Page 107 of Storm of Shadows
“Indeed,” he replies, “we have.”
Juron frowns as he peers into the distance. “It seems the necromancers aren’t here yet.”
Caya’s eyes narrow. “Or at least, they are yet to begin their attack.”
Taria gives a slow nod of agreement. “At any rate, we mustn’t delay. The necromancers could be among the streets as we speak, preparing their attack.”
I grit my teeth. From experience, I know that’s a likely possibility. At any moment, Death Gates could open, allowing hordes of undead to swarm into the city. “Will the orcs have wards placed around Gerazad?” If they don’t, they will be easy prey. Nolderan fell the moment Arluin forced Father to deactivate the Aether Tower, rendering all magical wards placed around the city useless.
“Their stormcallers will have crafted some magical defenses around the city,” Natharius replies. “From what I know of the orcs, their wards will be runes carved into standing stones similar to the ones at the Ring of Thunder.”
“And these wards will offer protection against Death Gates?”
“Most likely, yes.”
“That’s what they will target first then, before they launch their assault on the city. The necromancers also have orcs among their ranks, so they’ll be familiar with the city and where the wards are placed.”
Taria strides forward, her golden robes swishing in the night wind. “If the necromancers are already present, we must make haste before they strike. Or else it will be too late to warn the orcs of the threat they face.”
thirty-five
ThoughGerazad’swallsarecrude in their architecture, they certainly appear robust. And towering high.
We come to a stop before the hulking iron gates, which are sealed shut. The orcs must have a curfew for travelers entering and leaving their city.
“Who goes there?” a gruff voice demands from atop the walls, his voice echoing through the night.
I strain my neck to peer above. Dozens of archers line the walls, their arrows pointing at the six of us below.
The others look to me. I glance at Natharius, but the Void Prince remains silent. As does Taria, though I hoped the priestess would take charge, seeing how she is the future Grand Priestess of Selynis. I can’t fathom how I’ve ended up as the leader of our party, especially since I’m by far the least qualified for the role as a mage who has barely graduated from the Arcanium.
But there’s little time to protest over my designated role. Countless arrows threaten to rain on us. And if we don’t hurry, Arluin could launch his attack before we enter the city. At least the security of these gates brings some reassurance. Then again, Arluin and his necromancers will no doubt find a way to bypass them. Unless they already have.
With a deep breath, I take a step forth. The straining of wood and string rings out as the archers’ bows grow tauter. “We’ve come to speak with your king!” I raise both palms, hoping it will demonstrate my peaceful intentions.
The orc who called down to us leans further over the edge, staring at me. He’s broad, and the steel shoulder-pads he wears makes his figure even wider. Heavy armor covers all of him, except for his head. Large tusks jut out from his square jaw, and his skin is the color of moss. The top of his head is shaven, but some dark hair is left untouched at the back, and he wears the remaining strands in a short braid. I’m also certain his brows are thicker than my fingers.
A sneer emerges on his face. “You, a human, wish to speak with our king?”
The archers around him burst into laughter. Hopefully none will laugh so much they accidentally shoot us.
“I’ve never heard anything more absurd!” the orcish captain continues with a scoff. “Five humans coming here to talk to King Agzol himself.”
“Are you blind or just stupid?” Natharius spits, coming to a stop beside me. Annoyance flickers like flames in his crimson eyes. “I am no human, orc.”
The orc only shakes his head. “An elf then. What difference does it make? You look the same, except for your pointy ears. Your kind are as unwelcome here as humans, elf.”
Natharius’s fists tighten. I expect him to correct the orc and his true identity as the Void Prince of Pride, but he wisely keeps his mouth shut.
“Please!” I call. “There isn’t much time left. We must speak to your king at once!”
The orc’s eyes narrow. “There isn’t much time left for what?”
“Before a cult of necromancers besieges your city. Before they turn each and every one of your people into mindless undead, like they did to my homeland. They obliterated our city, leaving no survivors in their wake.”
His lip curl around his tusks. “If they left no survivors, why do you draw breath?”
I open my mouth to speak, but the orc continues before I can utter a single word.