The Death of Promises (52 page)

S
he could see her breath in the air but she refused the comfort of a fire. Harruq still slept, which didn’t surprise her. She had seen how exhausted he was. As a soft wind blew against her she shivered and pressed her arms against her chest.

“I must say, Aurelia, I was not aware elves were immune to cold. Silly me.”

The elf rolled her eyes. Deathmask, wrapped in a thick blanket, smirked as he approached. “Then again,” he said, “most elves would do anything to escape a human death caravan such as ours, so obviously you are not a normal elf.”

“What do you want?” she asked, her voice as cold as the weather.

“Antonil is forming people into groups with the goal of each group sharing a set portion of food. You’ll be needed soon.”

“That’s fine,” she said, still staring past the hills where the ruins of Veldaren lay hidden. Deathmask turned to go but then stopped.

“You realize we won’t have enough food,” he said.

“We have no choice, if we ration…”

“We ration we make it farther, but not to the Quellan forest. And we have no tents, no blankets, just freezing water and conjured bread that will do little but dull their hunger.”

Aurelia turned on him, anger in her eyes.

“What do you want,” she asked. “You want to flee yourself? Abandon those you could help to save your own skin?”

“No, but I’d rather not die in a hopeless cause without…” He glanced behind her, and his bravado faded. He pulled up his mask from around his neck and covered his face. Aurelia spun, looking for what it was he saw.

Twenty shapes flew from the west, their wings red and their armor crimson.

“What manner of men are those?” Aurelia asked.

“No men of Dezrel,” Deathmask said as he poured ash across his face. Ready, he tilted his head and raised his arms. Dark fire consumed his hands.

“Kill them quickly, before they know our power,” he said. “If one escapes, they will track our location with ease.”

Ice lined Aurelia’s fingers. Side by side, they waited as the winged war demons flew closer. As they neared, they drew spears and swords and held them high, their red hue shining in the morning light.

“Surely they see the campfires ahead,” Deathmask muttered. “They know our location. Why do they press the attack?”

“They want blood,” Aurelia said. “So let’s give it to them.”

Lances of ice flew from her hands at tremendous speeds. The demons dropped and spun, expertly avoiding most. One had his wing shattered at the shoulder, while another dropped dead, a spear of ice pierced through his throat and out the back of his neck. Deathmask laughed at the display of power. The dark fire of his hands swelled. He focused on a single demon, watching with pleasure as fire surrounded him and consumed his wings in a single burst of flame. The demon plummeted, doomed to die by the long fall.

The remaining demons saw their attackers and spiraled to the ground, skimming above the grass in a collision course for the two spellcasters. Deathmask burned the wings of two more, clenching his fist and grinning with each body that rolled and bounced on snapping bones. Lightning arced from Aurelia’s fingers, striking dead one demon before leaping to the next. Only ten remained by the time they neared them.

“Drop down!” Aurelia shouted. She fell to her knees and slammed her open palms to the grass. A wall of fire tore to the sky, and through it the demons flew. It only burned and maimed them, but it also hid their presence. As the last passed through the fire, Aurelia banished the wall and stood. The demons were spread out in two groups, each group looping around and coming in for another pass.

“Know any more tricks?” Deathmask asked.

“I don’t fight flying men too often,” Aurelia said.

“Neither do I. But I do fight over-aggressive ones.”

Deathmask clapped his hands together. Dark magic sparked between them, and a loud roar erupted at their contact. Again he clapped, and the roar was louder, the black sparks stronger. Aurelia spun her arms, and a swirling column or air enveloped them.

“Here they come,” she said, but Deathmask needed no warning. Grinning beneath his mask, he clapped his hands the third time as the first of the demons pushed through the wall of wind. A shockwave of sound and magic rolled in all directions. Aurelia felt it strike her body. Her lungs froze. Her heartbeat halted. For one agonizing second her body was a statue. The feeling passed, and her lungs and heart resumed their dutiful workings. Aurelia smiled as she realized the brilliant trap. Even Deathmask had been stunned by the spell, but they were on firm ground and could recover immediately. The war demons, however…

Aurelia gave them no chance to recover. As they spun and turned in a vain attempt to avoid the ground she blasted them with lightning and fire. Deathmask cursed them with pain and weakness, sapping their strength and clotting their minds. Several died from striking the ground. Only a few remained healthy enough to flee. Deathmask pointed them out and swore.

“Three,” he said. “They’re out of reach.”

“Not yet,” Aurelia said. The demons had flown straight into the air, hoping to gain enough distance to fly safely back to Veldaren. Aurelia stared into the sky, visualizing. She had to be perfect. She whispered the words to the spell, then stepped through the blue portal that tore open before her. She fought off the initial wave of disorientation, for she did not step onto land, but into freezing open air directly above the demons.

All three had been facing back, watching for spells to dodge. She killed the first with a lance of ice through the head. The remaining two turned to see her fall between them, lightning exploding from her hands. Limp and smoking they fell, very much dead. Aurelia’s fingers danced the semantic components of a spell. Her fall slowed as a levitation spell took hold. Shivering in the wind she floated to the ground, smirking at Deathmask the whole time.

“Show off,” he said as she gently landed. “If I wasn’t insane, I would have joined you in opening the portal and…”

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.”