will scour every tiny nook and crevice within the city. Be with me, oh mighty lord. Hear my prayer. Let his death be mine, and mine alone.”
He looked to the wagon, where the body of Haern lay still. Bernard had waved his hand, paralyzing him with a single word. Melorak focused, seeing the sparkling chains in his mind’s eye. One by one he broke them.
“Your mission is not done,” he said as the undead assassin stood and retrieved his swords. “This is your last chance. Whatever remnants of you are in there, understand that I will keep you here for eternity should you fail. You’ll hang from the hooks, feeling them pierce your flesh. The maggots will feast, the worms will crawl, and still you’ll await my orders like the obedient slave you are. Find them, and kill them. No rest. No mercy. Go.”
Haern left without a single remark or sign of understanding, only a lifeless sprint that was frightening in its speed.
“Guide me, oh lord,” Melorak prayed to the stars. “The time is almost come.”
He returned to the city, to where his throne awaited. If all went as planned, he’d have his army back in a few months, fresh from the slaughter of the nation of Ker.
22
A urelia endured their awkward stares as she walked across the bridge. While the men of Ker hadn’t been completely responsible for the elven exodus to the east, they’d certainly done nothing to stop it. Even worse, they’d turned down every request for aid throughout the trek from Bloodbrick to the Gods’ Bridges. She knew her kind, already exotic to humans, was even rarer to the men in the land between the rivers. They treated her politely, and she smiled back in return. A few even offered clumsy bows or hurried out of her way. No doubt they knew of her magic, her vital role in defending them. Would she earn their respect? Even with its walls, doors, archers, and Eschaton, Veldaren had fallen to the onslaught of Karak. Would they do any better, here with a shallow river and a bridge?
“Lovely as ever,” said one of the men in charge of reinforcing the bridge’s barricades. His smile grew underneath his lengthy mustache and beard.
“Thank you,” she said, tilting her head slightly and curtseying to the compliment. The man blushed and returned to his work.
Beyond the final barricade she stood alone, staring off to the distant fields. She knew, if she followed the river northeast, she’d reach Lake Cor, and then, nestled against it, the burned remnants of her homeland. For a fleeting moment she considered visiting those ruins of Dezerea, to walk where she had been raised, to put her hands on the charred trunks that had once held aloft her home. Perhaps enough time had passed for new trees to begin sprouting, and the grass to return to the forest floor. But what point was there in hurting herself with memories? The past was a flood of pain and sadness. Her homeland, her parents, her only child…
“Please,” she whispered, though to whom she did not know. Perhaps Celestia. “Don’t forget about us now.”
There, at that bridge, her parents had made their stand alongside the greatest spellcasters of their time. Tens of thousands of troops had marched against them, held back for days by the slaughter. The rest of the elves, herself included, had escaped because of their sacrifice, and a heavy one it had been. The magical bloodlines of elves, already thin, had nearly vanished. She was one of the rare few remaining with the gift, and now here she stood. Once more the gift of elven magic might die upon the Bloodbrick.
She’d heard the stories about that battle years later, always filtered to them through humans that had survived. Part of her still regretted never coming back to help them. She’d been young then, especially for an elf. Perhaps she could have tipped the balance. Perhaps she could have held the line long enough for some to escape, her father, her mother…
“Uh, miss?” said one of the builders, breaking her thoughts. “Miss, your husband’s looking for you.”
She glanced back to see Harruq on the far side of the bridge, and she heard him call out her name as he spun about. One of the soldiers pointed him her way, and she crossed her arms and looked to the distance as he approached.
“Started worrying you’d left me,” he said as he slid his arms around her.
“Just hoping to get a bit of quiet,” she said.
“So you stood near the men with hammers and saws?”
She kissed his cheek and hoped he’d let the matter die. He did, but switched it to something just as upsetting.
“This is where they died, isn’t it?” he asked.
She tensed in his arms, then felt ashamed. He held her tighter, and she relaxed and put her head against his neck.
“Ten against thousands,” she said. “If only I were as strong as them. In a single day I could send our enemies fleeing back to Mordeina.”
“Wasn’t there,” Harruq said. “So I can’t say whether or not that’s true…but I know you’re as brave as they were, as noble, and most certainly prettier.”
“You never saw my mother,” she said, but she kissed him for the compliment anyway.
They both quieted and stared to the distance. With their sensitive eyes, they saw the smoke of many campfires drifting lazily to the sky.
“Less than a week,” he said.
“If that.”
“We’ll defeat them when they arrive. We’ve faced worse and won.”
She chuckled.
“When?” she asked. “Kinamn was massacred. Veldaren crumbled. The angels are the only reason we survived at Mordeina.”
“Well this is rather gloomy, especially for you.”
He kissed the top of her head, and she sighed. He was right, of course. Normally she tried to keep her emotions above such pessimism, but this bridge was different. It remained a symbol throughout her race, of how they were forever outnumbered, forever persecuted, and doomed to die no matter how strong they might be and how many they might kill. They lived in mankind’s world. Celestia’s blessing was slowly leaving their clerics, and her gift of magic had dwindled in their bloodlines. Was there any future for them in Karak’s world?
“We have to win,” she said. “We fall here, and our hope is gone. The angels are just a reprieve. No more miracles await us. Come Karak’s paradise, men and elves will be slaves at best. How did we come to this, Harruq? How did we sink so far? What happened to this world?”
“Questions with no answers,” he said.
“No,” she said, wrapping her arms around his and holding him tight. “Too many went unstopped: King Baedan, Velixar, Tessanna, King Vaelor. The cowards have ruled, the strong have remained silent, and Karak’s pets ruin everything they touch. Your brother was the first, don’t you see that? He was the first we’ve saved.”
“You’re wrong,” he said. “I was the first. And because of you. Only you. And you’ll save us again. You’ll stand here with us and show mankind the strength and honor of the elves. Now come. Tarlak’s prepared some sort of game for us to play to help get your mind off all this drudgery.”
“Shouldn’t we help them build?” she asked.
He laughed, and the warm sound soothed her fears and pushed away her sadness to the past.
“We’ll help enough,” he said. “When the blood starts to spill, we’ll be there in the thick of it. I may not wield magic like you and Tar, but my blades will drink their fill.”
N othing could have prepared Olrim for the bittersweet joy in controlling Karak’s army. The thrill he felt in planning, sending out scouts, and giving orders to his generals was undeniable. Matching in its frustration, however, were the conflicting reports, petty squabbles, struggles for food and supplies, and the overall headaches induced by cramming so many different men into a single cohesive unit.
“We’re ready to march,” said Gregor Black, one of his generals. He was the most insistent in his abilities to aid Olrim. No doubt Gregor felt him unprepared for his new position.
“We were supposed to be ready twenty minutes ago,” Olrim said. “What excuse do you have this time?”
