The Weight of Blood (Half-Orcs Book 1) (22 page)

“If you’re gonna fight me, fight me!” he yelled. He ignored several strikes, accepting the cuts so he could close the distance between him and his opponent. The sound of steel was quick and brutal, but after the humiliation against Dieredon, Harruq felt as if his opponent moved through sand. At the end of three seconds, both of his blades had found flesh.

The guard fell at his feet, bleeding from a severed arm and a gutted belly. Soaked in blood, Harruq turned to the remaining guards and bellowed like the mad beast he was.

The remaining two facing him were trained well. They held firm when Harruq charged, and stayed close together. Because of this, they managed to survive the initial onslaught.

“D
o not come closer,” Qurrah said, cracking his whip across the grass. Fire spread before his feet, which were black with smoke. The two guards ignored his threats, knowing the difficulty of using a whip in melee combat. Casting magic would also be a great risk. They only needed to close the distance and Qurrah was theirs. However, knowing was easier than doing. Much easier.

When the two tried to close in, Qurrah lashed out with his whip. One ducked away in fear. The other managed to deflect the lash and then charge, his sword leading. The flaming leather curled back around like a living thing. Qurrah sent it at the nearest opponent. He blocked, and then realized blocking was what the whip wanted him to do. A cocoon of fiery leather enveloped his sword, pulling him closer.

The half-orc’s free hand reached out. A soft blue enveloped it as he whispered words of a spell. His hand touched the chest of the guard, causing frost to spread out across the man’s tunic then seep inward as the guard screamed out in horrid pain. The scream halted as quickly as it had begun. The frost had reached his lungs, encircled them, and then froze them still. The man retched silently. Qurrah ignored him, knowing he would soon be dead.

The other guard charged Qurrah and swung his longsword. The necromancer smirked, preparing another lashing. The flaming leather wrapped around the guard’s sword hand, charring flesh to bone as he screamed. The blade dropped as the guard held his blackened hand before him, bits of white bone catching the moonlight.

“Mercy,” he begged, falling to his knees as the necromancer approached.

“There is no such thing,” Qurrah said before magically hurling two pieces of bone through the man’s eyes. He turned to the other guard, who still gasped in vain for air. He watched until death claimed him.

H
arruq relished the feeling of true combat against skilled opponents. One would slash out, hoping for an opening, then back away as the other guard lunged, preventing Harruq from any chance to counter. Blood ran down his arms and sides from several minor cuts. The pain was good. It helped focus his mind. It also fed his rage.

“Kill me,” he shouted to one guard after another hit and fade. He smacked away a thrust but did not attempt to counter.

“Can you not kill me?” he asked, holding his swords out wide. Neither one attacked, instead holding their swords in defensive positions. Harruq shook his head, feeling his anger growing. These men did not fight with their hearts. They fought with their heads, and such foolishness could not be tolerated.

“Fine, I’ll show you a real warrior,” he said. His muscles tensed, his legs bulged, and then he charged the two, oblivious to his own safety. Overwhelming any of their attacks, he was a moving mountain of muscle, dangerous and powerful. The meager defenses of the guards faltered. One tried to block as Condemnation came for his head. The blade broke through and cleaved his skull in two. The other brought his sword down too late. Salvation tore through his chainmail. Harruq whirled on him, a quick double strike knocking the sword from his hand.

Helpless, the man staggered backward, clutching his wounded side. His eyes pleaded, but his mouth would dare not say the demeaning words. Harruq cut him again and again. His arms, his chest, his face: it all bled. But he remained alive, at least until that final moment when the two magic blades scissor-cut his neck. Harruq sheathed his swords and held the decapitated head of his foe high above him.

Full of pride, Qurrah watched his brother roar his victory to the night sky.

13

“P
lease, leave me be. I can give you gold, slaves, whatever you want!”

Qurrah chuckled. “Tie the bonds tighter. I do not want him breaking my concentration.”

Harruq nodded, yanking harder on the knot that held the noble’s hands behind his back. He was on his knees, his silk outfit stained by grass and dirt. Blood ran from where Harruq had broken his nose.

“Name a price, name it, anything, just name it!”

Harruq glanced at Qurrah, who only chuckled louder.

“We have little need for riches, noble. All we want is you.”

The man paled. “Me? What do you want me for? The elves…they sent you to attack me, didn’t they? Whatever they paid you, I can double it. Triple it!”

Qurrah shook his head. “No elf hired us, and no gold was put in our pockets.”

The flaming whip appeared, charring grass as it touched the ground.

“Then what do you want with me?” the man shrieked.

“You’ll see,” Harruq whispered into his ear before backing away.

The eyes of the nobleman grew wider, and panic gripped him entirely.

“No, no you can’t. You wouldn’t! Please, I beg of you, don’t…”

“Enough,” Qurrah said. His hand reached out, the tips of his fingers brushing the sides of the man’s face. Haunting words of magic flowed from the necromancer’s mouth. The noble’s jaw dropped, and black veins appeared in his eyes.

“By the gods, what is that?”

Harruq followed the man’s upward gaze but saw only clear night sky.

“Keep it away from me!” the man shouted as Qurrah released his hand and backed away. A glint of pleasure shone in his eyes as he watched his handiwork. The nobleman struggled against the ropes, his gaze locked on the sky.

“Please, no, take it away, I’ll do anything, anything, just keep it away. Don’t let it touch me, please, please, DON’T LET IT TOUCH ME!”

The man screamed for the next two minutes. Then he died.

“What did you do to him?” Harruq asked once the man was dead.

“Fear is an entertaining weapon, is it not?”

The warrior shook his head in wonder, but Qurrah said no more.

“Do we leave the bodies here?” Harruq asked.

The necromancer trotted over to the dead noble and did not answer. Instead, he ruffled through the silk robes until he found a scroll marked with the seal of the king. Qurrah ripped it to shreds and let the pieces scatter in the wind, then he turned to his brother.

“Do you remember what our Master wanted?”

Harruq unsheathed Condemnation and nodded.

“Aye, I do,” he said.

W
hen they returned to where Velixar waited, Harruq dropped the head of the noble. It rolled twice before stopping face down in the grass.

“Excellent,” the man in black said. He looked his giant warrior up and down. “You are wounded. Is it serious?”

“Bah, I can handle far more than this,” Harruq said. “I’ll bandage them when we get home.”

“Very well. Leave me. Your work is done this night.”

Lying in the grass next to Velixar was the dead body of an elf male. Qurrah glanced at it, and then looked to his master.

“Do you need help bringing him back to life?” he asked. Velixar shook his head.

“Of course not. Both of you must rest. I will not be able to see you for a while, my disciples. The elves are more than wary of my presence now. Be ready come nightfall, and watch for my shadow. When it does come, that means war is on the horizon. Our glorious time has almost arrived.”

Raising a pale hand, he dismissed them. Qurrah turned to leave, but Harruq lingered.

“Master,” he asked, “when this fight starts, which side will we be on?”

His brother narrowed his eyes, knowing exactly why the question was asked. Velixar, however, seemed either not to know or not to care.

“If the elves win, Vaelor will have no choice but to leave them be. The assault of my orcs has weakened his army. They cannot suffer any more losses. If the humans win, however…”

A grin spread wide across his ever-changing face, chilling Harruq’s spine.

“If the humans win, the elves will declare full scale war against the kingdom of Neldar. So which side do you think will have the privilege of our blades and magic?”

“We will kill the elves,” Harruq said. The man in black nodded and then dismissed his bone general.

“Go. Patch your wounds.”

The half-orc bowed and then joined his brother. The two journeyed across the hills and then snuck inside Woodhaven. When they reached their home, Harruq removed his armor and began wrapping strips of old cloth around his wounds. Qurrah watched him for a moment before speaking.

“You know what you must do, should it come to it,” he said.

Harruq nodded, knowing exactly what he meant.

“Don’t have much of a choice, do I?”

He wrapped a long piece of cloth around his chest and then struggled to make his beefy hands tie a firm knot behind his back. Qurrah crossed the room, silent. He took the bits from Harruq’s hands and tied them in a double knot.

“Do your best to convince Aurelia not to fight,” he said, his voice quieter than normal. “Do everything you can. Make her listen.”

“I don’t want to kill her,” Harruq whispered.

“Will you if you must?”

The half-orc did not answer. Qurrah stepped around and stared into his brother’s eyes.

“If we meet her on the field of battle, if we fight her, she might attack me instead of you. Her or me, brother. Who would you choose? Which of us will die?”

The burly half-orc buried his gaze into Qurrah’s eyes. He did not flinch, and he did not lie, when he spoke.

“She would die. I would hate it forever, but she would die.”

The necromancer nodded. “Never forget it. Now let me help you dress those wounds. Some look deeper than you let on.”

Harruq remained silent as his brother scanned him, tightening bandages and cleaning some of the nastier cuts. His mind lingered on the fight that night, blocks he had missed, moves he made he shouldn’t have, and opportunities presented he had not taken advantage of. But mostly he thought of Aurelia, giggling as vines held him and she blasted his back with springs of water.