“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.
Q urrah 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.”
A ntonil 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.
T he priests’ shield was weakening. It no longer harmed those that struck it, so Trummug had every orc in his army hurling his weapon at the shimmering white magic. Velixar laughed, enjoying every second.
“Let the dead rise,” he whispered. Karak’s power flooded his being. He shouted out the words of his spell. Over a thousand dead bodies of orcs, hyena-men, and bird-men rose from the ground, held sway by his command. A chill swept through Qurrah at the sight.
“Beautiful,” Tessanna whispered.
In his joy, Velixar could wait no longer. A solid black beam shot from his hands and into the white shield, which flickered and bowed inward against the barrage. The ground shook as the priests’ last protection for the city broke. The orcs needed no command. Into the city they poured, where the priests waited. Their strength was spent. Their role was played. They raised their arms to the sky and let the axes fall, knowing the Golden Eternity waited for them.