The Weight of Blood (Half-Orcs Book 1) (30 page)

“What shall you do with them?” he asked.

“They will join my army. Two thousand I now have. We are close. So close. Soon we will have enough to crush Veldaren.”

“Where is this army?”

Velixar flashed an ugly smile. “They are with me always.”

As if this very comment brought forth their existence, thousands of decaying, mindless beings surrounded them.

“How can you command so many?” Qurrah gasped.

“You will learn. Come. We must put as much distance as we can between us and Woodhaven.”

The hundreds from Woodhaven joined the thousands. Flanked in an army of undead, the necromancers trekked north.

“C
lever,” Dieredon whispered from atop Sonowin, watching the undead army’s departure. They circled back, returning to the Erze forest nestled around Woodhaven. Dieredon had returned too late to find and assault Velixar, so instead he had kept his troops hidden and waiting. The battle ended as he had hoped, and even Antonil had survived, Celestia be praised. The elf glanced back, memorizing the exact direction the undead marched. “Clever, and disgusting,” he added. “Death is nothing but a recruitment tool for you.”

Half an hour later, he and a hundred other elves riding atop pegasi followed the necromancer north. As they flew, they passed over a small campfire dotting the empty field below. Their passage above went unheard and unseen, for the two lone souls sitting on opposite sides of that campfire were deep in conversation.

“H
arruq, I want you to make me a promise.”

“And what is that?”

Aurelia leaned back and tucked a few strands of hair behind her ear as high above the stars sparkled sadly.

“Promise you will never strike at me, or those close to me, ever again.”

The half-orc shifted uncomfortably in the grass. “You know I’d never do that.”

“No, Harruq, I don’t know. I think I know, I desperately want to believe I know, but I don’t. So promise me.”

“Aurry…”

“Promise me now, or I will drag you back to the elves and let them deal the justice you deserve.”

Harruq glared into the fire. It was such an easy promise, but could he keep it? What if Velixar ordered otherwise, or someone close to Aurelia struck against Qurrah?

He sighed. In his heart, he knew he could never again strike at Aurelia, regardless of what anyone else wanted of him. The look on her face when he had stabbed her, that combination of sadness and shock, would haunt him forever.

“Fine,” he said. “I promise. Happy?”

“Far from it.”

Aurelia crossed her legs, tossed back her hair, and then leaned her head on her hands as she stared into the fire.

“I want you to listen to me, alright Harruq?”

“Sure.”

He glanced down, uncomfortable and saddened that Aurelia refused to look him in the eye.

“Velixar is not who you think he is. He isn’t
what
you think he is. He tried to kill me, Harruq. He enjoyed every second we fought. I saw many of my friends die at his hand. Do you know why he helps you? Why he claims to train you?”

She gave no pause, no chance for him to answer. This was good, for he didn’t want to. Too much was on his mind for argument. He remained quiet and listened.

“He wants to change you, turn you into what you know he is. A murderer without guilt. Without conscience. A living weapon to be used however he wants you to be used.”

Harruq’s heart sped up a few paces as Aurelia rose and walked over to where he sat. She knelt down and rubbed a soft hand against his face. She finally looked into his eyes.

“You are not a weapon, Harruq. You are a kind, intelligent half-elf. You always have a choice. Never forget that.”

She kissed his cheek. His heart skipped. When she sat back down, he looked down at his brutish hands and muscles. She noticed and crossed her arms.

“Velixar’s gift,” she said. “Do you still desire it?”

Harruq closed his eyes, his fingers shaking. Deep within his chest, he felt a rage steadily growing. When Velixar had first given the strength to him, he’d felt an overwhelming desire to use it. Anger swelled inside, and when he looked to Aurelia he felt an enormous desire to attack. She was questioning his master, his brother, questioning what it meant to be him.

When he opened his eyes, Aurelia stood, shocked by the red light wafting like smoke from Harruq’s eyes.

“You could never know what I am,” he said.

“I’ve seen what you can be,” she said. “Is that not enough?”

The words stung him. His vision swam crimson. He felt his hands close upon his swords. Perhaps he shouldn’t have saved her. Perhaps he should have left her bleeding upon the ground to die alone and…

“No!” he screamed, flinging himself to his knees. He drew his swords and flung them aside, not daring to have their touch near him just then. Velixar’s voice throbbed in his ears, a chant of promises and loyalty.

“Deny the gift,” Aurelia said, the faintest hint of magic on her fingertips. “Give me some shred of hope.”

He closed his eyes. Tears trickled down his face. He felt the anger growing inside him, but he forced it down. In his mind’s eye, he saw Velixar. The old prophet warned of death, retribution, and pain, but Harruq silenced him. Let the gift be gone. He denied the darkness within him. If this was betrayal, then so be it. He would pay the cost.

Great spasms racked his body. All the power Velixar had granted him fled. His muscles shrank inward, tightening in great, painful shudders. Several minutes passed as the horrendous pain tore through his arms, chest, and legs. Aurelia held him as he lay sobbing in pain. She did her best to comfort him, stroking his hair until all his dark strength drained away. Exhaustion came soon after, and for an agonizing time Harruq lay there, mumbling incoherently and waiting for the pain to fade.

At last, he looked up to Aurelia, his eyes a calm brown, the whites bloodshot.

“I love you,” he said.

Sleep took him, and relieved, Aurelia let her own eyes close and her hair drape across his face.

“W
ake up, Qurrah.”

The half-orc lifted his eyelids to see the thoroughly unwelcoming sight of Velixar frowning down at him.

“Yes, master?” he asked, puzzled, for it was still before dawn. He had slept no more than a few hours, he figured.

“Who is it your brother travels with now?” Velixar asked. “You say he has abandoned you, but to whom?”

“An elf named Aurelia,” Qurrah said as he sat up. He rubbed his eyes, still feeling groggy. “Why do you ask?”

“Because he has rejected us, my disciple,” Velixar said. “His strength has left him. My heart burns with this betrayal, and I must know who to punish.”

Qurrah felt ill at ease. All around him, the sea of undead swayed and moaned as if they shared their master’s anger.

“Perhaps it is a mistake,” he said. “Or he has done so only to keep himself safe. Let me talk to him. He will listen to me; he always has.”

Velixar shook his head and pointed toward Woodhaven in the far distance.

“Back there he left you, and I must punish him for such…Qurrah, look to the sky.”

Qurrah followed Velixar’s gaze, and there in the distance he saw many white objects faintly illuminated by the stars.

“About a hundred,” Qurrah said. “But what are they?”

“Elves,” the man in black said. “And I know who leads them. Prepare yourself, my disciple. I have erred, and now we pay the price.”

Qurrah nodded, then closed his eyes and rehearsed the spells he knew. They were weak compared to his master’s but they would claim a few lives. His whip curled around his arm, ready for more bloodshed. The white dots in the distance grew at a frightening rate.

“Such speed,” Qurrah said. “How?”

“They are the ekreissar,” Velixar answered. “The Quellan elite are the only ones capable of raising and flying the winged horses. When they fly in, stay low, and aim your spells for their horses. The rider will die from the fall.”

The man in black closed his eyes and spoke to the undead surrounding them.

“Hide our presence,” he ordered. “Spread about, and do not halt your movement for all eternity.”

The two thousand obeyed, scattering in a constantly moving jumble of arms and legs.

“That should help keep our presence hidden for a time,” Qurrah said.

“They are but distractions. The darkness will hide us from their arrows.”

Before Qurrah could ask what Velixar meant, his master was already in the midst of another spell. Inky darkness rose all about his feet, swirling like black floodwaters. Chills crept up his ankles as the liquid darkness grew. Velixar cried out the final words of the spell, spreading the darkness for a mile in all directions, so high it covered up to their necks.

“It is cold,” Qurrah said, his teeth chattering.

“You will not be harmed by it,” Velixar said, watching the approaching army. “With so much hidden, they will be hard pressed to target us among my undead. Hold nothing back. They are here.”

“W
hat should we do?” one elf shouted above the wind roaring past their ears.

“Unleash our arrows,” Dieredon shouted back. “Watch for the necromancer. Ignore the undead once you locate him.”

The blasphemous blanket of darkness stretched out below them like a great fog, filled with bobbing heads of Velixar’s army. In that chaotic mass, Dieredon knew the man in black would remain well hidden. Not until enough of the undead had been massacred.

He readied his bow, his strong legs the only thing holding him to Sonowin. Three arrows pressed against the string of the bow, their tips dipped in holy water. His quiver, as was the quiver of every elf flying alongside him, contained water given to them by their clerics of Celestia. When their arrows bit into dead flesh, it would be like fire on a dry leaf.

“Let no life lost this night be in vain!” Dieredon cried as they descended like a white river, raining arrows into the darkness. More than two hundred moving forms halted after that one pass, but a thousand more swayed in their sick, distracting dance.

“One free pass,” Velixar said, observing the flight of elves as they swarmed overhead. They banked around, still in perfect formation, and then dove again.