“You both will be needed,” Haern said, running a hand through his hair. “We’ve all seen what your brother and his lover can do. If Velixar is with them, even the city’s walls will not be enough to protect us.”
Harruq said nothing. Aurelia wrapped her arms around his waist and held him close as the assassin left. The two stared at the line of torches in the dark, Aurelia filled with worry, and Harruq with guilt.
“My brother,” he said. “Because of my brother…”
“And therein lies the blame,” Aurelia said. “Not you.”
“Easy words. How many will die tonight?”
Aurelia pulled on his shoulder and forced his eyes to meet hers. She was a living blessing in the moonlight, a beautiful creature hundreds of years old and filled with grace and wonder. And she kissed the simple, plain man she loved.
“Not us,” she said. “And remember which side of the walls you are on. You will fight to save, not to kill. Now come.”
She took his hand and led him back to the city.
Tarlak closed the portal immediately after exiting, not wanting anyone to follow. While he had said he was going to speak with Antonil, he had instead sent himself to the Eschaton tower. With a wave of his hand, he opened the front door and rushed inside. The others had been too focused on Aurelia’s description of what she saw to notice he had cast a divination spell. He had seen wolf-men, hyena-men, bird-men, orcs and goblins, all marching in unison. Not since the original days of the brothers’ war had such an army existed.
He came to the Eschaton tower because he expected never to return.
His room was first. Tarlak scooped up scrolls from his shelves and tossing them into his hat, which seemed to never fill. He went to Delysia’s room next, wincing at all the signs of the life. He took a few pieces of jewelry Brug had made for her and then closed the door. He skipped Haern’s room, knowing the assassin always kept everything he needed close on person. Outside Harruq and Aurelia’s room he paused, thinking of what they might want from within.
“Might as well check,” he said, and placed his hand on the door only to realize it was ajar. His hair stood on end, and somehow he knew it was no accident or happenstance. Slowly he pushed it open, thankful it was well-oiled as to not creak.
Sitting with her legs curled underneath her was Tessanna, gently running her hand through the illusory grass Aurelia had created with her magic. With the door open he could hear her softly singing. His hands trembled. Brug had died by her dagger, and all the while she had laughed. Laughed. Her back was to him.
Helpless, he thought. Power swelled into his hands, begging for release. He held it in. Something was too sad about the scene, and then he heard crying.
“I’m sorry, Aully,” he heard her say. “Big dog’s coming, and he’s coming for you…”
Her grief was so great he felt like an intruder in his own tower. Where was the simplicity he had felt only minutes ago? His hands lowered, and the magic around them faded away.
A piece of bone pressed against the back of his neck. He tensed, and his heart leapt as he heard raspy breathing from behind.
“A life for a life,” Qurrah whispered. “You spared her, so I spare you.”
The bone piece left. When Tarlak turned around, Qurrah stared at him with arms crossed and his whip in hand. The bone hovered in orbit around his head like a morbid halo. Two scars ran down the side of his face, angry and red. His tears have become acid, Tarlak thought. The contempt and vileness he saw in Qurrah’s eyes made it seem almost possible.
“We’ve seen your army,” the wizard whispered. “Do you come to conquer, or destroy?”
“You’ll fight me either way,” Qurrah responded. “So that is an answer you don’t need. Your city is doomed. Tell my idiot brother to flee while he still can.”
Tessanna heard their talking and stood. She smiled back to Tarlak even though tears ran down her cheeks.
“You know he won’t,” she said, answering for him. “Which makes it all the sadder. Tell them I’m sorry, too. But I will kill all of you if I must, as will Qurrah. Leave, Tarlak. Please, leave.”
He walked down the stairs, slow and dignified. He would run from no one. When he reached the outside, he opened a portal to Veldaren. Thoughts raced through his head. Under no circumstances would he give their message to Harruq. He glanced back one last time at his home as a part of him realized why Qurrah and Tessanna had come back.
“You’ll never have what they had,” he said to the highest floor before stepping inside, unaware of the life already growing inside Tessanna’s womb.
Antonil had slept poorly ever since the lion appeared in the sky. When its roar shook the city he had cowered like the rest of his soldiers, and the shame of it scarred his honor. Several hours had passed with him falling in and out of fitful sleep haunted by dreams of facing legions of dark shapes while he wielded only a broken sword. When the blue portal ripped open in his room, he lurched forward and grabbed his sword, which lay next to him on the bed.
“Easy,” Tarlak said as he stepped out to find the tip near his throat. “It’s just me, your local friendly wizard.”
“Forgive me,” Antonil said, putting the sword down. “I’ve just been edgy since, well…I’m sure you saw it.”
“More than saw it,” the mage said, his whole persona darkening. “Priests of Karak unleashed that blasphemy upon the sky. Delysia is dead. The priests killed her.”
Antonil opened and closed his mouth. The grogginess in his head refused to clear, but piercing that grogginess was the gentle face and red hair of the priestess. His heart panged with guilt.
“We should have been there,” he said. “My guards, my soldiers, we only cowered while you fought…”
“It doesn’t matter,” Tarlak interrupted. “What matters is that an army marches toward the city, almost ten thousand strong.”
“Orcs?” the guard captain asked.
“Yes,” Tarlak said. “But also hyena-men and wolf-men. Even bird-men march alongside. This’ll make the orc attack several years ago look like child’s play.”
Antonil rubbed his thumb and forefinger against his eyelids.
“Are you sure?” he asked as he blinked away the rest of his sleepiness.
“No, I just enjoy waking people in the middle of the night and scaring them. Yes, I’m sure! Get your guards stationed, wake up every man who owns a sword, and then put them before the gates!”
Antonil leapt from his bed, still wearing the underpadding of his armor. He put the rest of his gold-tinted armor on in mere moments, buckling and strapping it on as he talked.
“If they aren’t equipped with siege weaponry, then they’re going to throw their numbers against the gates and see if it’ll break. If we position enough weight on the other side, and place archers…”
“You don’t understand,” Tarlak said. He stepped back as Antonil swung an arm around, nearly clobbering him in the head in his attempt to fasten a buckle near the back of his waist. His room was well furnished but still small. Only the king had a gigantic room for his own inside the castle.
“The man in black, the necromancer who commanded the orcs that last attack…he leads this one as well.”
Antonil paused, his sword belt in mid buckle.
“Are you sure?” he asked. Tarlak rolled his eyes.
“Didn’t I answer that already?”
“Last time that man shook our walls with his sorcery,” Antonil said. “He destroyed the western gate as if it were made of sticks and mud. Are you telling me that same man marches against our town with five times the numbers?”
Now it was Tarlak’s turn to rub his eyes with his fingers.
“Did our great guard captain develop a hearing problem over the last five minutes?”
Antonil buckled his belt and sheathed his sword. He took his shield off a rack and slung his arm through the two straps. At last he donned his helmet. He looked regal and deadly in the golden hue.
“I must alert the king
,” he said.
“Send someone else,” Tarlak said. “We need you at the walls.”
“If anyone else tells him but me,” Antonil said, a strange hardness in his eyes, “he will not believe them.”
“So be it. The Eschaton will help you, but we will not follow the orders of the king.” He grabbed the man’s arm as he turned to leave. “Antonil,” he said. “There is a very real possibility the city will fall. They do not march to occupy. They will kill every one of us, some even eating our remains. If that will happen…abandon the city. Please.”
The guard captain pulled his arm free of his grasp.
“I will obey my king,” he said. He left to visit the king’s private bed chambers. Tarlak swore as he paced the small room.
“Everyone has to make things so bloody complicated,” he said as crossed his arms and glared at the floor. If Antonil followed the king’s orders, not a soul would be allowed to flee. He’d bury everyone in his paranoia and selfishness. Ever since the elven assassin had taken his left ear…
“To the abyss with it all,” Tarlak said. “I just want to burn stuff.”
He opened a portal to the city walls and stepped through.
14
At first the soldiers barred them from the walls, but then Haern showed them his sigil.
“My apologies, Watcher of the King,” one of the soldiers said, offering a clumsy bow. He moved away from the stone steps, letting them pass. Haern led the way, followed by the paladins. All along the wall, soldiers prepared arrows and readied armor. Jerico guessed at the numbers, and was none too pleased with his estimate.
“There can’t be more than three hundred,” he said. Haern nodded as he scanned the horizon. They were above the western gate, which was sure to take the brunt of the attack. He watched the sea of torches marching closer, his stomach hardening.
“The king lost too many to the orcs’ siege, and then the elves at Woodhaven,” Haern said. “Three hundred archers and two thousand footmen are all he commands.”
“Rumors say it’s more than just orcs coming,” a soldier beside them said. He looked old and grizzled. Neither paladin was familiar with Veldaren’s military ranks but the man was clearly not of a lower station.
“Do they?” Lathaar asked.
“The whole Wedge is coming, the wolf and bird and hyena.” The man nodded towards the torches, both his hands gripping his bow tight. He was missing two of his fingers on his left hand.
“And where did you hear this?” Jerico asked.
“That man,” the soldier said, pointing farther south along the wall. It was still dark, but in the torchlight Tarlak’s pointy yellow hat stood out above the metal and armor.
“Excuse me,” Haern said, slipping past and chasing after. He found Tarlak cheering and slapping archers on the backs and arms, encouraging as only he could.
“Kill twenty of those orcs and I’ll polymorph your mother-by-marriage into a goat,” he said. “Fifty, and I’ll make her a toad! Hate your hair? Hate your face? I’ll change it too, only fifteen kills each. Oh, you sir, I’ll even give you a discount, since you’re nose is so…”
“Tarlak,” Haern said, grabbing the wizard and turning him about. “We need to talk.”
“Howdy Haern,” Tarlak said, grinning at him. “Ready for some mindless slaughter?”
“I hear there are more than orcs coming,” the assassin whispered. “What did you see?”
His grin faded, but when he saw others looking at him and perked right up.
“When they hit the walls they’re all yours,” Tarlak shouted. “So don’t have too much fun as they pretend they can climb with their bare hands!”
He leaned in next to Haern and whispered, “All races of the Wedge, Haern. Every blasted mongrel. We’re outnumbered ten to one.”
The assassin grabbed him by the collar and yanked him closer.
“They will bury us,” he whispered back. “The whole city will burn.”
“Then we’ll burn with it,” Tarlak whispered. “Scared of a little fun, Haern? Besides, you’re worth a couple hundred kills. I’m good for a few hundred as well. Aurry, Lathaar, Jerico…how many can Mira handle? We’re their hope, their only chance, and I will not let us descend into cowardice and retreat. Now go back to the west gate and cause chaos like I know you can. That’s an order.”
“Yes, Lord Eschaton,” Haern said, his voice and subsequent bow filled with sarcasm. He returned to the paladins and drew them close so others would not hear.
“Twenty thousand against our two, according to Tarlak.”
Both nodded, neither appearing surprised.
“To the ground,” Jerico said. “I will defend the west gate if it breaks. The troops there will need me.”
Lathaar drew his swords, their glow shining bright in the night.
“I’ll be there with you. I was not there at the Sanctuary. I will make amends.”
Mira grabbed Lathaar’s hand and squeezed it tight.
“I’ll stay here,” she said. “And I’ll do what I can. They won’t be ready for me.”
“No one ever is,” Lathaar said.
He kissed her cheek and joined Jerico and Haern down the stairs. Mira, a tiny, diminutive figure amid the bustling soldiers, waved. She looked so out of place, the man with missing fingers put his hand on her shoulder and asked her to seek shelter.
“No,” she said, a bit of fire sparking in her eyes. “I’m here to protect you.”
The soldier let her be, and if any raised eyebrows or gestured toward her, he only shook his head and sent them on their way.
Harruq and Aurelia stationed themselves at the southern gate, using a portal to get up top. At first the soldiers there startled and drew their swords, but a glare from the half-orc sent them back.
“Get to work,” he growled. “We’re here to help, and you best like it.”
“Such a silver tongue for a brute,” Aurelia said. She smiled and poked his side. “Save the gruff. It’s going to be a long night.”
“You mean day.” The half-orc pointed east, where the first glimmer of sunrise pierced the sky. “It’s already been a long night.”
The distant army grew closer, the glow of the torches stronger. Aurelia watched, her brow wrinkled.
“Orcs see perfectly in the dark,” she wondered. “Why do they carry torches?”
“Velixar’s making them do it,” Harruq replied, gripping his sword hilts for comfort. “Has to be. It’s the fear, the numbers. Same for that damn lion in the sky. If he had his way, we’d throw open the gates the second he got here and beg him to command us.”
“His priests failed,” Aurelia said. “As will he.”
“And if not?”
The elf crossed her arms and frowned at her husband.
“Alright mister, enough of that.” She gestured to the soldiers about her, scared and exhausted. “For their sake,” she said, her voice quieter.
He nodded and kept the rest of his fears silent. His mood brightened a bit when Tarlak appeared walking along the walls, slapping and joking with every archer along the way. When he reached the two, he smiled and tipped his hat.
“Ready for an orc roast of epic proportions?” he asked.
“More ready than I thought,” Harruq said, smiling in spite of it all. “Good to have you here, Tar.”
“Same for you,” the wizard said, the joy and foolishness in his eyes bleeding away. His whole body was trembling. It seemed the specter of Delysia hovered behind his eyes, just waiting for him to break. The smile returned. With greater strength than Harruq could imagine, Tarlak pushed the ghosts away.
“It does mean a lot, you know,” the wizard said.
“We know,” Aurelia said. “You’re a good friend.”
“Aye,” Harruq said, his hands latched tight around the hilts of his swords. Together the three waited for Karak’s axe to fall upon their city.
The king slept in a bedchamber beside his throne room. Two guards stood beside the door, anxious an
d alert. The roars of the lion had scared them, and now they heard alarms of an orc army approaching. When Antonil pushed open the huge double doors to enter the throne room, the guards knew by his armor that the alarms were true.
He strode over to them and saluted.
“Wake the king,” he ordered. The right guard tapped against the door. Antonil pushed him aside and slammed his fist against the thick wood.
“King Vaelor,” he shouted. “Your majesty, you are needed.”
He heard shuffling, then a clank of wood and metal as the lock was thrown open. The door crept open a crack.
“For what reason do you interrupt my sleep?” the king asked through the crack.
“My apologies,” Antonil said after bowing. “An army comes, and I seek your council.”
“Remain here until I am ready,” his king commanded. The door slammed shut. Antonil opened his mouth to argue, then closed it. His blood boiled, and he slammed his shield against a wall, not caring that he dented it.
“Damn fool,” he muttered.
His glare to the guards made it clear that repeating that outburst meant death. The two saluted, understanding perfectly.
Antonil paced before the door, seething as the time passed. He needed to be commanding his guards, positioning and rallying them into a fighting state. Instead he was stuck inside the castle, bereft of all news. Twenty minutes later, the king exited his bed chambers.
He wore armor made of gold. It was soft, impractical, but it looked beautiful in the torchlight, and Antonil knew that was what mattered to his liege. A garishly jeweled sword swung from a belt trimmed with silver. A red cape hung from his neck. Upon his head was the crown of Veldaren. It had once been a simple ring of gold with a ruby upon the front, but Vaelor had declared it unfitting of a true king, adding several large gems and rubies. Attached to the bottom of the crown was a veil of red silk, recently added to hide the loss of the king’s left ear.
“Sir, your attire…” Antonil said.
“Is this not how a king should be dressed for battle?” Vaelor asked.
The Half-Orcs: Books 1-5 Page 80