The Weight of Blood (Half-Orcs Book 1) (15 page)

“Tell me, Harruq, why do you mourn the lives of those you kill?”

“I don’t,” Harruq said. He wasn’t sure if it was lie or truth, most likely a lie.

“War is brutal. Life is brutal.” Velixar put a cold hand against Harruq’s face. “You do not understand, but we are bringers of peace. We will end all war. We will end all murder. We will end everything, Harruq. Kneel. I will show you.”

Harruq obeyed. His insides churned as icy fingers pressed against his forehead. Images crackled through his mind. The entire world burned to ash and blew away on the wind. The painting revealed beneath was in fluid motion, an artwork of death and fire. He saw a city burning, people fleeing in the streets, and then he saw himself dressed in black armor that oozed power. Salvation and Condemnation waved high above his head, both drenched in blood. He looked like a god among men, and the way the soldiers fell at his feet made him think he might have been one.

This red-dream self looked straight at him and spoke, but Harruq could not understand the words. The sound of his own voice chilled him, though, for it was dark, it was dangerous, and it was exactly like Velixar’s.

A god among men,
said a second voice, one he had never heard before. It was darker than any shade that haunted his nightmares. There was only one it could be, and it was no mortal.

Protect your brother, and I will grant you a kingdom. Live as you have always lived, and I will reward you with eternity. Kill, as I desire you to kill, and you will find a peace unknown to the mortal realm. The time for questioning is over. Trust your god as I now trust you.

Love me, Harruq Tun. Kill for me.

The dream shattered. Amid the haze of red and black, he heard the cries of battle urging him on, offering him a future he had always feared and desired. A life of killing and battle. A life given to Karak. An orcish life.

The icy fingers left his forehead.

“It is a select few who have received such a gift,” Velixar said in the quiet night. “You have heard the voice of the dark god himself. Now tell me, what is it you saw?”

“Please, brother,” Qurrah said. “I need to know.”

Harruq stared at the dirt, each breath making his shoulders heave. His mind reeled, and for reasons he did not understand, he opened his mouth and said, “That which I fear and desire. I have had no questions answered, but I do know this: the time for questions has long ended.”

Velixar nodded. “Indeed, Harruq. It is time for action. I am done with both of you. Go home and rest. Tomorrow we will begin my plan. War shall come to Woodhaven.”

“We await your orders,” Qurrah said. The two bowed and then returned to town beneath the blanket of stars.

A
s the two brothers left, another soul traveled in the dark. He made not a sound as he moved. Any attempts at tracking his passage would be utterly futile, for not a single blade of grass remained bent when his foot stepped away. He was Dieredon, Scoutmaster of the Quellan elves, and few souls could match his silence, speed, or skills with blade and bow.

When the village came into view of his eagle-like eyes, his gut sank. Not a single sign of life decorated the streets or moved in the fields. He prayed to Celestia he was wrong, but his heart knew he wasn’t.

He found nothing to convince him otherwise as he quickly scanned the village. He found many homes left wide open, yet none answered him when he called inside. Everywhere, staining the earth a dark crimson, there was blood.

“It is as I feared,” he whispered to the night. He stood, took his bow off his shoulder, and then thoroughly searched the town. He found no trace of life barring a few rats that fed off the now unguarded remnants of food. Several homes, those with their doors smashed open, had gore smeared on their floors. One pained Dieredon’s heart greatly; amid a great red circle on a wooden floor laid a small, bloodstained doll.

He said a silent prayer before moving on.

At the edge of the town, he found many frantic tracks fleeing west. He followed them, wincing as some ended in dried smears of red upon the grass. Others led far past the others. They ended at once in an enormous pool of blood, leaving the town a somber image in the distance. Chasing them the whole while were twin sets of tracks, one of enormous weight, the other light as a feather.

“Every one of them,” he said, his hand clutching his bow so tight his knuckles were whiter than the moon. “They slaughtered even those that fled. Yet there are no corpses.”

The corpses had been taken. Or made to walk again.

“The man with infinite faces,” Dieredon concluded. Another thought came to him. “Or was it you, Qurrah Tun?”

He raced back to Woodhaven, his mind decided. It was time he had a talk with one of the brothers Tun.

H
arruq arrived at the sparring point in the forest less disheveled than the previous day, and he seemed in better spirits.

“So what is your surprise for me?” he asked.

Aurelia smiled from her seat against a tree. She patted the grass beside her.

“Have a seat. How’s your head?”

Harruq grumbled as he plopped down. “My head is fine.”

From behind her back, Aurelia pulled out a small blue object.

“Ever seen one of these before?” she asked. The half-orc stared at it, thinking. Suddenly he knew, and he looked at Aurelia in total disbelief.

“Is that a book?”

The elf nodded. “Is it a safe assumption that you don’t know how to read?”

Harruq frowned at the book. “You’re not going to teach me elvish, are you?”

Aurelia gave him a playful jab to the side.

“No, it is in the gods’ language, your gods anyway. Karak and Ashhur got something right having humans speak and write the same language.”

“What do you mean?”

“Do you not know the story of Karak and Ashhur?” The half-orc shook his head. “I will tell you it, if you care to hear. Mankind, as well as orcs, wolf-men, hyena-men, and all the other odd races scattered about Dezrel, are less than five hundred years old. Many elves remember the arrival of the brother gods and the creation of man.”

“Huh,” Harruq said. “You may have to tell me the story sometime. Are you one of the elves that were there way back then?”

She gave him a wink.

“No, but my father was. I’m not
that
old, Harruq. In elven terms, I am but a child.”

“How old a child?” he prodded.

“Seventy.”

“
Seventy?
”

The elf laughed.

“Don’t be too shocked. You have elven blood in you as well. I wouldn’t be surprised if you lasted a couple hundred years yourself. This is assuming someone doesn’t kill you, which I find rather unlikely.”

Harruq gasped at the thought. He had always felt akin to man and orcs, whose lives burnt out so quickly. The idea of living two hundred years was…well, more than he could handle.

“Strange,” he said. “Guess I have plenty of time to learn to read, don’t I?”

Aurelia laughed. “You do, but I would prefer we not take too many years. Spending that much time around you is bound to give me bad habits.”

She handed over the book. Harruq opened it and flipped through the pages. Each one depicted various symbols, lines, and curls. Aurelia winced at the rough way he handled the paper.

“What are these?” he asked.

“The human alphabet. And you’re going to learn it.”

He protested, but it was a weak protest. They went over the alphabet several times until Harruq could repeat most without thinking too hard.

“I want you to take it home with you,” she said when they were done. To her annoyance, Harruq refused to accept the book.

“I really don’t want to take it,” he said.

“Why not?”

“Well I, just…” His face turned a mixture of gray and red. “Qurrah doesn’t know I’m doing this.”

Aurelia sighed and set the book down beside her.

“Why don’t you tell him about me? Well? Why not?”

“I’m just embarrassed, all right,” he finally muttered.

“Embarrassed? Why?”

“Qurrah’s smart, can read and everything. He’d want to know why I never asked him. That and, well, you’re a…you know…”

“What?”

Harruq grew redder. “An elf!”

“What’s wrong with that?”

Harruq viciously plucked blades of grass. “I don’t know.”

Aurelia stared at Harruq for a while, her eyes probing. The half-orc endured the gaze, concentrating fully on his grass-removing project.

“I would feel better having met your brother,” she said at last. “But you may take as long as you wish.”

“Good. Can we spar now?”

“Of course,” Aurelia said, picking up her staff.

H
ours later, they finished and said their goodbyes.

“See you tomorrow,” Harruq called, sheathing his blades. The elf did not reply as she vanished behind the trees. He stared after her for a bit, then turned toward home. Before he could take two steps, a sudden weight crashed into his side. He tumbled best he could, his shoulder absorbing much of the impact. His legs tucked underneath him and pushed, shooting him back to his feet. Out came his swords.

Standing before him was Dieredon, his bow held in both hands like a staff. Long blades stretched out from either end, tiny razor teeth lining the front. The elf twirled the bow in his hands and then charged. Two quick hits batted one of Harruq’s swords out and away. A feint, so quick Harruq blocked on instinct, took care of the other. His weapons gone, the half-orc was exposed. Dieredon wasted no timesmashing the half-orc’s groin. As he doubled over in pain, a snap kick smacked his chin, splattering bloodand forcing him to drop.

The sharp tip of a blade pressed against Harruq’s throat before he knew what was happening.

“Move,” Dieredon said. “Please, move. Give me an excuse to kill you.”

Harruq was too stunned and disoriented to give him what he wanted. Instead he lied there, his nose throbbing and his swords limp in his hands.

“What do you want?” he asked, ignoring the sharp pain in his throat as a tiny drop of blood trickled down his neck.

“The entire village of Cornrows is missing,” Dieredon said. “Most likely dead.”

Harruq’s breathing quickened. His hands tightened around the hilts of his weapons.

“I had nothing to do with it,” he said. “Why would I?”

“Children have been dying since you arrived here in Woodhaven,” Dieredon replied. “Butchered, intestines removed, strange carvings on the bodies, and pieces of them missing. We thought a sick mind, but now I understand better. Necromancy requires many interesting artifacts for spells. Your brother is a necromancer, isn’t he?”

Harruq said nothing. He fought back his swelling anger and panic.

“I don’t understand what Aurelia sees in you,” Dieredon continued. “You murdered the children and gave them to your brother. You’re the Forest Butcher. Admit it so I may kill you.”

“I will admit no such thing,” Harruq said, his jaw trembling. “You’re guessing.”

“I have also seen your brother meeting the strange man in black of the ever-changing face. What is his name, Harruq? What is it he offers you?”

“You’re out of your mind.”