The Death of Promises (10 page)

“No,” Tessanna said, twirling once more amid the graveyard, now a torn mess of open graves and scattered stone. “I am.”

W
hen the Sanctuary was dark and torches burned in the towers, Jerico slipped out the front doors. He wore no armor, though he kept his mace and shield buckled and ready. So many years hunted by servants of Karak had taught him such. He walked to the southern side, wishing to be away from the doors. He stared at the stars as he walked, surprised at how accustomed he was to their light. The other priests knelt beside their beds in prayer, but he needed something different. Something larger.

He slammed his shield down and knelt beside it. His mace he shoved headfirst to the dirt, bracing his weight against the handle. In the calm, he prayed, his neck tilted back so his pleadings could reach the sky. He always felt Ashhur was up there somewhere amid the stars, so to them he prayed for the safety of Lathaar, for guidance in his difficult life, and for the strength to continue his walk of faith. Sometimes he heard Ashhur’s gentle voice in answer, sometimes he didn’t. That night, however, he heard his words like a clear bell ringing in his head.

Arm yourself. The fallen brother comes.

Jerico lurched to his feet, his shield braced against his arm and his mace in hand. His heart pounded, the leather surrounding his weapon’s handle growing sticky against his sweating palm. He looked all about but saw no foe.

“Fallen brother?” he asked the night. He was given no answer. His heart ordered him to remain, to await whatever it was that approached, but his mind kept lingering on his suit of armor, piled near the fireplace within the Sanctuary. As the cold air chilled his skin, he ran to the doors. He slammed them open, charged through the hallways, and then found his armor. Piece by piece he buckled it on.

“Lathaar knew someone was coming,” he said as he pulled on one of his gauntlets. “That rascal knew it and didn’t tell me. I swear, next time I see him I’m going to do more than just whallop him with my…”

It was then he felt it. Because of his close relationship with Ashhur, he was attuned to those things his master hated more than all else. Like a thorn in his mind, he sensed them, their number so large his chest tightened and his stomach twisted. More than a hundred undead were near.

“Burn it all to the abyss,” he said, looping his arm through the leather straps of his shield before grabbing the sturdy handle near the side. Finished, he took his mace and slammed it against his shield. Soft blue-white light covered its surface, just as bright as it had always been. Armored and ready, Jerico turned back to the hallway, and it was then he heard the great explosion of shattering wood and metal. Inside his head, he heard Ashhur’s cry of warning, loud and constant. The undead were inside the Sanctuary.

Jerico turned into the hallway, knowing his time was short. The clerics were asleep and not prepared for battle. If too many rushed in, they could flood the building, slaughtering everyone. He would not allow it. Down the thin passage he could see the remnants of the door, now nothing but tiny pieces that had been blasted inward. Pouring inside were the skeletal shapes of the dead. A few doors on the sides of the hall had been pushed open, and from within he heard the briefest of screams.

“This is holy ground,” Jerico shouted, bracing himself in the narrow hallway. “And I will remove your blasphemy, no matter how many you are!” Only he protected the deeper parts of the Sanctuary. His shield shone bright. He could not fall.

The wave of undead slammed into him, rushing forward with mindless energy. The paladin gasped as his braced legs slid along the smooth stone. Gritting his teeth, he pushed with all his strength while crying out the name of his god. The light on his shield flared, and the flesh of the rotting skeletons sizzled and burned. Bones broke, flesh peeled, and the unholy creations shattered one after another as they crashed against his shield.

“Awake, brethren,” Jerico shouted as he took a step forward, pressing against the throng. “Karak has come to call!”

His shield flared with light again, knocking the undead back several feet. In the brief respite, the paladin pulled back his shield and charged, Bonebreaker already swinging. The first to feel its touch exploded, every bone in its body now chalky white powder. He hacked a second and a third, grim satisfaction on his face from each kill. He was halfway to the door, and the flood entering had completely halted. His shield smashed the closest skeleton once, twice, bashing it back so that it collapsed atop the undead behind it. Jerico put his foot on its chest while he kept his shield braced high before him.

“Be gone from here,” he said, holy power in his words. The boot sank inward as the undead shrieked, the dark magic animating it unable to withstand his command. Jerico removed the boot, took a step back, and then peered over his shield at the door. Bonebreaker was ready for another swing, but the wave had retreated, the undead shambling out into the night. Voices called out from behind him. The clerics had woken and come.

“Jerico!” he heard Keziel shout. The paladin glanced back, seeing the old man in nothing but a long white bedrobe. “What is going on?”

Jerico turned to the door and held up his hand to silence them. A man appeared before the entrance, shrouded in dark robes. Deep red eyes flared from within the cowl of his cloak.

“This is most amusing,” the figure said. His voice was a frail hiss that echoed off the walls with unnatural strength. “But I did not come here to play. Give me the book, or more will have to die.”

Jerico heard soft crying behind him as the clerics entered the bedchambers that the undead had broken into. Keziel placed a hand on the paladin’s shoulder.

“You have our blessing,” the priest said. With those very words, Jerico felt every hint of exhaustion flee his body. His shield and mace weighed nothing. He looked at the strange figure at the door and laughed.

“How many undead do you have, necromancer? I think more litter our floor than fill your army.”

“As I said,” the figure hissed, “I am not amused.”

A ball of flame formed around his hands. Jerico pulled Keziel behind as he lifted his shield. The ball flew down the hallway and struck his shield with such force that he was lifted from his feet. His bulk knocked the cleric against the wall, and together they fell dazed to the floor.

“Look out!” Jerico shouted as he struggled to his knees. A second ball of flame roared down the hallway, and this time nothing stood between it and the clerics. Desperate, Jerico freed his shield from underneath his body and then flailed Bonebreaker upward. The very tip of the mace touched the ball of flame, and that was enough. He rolled against Keziel and covered both of them with his shield as the fire ignited. When the bright light vanished, it left behind a great amount of smoke but no dead.

“Is that the best you can do?” Jerico asked as he pushed against the wall to stand. He glanced back at the priests. “Get as deep as you can into the Sanctuary. No arguments.”

“Not the best,” the figure at the door said. “Just a warmup, if you will forgive the pun.”

“Not forgiven,” Jerico shouted.

“In the very back there is a room carved into the stone of the mountain,” Keziel said, latching onto Jerico’s arm and using it to pull himself up. “We can hide within.”

“Go,” he told them. “All of you. Now!”

The paladin faced his attacker. Fire swirled around both his hands, and in the demonic glow his face was visible, a tired gray visage with horrific eyes.

“He doesn’t want us,” Keziel said as the rest of the clerics hurried down the hall. “What he wants is hidden within the fireplace. Do not let him get it.”

“Ashhur be with you,” Jerico said. “Now get your ass out of here.”

Keziel smiled, but it was sad and tired. He turned and ran.

“So honorable,” the stranger said. “If you surrender, I will spare all their lives. Even yours. I just want what I have come to claim.”

“Sorry to tell you this, but I don’t surrender,” Jerico said, readying his shield. “Never have, never will, especially to someone whose name I don’t even know.”

“Qurrah Tun,” the stranger said, fire still surrounding his hands.

“Jerico of the Citadel.”

“A pleasure.”

Two more balls of fire flew down the hallway, roaring with power. When the first hit his shield, he grit his teeth and bore the pain. When the second hit, he gasped for air and felt his entire body slide back a foot. The heat was incredible, and he had to keep his head ducked behind the shield to keep it from being burned.

“If you burn off my hair not even Ashhur will keep me from you,” he muttered. He peered over his shield as he took a step to the door. His foot stepped on a long leg bone, and for an agonizingly long moment Jerico thought he would to lose his balance and fall to his rear. Then the bone caught and halted. Qurrah saw this and laughed.

“You say you’ve defeated half my army,” he said. “Let me show you how shallow your victory was.”

Words of magic echoed down the hallway. The bones of the undead, the ones not made dust by Bonebreaker, snapped erect. They swirled around Jerico in an elongated sphere. The paladin kept turning, kept positioning his shield, but he knew there was little he could do.

“Die well,” Qurrah said.

The bones shot as his body from every direction. Jerico closed his eyes and dropped to his side, his shield hiding his face and neck. The bones smashed against his legs but were unable to penetrate his armor. The first barrage over, Jerico tucked his knees to his chest and shifted his weight. He kept his face down and hidden. A small finger bone slipped past his defenses and struck his cheek. Blood ran down his face. He used the pain to focus. He could banish undead back to their plane with his sheer will. Could he do the same with their bones?

“In the name of Ashhur and through his power, I command you to be gone from my presence,” he shouted, his will unshakable. All around him, the animated bones halted their movements. Qurrah snarled, trying to grasp them with his mind, but it was as if they had grown slippery to his touch. Again Jerico shouted out his command. This time the bones flew away as if a great wind poured out of him. The bones clacked against the wall and ceiling, all power gone from them. The paladin stood, his shield readied before him.

“No dying yet,” he said. He wiped blood from the wound on his face and gestured to it with his mace. “And what was that about shallow?”

“Such a terrible pun,” Qurrah said.

“Just learning from you.”

“Hemorrhage!”

The light on Jerico’s shield flickered for a moment before resuming its steady glow.

“Did you really think your spells could make it past my shield?” the paladin asked. He laughed when Qurrah did not respond. “You haven’t fought many like me, have you? You’re forgiven. It’s what I do after all, forgive people. Beacon of light and all.”

The red eyes narrowed.

“Tessanna,” Qurrah said. “Remove this insect.”

A young woman appeared in front of the door, her shadowy silhouette curling about Qurrah’s body.

“As you wish, lover,” he heard her say. She turned toward him. In the starlight he could see very little of her, but then brilliant yellow light arced between her hands. He saw her eyes. He saw her hair. Keziel’s words rang loud in his mind.

…pure black eyes and long hair that is dark as the night.

“Not right,” he said before diving into one of the side rooms. A bolt of lightning shot down the hallway, accompanied by a deafening thunderclap. The paladin scrambled to his feet, doing his best to ignore the sight of a dead priest torn in two. Lathaar’s daughter of balance, the one he had seen in Neldar, had come to the Sanctuary.

“Don’t want to play?” he heard the girl ask down the hallway. “But what if I want to play with you?”

From nowhere she appeared before him, giggling like a little girl. Jerico shouted in surprise. Bonebreaker swung out of instinct. The image broke when the weapon touched it, fluttering away in a thousand butterflies made of shadow. Jerico’s mind raced, trying to think of an advantage he could gain. Against spellcasters, distance was his enemy. In the narrow corridor he could not dodge, only brace for impact and trust his shield. He knew that his greatest chance of victory involved close quarters combat, but the idea horrified him. Another bolt of lightning tore through the hallway, gigantic in size. His fear of her only grew.

“Get it together,” he told himself. “Help me, Ashhur, I’m not sure how to get out of this one.”

He took his shield, positioned it facing the door, and then leapt into the hallway.

Tessanna was waiting for him, still standing beside Qurrah. Black tendrils shot from her fingers, electricity swirling around them. Two wrapped around his ankles. Two more found his waist, and then rest tried to wrap about his shield. The holy light burned them away, but the ones around his body remained. The paladin screamed as dark energy poured into him. His heart pounded faster and faster, so much that he feared it would explode.

The momentum from his leap slammed him against the wall on the other side of the hallway. With all his energy, Jerico lurched forward. Unbalanced, he fell to the floor, his shield leading. The gleaming surface struck the other tendrils that stretched out from Tessanna’s fingers, severing them. The paladin gasped for air as the pain slowly faded. If she was upset by this turn of events, the girl did not show it.