Weight of Blood Page 9

  A cold wind came blasting in, seemingly from all directions. Faster and faster, the words poured from Qurrah’s pale lips. Harruq braced himself as his hair fluttered before his eyes. The spell neared completion, and Velixar hissed in sheer pleasure at the power flaring from his apprentice. Qurrah shrieked out one final word, the signal, the climax of the spell.

  “Rise!”

  All around corpses staggered to their feet.

  “Qurrah,” Harruq stammered but could say no more.

  “Eight,” Qurrah gasped, dropping to his knees. “It is…I am sorry, master.”

  Velixar walked about, examining each of the undead farmers. He remained quiet, hiding all emotion from his apprentice and even refusing to look at him.

  “This is the first time you have ever brought the dead back to life,” Velixar said. “Correct?”

  “Of this size, yes,” Qurrah answered. His entire body rose and fell with his unsteady gasps of breath.

  The man in black turned to him.

  “When I was first taught that same spell I managed only four. Rise from your feet, Qurrah Tun.” He turned to the undead. “Kneel!” he shouted to them. At once, the eight bowed to Qurrah. Velixar placed a hand on the half-orc’s shoulder.

  “It is your servants that should bow to you,” he said. “And one could not ask for a more gifted disciple.”

  Qurrah stood but kept his head bowed. Harruq shifted on his feet, scared and confused. The eyes of his brother…tears?

  “Thank you, my master,” whispered the half-orc. “I have never felt more honored.”

  Velixar placed a hand atop Qurrah’s head and accepted the tears he knew the half-orc tried to hide. He had long thought the weaker emotions burned from his soul but that night he felt an overwhelming sense of pride.

  “Harruq,” Velixar said, his normally unshakable voice faltering. “Escort your brother home. Protect him, even unto death. He will usher in a new age to this world. Of this I have no doubt.” He shouted an order to Qurrah’s undead. The eight obeyed, marching out of town to join the rest of Velixar’s army.

  “I will take control now,” he said to his disciple. “In time, the burden of sustaining life in them will seem weightless. Until then, let me bear it. Look at me.”

  Qurrah did, his eyes red and his face wet. “Yes master?” he asked. No weakness tainted his voice. The man in black put a hand on either side of Qurrah’s face and drew him close.

  “Become a god among men,” he whispered. “Remain faithful to me, and to Karak, and I shall see it come to pass.”

  Qurrah nodded but said nothing. Instead, he turned and joined his brother.

  “Let’s go home,” he said.

  “I’m thinking that’s a great idea,” Harruq said. The two stepped around the bodies of the slain as they headed east, leaving Velixar alone in the emptiness of Cornrows.

  “Incredible,” Velixar said when they were gone. “Never would I have guessed they had such power.” He paused, listening to the words of his master. The man in black smiled.

  “If you didn’t know then I do not feel as blind,” he said. “He will surpass me. Surpass us all. Should I bring him to your dark paladins?”

  Karak’s answer was swift.

  Let him learn at your side. He loves you, and this love will drive him to power not seen since I walked Dezrel. Use it. Give me a sacrifice worthy of my name. Burn the east to the ground.

  Velixar closed his eyes and bowed his head in acknowledgement.

  “Only in absolute emptiness is there order,” he said, the goal of all those who worshiped Karak and knew the true purpose of their lives. “And I will bring order.”

  The Tun brothers did not go straight home that night. Harruq veered them off into the grassy hills south of Woodhaven.

  “Why do we go this way?” Qurrah asked, his arm draped around his brother. His sagging body seemed ready to collapse into slumber at any time.

  “I need to pick up the swords I dropped,” Harruq said quietly. “I want to train with them.”

  Qurrah nodded so absently that Harruq wondered if his brother even heard him. They walked in silence under the beauty of the stars.

  “Hey, Qurrah?”

  “Yes, brother?”

  “What we did…is it…”

  “Did you revel in the power granted to you?” Qurrah asked. Harruq paused, searching for an honest answer.

  “Aye,” he said at last. “I did.”

  “Then why do you now question it?”

  Harruq shrugged. “Velixar’s strong. What do you think he wants with us?”

  “Order,” Qurrah said. “We will kill, brother. It is all we are good at. It was what we were made for. What other purpose do you see for your life?”

  Harruq shrugged. “I said it before. I’m here to protect you.”

  “Then kill those that seek to kill me,” Qurrah said, a bit of his sleepiness leaving him. “Our master has given us so much. Power. Weapons. A purpose. What more could we ever ask for?”

  “Yeah, what else,” Harruq said, shifting more of his brother’s weight onto his shoulder. Qurrah’s eyes drooped, and it seemed sleep would steal him away before they reached town.

  Harruq found his blades without too much trouble. He laid Qurrah down. His brother slept peacefully, and in silence the half-orc took the old weapons into his hands. He looked up to the stars. Even as a child, those far away lights had awakened something in him, something so different from what he thought he was. Right then, it was awakening guilt and fear.

  “I do what I choose,” he argued to the stars. “No, what I must.”

  The words felt hollow, nothing more than self-serving lies. He kept remembering the mother with her young babe clutched to her breast as she fled from him. When he had rammed her, she had tucked the child to guard it from the fall. Right before the kill, she had held him, trying to protect him.

  “Why?” he asked. A part of him worried he might wake his brother, but he was too drained to care. “Why did she do that? She could have run faster without the child!”

  No, he knew that answer. She would not abandon her child just as he would not abandon Qurrah. Then what was bothering him so? He fell to his knees and stabbed the old weapons into the dirt. The faces of those he had killed danced before his eyes, especially the mother and her child, and the young girl holding her little sister. The fear in their eyes. The screams. The panic. Horror.

  “I do what I have to do,” he said again. But did the town have to die? All those children, mothers, sisters, fathers…nothing but a test. And all those small bodies he left for his brother to mutilate? What was it he was accomplishing with his swords? Every action, every kill, seemed to confirm the words of his brother. He was a killer and nothing more. His legacy would be one of death and emptiness.

  The ghosts of the village clung to his back and neck. His choice was made. When he looked to the stars, he saw Aurelia’s face among them. He tried not to think of what she’d say if she knew what he had done. Guilt and regret meant nothing so he choked it down. It didn’t matter what he wanted. His oath was made. His swords had swung. The weight of blood was on his shoulders, and who was he to fight against it?

  “I’m sorry if I’m weak,” Harruq whispered to his sleeping brother. “I can’t be like you. I can’t be strong like you…”

  The half-orc buckled the old pair of swords next to the gleaming black blades on his belt. He then gently took his brother into his arms and carried him back to town. The weight of his brother in his hands was a feather compared to the burden on his heart.

  9

  Harruq arrived late to his sparring match with Aurelia. His face was haggard and his eyes bloodshot.

  “Rough night?” Aurelia asked. She blinked as a tingle in her head insisted that something was different about the half-orc. After a few seconds, she saw it.

  “Harruq,” she asked, “is it me, or did you grow thirty pounds of muscle overnight?”

  “Yup,” Harruq muttered. “
I’m magical like that.”

  The elf glared at him.

  “Sorry,” he said, his face reddening. “I had a long night.”

  Aurelia nodded. She twirled the staff in the air and then hooked it underneath her arm.

  “Ready to start?”

  The half-orc shrugged. “Sure, why not?”

  Instead of starting, she lowered her staff and crossed her arms. “Something’s wrong, Harruq. Tell me what bothers you so?”

  Harruq sighed and looked away. He gently tapped his swords together. “I don’t know. Bored.”

  “Am I not a challenge?”

  He made vague shrug that could be taken either way. Let her think that was it, he thought. It was a whole lot better than the truth. Aurelia, however, seemed none too pleased. She twirled her staff again.

  “You might be surprised, orcyboy, but I could beat you in a spar.”

  Harruq scoffed. “You have no chance,” he said.

  “First to three hits,” the elf said, taking a few steps back. “We’ll make it a wager, even.”

  “What’s the bet?”

  The elf flashed a smile so quickly it may not have existed. “Loser barks like a dog,” she said.

  The half-orc looked like he had been slapped. “A dog?”

  “Yes. A dog.”

  “Very well,” Harruq said, drawing his swords in his gigantic arms. “Guess you get to be my bitch today.” He lowered his weapons and thrust out his chest. “Here. I’ll prove it. Two free hits. I’ll still beat you.”

  Aurelia eyed him, obviously insulted. She gave him two quick raps across the chest.

  “Two to zero,” she said before dancing away. Harruq raised his swords and roared.

  He crossed the distance between them in a heartbeat, twice as fast as he had ever moved in their previous sparring matches. Aurelia leapt backward as blades dove for her chest and abdomen. Her staff shot spun back and forth to parry thrust after thrust. Harruq pressed his attack, shifting on one foot so that his next two attacks came slashing downward for her thigh and ankle.

  The staff blocked one but the other banged against her calf.

  “One to two,” Harruq said. He double thrust, offering the elf no reprieve. She smashed her staff upward, pushing the two attacks high and giving her room underneath. She ducked forward, trying for a strike against the half-orc’s leg.

  She badly underestimated Harruq’s new speed. One blade looped around and blocked the attack. The other went straight down, the edge smashing hard against the top of Aurelia’s skull. While it did not draw blood, the jolt of it knocked the elf to one knee and gave her a dull ache in her head.

  “Have you lost your mind?” Aurelia asked as she rolled away. Harruq’s mad charge was her answer, and it sparked fear in her heart.

  Sword strikes came in, impossibly fast. Any thought of the fight being practice left Aurelia’s mind. It felt too real. She stayed defensive, parrying with all her skill while constantly dancing away. Harruq stayed with her, and every time the elf pulled out of a roll or landed from a leap backward, he was upon her. Notch after notch covered her staff as the swords chopped harder and harder.

  His strength grew as the fight progressed. He held nothing back. He weaved his swords through three stabs, feint a high slash, and then twirled up and around for a low thrust. Aurelia fell for the feint and brought her staff up high, leaving her lower half exposed. Her slender frame twisted. A sword cut a thin line across the green fabric of her dress but did not touch skin.

  She thought Harruq might stop and claim the cut counted. He didn’t.

  Instead he crosscut, his left arm swiping right while the other swept left. She turned to one side, using her staff to press one sword into the dirt and knock the second swipe just above her. The staff continued twirling, positioning Harruq’s hands further out of place. She used the awkwardness to gain further separation between them.

  Her hands ached from the force of every block and parry. Her breath was fast and shallow. Her hair, which she had failed to tie up before the fight, hung in wild strands before her face. She was beautiful, but Harruq did not see it.

  To Harruq, she was the young girl cradling her sister. He charged.

  Aurelia thrust her right hand forward, her fingers spread wide and stiff. Words of power poured from her lips, and without hesitation, the forest obeyed. Vines shot from the earth and wrapped around Harruq’s arms and legs. Down he went. Aurelia gave him no chance to recover. She raised her outstretched hand higher. More and more vines appeared, covering the half-orc’s arms and legs with green. They lifted him into the air, his boots dangling two feet above the ground.

  Harruq bellowed like a bull caught in a cage. He jerked against his restraints but they held firm. Aurelia calmly walked over, raised her staff, and tapped him on the chest.

  “Three,” she said.

  The half-orc roared his protest.

  Aurelia swung the staff with all her strength. The end cracked against Harruq’s cheek. Blood shot from his mouth.

  “Four!” she shouted. The fierce pain appeared to knock some sense into him. He looked down at Aurelia with a mixture of anger and embarrassment.

  “Sorry,” he said. Blood ran from a busted lip. The skin on his cheek was already blackening.

  “I don’t know what just happened,” she said, the quiver in her voice belying her calm speech. “But I know I don’t like it, and will not accept it. Ever. Is that clear?”

  “Yeah,” Harruq said. “Now will you let me down?”

  For a moment, she said nothing, catching her breath and doing her best to calm the flood of adrenaline that still rushed through her. As the fog cleared, she smirked at the helpless half-orc.

  “I do believe someone lost a bet,” she said.

  Harruq blinked. “Not a chance. No way. I’m not doing it.”

  “You will do it,” Aurelia said, her voice iron. “Or I might just leave you here. In case it helps you make up your mind, my spell has a very long duration. Usually it will end after twenty hours or so.”

  “You cheated, though,” he said.

  “Did we ever say no magic?” she asked. Harruq cursed and grumbled but had no counter.

  “I thought so. Now bark, doggie.”

  “No.”

  “Fine then. I’ll see you tomorrow,” she said, slowly walking toward Woodhaven.

  “Wait. Fine. Bark-bark.”

  Aurelia turned, the corners of her mouth fighting against a smile. “Better than that. I don’t want to hear you say bark. I want you to actually bark.”

  Harruq groaned. “Do I have to?”

  “Oh well then, enjoy your night.”

  The red of his blushing fought against the black of his bruise. “Fine. Arf arf arf! There, you happy?”

  Despite the seriousness of the day, Aurelia laughed. “Yes. You may go. I’ll see you tomorrow. I have something new planned.”

  The vines released. The half-orc landed with a thud. By the time he picked himself up the vines had pulled into the dirt and the elf was gone.

  “You’re going to pay for that,” he grumbled, rubbing his sore wrists. His heart was not in it, though. More than anything, he was embarrassed, and frightened, about losing control.

  “Just need some sleep,” he told himself. “That is all. Sleep. Good sleep.”

  And that was what he did. He went home and slept.

  It can be one of your most powerful spells,” Velixar said. “It is quick, deadly, and strikes from nowhere. Listen to these words very carefully. If you give it enough of your power nary a soul can withstand the shock and blood loss.”

  The man in black listed off a stream of seven words. Seven times he pronounced them, giving his disciple ample chances to hear the precise, delicate pronunciations and mimic them himself.

  “Prepare the spell with these words in the morning and you may trigger it at any time with but a single word.”

  “And what is that?” Qurrah asked once the words were tucked firmly into his mi
nd.

  “Hemorrhage,” Velixar hissed. The frail half-orc smiled, loving the sound.

  Harruq sat nearby. The lessons in spellcasting had little to do with him so he politely remained silent. The spidery words seemed so opposite of strength but he could not deny the power his brother wielded.

  “Harruq Tun,” Velixar said suddenly, jolting him from his drifting thoughts.

  “Yes, master?” he asked, his back stiffening. He could feel the eyes of his brother on him and he did not wish to disappoint.

  “Stand. Qurrah has told me of the troubles in your heart. I must see them.”

  “He did?” Harruq asked, glancing at his brother. His stomach dropped, and his heart quickened as Velixar approached. He felt like a truant servant caught by his master…which perhaps he was.

  “You killed many yesterday,” the man in black said. “Do you feel guilt for their deaths?”

  Harruq took a deep breath, analyzing every word before he opened his mouth. Velixar could surely tell if he lied. But what did he believe? Did he even know?

  “I’m not strong like Qurrah,” he said. “Sometimes I can be weak. Only after, though. I will try to never question the order of my master or the will of my brother.”

  Velixar nodded although he appeared not to listen. Instead, his eyes burrowed into Harruq’s, prying information not from his mouth but from his very soul.

  “Tell me, Harruq, why do you mourn the lives of those you kill?”

  “I don’t,” Harruq said. He wasn’t sure if it was lie or truth. Most likely a lie.

  “War is brutal. Life is brutal.” Velixar put a cold hand against Harruq’s face. “You do not understand, but we are bringers of peace. We will end all war. We will end all murder. We will end everything, Harruq. Kneel. I will show you.”

  Harruq obeyed. His insides churned as icy fingers pressed against his forehead. Power crackled through his mind. The entire world burned to ash and blew away on the wind. The painting revealed beneath was in fluid motion, an artwork of death and fire. He saw a city burning. He saw people fleeing in the streets. And then he saw himself. He was dressed in black armor that shone with power. Salvation and Condemnation waved high above his head, both drenched in blood. He looked like a god among men, and the way the soldiers fell at his feet, he might have been one.