The Half-Orcs: Books 1-5

by David Dalglish

  She clutched him tight, and her sobs grew loud enough for him to hear.

  “Don’t talk like that,” she said between sniffles. “Don’t talk like there’s no hope. There has to be. Damn every god and goddess if there isn’t.”

  He felt his anger flare at her words, but she was right, and he wished that he had something, anything, to say to convince her things would turn out all right. But what could he say? What lies did he know that she would believe?

  “I love you, Tess,” he said. “Everything else is cold and frightening. But I do love you. Please know that.”

  She curled into a ball on his lap and shivered as his arms surrounded her.

  “If only your body was as warm as your words,” she said. “Dead or alive, Qurrah, I’ll always be yours. Never forget that.”

  “I promise,” he said.

  28

  There was only one plan Bernard would accept, and he told them of it that morning.

  “Everywhere people whisper of Antonil’s return,” he told the two assassins while they gathered within the small basement of an Ashhur sympathizer. “And you yourself saw the many fires in the distance. Whatever chance they have, it dies against the dragon Melorak has summoned.”

  “You don’t know that,” Veliana insisted.

  “How many soldiers could they have?” Bernard asked. “Even with the angels’ help, they will die by the hundreds against that beast. It must be destroyed. You saw how weak Melorak looked. The strain of keeping that dragon in existence must be a heavy toll. Against him, I have a chance.”

  “Then let us come with you,” Deathmask said. “He’ll have guards, paladins…”

  The priest shook his head.

  “He’ll have his undead, and they are nothing to me. The rest will be at the wall. This is the last battle, and he knows it. Even if he has a few guards, I must rely on his pride to accept a challenge. I am a priest of his most hated enemy, and to refuse would be a sign of weakness, a direct insult he will not dare allow. You two must find a way to get Antonil inside the city.”

  Deathmask rolled his eyes.

  “We meet here in a dark cellar, just the three of us, so you can tell me and Vel to go open the massive gates to the two walls? Have you lost your mind, old man?”

  Bernard smiled. “Perhaps. But Haern is still out there, and as long as we are separate, he will hunt for you. I need him far and away, unable to help Melorak should the duel turn to my favor. The city is ripe for rebellion. The oppression is too heavy, too brutal. Find a way to get Antonil into Mordeina’s streets, and the Lionsguard will be crushed beneath their heels.”

  “Reckless and stupid,” Veliana said. “You ask for the impossible. Thousands of soldiers and archers will line every inch of that wall. Deathmask’s magic is strong, but even he can’t pulverize doors that enormous.”

  “I have faith you’ll find a way,” the priest said, placing a hand on each of their shoulders.

  “And I have faith in nothing,” Deathmask said. “Other than that we’re all going to die if we do this.”

  “I’d hoped you’d have a bit more faith than that,” Bernard said.

  Deathmask slipped the gray cloth over his scarred face and scattered ash into the air.

  “I do,” he said as the ash revolved around his head. “Faith that I’ll kill plenty before I meet the reaper-man. Go with your god, Bernard. If he’s not too far gone, maybe he’ll send us a miracle. Right now, we need one.”

  Ashhur’s army marched for the capital before dawn had fully bloomed, determined to lose no distance to Thulos’s chasing army. The Eschaton stayed with Ahaesarus and his angels, who walked upon the ground in an attempt to give hope and cheer to the many soldiers.

  “How far back are they?” Tarlak asked after a half hour’s march.

  Ahaesarus motioned for one of his few scouts in the air. The angel swooped low and gave his report.

  “Two miles at most,” said the angel. “And gaining fast.”

  “They’ll come upon us before we can even reach the first of the walls,” Tarlak said, frowning.

  “Then we have little time to spare,” said Ahaesarus. “When the battle starts, we will fly to Avlimar and set up formations. The display should be enough to goad Thulos into battle.”

  “Don’t forget to bring us with you,” said Harruq. “I want my crack at that Thulos.”

  “You had one back in Veldaren,” Aurelia said, her frown showing what she thought of the idea. “You ended up with a horrible wound in your chest.”

  “Still breathing, though,” Harruq said. “And now I’ve got something to pay him back for!”

  Twenty minutes later they crossed through a thin collection of hills, weaving through them along a well-worn path in the grass. Mordeina came into view, banners waving from her walls. High above, Avlimar glittered like a second sun.

  “Urge them on,” Ahaesarus said to Antonil after receiving another report from his scout. “We might not reach the walls at the pace they chase!”

  Onward they marched, the great city of Mordeina growing ever closer. Harruq felt his nerves gather in his throat, and he started wishing the battle would begin at any moment. Their run to the city didn’t feel like an attack; it felt like a desperate retreat. Perhaps it even was. Most likely they would die crushed against the walls. Still, if they were lucky, they might take a god with them before the end.

  The city loomed nearer. The banners flapped in the soft breeze, close enough now for them to read their sigils. They saw the many archers lining the walls, more than enough to make the half-orc shiver. They would assault under a rain of arrows, of that he was certain. He looked back to the thousands that followed, a collected force from Neldar, Ker, and Mordan. Armies of three nations, come together against the might of Karak. And that wasn’t counting the angels and war demons…

  “This is going to get bloody,” he muttered, shaking his head.

  Aurelia squeezed his hand, showing she heard. He kissed her cheek and continued on marching.

  They were trampling the short grass upon the fields before the walls when the scout returned once more, this time looking frightened.

  “A quarter of a mile, if that,” he said. “They have thousands of what appear to be undead, plus many more soldiers travelling behind them. Thulos himself must be whipping their tails given how fast they march.”

  Ahaesarus spread his wings. They were mere minutes from the wall, and slowing down to form ranks. The battle was upon them.

  “Come with me,” Ahaesarus said, offering his hand to Aurelia. Judarius offered his arms to Harruq, who grudgingly accepted.

  “Don’t drop me, eh?” he said.

  “I’ll try,” said the angel. “Though all those losses in sparring might have loosened my grip a little.”

  Harruq glanced to Tarlak, who only shook his head and laughed a hollow laugh.

  “Be safe you two,” the wizard said. Then they were gone, soaring into the air in the arms of the angels. Harruq felt a momentary spell of dizziness at the sudden height, followed by exhilaration. That exhilaration turned to fear when they turned to see the great host giving chase. The war demons fluttered into ranks, hovering over the lines of warriors. Harruq craned his head to watch Antonil and Bram rearrange their own forces into two lines. One enormous line moved toward the city gates. A much smaller line remained put, and it seemed like it would be only a stumbling block against the attackers.

  Harruq said a quick prayer for those chosen to be in that last line, then looked to the sky. They climbed higher and higher until they were far above the city, and the battlefield below looked like a collection of ants scurrying toward one another. Avlimar glittered before him, stunning in its golden beauty and pearl walls.

  “Wait here,” Judarius said as he set the half-orc down on one of the large clearings along the outer edges, designed for the angels to easily land and take wing from. Ahaesarus arrived with Aurelia moments later, and she smiled at Harruq as she stepped onto the comforting
stone.

  “We will fight only a little while in the air,” Ahaesarus said as Judarius flapped his wings and took off. “Then we will retreat further in. Ashhur’s blessing permeates every single brick and hall. It is within here we will make our stand.”

  “If you see a demon carrying a priest of Karak, you let him land, eh?” Harruq said. “I want the privilege of killing Velixar, not some very, very long fall.”

  “I will consider,” said the angel before joining the rest of his kind.

  Suddenly they were alone, the city calm and empty behind them. Only the angels flew circles about, spread wide to exaggerate their numbers. Aurelia took his hand as they stood to watch.

  “Stay with me,” she said. “Please, just stay with me until the end.”

  He pulled her fingers to his lips and kissed them.

  “Until the end,” he said.

  “They flee to their golden city,” Thulos said as the angels of Ashhur took flight. Velixar watched as he strode alongside the war god at the front of the army.

  “Just the angels,” he said. “What plan do they have?”

  “The height,” Thulos said. He pointed to where the rest of the army hurried toward the walls. “If we assault the ground troops, they will dive down atop us. In aerial combat, this is equivalent to us putting our backs to their blades. Too great a risk for a fight we are set to win. Let them choose their place of combat. Their blood will stain gold as well as grass.”

  Velixar nodded as he watched the angels fly. He cast a spell to enhance his vision, hoping to better see their numbers. As they flew, he felt a smile spread across his ever-changing face. There, hanging in the arms of one of the angels…

  Harruq. It had to be.

  “Who will command the ground troops?” Velixar asked.

  Thulos gave him a surprised look. “I presumed it would be you.”

  “Give the honor to Myann. He has been cross ever since our failure at the Bloodbrick. I wish to go with you.”

  “And why is that, prophet? Do you desire to slay angels? Are mere mortals no longer worthy of your judgment?”

  Velixar made sure he answered in total calm.

  “There is one among the angels whom I have long sought after. I wish him to join me, or die at my feet. He helped bring you into our world, and he deserves a chance to repent.”

  “Repent?” asked Thulos. “You are a strange one, Velixar. So be it. I will give Myann control. You may come with me in the arms of my demons. Just do not get in my way, nor presume my warriors will give any reprieve. If your…friend dies at their hands, do not bring the matter to me.”

  Thulos raised a fist and shouted orders. Velixar ignored him, instead pushing through the ranks of his undead until reaching where Qurrah and Tessanna marched hand in hand. He frowned at such contact, and a single thought to the half-orc forced him to let go.

  “We go to the golden city,” he said, unable to contain his joy. “We go to end this once and for all. Your brother and your lover, Qurrah; they will both be there. Let us see just where your heart truly lies.”

  He flagged down a demon and ordered others to be brought with him. The demon cursed him but obeyed. Two more arrived, and in their arms, the three soared with the rest into the air, flying higher and higher toward the angels of Ashhur. Velixar gave his undead a single order, one they would follow until they beat their fists against the walls of Mordeina: slay the living before you.

  “A glorious day,” he shouted to Qurrah, who was too far away to hear due to the roaring wind in their ears.

  The three carrying them stayed back as the forces collided. The demons swung their glaives and flung their spears, spilling blood like rain to the ground far below. The angels weaved and cut just as viciously, and Velixar felt the exhilaration growing within him. He wished to help but could not, not until they were closer and he felt firm ground beneath his feet. The angels merged from their spread out pattern into a thin stream of warriors, and they sliced through the demon ranks like cloth.

  Then Thulos arrived. An enormous pair of crimson wings stretched from slots in the armor on his back, and he cut angels down left and right, tumbling their severed bodies to the battle below. After he killed a score, the rest retreated into the city in a stream of feathers and gold armor. The demons carrying the three closed in, and on one of the many landing platforms set them down.

  “Stay with me,” Velixar said to the two. Shadows sparked off his fingertips, as if unable to contain the killing magic he so desperately wished to unleash. “Aid me in killing the angels, Qurrah. Let us put your strength to good use.”

  Tarlak stood between the paladins, watching the army approach. They were but a thousand, a thin line to catch the brunt of Thulos’s strength. All around the men stood with grim faces and naked blades.

  “I can slow and disrupt the charge,” Tarlak said. “Once they’re here, just keep me alive and my spells will tear them to pieces. Oh, and don’t die yourselves, all right?”

  “We’ll try our best,” Jerico said. He saluted the wizard. “But try to keep us alive as well. It only seems fair.”

  “What, I have to kill great hordes of attackers and babysit you two? Now you’re asking too much.”

  Lathaar started chuckling, but not at Tarlak’s joke. When he couldn’t stop, Jerico asked him what was so humorous.

  “Don’t you see?” he said, pointing to the coming throng.

  “See what?” asked Jerico.

  “His army. Nearly half of it is undead.”

  “More undead?” Jerico’s face spread into a wicked grin. “Is that so?”

  They lumbered closer, poorly armed and armored, and only a few hundred yards away.

  “Personally, I’m sick of killing undead,” Tarlak said, fire bursting around his hands. “But you two have the time of your lives.”

  He hurled balls of fire, which soared across the distance and detonated, roasting tens at a time. He followed up with a pair of boulders he ripped out of the ground behind him, sending them crashing through the ranks. All around, the soldiers saw Tarlak’s display and cheered.

  “Getting close,” Jerico said.

  “I know,” Lathaar said.

  He sheathed his shortsword and held his longsword with both hands. With his eyes closed, Lathaar prayed to Ashhur, hoping his faith was not lost. He still felt doubt clawing at him, but in this he felt certain. In this, he knew his place.

  “Elholad,” he whispered.

  His sword turned to a blade of purest light, the white rolling off it in thin waves like frost off a pond in the morning. Lathaar let out a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding and then looked to the charging undead.

  “Don’t let them pass!” he cried to his allies, his voice carrying to the thousand. “Do not retreat a step. They are dead. They are mindless. We are the living. We are the strong. Slay them, men of Dezrel! Show the gods your strength!”

  Tarlak punctuated his sentence with a bolt of lightning, the boom rolling over them matched only by the roar of the undead crashing into the line. And hold they did, slamming their shields and stabbing their swords as the undead fell, and fell, until they formed a barrier for their own.

  Clamoring over the pile of dead, they lunged at the defenders, clawing and biting at their armor. In the very center, Lathaar and Jerico fought like the paragons they were. Lathaar’s sword sliced through the throng while Jerico’s shield exploded their bodies into bones and dust with every slam. Tarlak did his best to aid the rest, hurling bolts of lightning up and down the lines.

  Hundreds died, but as the wall before them grew, Thulos lost far more.

  “No fear!” Lathaar cried, and his words carried the blessing of Ashhur. “Feel no fear, no sorrow, no pain!”

  The line, which had begun to weaken, suddenly surged forward, cutting down the undead. Blood soaked their armor, and rot coated their blades. The ground rumbled as Tarlak summoned a few more boulders, rolling them just behind the pile of dead to crush hundreds, giving them
a moment’s breather before the rest hit. The assault continued relentless, but they gained no ground. A thousand fell, their bodies robbed of the false life given to them by Velixar.

  But a thousand more pressed on.

  Jerico let out a cry to Ashhur and shoved his shield forward. Light burst from its surface. The nearest undead collapsed, unable to endure, while hundreds more in all directions stumbled as if suddenly robbed of sight. Lances of ice plowed through their ranks, and the defenders surged forward yet again, cutting them down.

  “We’ve got them!” Tarlak shouted, leaning over as he caught his breath. The undead were scattered and few, easy prey for the defenders. A quick estimate showed they still had seven hundred standing against Thulos’s men…all four thousand of them.

  “Well,” Jerico said as the first wave approached. “At least we built a wall.”

  Tarlak laughed and cracked his knuckles.

  “Time for another…”

  He stopped as a great roar echoed through the valley, so powerful that even Thulos’s conscripts halted.

  “What the abyss was that?” he asked, and then he turned and saw it.

  The creature soared out of Mordeina, black smoke billowing after. It flew a single circle above Antonil’s troops, then plummeted, scattering men like they were playthings.

  “That’s not good,” Lathaar said, and Tarlak couldn’t contain his laughter at the greatest understatement he’d heard in years.

  “No,” he said, turning his attention back to the conscripts resuming their charge, hesitant as if they also were afraid of the great beast slaughtering men by the hundreds. “No, I think I can safely say we’re all fucked.”

  Bernard left for the castle, and Deathmask and Veliana moved for the wall. But instead of going straight for it, Deathmask veered them back to the castle and found a large mansion with a gently sloping roof.

  “Why are we here?” Veliana asked as Deathmask looked for a way to climb up.

  “I’m tired of being hunted,” he said, grabbing a windowsill and pulling. “Now help me before I embarrass myself.”