The Weight of Blood (Half-Orcs Book 1) (7 page)

No answer.

“Aurelia! It’s me, from last night! Can you hear me?”

Only the calm, scattered sounds of the forest returned his call.

“Damn elf,” Harruq grumbled, crossing his arms and looking all about. “She’s probably not here. He just sent me out here to look stupid yelling at trees.”

“And what elf would that be?” asked a familiar voice from behind. Harruq whirled, his heart jumping as Aurelia stepped out from behind a tree.

To his eyes, she was even more beautiful in the streaming daylight. Long auburn hair trailed past her shoulders, curled, and ended in several thin braids. Her face and eyes were small, the curve of her bones soft and elegant. She had small lips locked in a frown as she stood cross-armed, as if waiting on him. Her ears, upturned at the peak, were tiny even for her race. She wore a long green dress bound by a golden sash.

“Well? Who sent you here?” she asked. “Was it some mean man trying to toy with you?”

“I’m sorry,” Harruq said before resuming his slack-jawed staring. Aurelia uncrossed her arms, those same soft features turning remarkably fierce as she glared at him.

“Stop that. If you don’t shut your mouth, I’m turning you into a toad.”

He shut his mouth.

“So why are you here?” she asked.

“I was just, um, I never got a chance to thank you.” Harruq felt his face flush. This was the most awful thing he had ever done. He’d prefer to face a dragon in unarmed combat. He’d have better odds surviving, too, based on Aurelia’s cold, steeled look.

“You came all the way out here to thank me? Hardly sounds like an orcish thing to do.”

One would not have thought gray skin could turn so red, but it did.

“Well, I still want to repay you.” Harruq held out a small bag containing copper coins. “It’s all I have. Please, take it.”

Aurelia glanced at the bag. “No,” she said.

“But why?”

The elf shook her head. “Your swords. Where are they?”

Harruq glanced at his waist. “They’re at my home,” he said.

“Are you any good with them?”

The half-orc shrugged. “Better than most. So yeah.”

The elf looked him up and down, sending chills roaring along his spine. It seemed so strange that she had saved his life, since at that moment he felt like all she wanted was to see him dead.

“Come tomorrow with swords to spar,” she said at last, tucking a few strands of hair behind her ear. “You can train me to wield my staff in melee combat.”

“I don’t see a staff,” Harruq said.

“I don’t see any swords either,” she shot back.

“Fine. When?”

“Tomorrow,” Aurelia said. “Early morning.”

Harruq nodded, his whole body fidgeting. Now that he’d found her he wanted nothing more than to escape. He was supposed to thank her and go, not be mocked and ordered around.

“Go on home,” Aurelia said. “I’ll be waiting for you.”

He did as commanded, and that fact disturbed him greatly. Qurrah was awake when he returned.

“Where have you been?” he asked.

“I went out to train,” Harruq said.

“Without them?” Qurrah pointed to Harruq’s swords stacked in the corner. The larger half-orc shrugged.

“Didn’t need them.”

Harruq went to the other side of the house and started punching holes in the walls. Qurrah might have inquired further but he was lost in his own secret. The night didn’t come soon enough for either of the two brothers.

T
he air was cold, a sudden chill from the north chasing away the heat of the day. Qurrah wrapped himself best he could as he climbed the hill. He spotted the small fire, and beside it Velixar bathed in its red glow. The fledgling necromancer took his seat across from the man in black.

“Are you ready to listen?” Velixar asked. Qurrah nodded. “Good. The story of this world’s gods is not lengthy, nor complicated, but it is a story that you must learn.

“Celestia created the rock, the grass, and the water. Her hand formed the wildlife, and to tend her creation she created elves. The goddess gave them long life and abundant land so quarrels within their race were of the petty sort. Then the brother gods came. Ashhur of Justice, Karak of Order. There are many worlds beyond our own, Qurrah. I have seen fleeting glimpses of them in my dreams. Karak and Ashhur came from one of those worlds, and Celestia welcomed them. To them she gave the grasslands and rolling hills.

“These brother gods did not make their own creation. Instead, they made man, much the same as man existed in their former world. They wanted to make a paradise, one of justice and order. The world they came from was full of chaos, death, and murder. This world, this land of Dezrel, would be different.”

Both men shared a soft laugh, Velixar’s far bitterer than Qurrah’s.

“What caused their failure?” Qurrah asked.

“Karak and Ashhur spoiled their creations. Crops grew bountiful and healthy. A single prayer cured all sickness and disease. Mankind spread across the land with remarkable speed, forming two kingdoms. East of the Rigon River was Neldar, ruled by Karak. To the west was Mordan, governed by Ashhur. However, there was a delta at the end of the river controlled by none. Within were a few small villages with no government, no ruler. Karak brought his troops to establish order. Ashhur was quick to defend it, and in turn, claim it as his own.”

“You speak of centuries ago,” Qurrah interrupted. “Yet you claim to be one of Karak’s first.”

“I was his high priest, half-orc,” Velixar said, his eyes narrowing. “He blessed me so I would never die of sickness, age, or blade. I have watched the world evolve, and I have watched gods make war. Do not accuse me of having a lying tongue. The truth is always enough, even for those who walk in the darkness.”

“Forgive me, master,” Qurrah said, bowing. His teeth chattered in the cold.

Velixar waved a hand. The dwindling fire between them swelled to a healthy blaze.

“The two brothers were arrogant to think they could create a paradise with a creature so full of faults as man,” Velixar continued. “I saw the battle waged in the small town of Haven, there in the center of the delta. It is an awesome thing to watch gods duel. Ashhur fled before either could strike a killing blow. I summoned our armies, as did the priests of Ashhur. Think now of the many deformed creatures that walk this world. Know they were all mere animals before the gods turned them into soldiers for their war. The elves were vicious in this time, slaying any who dared come near their forests. But some elves did side with Karak, determined to help end the war so the world could heal.”

“Did Celestia not interfere?” Qurrah asked.

In the darkness, Qurrah watched as Velixar’s face curled into a deep snarl.

“Celestia befriended both brothers, but she took Ashhur to be her lover. She begged each to stop, though neither listened. It was a dark time, Qurrah. All squabbles and wars since are a pittance compared. Ashhur’s great city of Mordeina nearly toppled to my hand, but then the priests of Ashhur brought the dead to life to fight against us. Yes, Qurrah, it was the priests of Ashhur, not Karak, who first created the undead. We were beaten back, forced into Veldaren with little hope of survival.”

The man in black removed his hood to reveal a long scar. It ran from his left ear, across his throat, and down past the neck of his robe. “I died in that battle. Celestia had begged Ashhur to make peace. He should have listened. The two gods fought once more as I remained a rotting body.”

The fire between the two suddenly roared with life. Its flames danced in the air far above their heads. Amongst the fire’s flickering tails, Qurrah saw images take shape. They were scattered and random, without time or order. He saw a small town besieged by corpses. He saw massive armies of undead marching across the plains to battle a horde of hyena-men. He saw the walls of a great city smashed to pieces as men climbed over, swords high and armor shining. And then he saw Karak and Ashhur cross blades.

He tore his eyes from the fire, unable to withstand the strength of the image. The fire shrank back to a small blaze.

“Most men cowered at the sight of it. Do not be ashamed,” Velixar said. “There might have been a victor, but Celestia interfered at last. She cast each god far beyond the sky, to where she herself had made a home. She gave half to Ashhur and half to Karak. The souls of the soldiers who fought and died alongside them were given to their masters. She cursed the elves who sided with Karak, branding them the ‘orcs,’ or ‘betrayers’ in her tongue. Once the brother gods were locked away from the world, and each other, Celestia issued her final decree.”

“What was it?” asked Qurrah after Velixar remained quiet for a moment.

“She ordered that Ashhur and Karak continue the fight they refused to end for all eternity. Many centuries have passed, Qurrah. I am the hilt of Karak’s sword, the greatest priest in the war against Ashhur, and I have not relinquished my position.”

The man’s eyes grew so bright that the half-orc felt the urge to grovel.

“Ashhur himself killed me. Karak brought me back. He cursed those who had failed him, changing his realm into the abyss. I was the only one he spared, and he gave me life with all of his dwindling power.”

The two sat in silence as the fire crackled between them. Qurrah dwelt on all he had heard, trying to decide what he believed. Strange as it seemed to him, he accepted every word.

“So what the priests say of how Karak is the god of death and darkness,” Qurrah asked, “is it true?”

Velixar’s eyes narrowed, and that vicious snarl returned.

“There were good men and evil men in his abyss after the war. The punishment was not to be eternal, not then, but Celestia chose Ashhur over my master.” Qurrah watched as Velixar’s hands clenched so tight his nails dug deep into his skin. Flesh tore, but no blood surfaced. “She took all who were good out of the abyss and gave their care to Ashhur. Left with nothing but thieves and murderers, Karak had no choice but to make it eternal. The abyss is dark, Qurrah, and there is fire, but there is also order.”

“What do you wish of me?” Qurrah asked. Velixar’s face softened into a dark smile.

“To fight the war. Celestia may have condemned it to continue forever, but she slumbers now. Harnessing enough power, we can defeat the goddess. We can bring all of Dezrel under our control and declare victory for Karak.”

Qurrah stood, his eyes glimmering with anticipation. “Where will we strike first?”

“Woodhaven is a symbol of cooperation between races. That must be ended. We will burn Veldaren to ash thereafter. Once all of Neldar is in chaos, we may proceed however we wish.”

“Will we strike the elves?” Qurrah asked.

“Why do you ask?”

The half-orc laughed.

“Mother was an orc who had lived here in Woodhaven. I do not know her name, other than what she instructed my brother and I to call her: Mama Tun. Our father was from Woodhaven, she told us. We later found out he was an elf, bizarre as it seems.”

“It is a wretched elf who would mate with an orc,” Velixar said.

“No true elf would,” Qurrah said. “This means he was weak to have done so. His weakness has seeped into my blood.”

“You hold no weakness,” the man in black said. “The blood of orcs and elves is more similar than either race would care to admit. What happened to your mother?”

“I don’t know. I was sold,” he said, his face visibly darkening.

“To whom?”

“I was never given his name,” Qurrah said. His voice, already soft and quiet, grew even quieter. “He was Master. That was all that mattered.”

“Tell me of your time with Master,” Velixar ordered.

“There is little to tell,” Qurrah said. “I was his slave. I cleaned up after him while he fed me scraps of his failed experiments. I slept in a cage. One time he caught me practicing words of magic. As punishment, he shoved a hot poker down my throat, ruining my voice into what you hear now. One night tribes of hyena-men stormed his tower, wanting vengeance for the many of their kind he had taken to butcher and maim.”

Qurrah kept his eyes low, unable to meet Velixar’s gaze.

“I was afraid when they came, but as I watched Master slaughter hundreds of them with his golems and his shields of bone I felt at home amid the carnage. I knew then what I was to become.”

“How did you escape?” Velixar asked.

“Master exhausted himself defending his tower,” Qurrah said, waving a dismissive hand. “He collapsed at the very top. I cast a spell upon his throat, filling it with ice. I watched him die and then I left that disgusting place forever.”

“You were a worthy apprentice,” Velixar said. “Especially to learn such a spell on your own. Your master was blind.”

“He was weakened,” Qurrah said. “Even the clumsiest of fighters can slay a sleeping man.”

“How old were you then?” Velixar asked.

“Nine,” Qurrah said.

The man in black shook his head. His expression showed there would be no further argument. “If you had been mine at the age of nine… my previous apprentice Xelrak held but a shred of your strength.”

Qurrah straightened at the name. “I have heard of Xelrak. He toppled the Citadel.”

Velixar smiled as he remembered a cherished memory. “Indeed. It was his finest hour, and a significant victory for Karak. The paladins of Ashhur are all but crushed.”