feet.

  “We have to help her!” he shouted. He started to run, but the pack leader blocked the way. Nearby he heard growling and shouts of pain. Lathaar and Harruq had backed their lion against a wall, and between their coordinated attacks kept it cornered. Jerico’s lion, on the other hand, was battered and beaten. Every time it attacked, Jerico blocked with his shield, letting the holy energy seep in and destroy the demonic flesh of the beast.

  “I will keep its attention,” Mira said as she stepped beside him. “Hurry to her side.”

  A thousand tiny arrows flew from her hands, adjusting their aim when the lion dodged. At their touch, the creature howled. The arrows did no permanent damage, instead causing sharp, stinging pains. Multiplied by the hundreds, the pain infuriated the beast. Aurelia increased its torment by zapping it on the nose with a bolt of lightning. Mad beyond reason, it roared and charged.

  Tarlak ran unnoticed past the lion, his eyes locked on Pelarak.

  Be darkness made flesh,” Pelarak said as the spell neared its end. The verbal components were finished. He could feel the power swelling within him as he looked to the still form at his feet. He saw a woman, beautiful and devoted in her faith.

  “Flesh so soft and a heart so kind,” he said. “Sacrifice. Everything must involve sacrifice.”

  He knew her brother watched. He let that last bit of guilt plunge the dagger into Delysia’s breast.

  “No!” Tarlak screamed, a single spear made of fire sailing from his hands. Pelarak did not try to protect himself. He accepted the spear with closed eyes, letting the fire burn the flesh of his chest. The impact knocked him against the fountain. The edge cracked against his hip, and he fell to one knee as pain filled his drained body. The magic was gone. His soul felt empty. The dagger in his hands contained no magic, only a dark stain of blood.

  The wizard slowed, tears running down his cheeks as he watched the shadow and darkness swirl into the wound on his sister’s chest. He heard a roar from the sky. Karak was mocking him.

  “Damn you, Karak,” he said, his lower lip quivering. “Damn you and your priests too.” He lifted his arms into the air, every bit of his power screaming into the spell. When he thrust his arms down, a bolt of lightning twice the width of an oak tree blasted the fountain, shattering the statue of a long dead king and spilling blood-water everywhere. Pelarak accepted the blast, knowing death was an inevitability for his faith and the path he walked. But death did not come. Karak’s will was strong in the air, and his hands protected his most faithful priest.

  When Pelarak stood, Tarlak knew damn well what he was seeing. Karak was not done mocking him. Then Delysia rose from the ground, the darkness settling upon her flesh. Slits opened across her face, shining red eyes underneath. Claws stretched out from her fingers, circular and long as swords. The creature looked to him and snarled, revealing rows of teeth sharper than daggers and just as large. He sobbed, the sounds of battle fading away. His sister…his beautiful sister had become…

  He couldn’t think it. Couldn’t bear it. His sister had become a Doru’al, one of the trusted bodyguards of Karak. And now it charged, claws out and teeth ready. It would kill him, and he lacked the heart to resist. Defeated before a single drop of blood was drawn, he slumped to his knees and waited.

  Jerico dropped his mace and flung his other hand against the inside of his shield. The lion had abandoned all form of tactic. Every time it swiped or bit, his shield was there. Instead, it flung its entire weight in hopes of crushing him against the side of a house. He could feel the wood cracking against his back, and his arms shook against the tremendous weight. He clenched his jaw and focus. His elbows would not bend. His arms would not move. Even if bones broke, he would not relinquish.

  The holy power of his shield poured into the demon like a river. At last it fell back, its very being quivering. Too much had entered its body. It collapsed, white light wafting off its body like smoke from a dying fire. Jerico gasped in relief, his shield arm falling limp at his side. He retrieved his mace and took a look around their battlefield. Lathaar and Harruq still fought against their lion, but they appeared in control. He didn’t see Mira or Aurelia, but he trusted their magic. Tarlak though…

  He heard the wizard’s cry, and at the sound he felt his heart sink. It was the cry of a broken man. He turned and saw the Doru’al stand, the body a blot of pure darkness hovering above the street.

  “Don’t give in,” he whispered, but Tarlak already had. Jerico ran, his shield leading. Meanwhile the Doru’al vanished, only to reappear directly in front of the kneeling wizard. Claws closed around his neck as it lifted him with one hand. The creature snarled at him, its red eyes evil and heartless.

  “Make it quick,” Pelarak ordered as he staggered toward the pair. “He was an honorable man.”

  The Doru’al growled in response. The priest shrugged his shoulders and watched. With its free hand, it dragged a claw across his neck and sliced open a thin red line of blood. The pain sparked a bit of life into Tarlak. He clutched at the darkness and attempted to cast a spell, but claws closed tighter, choking away his breath. The creature nipped at his throat with the tips of its teeth. Mocking him. Warm, foul breath blew across the blood, further igniting the pain. Torturing. Mocking.

  “Back!” Jerico screamed as his shield slammed into the Doru’al’s side. The hit freed Tarlak from its grip. Jerico continued to pummel it with his shield as he shouted.

  “In the name of Ashhur, the light, and all that is good, I cast you back!”

  The creature howled, the darkness within its being hurt beyond measure by the holy light. Against his constant attacks, the Doru’al had little chance to escape or survive. Pelarak ended them with a curse. Darkness covered Jerico’s eyes, blinding his sight. The paladin swung with his mace, hoping to kill the creature before it realized his weakness, but the hit struck the dirt. He felt something slice into his arm, and then a horrid pain pierce his side. He staggered back while pulling his shield close to his body.

  “You may be light in this world,” he heard the priest say. “But can you live in the darkness?”

  “Can you?” Haern whispered into Pelarak’s ear before burying both sabers through his back and into his heart. The darkness left Jerico’s eyes. The Doru’al was gone. Marching down the street were priests of Ashhur. Their High Priest Calan led the way. Lathaar joined his side, horrible burns covering his face and hands. Calan approached and put his hands on the wounds.

  “Be healed,” he told the paladin. “And forgive us for our failure to arrive in time.”

  “Better late than never,” Harruq said, tramping down the street. He held his right arm against his chest, and winced with every step. “But not much.”

  At this he looked to Tarlak. Blood ran down the wizard’s neck as he knelt with his hands pressed against the stone. He stared at the remnants of the fountain, his mind cruelly remembering every detail of the dagger plunging into his sister’s chest. Haern approached and offered his hand. Tarlak didn’t take it.

  “Get up,” the assassin ordered. Tarlak glared, but Haern’s look remained firm. At last the mage took his hand. Haern pulled him to his feet and then hugged him. “All is not yet lost,” he said. “She still lives.”

  “But as that…that…” He didn’t finish.

  Mira and Aurelia emerged from around a corner, their lion slain. Mira brushed away a priest who came seeking to help, for she had not a single bruise on her. Lathaar went to her side, but when he tried to speak she shushed him by putting a finger against his lips. Her
eyes looked to the stars where the red lion still shimmered.

  “You lost this night,” she said. She raised a hand. Her hair lifted as if amid an upward gale of wind. The white of her eyes vanished to black. The lion shook, and its color ran as if it were turning liquid. It gave one last furious roar before all its power broke. The red funneled down, swirling like a tornado, a tornado that ended at Mira’s fingertips. As the last of the color swirled inside her hand, she clenched it to a fist. Her face grew hard as stone, and her eyes filled with anger and determination.

  “Hope battles fear,” she said, all eyes upon her. “And hope springs from faith.”

  She flung the power back to the sky, but this time a golden mountain shimmered before the stars. Its light was soft, its image subtle, but it was there. Lathaar squeezed her hand at the sight and kissed her cheek. She blushed.

  “Come with us to the temple,” Calan said as he wrapped an arm around Tarlak’s shoulder. “We need to talk.”

  “Not yet,” Tarlak said, pulling free from his grasp. He walked to where Pelarak’s corpse lay amid the shattered remnants of the fountain.

  “Karak has a way of bringing back the dead,” he said. “But not this time.”

  He burned the corpse to ash, and then scattered it into the air. A high breeze caught it and sent it south, so not a speck fell amid the city.

  That done, he accepted Calan’s arm and walked to the temple.

  Harruq remembered the first time he and his brother had come to the temple. Tessanna had taken into her own body a deadly poison flowing through Aurelia’s veins, saving her. The High Priest Calan had cured Tessanna while simultaneously warning Qurrah of the path they walked. As Harruq approached its marble walls, he thought of those words and understood. So many had died because his brother chose the darkness. He had felt an outsider the first time he came, but now he felt somewhat at home. The peace and calm in the air was just what he needed.

  Calan led them inside to the giant chamber for worship. Row after row of benches faced an altar covered with purple silk. Young priests rushed in from a side door, carrying blankets and food. The party sat together among the benches, with Calan standing in the aisle beside them. All along the walls torches flickered and shone.

  “Sleep here this night,” Calan said. “You need safety after all this, not more travel.”

  “We’re most grateful,” Aurelia said, offering thanks when it became clear Tarlak would not.

  Calan handed them a few more pillows, then turned to Jerico. A smile emerged on his face, his tiredness and worry unable to hold it back.

  “Praise be to Ashhur,” he said. “Another paladin lives.”

  Jerico stood and bowed to the High Priest.

  “My name is Jerico of the Citadel. I offer you my mace and my shield, should you ever need them.”

  “I pray not,” Calan said. “How did you survive?”

  As Jerico began his story, Lathaar slid beside Harruq and Aurelia. The elf was curled into his arms, her head resting on his chest. She looked asleep, but he knew she wasn’t. The half-orc nodded in acknowledgment. He opened his mouth to say something, then stopped.

  “I spoke with Keziel, the head cleric of the Sanctuary,” Lathaar began.

  “Don’t worry about it,” Harruq interrupted.

  “I’m sorry, Harruq, but he…what happened? Is Aullienna alright?”

  Aurelia stirred. She put her fingers against Harruq’s lips to keep him from speaking.

  “She drowned,” the elf said, her voice soft and sad. “Brug is dead as well. Tessanna killed him.”

  The paladin’s jaw clenched tight as he held back his anger. He could see the pain in Harruq’s eyes, and he knew any condemnation against Qurrah would only worsen it.

  “I’m sorry,” he said.

  Meanwhile, Jerico had finished his story and Calan had more pressing matters to attend. Tarlak remained silent and dejected. His face looked ashen. His eyes fixated on the floor. The priest knelt beside him.

  “She is not dead,” Calan whispered. “And I don’t say this to offer some meager comfort amid your grief. The spell cast upon her is brutal, yes, but it does not kill the host. The Doru’al will use her life to cling to this world. If we act fast…”

  “Enough!” Tarlak looked up. His eyes were red, and tears welled up, ready to fall.

  “I know she can be saved,” he said. “You think I don’t know that? You think I don’t cling to that hope? But right now she is helpless while the most vile and horrific thoughts are rammed into her mind by the demon that possesses her. Even if we save her, she might never be the same.”

  “You’re wrong,” Mira said. She had remained quiet ever since entering the temple, but now she stood, her shyness shedding away. “The suffering we go through does not change who we are, only reveal our true self. If you love her, then you will have your sister back once more.”

  Tarlak stood, taking his blanket with him. He looked around at the priests and the Eschaton, an angry defiance raging within.

  “I may not grieve for her death,” he said. “But I can grieve for her suffering. Now leave me be.”

  He moved to the other side of the chamber, wrapped himself in the white blankets, and did his best to sleep. Calan chewed on his lower lip as he watched the mage go, then stood and addressed the rest.

  “Get some sleep. You all need it, and as do I.”

  With that he left for his own bedchamber. Exhausted and troubled, the rest of the Eschaton did their best to sleep.

  Miles away, a shape blacker than the night fled west through the forest, guided by the whispers of the dark god. Deep within the shade, Delysia wordlessly screamed.

  13

  One day from Veldaren. One day, and Qurrah couldn’t find Tessanna. He searched the camps where the wolf-men slept, but she was not there. He searched the legions of orc tents, but she was not there. He searched the tight packs the hyena-men slept and ate in. She was not there. At last he asked Velixar.

  “She needs time,” Velixar said. “Will you give it to her?”

  He sighed and said he would.

  “Good,” the man in black said. “Wait until nightfall, then head south. Follow the stream. Trust me, Qurrah. It is for the best.”

  Qurrah had seen Velixar and Tessanna talking over the past weeks as they marched through the Vile Wedge collecting their armies. Some joined willingly, some did not, but the numbers of their soldiers and the power of their magic destroyed any who resisted.

  The army began its march, but Qurrah stayed at Velixar’s request. For a moment he felt panic seeing his army leave without him. He knew Velixar needed him, though, just as he needed Velixar. In the sudden calm that filled the army’s departure, his fears and his doubts were free to torment him.

  He knew he would meet his brother in conflict. The Eschaton would not let the city fall without a fight. Did he wish his brother dead? What about Tarlak and Delysia, who had taken him in? An image flashed before his eyes. It was of Harruq, his skin pale and his eyes lifeless. He was just one of hundreds, marching mindlessly to his command. Or was it Velixar’s command? He didn’t know. He didn’t know if it mattered. Either way, the image churned his stomach and filled him with dread.

  Night came. He followed the stream south. The moon was bright, and even without his orcish blood he would have had little trouble seeing. He had spent so much time with the army he had forgotten how much he enjoyed the quiet solitude of the stars. He kept his thoughts calm and controlled as he walked. He wanted to think of nothing. Once Karak was freed he could be gone from the worries, the fear, and the guilt Dezrel inflicted upon him. He would go where his brother never existed, and none would ever know the atrocities they had done or the murder they shared.

  An owl hooted twice, and when he looked up to search for it he saw the pond. It was almost too large to call a pond, the banks stretching for hundreds of feet. The water was crystalline and beautiful. The surface was calm so that the moon and stars shone elegant upon the water
. Standing before the pond, her arms at her side and her back to him, was Tessanna.

  “Sometimes I remember life before you,” Tessanna said. “All those nights.” Qurrah nodded but said nothing. He did not understand what was going on, but he could feel the significance.

  “Many nights were cold or lonely. Sometimes I had bodies for warmth, but always the night stayed cold. But there were good nights, Qurrah. I want you to know that.”

  She turned to face him. Her arms were crossed, and she looked so young.

  “Since I’ve been with you I’ve known hurt,” she said. “I thought I couldn’t hurt anymore, but I have. I never thought I would ever need someone so much it’d scare me. But I do.”

  She uncrossed her arms. With slow, small movements, she let her dress fall to the ground, exposing her naked flesh.

  “I love you,” Qurrah said. “Everything I do, it’s because…”

  “I know,” she said. “This body is yours, Qurrah. Many have had it, but tonight…” Gently she traced her fingers down her neck, past the curve of her breasts, and to her belly. “Tonight is special. Take off your clothes.”

  He did. His heart pounded in his ears. She was so beautiful, but what was going on? He felt he was swimming in power and drowning in magic.

  “I want you to know I can live without you,” she said as she dipped a foot into the pond. “I would hate every second, but I would live. Not after tonight. Velixar has given me something I never thought I could have.”

  She stopped walking when the water was up to her waist. She reached out a hand and beckoned him. In the dead of winter, he knew he should be cold. He knew his frail body would shiver and break in the water. But the water was warm to his touch. The sense of magic swarming around him thickened. At Tessanna’s beckon, he embraced her.