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  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. Whispering words of magic flowed from the necromancer’s mouth. The noble’s jaw dropped, and black veins appeared on 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 next two minutes the man screamed. Then he died.

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

  “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. With his cold hands, 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.

  When 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.”

  With a pale hand, he dismissed them. Qurrah turned to leave, but Harruq stayed behind.

  “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 to either not know or not 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 his cuts with strips of old cloth. 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 tie a firm knot behind his back with his beefy hands. 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 on the field of battle, if we fight, 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 over, tightening bandages and cleaning out some of the nastier cuts. His mind lingered on the fight that night. He thought of 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 she trapped him with vines and blasted his back with springs of water.

  He did not sleep well that night. It would be a long while before he did.

  The mood in Woodhaven grew somber as dark rumors spread. First came word that troops were on their way to enforce an edict evicting all elves from the city. The more this rumor spread, the more elves seemed to arrive. Elven men and women with camouflage and great longbows patrolled the city. Even more lingered in taverns and the homes of kin. Many humans left for family and friends, wanting no part of the coming conflict. Many others spent hours whispering with the elf men in the bars. The tension grew. A group of men, not daring to admit where their pay came from, built sturdy palisades between the two halves of town. Everyone knew why but none spoke of it, at least outside of a whisper.

  Two weeks after Harruq and Qurrah had slaughtered the messenger from Veldaren, the burning lights of an army encampment filled the fields north of Woodhaven. Soldiers of Neldar had arrived.

  Antonil Copernus was quiet as he gazed at the town. The wind teased his long blond hair, never letting it rest as he stood. The moonlight cast an eerie glow on his gold-tinted armor, which was carefully polished. Behind him, the tents of his soldiers, numbering more than six hundred, lay scattered about in loose formation. In the silence, an elf walked up beside him, his keen eyes taking in the torches that lit the city.

  “The city is quiet,” the elf said. “They await battle.”

  “Let us hope it does not come to that, Dieredon. Perhaps they will accept the king’s orders for now.”

  The elf shook his head.

  “You know they will not.”

  Antonil glanced at the elf, who was painted in camouflage and still wore his wicked bow slung across his back. He sighed.

  “You’re right. I do know.”

  Silence followed. The two continued staring, each wishing to speak their mind but unable to summon the courage.

  “You are a wise man,” Dieredon said, breaking the moment. “You know who is in the right in this conflict, as do I.”

  “Yes, we both do,” Antonil agreed. He glanced to the elf, his face asking the question he could not voice.

  “No, I will not fight at their side,” Dieredon answered. “Never could I raise my bl
aded bow against you. However, I cannot fight against my brethren. I will let fate decide tomorrow, without my involvement.”

  Antonil clasped the man on the shoulder. “Thank you. If there was a way I could stop this, I would.”

  “Then stop it.”

  “You know I can’t.”

  “You can! Defy the king’s orders. Stop the bloodshed that his fear and paranoia are about to unleash.”

  “An elf came, killed several nobles and took the king’s ear. Then his cousin is slain bearing a message to this town, his head left at the gate of our city. Paranoia it might be, but it is justified.”

  Antonil quieted. Dieredon watched him, amazed just how young the man could still look in the moonlight. A year beyond forty yet he commanded the entire Neldaren army. Publicly he handled the weight wonderfully, but when prying eyes were gone, his all too-human fear and doubt showed. When the man spoke again, his voice trembled.

  “I will not break my oaths. His Majesty asked I enforce his edict, and so I shall.”

  Dieredon nodded, the sparkle in his eyes fading.

  “I had hoped otherwise, but follow your oaths and your heart as you must.”

  The elf whistled. From the night sky came the sound of soft wing beats. Then a white, winged horse swooped down, landing in front of Dieredon.

  “Come, Sonowin,” the elf said to his cherished companion. “Let us leave this place while it is still in peace.”

  The beautiful creature neighed in agreement. Dieredon mounted Sonowin, needing no reins or saddle. Antonil saluted the elf just before his mount leapt into flight.

  “Stay safe, friend,” he said.

  “You as well, friend.”

  Before the elf took to the sky, however, he paused.

  “Antonil…something more is at work here. Be wary. I will not take sides in this conflict, and neither shall the Quellan elves, but if I find who caused this war I will kill him. It is the least I can do.”

  A great beat of white wings and then the elf was in the air. Antonil watched him fly far south, watched until he was a tiny white dot among a blanket of stars. Before he stopped watching, however, he saw more than fifty similar white dots line the horizon. The guard captain smiled, somehow heartened by the sight.

  “Let us hope for miracles,” he whispered to the night. “And let us hope that at tomorrow’s end all my troops are still alive.”

  He stared at the stars for a long while before joining his troops in slumber.

  Harruq and Qurrah waited anxiously at their door. They were fully armed and ready. The half-orc’s sister swords were sharpened and gleaming. Wrapped around his arm, Qurrah's whip writhed hungrily. Their eyes rarely blinked, but as hour after hour passed and no blanket of shadow came to them, their patience wore thin.

  “The human army is right outside the town,” Harruq grumbled. “We can’t wait until tomorrow night.”

  “Patience, brother,” Qurrah said. “Just…patience.”

  Another hour, and still no shadow. Harruq stepped back inside and plopped down. The other half-orc remained at the door, his eyes not leaving the gray outside.

  “He’s not sending for us,” Harruq said.

  “You are correct,” said Velixar’s voice, startling both of them. They turned to see their master emerge from the shadows of their home, his red eyes gleaming.

  “How did you get in here?” the warrior asked.

  “Listen to me,” Velixar said, ignoring the question. “I have little time. The elves have erected barricades near their homes. Surely you have seen them. Slip past their defenses and wait. When the battle comes, slaughter the elves from behind. You must weaken them enough so that Vaelor’s army has a chance at victory.”

  “We will not fail,” Qurrah promised. “Where will we meet you?”

  “Listen for where the screams are at their worst,” Velixar said as his shadow began to fade. “There shall I be.”

  A pale hand reached inside his robes and pulled out five glass vials. Qurrah knelt and accepted the gifts.

  “The vials contain powerful healing elixirs. If either of you are injured tomorrow, drink from them and resume the slaughter anew.”

  “Thank you master,” Harruq said, accepting three from his brother before kneeling as well.

  “We will await you in the chaos,” Qurrah said.

  Then the man was gone, vanishing into the shadows of the room. The two glanced at each other. Harruq shrugged.

  “That was easy. Bed time?”

  “Sleep if you must,” Qurrah said. “I will join you in a bit.”

  Harruq removed his armor, lay down on the bed of straw, and slept. The necromancer stepped outside his home, walked to the side, and stared at the flickering lights in the distance. Campfires and torches. An army, the same that had removed him and his brother from their home, slept so close. Every one of them contemplated their death.

  Qurrah closed his eyes and inhaled the cold night air. Yes, the tension was delectable. The quiet moments before battle were a rare thing that so very few were lucky enough to experience. Fear, worry, hope, prayer, regret, and sorrow all floated to the stars.

  The half-orc let his attuned mind drink it all in. Beautiful, he thought. Absolutely beautiful.

  The next morning Harruq did not put on his armor or prepare his blades.

  “I have to see Aurelia,” he told his brother, who nodded in understanding.

  “I will wait for you,” Qurrah said. “Return before the battle starts.”

  “I will,” Harruq said. Then he was gone, rushing down the streets of Woodhaven toward the calm forest that nestled about it.

  Aurry, are you there?” he shouted. He had hoped the elf would be waiting for him, but as he neared their usual clearing there was no sign of her. His heart skipped, and he feared she had already gone off to prepare for battle.

  “Aurelia, come on out now,” he shouted again. His eyes searched the forest.

  “I’m here,” Aurelia said. Her voice was quiet, subdued. Harruq turned and tried to smile.

  “There you are. Are you doing alright?”

  The elf shrugged. Her hands hugged her sides, her walnut eyes filled with worry.

  “The elves are going to fight today, Harruq. I’m sure you’ve heard why.”

  “Are you going to join them?” he asked.

  The elf nodded.

  “They are my family. This is my home. I cannot abandon them.”

  Harruq’s heart skipped, and the words of his brother echoed in his head. He had to make her understand.

  “Aurry, I’m asking you, please don’t fight. You aren’t needed. The elves will win, right? Right?”

  Aurelia shrugged. “We’re outnumbered four to one. We might win, but we’ll still suffer many deaths. If I am needed, I will fight.”

  “No,” Harruq said, running up and grabbing her arms. “No, you must understand, you can’t fight. You can’t!”

  “Why?” she asked as tears formed in her eyes.

  “I can’t lose you, Aurelia. I don’t want to. Please don’t fight. For me, will you not?”

  It seemed all the forest paused, listening for the answer.

  “Harruq, I love you. But I also love my home. I love my brethren.”

  She stood on her toes and gave him a quick, soft kiss on his lips. A tear ran down Harruq’s cheek as he stood shocked still. His mind relished the soft feel of her lips on his, the scent of flowers, and the subtle fire that had escaped onto his tongue.

  “I’ll see you tomorrow,” she said, taking a hesitant step toward the trees.

  “Sure thing,” Harruq said, rubbing the tear off his cheek and pretending it had not been there. Aurelia smiled. Tears were on her cheeks as well, but she left them alone.

  “Bye-bye, Harruq.”

  “Bye-bye, Aurelia.”

  Then she was gone. He stood there, not moving, his mind a chaos of fear, swords, Velixar, his brother, and that lingering kiss. Then he screamed to the sky, one long, primal roar of hopeless
confusion.

  He stormed back to Qurrah, his chest a boiling pot of rage. She had not listened. He had begged, he had opened his heart, and she had not listened. So fine then. If he saw her, well then…then…

  Even in his anger, he could not voice the words in his mind, but the feeling was there. Death. If he met her, there would be death, and that death would be preferable to the torment of pain he felt in his heart. Qurrah did not have to ask what her answer was when he returned to their home.

  “I am sorry,” was all he said before handing Harruq his weapons. “Get ready. When the fighting begins you will forget all about her.”

  “Unless I see her,” he said. Qurrah chose not to respond. Suited and ready for battle, the Tun brothers left their home in Woodhaven for the last time.

  14

  The men are ready, milord,” Sergan said. “Do we march?”

  Antonil stared at the small town, seeing very little motion within. No people wandered the streets. No traveling merchants hawked their wares. He sighed and turned to Sergan, his trusted advisor in war. The man was old, scarred, and had dirty hair falling down to his shoulders. He had seen many wars, and more than a few lives he had claimed with the axe that hung from his shoulder.

  “Yes, let us end this, one way or the other,” Antonil said. “Order them to march. I’ll lead us in.”

  “Yes, milord.”

  Sergan turned and started barking orders, all his calm and politeness vanishing. The guard captain glanced down at the edict from the king he carried in his hand. A rash impulse filled him, an insane desire to tear the paper to shreds and return to his liege with a lie on his lips. Under normal circumstances the king would know no difference. His advisors, however, were many, and every one of them would betray Antonil for the chance to gain esteem in the eyes of the king.

  No, he would have to deliver the message, regardless of his desires. He sighed one final time, turned toward his army, and began the march.

  Where Celed and Singhelm met there was a small clearing. No buildings or monuments marked it, just a single circle of grass upon which no house would ever be built. On that spot, Singhelm the Strong and Ceredon Sinistel, leaders of Neldar’s troops and the Erzen elves, respectively, had made a pact that a city could exist between the two races without the need of bloodshed. Singhelm had long since passed away, while Ceredon remained, two hundred years older, as the leader of the elven elite ekreissar.