“Soldiers of Neldar,” Antonil shouted. “To the castle!”
The Eschaton there gathered together, watching the remaining troops march east.
“He doesn’t believe we can hold now the gateway is destroyed,” Lathaar said.
“He is right,” Haern said. “The priests will hold them at bay until their strength fades. They are buying us time.”
“What do we do?” Jerico asked.
“Follow him,” Lathaar said. “Until we know more, we follow.”
They did, even as the orcs hacked at the white shield with their weapons, ignoring the pain it gave them, for they too knew the shield could not last forever.
Once it fell, the city was theirs.
16
Qurrah eyed the fire with mild amusement. It was a simple barrier of flame that would burn for hours in a thick line, but inside the cramped gateway it was lethal. The orcs parted for him, recognizing his power and station. Only one did not move, and it was Gumgog, waiting for him with his real arm and his giant club arm crossed across his chest.
“I tried smothering the fire with orcs,” Gumgog said. “But they just burned. Waste of orcs. You gonna put it out?”
Qurrah chuckled at the Warmaster.
“Yes. I will put it out. Keep back your horde until I say it is safe, understood?”
“Alright,” Gumgog said. “You got some orc blood, so you be trustworthy, eh?”
Qurrah said nothing as he approached the fire. To his right he saw an orc crawling toward his army. His legs had been crushed by an ice boulder from Aurelia. He was in pain, but he was alive.
“Kerlem frau spevorr!” Qurrah shouted, stretching out five fingers. The orc shrieked as horrendous pain spiked up his back. Qurrah’s hand shook, magic pouring out his fingers. Blood spurted out the orc’s lower back. His tailbone tore through the flesh. The orc’s shrieks grew louder as his ribs cracked and his muscles tore. With a cry of victory, Qurrah lifted his hand high. The spinal cord ripped out the orc’s body, dripping blood and gore. The shrieks ended. With a word of magic, Qurrah lit the spine and skull aflame, burning it clean.
“To me,” Qurrah said, beckoning with his fingers. The spine floated to his hand. He held it like a staff. Those who had watched the spectacle cheered and howled, not caring for the loss of one of their own, only thrilled by the awesome display of power. Both hands clutching the staff, Qurrah approached the fire. It burned strong, and it was so thick he could not see through it. He had an idea what awaited him on the other side. Aurelia or Tarlak protected the gate, perhaps even both. If he banished the fire, they would just recast the spell. He would have to defeat them, despite what Velixar might say.
Fifty feet from the fire, he slammed the bottom of the staff against the ground. A wave of counter-magic streaked toward the gate, invisible to the naked eye. The two walls of fire sputtered and died. The orcs cheered, but Qurrah did not move, nor did he give signal to attack.
Aurelia stepped into the gateway, her staff in her left hand. She glared at Qurrah but said nothing. Qurrah felt a chill at the sight of her, but he also felt excitement lifting the hairs on his neck. He could kill her. He would kill her. No guilt would claw at his throat. He let no worry eat his insides. Aurelia would die.
The elf hurled a lance of ice from her right hand. Qurrah struck it with the skull of his staff. The lance shattered into harmless frost and snow. He threw a bolt of shadow into the entrance. Aurelia summoned a magical shield, and his attack splashed and dissipated against it. Lightning sparkled on her fingers. With both hands, she clutched her staff and lunged the bottom half at him. From the wood, a giant beam of yellow streaked straight for Qurrah. He clutched his bone staff and slammed the ground. Another wave of counter-magic flowed, defeating the beam.
His pale fingers caressed the skull of his staff, coercing the magic out. The jaw clattered, and a haunting laughter came from within. Twenty orange and red balls shot from the eyes, dancing and twirling in the air before shooting straight for Aurelia. The elf leaned against her staff and summoned her shield. The orange balls exploded into fire and ash, each one sapping a bit more of her strength. When the last exploded, they stared at one another, neither saying a word.
Tarlak stepped beside her from within the city. Fire swirled around his hands. A ball of flame seared through the air, but Qurrah hooked his hands and stole control of it. The fire turned away from him and headed straight back at Tarlak. The mage crossed his hands and spread his fingers. A magical ward against fire surrounded his body, so that when the flame struck he felt little of its heat. Smoke filled the gateway, and for a brief moment Qurrah could not see the spellcasters. Then two blasts of magic, one fire, one ice, shot through the smoke, both in thick beams the size of his body. The fire Qurrah merely sidestepped, letting it kill several behind him. The ice he detonated early with a piece of bone from his pocket.
Qurrah whispered words of magic, letting the dark power flow from his tongue. Ten orcs collapsed and died, the bones from their bodies tearing through their flesh and into the air. They flew in a river toward the gateway, dripping blood. Aurelia created a wall of ice to protect them, but Qurrah blasted a hole in its center with a wave of his hand. The bone pieces shot through, striking her skin. Tarlak leapt in front and slammed his hands to the ground. A shockwave rolled outward, destroying the rest of the ice wall and turning the bone pieces to chalk. Before either could muster an attack, Qurrah hurled a wave of counter-magic with his staff. Both were knocked back, an alien feeling overcoming them as all magic was temporarily denied from their bodies. As the wave passed, Qurrah approached, for he could see how little strength they had left to fight him.
“Why?” Tarlak asked as he neared. “What honor is in this? What justice? What reason?”
“No honor,” Qurrah said, washing another wave of counter-magic over them. “No justice. Punishment for a city that banished me. Vengeance against those who sought to kill me. Retribution against those who turned my brother against me. That is what I bring.”
Harruq stepped in front of the gateway. He leaned against the side as if his legs could barely support him. He looked groggy and dazed, as if he had just awaken from a sleep.
“No one turned me against you,” he said to his brother. “You did that yourself. You’re a slave of Karak now, nothing more.”
Qurrah laughed. He spread his arms wide, clutching his bone staff with one hand. It seemed the entire wall shook with his laughter.
“I am no slave!” he said. “And I am no servant! Do you know what I am, brother? Do you know?”
Harruq watched as Qurrah’s eyes flared red, first once, then twice. It was like watching the first gentle flames of a fire kindling. Harruq knew those eyes. He knew that glow.
“I am Karak’s left hand,” Qurrah said, his hissing voice washed over by a deep, rumbling sound of foreign power. “I am his fire, and I will burn everything I touch.”
His eyes shone a fierce red, glowing even in the morning light. Running down scars underneath his eyes were constant streams of blood that burned aflame, like the tears of a demon.
Aurelia unleashed a barrage of lightning, but Qurrah caught its power with one hand, collected it in a ball inside his fist, and then hurled it back. She screamed in pain as the last of her magical wards broke. She flew back, badly burned. Her thin form crumpled in the street. Sergan’s soldiers swarmed over her, their shields raised to protect her from any more harm. Furious at the sight, Tarlak tried to cast a spell of fire, but a flash of red from the skull’s eyes blinded him and scrambled his thoughts. Before he could resume, bone pieces slammed against his forehead and neck, beating him back.
Only Harruq stood against him. Qurrah looked at his brother with eyes that were not his own.
“You did not kill me when you had the chance,” he said. “Somewhere within you is the desire to stand at my side. Join me. Velixar dreamt of you leading his armies. It is not too late.”
Salvation and Condemnation shook in Harruq’s h
ands. Sadness and rage whirled inside him, greater than Qurrah would ever know.
“You believe no one can change,” Harruq said. “But you’re wrong. You know nothing of me. Be gone from my home.”
He slammed his swords into the sides of the gate. Stone shattered and broke. He struck the left wall with both his blades. The foundation shook.
“Die in darkness, brother,” Qurrah said, a beam of black magic shooting from his right hand. Harruq screamed, his rage inside burning. He crossed his arms and let the blow hit. He felt the magic strike his skin but he did not care. He would not succumb to it. He would not fall, even if all the world came crashing down on his shoulders. White lightning crackled from his weapons. Qurrah saw him resisting. He poured all his strength into his spell. Harruq’s entire body shook, and Qurrah thought him ready to fall, ready to die, but he was wrong.
“I am not the weaker!” Harruq screamed. He pushed back the magic. His arms flung wide, and inside the gateway a sound like thunder shook the Tun brothers. Salvation and Condemnation struck the stone walls at either side, and through the stone a shockwave rumbled, blasting away its foundations. The evil spell flew back from Harruq and assaulted Qurrah. He felt the pain sweep across his body. The force of it knocked him back, and he flew through the air as the gateway crumbled in on itself. When he hit the ground his body writhed in pain, from both the spell and the fall, but Qurrah’s thoughts were far away. All he could focus on was how in those last few moments Harruq’s eyes had shimmered gold.
Harruq!” Tarlak screamed as the gateway collapsed. Dust billowed everywhere, and he closed his eyes against the sting. As it settled, he saw Harruq standing before the rubble, his swords held at his sides. His entire body was lifting and falling with his breathing. Every muscle was taut. He looked like a paragon of strength, and Tarlak was awed by the sight of it. When Harruq sheathed his swords and turned, the image vanished.
“Where’s Aurelia?” Harruq asked. He noticed the look Tarlak was giving him but misunderstood its meaning. “Where is she?” he demanded.
“She’s here, lad,” Sergan said, pushing aside the soldiers that still guarded her with their shields. “A little burned, but she’s breathing.”
Harruq rushed over and took her into his arms. Her dress was blackened across the front, and ugly burns marred her chest. Her eyes were closed, but her breathing was soft and constant. As he brushed the side of her face with his fingers, Tarlak cast a spell across the rubble, covering it with a thin sheet of ice.
“Let’s see you climb up that,” he said. He took off his hat and reached inside, frowning as he did. He had stashed a wide assortment of potions in his mad dash through his tower, but wasn’t sure of how many. Four? Five? More? From within his hat he pulled out a single healing potion and sighed.
“Good enough,” he said. He knelt beside Harruq and offered it to him.
“Thanks,” the half-orc said. He twisted off the cork and gently tilted it against Aurelia’s lower lip. At first she coughed, but Harruq was persistent. He covered her mouth with his hand, and when her coughing died she swallowed the rest on instinct. The burns on her chest lost their angry red. Her eyes fluttered open.
“Where…is he still here?” she asked.
“Qurrah’s outside,” Harruq said. “I sent him away.”
“Good,” Aurelia said, closing her eyes and leaning against his chest. “I’ll sleep here for awhile then.”
Sergan placed his soldiers in front of the crumbled gateway in case any orcs tried to climb over. This done, he hefted his axe onto his shoulder and stood beside the Eschaton.
“So what now?” the old veteran asked.
“Rest,” Tarlak said. “You won’t get many chances. Hop atop the wall and see how the other gate fares.”
Sergan motioned for one of his men to climb atop and see. When the man returned, he looked baffled.
“It looks like a web is covering the entrance, sir,” the soldier said. “It’s white and it glows. Damned if I know what it is.”
“Some sort of magic protecting the entrance,” Tarlak said. “Consider it good. Keep your men sharp, and be ready for anything. Who knows what Qurrah and his minions might do to enter.”
Sergan moved away, leaving the Eschaton by themselves. As Aurelia rested, the mage scratched his head and looked at the half-orc.
“Do you know what you just did back there?” he asked.
“Aye,” Harruq said. “I did something I don’t understand. Clear enough for you?”
“Not even close. You toppled the wall with your swords alone. We both know, enchanted or not, your swords don’t possess that strength.”
“What are you saying, Tar?”
Tarlak plopped down beside them. “I’m saying I have no clue what I just saw, Harruq, but it scared me to death.”
“Yeah,” Harruq said, looking down at Aurelia so he didn’t have to face Tarlak’s inquisitive gaze. “To tell you the truth, it scared me too. But I knew what I was doing. I just knew. And for one moment there, just one moment, everything felt right.”
Tarlak paused, a strange worry churning in his gut. “We have to get to the center,” he said.
“What? Why?” Harruq asked.
“Trust me on this, alright? We need to go!”
The half-orc lifted Aurelia into his arms and nodded. “Lead on.”
They left Sergan to guard the remains of the gateway as they hurried north.
Qurrah returned to Velixar with his head hung low. Another dark paladin had offered him a ride back, which he took ungratefully. When he dismounted he knelt before Velixar and offered his apologies.
“I failed you, my master,” he said. “The southern gate is sealed off with rubble. My brother defeated me.”
“Stand, Qurrah, it is no matter.” Velixar gestured to the white shield summoned by the priests of Ashhur. “Do you know what you see? A last desperate measure by a dying city. The wall is broken, the way into the city clear. It is now just a matter of time. When their strength fails, we will push through. And fail it will.”
Velixar waved his hand over his throat, casting the spell with but a thought. When he spoke, he spoke not to those around him but to the entire city.
“People of Neldar,” he said. “Your walls have fallen. Your last measures are failing. Your army has abandoned you to death. I am the word of Karak. I am his witness, his prophet, and his sword. Fall to your knees and worship the true god and you will live. Ashhur has not abandoned you, for you were never in his care. Cast aside your delusions. Worship Karak. Cry his name. Seek his forgiveness. If you do not, then you will die by the sword, and you will not rest. Your corpse will rise, and even in death you will serve. Choose, people of Neldar. Service in life, or service in death. You have no other choice.”
Velixar smiled and ended the spell.
“I have long waited to give that speech,” he said. “And it was as glorious as I had always hoped. Order Gumgog to bring his troops to the western gate. Our victory is near.”
Antonil rushed up the steps of the castle. The guards stationed there threw open the door so he could enter. He marched down the carpeted hall, feeling a strange anger at the luxury around him. He was covered in blood, and his boots left red footprints across the carpet. He took off his helmet and held it in his hand. In his other hand he held the hilt of his sword as it swayed in its sheath. Sitting on his throne, still wearing the ungainly gold armor, waited King Edwin Vaelor of Neldar.
“Your highness,” Antonil said as he bowed on one knee. “We must get you to safety. The walls will soon be breached. There are tunnels to the forest, and from there we can flee to Felwood castle.”
At first Vaelor only stared at Antonil as if he were staring at a half-finished puzzle.
“You wish us to flee,” the king said at last. “You would let them plunder our city while we cowered in the woods. I will not be a beggar king. Lord Gandrem would sooner hold me prisoner and retake Neldar in his name after the orcs are slaughtered.”
>
Antonil felt his cheeks flush red. He could feel the heat of his anger baking off of him.
“It is either that or death, my lord,” he said.
“Is that a threat?” The king stood, towering over Antonil because of the raised platform his throne rest upon. “We will die fighting and in glory, not hiding. Is your spine so soft, you coward?”
At one time Antonil might have felt intimidated, but now he felt only fury.
“You bathe in scented oils and perfumes,” he said, rising to his feet. “I have bathed in the blood of my friends and foes, yet you call me a coward?”
“How dare you speak to me in such a manner!”
Antonil put his helmet back on his head and glared at the pathetic man before him.
“I will save as many lives as I can and then flee this city of tombs. I swore to protect Neldar, and so I shall.”
“Then you are a traitor to the crown,” King Vaelor shouted. “How dare you commit such treason?”
Antonil turned and pulled the crown from Vaelor’s head. In one smooth motion he placed it on the ground and then smashed it with his sword. Gems broke from the gold and rolled across the floor. He grabbed the king by the top of his armor and pulled him close so that he could smell the stink of blood on him.
“There is no crown,” Antonil said. “And the blame is yours.”
He stormed out of the castle. As he marched down the steps, the king rushed out, screaming at his guards.
“Seize him,” he shouted. “He is a traitor, a coward. I demand you execute him!”
Antonil stopped and glared at the two guards. They looked between one another, their swords wavering unsteady in their hands.
“I will not spare your lives,” Antonil said. “Lower your weapons.”
To the king’s horror they did as they were told and then joined Antonil in their march away from the castle. Vaelor returned inside, closing the giant doors on his own. It was the last time Antonil would ever see him.
The Death of Promises (Half-Orcs Book 3) Page 27
