The Death of Promises h-3

by David Dalglish

  He stopped as if slapped.

  “What?” Aurelia asked.

  “A portal,” Deathmask said. “Why don’t we open a portal to the Quellan forest?”

  “You’re insane,” Aurelia said. “I don’t have the strength to move so many, and neither do you.”

  “Not a free form one,” Deathmask insisted. “Think older, when portal magic was first discovered. If we carve the correct runes into the rock and then have enough of us join together, we can open a much larger portal. It would be healthy and strong and ready to move, say, thousands of people hundreds of miles away from chasing winged demons.”

  “How many do we have?” Aurelia asked. “You, Tarlak, and I would be hard-pressed even with the help of the runes.”

  “Veliana can cast spells, as can the twins,” Deathmask insisted. “We can do this. Tarlak will agree. Trust me.”

  “If you say so,” Aurelia said, trudging back to the camp where hundreds of hungry people waited for her to create them food.

  A re you insane?” Tarlak asked as he handed off a piece of bread. “What mushrooms have you been eating?”

  “It’ll take more time, and patience, but we can do it,” Deathmask insisted. The three stood before long lines of people, each a representative of the groups Antonil had separated them into. Each person was given a loaf of bread and bit of cheese to divide up among his group. In the center of the camp Veliana had summoned a gentle spring for those needing a drink.

  “We’re talking an entire day, maybe two,” Tarlak said. “Two days to carve the runes, ensure all of us know the words, cast the correct incantations, and then move everyone through while hoping no one has a slip of concentration that leaves hundreds of people stranded miles away from safety.”

  “That sounds about right,” Deathmask said.

  Tarlak sighed. He twirled his finger. A piece of bread appeared in his hand like some cheap parlor trick. Another twirl and he had some cheese. He handed both off to a haggard women with frostbitten fingers.

  “Alright then,” the wizard said. “Let’s have a talk with Antonil.”

  A bsolutely not,” Antonil said. “Even I know the risks of portal magic. What happens to those who might be left behind? Even worse, what happens if we are attacked in the middle of the ritual?”

  “I have absolute faith in this idea,” Tarlak said. He removed his hat and scratched at the bald spot on his head. “It’s not like the portal is made of fire or anything.”

  “You need to trust us,” Aurelia said. “You know our resources are limited. This is our best hope.”

  Antonil frowned and crossed his arms. He glanced about his camp, pondering the options.

  “Guard captain,” Deathmask said, stealing his attention. “How many did not wake up this morning? How many perished of exhaustion, of cold, of hunger or thirst or sheer hopelessness? I know the number, as do you.”

  Over a hundred was the answer. Under his orders, the soldiers had left them where they lay.

  “We will not survive this journey,” Deathmask said. “Even in perfect conditions we would be hard pressed, but we are in the dead of winter. One snowstorm, one torrent of icing rain, and all will die. Give us the order.”

  Antonil sighed. Aurelia felt a sinking feeling in her gut at the sight of the guard captain when he spoke.

  “Do it then,” he said. “And may Ashhur have mercy on us all.”

  T he refugees collected around fires, huddled and quiet. Antonil had told them little of their plan, only that they needed to rest and stay warm. After his simple speech the guard captain retreated south to where a small cluster of trees surrounded a spring that emerged from one hill and vanished into the small cave mouth of another. The trees were barren, their leaves long since fallen. He had left his soldiers under strict orders not to follow. When he heard the soft hiss of a portal opening, he shook his head and sighed.

  “I’m not one of your soldiers,” Aurelia said, guessing his thoughts. “And even if I were, I would still come here.”

  He turned and faced her. His shoulders sagged, and his frown seemed permanently etched above his jaw.

  “I don’t know you well, Aurelia, but I know enough to believe there is a reason for this intrusion, and a good-hearted one at that. I don’t want to hear it. My shame is…”

  “Shut your mouth already,” Aurelia said, and at her harsh words, he obeyed. For a moment she said nothing, only glared. At last she spoke. “Your men are dying. Your people are dying. They are cold. They are hungry. And they are terrified.”

  “I am well aware of that,” Antonil said. His right hand shook, clutching the hilt of his sword.

  “Who are you, Antonil Copernus?” Aurelia asked. “Do you know anymore?”

  “I am a failure to my people, to my king, and to my kingdom. And what do I do now? I let them sit here, gambling on the whims of wizards and sorcerers to save their lives from demons and the dead. What would you tell me, that I did the right thing? That they need me? What would you tell me that I do not already know?”

  “You are their king!” she shouted. Tears swelled in his eyes even as he adamantly shook his head.

  “No,” he said. “I have no bloodline, and no claim to a throne I abandoned.”

  “Open your eyes,” Aurelia said. “You are no longer a guard captain. You are no longer a servant to the king, for you cannot be a servant to yourself. Every life in that camp needs to trust in something or someone to protect them and promise them a better life the day after tomorrow. Already they speak of you as king in their whispers. Take up the mantle.”

  “I am not ready,” Antonil said, but the words came out weak.

  “No one is ever ready,” she said. She reached out and took his quivering hand. With her other she drew his sword, flipped the hilt toward him, and grinned.

  “What is it you humans say?” she asked. “The King is dead, long live the King?”

  “It is. So will the portal work?” he asked as he took the sword.

  “I haven’t the slightest idea,” she said.

  Despite his terror, King Antonil laughed.

  “If you are ready,” she said as he wiped his eyes, “then I have this for you.” She removed his golden helm, held it to her lips, and kissed it. The helmet shivered and the gold drained away. The precious metal reshaped, and from the top seven spikes jutted into a warlord’s crown.

  “It is awesome,” Antonil said as he stared at the gift she offered back to him.

  “Just an illusion,” the elf said. “But in times like these, illusions will suffice. Your strength will give strength to others. Now wait here for my return.”

  Aurelia did not want the newly crowned king to come strolling into the camp. No, he would ride in atop a horse and demand the courage and respect he deserved. They had no horses, but that wasn’t a bother to her. A few well placed teleports and she was much farther south, staring out across a chill field. Several wild horses trotted about, nibbling from grass that still held a bit of green.

  “Come to me,” she said, casting a simple charm spell across the largest and most elegant. The beautiful beast strode up and snorted while shaking his head. His body was deep black, with only a thin line of white underneath his neck.

  “It will be cold where I take you,” she told the horse. “But you will be the mount of a king. A fair trade, yes?”

  Another shake of the head, another snort. Aurelia giggled. She knew the creature was intelligent, but not enough to understand her words. Only pegasi were smart enough for that. But the horse understood her tone and could feel her desires, the charm spell made sure of that. She put her arm atop his neck and lead the horse through portal after portal.

  “Holy piss bucket,” Antonil said when Aurelia appeared before him with the horse.

  “Such language for a king,” she said. “Climb up. He will obey your commands. Just make sure I have a bit of time alone with him every night or he’ll suddenly decide you’re not near as friendly.”

  “I’ve
been thrown before,” Antonil said. “I’ll do what I must to prevent that again.”

  K ing Antonil rode into the camp. He nodded at the soldiers that he passed. Every one, even those that stood slack-jawed, stood erect and saluted. The peasants that saw him cheered his name, the weather suddenly not so cold, the future not so bleak.

  “At last our king wears a crown,” one shouted.

  “All hail Antonil!” shouted another. Slowly word spread from campfire to campfire. At Aurelia’s instructions he circled the perimeter of the camp, letting soldier and commoner see his armor, his crown, and his steed. When he finally returned to his tent and dismounted, the entire place was stirring with shouts and songs.

  Sergan waited for him, his axe hefted across his shoulders.

  “About the finest damn thing I’ve seen in years,” he said, his grin spreading from ear to ear. “And since when could you create crowns from dirt and horses from logs?”

  “Since today,” Antonil said. He went to hug the old sergeant, but Sergan stunned him by falling to one knee and laying his axe across the ground.

  “I swear my axe to you, King Copernus,” he said. “Will you accept this gift, humbly offered?”

  “I accept it,” Antonil said, “and I am humbled by its offering.”

  Sergan stood, and the two embraced. All around soldiers raised their weapons and cheered. The newly honored king winked at Aurelia, who had remained in the background, admiring her work. She feigned a curtsey, then laughed.

  “Impressive illusions,” Tarlak said, sliding up beside her. “So what is he really riding? A donkey? A large dog?”

  “The horse is real,” Aurelia said. “If it had been an illusion, I’d have made sure its face resembled yours.”

  “Touching,” Tarlak said. “Now follow me. We’ve got a problem.”

  I told you this was crazy,” Veliana said, a large rock in her hands. “And I know I wasn’t the only one.”

  They were gathered atop a solitary hill. Strewn about the dead grass were slabs of stone with runes carved atop them. Some were intricate in detail, while others were only half-finished. Deathmask stood where the portal was to go, a chisel in his left hand.

  “Genius will always have its doubters,” he said, waving the chisel about.

  “So will madness,” Tarlak said as he and Aurelia arrived at the top of the hill. “Funny how much those two have in common.”

  Mier and Nien laughed. The two were busy juggling stones, a chisel and a hammer. Oddly enough, with each pass the runes on the stones grew a tiny bit sharper and longer.

  “Deathmask doesn’t trust us,” Nien said.

  “Deathmask doesn’t trust anyone, but this time he doubts us,” Mier said.

  “What are they talking about?” Aurelia asked.

  “The portal…” Tarlak began.

  “Will still work,” Deathmask interrupted. “We just need to shorten the distance.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “We’re not enough,” Nien said.

  “Not strong enough,” Mier said.

  “Please, just one person at a time,” Aurelia said.

  “Even with all of us helping,” Tarlak said, glaring at Deathmask as if daring him to interrupt again, “we’re looking at hundreds of miles to the edge of the Quellan forest. Multiply that by the thousand or so we must transport and we’ll all crumble under the strain.”

  Aurelia crossed her arms and stared at the stones. The others stilled their movements. They had all reached the same conclusion, but they wanted to know if the last major spellcaster agreed.

  “You want us to make two portals,” she said, glancing back up at them. “One halfway to the forest, and once we’re all safe, one the rest of the way. Cut the strain in half.”

  “We’ll still make far better time,” Deathmask said.

  “I know you’re right, but the strain on all of us will…”

  She stopped, for she sensed something both alien and familiar. It was an aura of brooding silence, constrained power behind a cracking dam. Gently limping, Mira walked up the hill.

  “You’re building a portal,” the girl said.

  “Aye, we are, my beautiful lady,” Tarlak said. He frowned at the sight of her torn dress and multiple bruises. Lathaar had told him a little about Mira’s trip back to Veldaren. Still, he was surprised by just how fast she had healed. Even the deep stab to her chest was only a vicious red line of scabbed blood. “Should you be up and about, hurt as you are?” he asked.

  To this she said nothing, only trudged to the circle of stones. “Where will you take them?” she asked.

  “Two hundred miles south,” Deathmask said. “After that, another hundred.”

  “The Quellan forest,” Mira said.

  “Yes,” Deathmask said. “That is our goal.”

  The girl smiled, but it was a dead smile. “You mustn’t make two portals. One will suffice. I will hold it, and I alone.”

  The twins halted their juggling. Tarlak and Aurelia glanced about nervously. Deathmask only laughed.

  “What sorceress do you think you are?” he asked her. “No, what goddess?”

  “No goddess,” Mira said, her black eyes flaring with sudden life. “But if you must judge me by my blood, then know me as Celestia.”

  She raised her arms, and at once the many runes snapped rigid. Fire burned across them, changing and reshaping the runes. She arranged them in a circle about the hill. Out of her mouth words of magic poured, quick and sharp. Clouds circled above, pulled in by the power that swept through them. Lightning struck the hill. In the deafening thunder a massive blue portal ripped open. Mira’s dress flapped in the wind that swirled into it. The other casters stared in awe.

  “I will hold the portal,” she said, showing no strain from its size or distance. “I killed us all. It is the least I can do. Prepare your magic. The demons approach.”

  “Demons?” Deathmask asked. “What is she talking about?”

  To this she pointed west. Tarlak cast a spell to augment his eyes, his jaw dropping open when it completed.

  “We’re in trouble,” he said. “Someone find Antonil, we need people moving through this portal, now!”

  Aurelia cast a similar spell, her heart sinking at what she saw. Soaring through the air in perfect ranks were hundreds of the winged men she and Deathmask had fought earlier. Many of them carried red banners marked with the yellow fist.

  “An entire army,” she said, her voice just above a whisper. “Are they what Qurrah has brought into this world?”

  “Fight them,” Mira said. “Unless mother denies me my strength, I will hold.”

  “Deathmask,” Tarlak said, tipping his hat. “Care to fight side by side to protect our goddess?”

  “I enjoy my life,” Deathmask said, his hand dipping into the bag of ash hanging from his belt. “And I’ll enjoy this battle as well.”

  21

  Antonil ordered his people into a giant line stretching up the hill. Five wide they rushed the survivors through while the remaining troops of Veldaren flanked them on both sides. Mira stood beside the portal, her arms raised to the sky and her eyes closed. Her hair tossed about while her dress flapped against her legs. High above the clouds darkened and grumbled angrily. The two paladins stood at her side, their orders simple. Mira was not to be touched. The blue portal hissed and shook as five by five the people fled through.

  “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.