The Weight of Blood (Half-Orcs Book 1) (16 page)

The tip buried in deeper. The elf lowered his face so the fury in his eyes was all Harruq could see.

“Yes, I am out of my mind. I will let you live. Until Aurelia sees you for what you are, I will spare your life. But know I will be watching you, and I will be watching your brother. One false move and I’ll kill you both. Is that clear?”

Harruq nodded, shivering as he felt the tip of the blade rubbing against the tender skin of his throat.

“Good. Pleasant days, half-orc. May Celestia watch over you…and condemn your actions to death.”

The biting tip left his throat, the blades in the bow retracted, and then the elf vanished. Harruq struggled to his feet, clutching his neck as he gasped for air.

“Damn elf,” he cursed. “How dare you threaten us.”

His hands shook violently as his adrenaline faded. He had been terrified, convinced the elf would kill him, yet he didn’t.

“Big mistake, elfie,” he said. He snatched his swords and sheathed them. “I’ll make you pay for that.”

After a bit of debate, he decided not to tell Qurrah. Velixar had already made it clear they needed to be careful. Now he understood why. He wouldn’t tell Aurelia, either. That would be stupid, and stupid he was not…most of the time.

“I need a drink,” he said, turning toward the town and trudging back. All he could think about was getting a good, stiff drink. If he was lucky, he might get in a good bar fight. Nothing helped him forget his worries better than walloping a fellow drunken idiot.

10

S
he felt guilty for spying on him, but Aurelia was convinced she had no other choice. Over the past month, she had grown close to the half-orc Harruq Tun, and with that closeness was danger. She saw only a goofy young man while Dieredon swore she met with a killer. Only one of them could be right, but who?

Perhaps not, she wondered. Perhaps she saw the elf in Harruq while Dieredon saw the orc. The kindest man might become a brute when surrounded by other brutes. When Harruq was with his brother, or the strange man in black, how then did he behave? Could he kill? Could he murder?

She had to know. It took a simple invisibility spell to approach their rundown home unnoticed, her feet moving silently because of her natural elven grace. It was midday and the sun was high in the sky. Most of the murders occurred once darkness fell, and always when the child wandered into the forest to play. Lately no murders had been found, and Aurelia couldn’t decide if she should be worried or hopeful that they had stopped at the same time she had begun training with Harruq.

Aurelia peered through a gap in the boards. She and Harruq had finished their sparring an hour before, and she expected him to be resting. She was right. What surprised her was how Qurrah remained asleep as well. Dieredon had mentioned nocturnal visits between the other brother and the man in black, but she had no idea how long they lasted. For Qurrah to still slumber they must last for several hours, if not the entire night.

She looked at him, sprawled out on a thick pile of straw, and wondered how he managed to walk, let alone cast spells as Harruq implied. His skin was pale and had a stretched look across his bones. He looked like a drained, emaciated version of his larger brother.

A good set of meals would do him wonders,
Aurelia thought.

Boring as it was, Aurelia sat down and prepared to wait. She glanced around, making sure there was no chance a wandering passerby could accidentally bump into her invisible form. The sun moved along its path in the sky, and the brothers finally awoke. Qurrah vanished, returning later with meager portions of bread and tough meat. Aurelia watched, oddly amused by their silent noshing. Harruq continuously glanced over at Qurrah, and when the frailer half-orc was overtaken by a coughing fit, Harruq was there, pounding his brother’s back and looking like his world was about to end. Qurrah merely looked embarrassed and pushed him away.

They clearly love each other,
thought Aurelia.
Maybe Harruq more than Qurrah.

The day passed, and it was thankfully uneventful. She was almost ready to leave when Qurrah pulled Harruq closer and began whispering. Aurelia cast a spell over her ears, heightening her already sharp hearing. A pall settled over her as she listened.

“…must resume,” Qurrah was saying as her spell enacted.

“It’s dangerous,” Harruq said. “I thought you were learning enough from Velixar.”

“Exactly,” said Qurrah. “But I must practice what I learn. These nights are not enough, will never be enough. What point is sharpening your sword if you never wield it?”

Harruq had no reply. Eyes low, he stepped out into the night, Aurelia trailing not far behind. They travelled deeper into the town. A knot grew in her stomach as she noticed he had both his swords, and as they approached the poorer parts of the town, the knot only tightened. She watched the half-orc glance in through the windows of the buildings he passed. She found herself praying he only meant to steal possessions…just possessions, nothing more.
Keep the swords sheathed,
she prayed.
Sheathed and bloodless.

He continued wandering, and she found herself circling several streets multiple times. Stalling, she thought, but it was little comfort. The day was almost done, the town covered with long shadows and darkened spaces. The older boys and girls would still be out to play, but the younger ones…

Harruq stopped. Aurelia positioned herself to the side, struggling to keep her breathing calm lest she alert him to her presence. They were beside an old house made of slanted boards shoddily nailed together. There was no glass for the window, nor a covering. She wondered what the occupants did during the winter months, preferring her mind dwell on that than the terrible look marring Harruq’s face. His skin had turned ashen. His right hand stroked the hilt of his sword like an itch he couldn’t ignore. He put a hand on the wood. Aurelia could only imagine what he saw: a small child slumbering in bed, positioned by the window to keep him cool. Just a child like any other the Forest Butcher had claimed.

When Dieredon had first come to her, she had expected little difficulty in the task.

“They are new to the town, and when they came so did the murders,” he had said. “Meet with one of them, discover who they are. If they are the vagrant scum they appear to be, it will be easy enough to catch them in their crime. The humans can then deal their judgment with a rope.”

It seemed perverse that she had met Harruq by saving him from the fate she was supposed to doom him to. Still, Aurelia was not one to judge by appearances, and what she had seen that night had seared her heart. Two soldiers beating Harruq bloody without cause or reason, Harruq who was so kind to her when they sparred, who brought her flowers and told her stories, who looked upon her like she was a goddess of light in his dreary world…

Harruq drew his sword. It shook in his hand. Aurelia watched as if in a dream. She felt magic spark on her fingertips. Under no circumstances could she watch him. She couldn’t. Nor could she believe it. He was so kind to her, so kind.

“Why,” she whispered.

He put a hand inside the window. The other pressed his sword against the side of the house. No longer a dream. A nightmare. She would kill him, burn his whole body to ash so she never had to look upon his dead face. Hatred burned in her breast.
Qurrah,
she thought.
You make him do this. Put the blood on your own hands, you coward.

She knew the moment she struck with a spell her invisibility would end. She wondered how he would look at her when she killed him. Surprise? Anger? Shame? She didn’t know. She didn’t want to know. Magic sparked on her fingertips. Harruq might have seen if he had looked over, but his eyes stared through the window. He pulled back the sword. His hand reached in. Aurelia prepared to kill him.

“Damn it,” she heard him say. “I’m sorry, Qurrah. I can’t.”

He sheathed the blade.

Aurelia felt her world slow and the nightmare relent.
He did no harm,
she thought. No killing. He may not be the Forest Butcher, and even if he meant to do what she feared, it didn’t mean the others were him. The hope felt juvenile and ignorant but she clung to it tightly. The magic left her fingertips, and doing her best to calm her heart, she followed Harruq back home.

“Nothing?” Qurrah asked when Harruq stepped inside.

“Nothing.”

It seemed Qurrah would leave it at that, but he clearly saw the apprehension on his brother’s face.

“Tell me the truth,” he said. “What happened?”

Harruq sighed, and he removed his swords and flung them to the ground.

“I can’t do it,” he said. “We don’t need it.
You
don’t need it. Our war is coming, Qurrah. Let us fight it when it comes, but not sooner, not now, not while they sleep…”

He looked away as if expecting to be berated for the outburst. Instead, Qurrah walked over and put a hand on his brother’s shoulder.

“Be careful,” he said in his raspy voice. “Your power was given at a cost. Any hesitation or doubt risks the permanency of your gift. I understand, please know that. In time, you will learn, and you will see things as I do. Until then, rest. Velixar will come for us soon. I do not want to fail him. That is all that matters. We must not fail.”

Aurelia had heard enough. She knew their roles, the balance and position of their hearts. It was absurd, poor souls without a home, family, or position to be speaking of power and obligation. Her hatred of their unknown master grew. He was a puppet-master, and her dear friend was one of his puppets. If they still doubted, even for a moment, perhaps she could save them. Perhaps there was still time to pull them from the necromancer’s cold fingers.

Aurelia turned and ran for the forest. Dieredon had not known of her spying, but she would tell him everything. If there was any hope, it was in his skill with blade and bow. To free the puppets, one must cut the strings.

It was time for Dieredon to slay the man in black.

T
hat night, Velixar gave them their orders, putting in motion his plan to blanket the east in war.

“In Celed there is a male elf by the name of Ahrqur Tun’del,” he told the two under the cover of stars. “He has visited King Vaelor before, and was quite vocal when the elves were expelled from his capital city. He is well known in Woodhaven, at least to those of elven blood. I need him killed and his body brought before me.”

“How will we hide the body?” asked Harruq.

“Wrap it in cloth and make sure you are not seen,” Velixar said. “And make no mistakes.”

“We will not,” Qurrah said. “How will I know where this Ahrqur lives?”

“I will show you, my disciple, but first I have a gift for my dearest bone general.”

Velixar drew out his magical chest. He set it beside him and let it grow out to normal size. From within he pulled out a suit of armor stained a deep shade of black. He threw it to Harruq, who managed to catch it even though his mouth hung wide open.

“The first Horde War was caused by a disciple of mine,” the man in black explained. “He blessed the armor of one of the leaders of the orcish clans. I claimed it when he fell on the battlefield.”

Harruq examined the suit, turning it over in his hands. It was composed of many interwoven straps of thick leather. Obsidian buckles and clamps held the pieces together. The only color was a yellow scorpion emblazoned on the chest.

“Why the scorpion?” he asked.

“The orcs have forgotten Karak, whom they once served. They worship animals as their gods, believing they take strength from them. The warlord who wore that armor worshipped the scorpion. It is appropriate, for his opponent crushed him underneath his heel like one.”

Harruq folded the armor as best he could and clutched it to his chest.

“My thanks, master,” he said. “We do not deserve what you have given us.”

“You will earn your gifts in time. Ahrqur is a skilled swordsman. The armor, weapons, and strength I have granted you will make you near invincible. Do not fail.”

Velixar turned his attention to Qurrah.