“Do not panic, and do not stop!” Antonil shouted as he rode his horse down the long line of frantic refugees. “As long as you hold breath make for the portal!” He circled the greater mass of people at the bottom of the hill eager to join the line, again shouting his command. The soldiers flanking drew their swords and saluted, and the sign of formality and duty soothed those climbing toward the swirling blue magic.
Beyond the last few families and peasants, the Eschaton stood in a long line. They stared east with baited breaths. Deathmask’s crew intermixed with them, magic sparking on their fingertips. They were eight in all, the first and strongest line of defense against the coming demons.
“Use everything you’ve got to get their attention,” Tarlak said as the sky swarmed with dull red armor and beating wings. “Keep them on us as long as you can. With each volley, take a few steps back.”
“As you wish, master wizard,” Deathmask said, ash hovering so thick before his face his features were all but gone. “And no one be a fool. When the battle is lost, make for the portal. Dying here means nothing.”
“Such elegant words,” Harruq muttered.
“I don’t exactly feel like dying here either,” Aurelia said, but her voice was distracted. She was trying to estimate the number of soldiers that approached. By her guess, each banner that flew represented a unit of fifty, and she counted nine banners. She winced.
“Daggerwork may not be enough,” Mier said.
“We need more than daggers,” Nien said.
Veliana drew her own, kissed the blades, and stared at the sky with her lone eye. “Their armor is thick, but daggers will do just fine,” she said.
The twins chuckled at her but said nothing.
“They’re almost here,” Harruq said. He could see the giant red wings, the crimson armor, and the wicked weapons hanging from their belts. Silhouetted by a blackened sky, they seemed a demonic army indeed.
“Let’s give them a good welcome, shall we?” Tarlak said before beginning his spellcasting. Deathmask and Aurelia joined him, choosing their largest and flashiest spells. A ball of fire shot from Tarlak’s hands, smoke trailing behind it. When it struck the first soldier it detonated, consuming more than twenty in fire. Aurelia’s spell was a great barrage of ice lances. Forced to evade, the demons broke their perfect ranks as ten of their own plummeted to the ground. Deathmask’s was the worst. In the center of their ranks a small ball of shadow appeared unseen. At his command, it exploded, filling the sky with thousands of black-tipped arrows. Most bounced off the armor the demons wore, but their wings carried no such protection. Deathmask laughed as he saw more than fifty drop to their deaths.
“You need to teach me that spell,” Tarlak said with a whistle.
“You would not want to learn,” Deathmask said. “Not while the golden mountain hangs from your neck.”
“Damn,” Tarlak said. “That’s a shame.”
So instead he prepared a second fireball as a great swarm of metal descended.
Ulamn hovered high in the sky, a banner carrier holding flight beside him. The general swore as he saw the spells decimate his army. He had expected a ragtag band of survivors for him to slaughter, but powerful spellcasters? Even worse, he saw the swirling blue portal atop the hill the mass climbed. But Ulamn had conquered many worlds, and fought with spellcasters greater than those arrayed against him.
“Send a single unit after the casters,” he ordered. “Have the rest assault those atop the hill. I want that portal closed.”
Two demons beside him tucked their wings and dove, screaming out their general’s orders. The army split in two, each curling around the initial defense line and hooking back to the hill. Antonil’s men raised their shields and shouted. Their time to fight had come.
Damn it, they’re not taking the bait,” Tarlak shouted as he blasted several demons with lightning as they passed.
“Make for the top,” Haern said. He turned to Harruq and motioned for him to follow.
“But Aurelia needs me,” the half-orc protested.
“Now!” Haern shouted. He leapt more than twenty feet into the air, his sabers drawn. The few demons foolish enough to fly near screamed as their throats were cut and their wings severed. Harruq snarled and gave chase, running outside the line of Antonil’s men to avoid the throng of refugees.
“Eyes ahead,” Veliana said, twirling her daggers.
A unit of fifty dove for the line, their ranks spread wide to lessen the damage of magical attacks. Lightning and ice struck down several, but then they closed the gap. Mier and Nien let loose their daggers, hurling four at a time into the air. The blades shimmered purple with magic. Those that tried streaking straight at Tarlak veered off, unable to withstand the barrage. Veliana crouched before Deathmask, ready to defend. Deathmask curled his hand, sapping the strength from the first to near. The demon struck the dirt ten feet before him, his wings unable to keep him afloat.
“Get down,” Veliana said as two more arced close and swung their long glaives. Veliana jumped into the air, her legs tucked against her chest. As she fell backward her daggers lashed out, perfectly timed. The long blades cut beneath her, her twisted body slipping in between the wooden shafts. Her left dagger cut straight through one’s neck, spewing blood. Her right severed tendons, and unable to bear the pain the demon dropped his glaive and ascended.
“Mere distractions,” Deathmask said as he stood, hurling small bolts of fire to keep away a few circling demons. “They will kill Mira while we play.”
Aurelia had no protector, so she relied on her own magical strength. As the demons came whirling in she tore the dirt from the ground and hurled it high. The demons bounced and slammed through the boulders. Many fell unconscious while others veered away from the dangerous trap.
“Make for the portal,” the elf shouted.
She hurled the boulders, crushing a few remaining demons that circled above them. Turning about she saw the true battle raging. The shouts of dying and panicked rolled down the hill. The elf closed her eyes, her mind focused on Mira at the top. She felt her body shiver, and when she opened her eyes she stood beside the girl, the tempest wind blowing her hair and dress.
“By Ashhur’s girdle, get down elf!” Jerico shouted behind her. She obeyed without thought. The paladin rushed past her, his shield high. Steel collided as a war demon struck where she had been. The demon hollered as holy light leapt up his weapon and into the scarred flesh of his hands. Jerico pushed aside the sword with his shield, raised Bonebreaker, and struck. The demon dropped, his skull shattered.
“Nice of you to join us,” Lathaar said as he slammed his swords together. All about demons winced and averted their eyes.
In the brief reprieve Aurelia looked down the hill, studying the fight. Demons had slammed into the shield walls on either side of the refugees, using brute strength and size to push their way through. Antonil’s men had held firm, however, and men of valor fought against the crimson armored demons. Lining the ground on either side were scattered corpses of demons. She saw more than fifty, a true tribute to Antonil’s training. The king rode along the west side, his sword held high.
“Hold firm,” he shouted. “Hold fast, hold firm, and make for the portal!”
The people of Neldar did as commanded, and five by five they stepped into the blue and were gone.
“Behind us,” Lathaar said. Jerico turned, chuckling at the sight. Four demons flew close together, their swords stretched before them. They were planning on ramming the paladins with their speed and weight to knock them aside.
“You’d think they’d have learned by now,” Jerico said. He stood before Mira, his shield high. Singing a song to Ashhur, Jerico braced his legs. A glowing image of his shield leapt into the air, ten times the original size. The demons collided with the image as if they hit stone. Bones broken, they collapsed. Lathaar circled Mira, his swords whirling in a blinding blur of a white. Both were Elholads, and in the paladin’s hands they weighed nothing and c
ut everything. Broken weapons littered the ground, along with severed limbs and pieces of armor.
Still the swarm increased. A wave of twenty banked from the sky straight for Mira. Lathaar stood before them, his weapons crossed. Jerico knelt behind Mira, catching his breath. He knew the demons Lathaar did not kill would try to circle back around. Aurelia tossed lances of ice, softening the wave for Lathaar.
“Hold me fast Ashhur,” he prayed. “And your will be done.”
He stood firm, a tribute to heroic paladins of old. His twin Elholads slashed and cut. The demons’ armor meant nothing to him. Their weapons were nothing as well. Spears and swords clacked off his armor, but they would not pierce flesh. One after another he cut them down, severing them into pieces. The bodies of his foes crashed off his body, even their momentum nothing to him. Ashhur’s will was done.
Aurelia stared with mouth agape, for not a single demon had survived. Jerico stretched as high above a demon hurled his spear.
“Easy enough,” he said.
His eyes opened wide as the spear punched through his platemail, into his back, and out through his underarm. Aurelia shouted his name as he fell to his knees, only his shield propping his body to a sitting.
“Easy,” he gasped, the pain incredible. “Easy.”
His head slumped and his eyes closed.
“Jerico!” Lathaar shouted, turning toward his friend.
“Hold your post,” Aurelia shouted. Furious he turned to her, but she did not back down. Instead she pointed to the line of fleeing peoples still over three hundred in number. “Hold your post, or all of them will die,” she said. The fury in his eyes shifted to understanding. He nodded.
“Ashhur be with us all,” he said, turning back to the demons that circled the sky. The only other of his kind lay dying, and he could only turn his back and guard his charge. The light on his blades lessened, and he felt their weight once more.
Haern led the way down the line, a blur of gray in the dim light. Many of the war demons had landed, preferring solid ground over tumultuous wind. Despite their valor, Antonil’s men were falling, exhausted and outmatched in skill. The demons that punched through slaughtered men and women, soaking themselves in the blood of innocents. Haern leapt into the air, landing on the back of one demon with an elderly woman hanging limp from his spear. His sabers sliced the arteries in the demon’s neck. As the demon fell he leapt again, ten feet up the hill atop a second. He landed with all his weight on the demon’s neck, snapping bone.
Harruq followed in a less precise manner. He barreled through combat, not fearing the swords of either man or demon. Condemnation and Salvation tore through crimson armor, spilling an even darker shade across the red mail. When he saw two demons assaulting a soldier cowering behind his shield, he roared and slammed his shoulder into the nearest. As the demon flew he planted his foot and swung, severing the second at the waist. Harruq gave the soldier no time to thank him before he was off, chasing Haern up the hill.
“Wait up, damn it,” he shouted. “I’m not a leaping frog like you are!”
He caught movement from the corner of his eye. Instinctively he braced his shoulders, turning to one side as a spear skewered where he had been. The attacking demon slammed straight into him, and in a mass of muscle and armor they rolled, crushing a hapless man in their way. Harruq growled as the demon scowled behind his helmet.
“Thulos will burn your world to ash for this cowardice,” the demon said. He tried to strike with his spear but Harruq pinned his arm with his knee.
“You’re the one attacking unarmed men and women,” Harruq said. The demon’s body pinned Condemnation underneath him, but Salvation was free. The problem was the demon gripped Harruq’s wrist and held back the killing thrust. Slowly the tip quivered in the air.
“You’re strong, and you speak the god’s tongue,” the demon said. Veins pulsed underneath the scars across his face. “Pull back your blade and join us. We have positions of honor for your kind.”
Harruq laughed, but amid his struggling it sounded more like a cough.
“I’ll tell you what I told Qurrah. Not…gonna…happen!”
Down went the tip, through flesh, past bone, and into dirt. The demon’s arms went limp. Harruq pulled himself free, yanking out his swords in the process.
“Getting so tired of people trying to recruit me,” he said. “And in the middle of battle for god’s sake.”
He turned to the portal and ran.
King Antonil ducked his head as a spear thudded into a shield held by one of his men. His heart was heavy for he could see just how many of his soldiers lay dead. Even worse, the men, women, and children he had sworn to protect. Blood soaked the hill, the bodies of the slain a barrier needing climbed. His horse charged across the grass as he swung his sword at any nearby enemy. In spite of his exhaustion, his guilt, and his sorrow, he shouted for all to hear.
“Keep climbing! Keep running! To the portal, to safety, do not stop! Do not stop!”
A war demon slammed to the ground before him and swung his glaive. Antonil jerked the reigns, and without hesitation his horse jumped. A sharp neigh filled the air as the glaive tore flesh, but nothing stopped the enormous weight from crashing atop the demon. As his body crumpled beneath the hooves he heard the labored breathing of his horse turn into a dying whinny.
“I’m sorry,” he said as he dismounted. The horse’s front legs collapsed, a giant pool of blood covering the ground below. The king looked about the darkened hill. The clouds had turned even thicker so that it seemed night had fallen. There were no torches, no starlight, just the brilliant blue glow of the portal. He trudged toward it, but three demons landed before him with their swords and axes drawn. They saw his crown and knew they found a chance for glory.
Antonil saluted, determined to kill at least one before he died. He was never given the chance. A bolt of lightning shot past the king, hitting the first demon in the eye before leaping into the chest of the second and the throat of the third. All three fell, wisps of smoke rising from their bodies.
“Hope I wasn’t intruding,” Tarlak said as he grabbed Antonil’s wrist and pulled him on. “Now let’s leave before their friends show up.”
King Antonil followed the yellow robes as if they were light in a giant fog. All around he saw chaos, men missing limbs and women bleeding from giant gashes across their arms and chests. Some were armed. Most weren’t. Climbing adjacent the trail of bodies he saw the four members of the Ash Guild, a deadly combination of daggers and death magic striking down any demon who dared near. They offered no aid to the wounded or those in combat, only pressing onward toward the portal, toward escape.
“How many have made it through,” Antonil asked as they neared the top of the hill.
“Can’t say for sure,” Tarlak said, his eyes constantly darting about in search of threats. “At least half. More than half, actually, maybe a lot more. Hundreds at least. Watch your head.”
He hurled another bolt of lightning, a joyless smile on his face as he pegged a demon out of the air. With the vast bulk of the Veldaren people escaped, the rest of the demons had taken to circling above, preparing one last assault on Mira and the portal.
“How does she still stand?” Antonil asked, shaking his head. Near a hundred corpses surrounded her, the vast bulk wearing the crimson armor of Thulos. Lathaar stood at her side, his weapons tipped to the dirt, his eyes scanning the sky. When the Ash Guild arrived he saluted them. They did not salute back. Instead, they dived through the portal, their part of the battle finished. The king shook his head, disappointed but understanding. It was not cowardice that caused them to leave, just self-preservation.
Antonil heard a primal roar from the half-orc. He glanced back, in awe of the sight. Harruq was soaked in blood. Cuts covered his arms and hands, yet he grinned with a maniacal glee. The demons seemed to have labeled him as a special prey, for while all around him men, women, and even soldiers hurried to the portal unabated, wave after wave dove for
Harruq. The half-orc took them in stride, slamming them away with his powerful swords. As Antonil watched, Harruq sidestepped a thrust, beheaded the attacking demon, took two steps back, and then buried both his swords into another demon’s chest. Even as he flung the body away another took its place, striking downward with a gigantic axe.
Swords together he blocked the blow, grinning even as the muscles in his arms twitched. He muttered something, but Antonil couldn’t hear it. Then the axe shook, its haft shattered, and Harruq struck down the demon.
“We have little time,” Tarlak said, pointing upward. The demons were forming ranks. It would not be long before more waves descended. They looked to the king. “Go through,” Tarlak said. “The people will need you.”
“I will not abandon those still here,” Antonil said. “I will defend to the death if I must.”
“I thought you’d say that,” Tarlak said. He snapped his fingers. A sudden gust of wind roared to life. An invisible force pushed up on his feet, stealing any chance he had to resist. Cursing the wizard’s name, Antonil flew through the portal and vanished.
“Don’t get me wrong,” Tarlak said as Lathaar shook his head at him. “Honor and pride has its place, but I’m pretty sure intelligence and reason deserve a bit of respect as well.”
“Jerico,” Lathaar said, gesturing to his wounded brethren. “He’s wounded. Please, get him through the portal.”
“Forget me,” Jerico said, his voice hoarse. “I’m not going anywhere.”
“Like the abyss you aren’t,” Tarlak said.
High above thunder rumbled, and at its sound, Mira shivered.
“The goddess is strained,” she said. “Please hurry.”
“Just a hundred more,” Lathaar said as people rushed into the portal. “We can hold.”
Another crack of thunder, and as its force rumbled through the land the demons dove for Mira and her protectors. They were tightly packed, as if they would bury them in metal regardless if they died or not.
The Death of Promises (Half-Orcs Book 3) Page 36