14
A t 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.
H arruq 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.
T he king slept in a bedchamber beside his throne room. Two guards stood beside the door, anxious and 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
