The Half-Orcs: Books 1-5 Read online

  “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 retrieve 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 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 villagers 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 his swords were accomplishing? 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.

  “Very well,” Harruq said, drawing his swords in his gigantic arms. “Guess you need a reminder of who you’re learning from.” 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 jabbed her staff upward, pushing the two attacks high and giving her room underneath. Ducking forward, she tried to strike the half-orc’s leg.

  She badly underestimated Harruq’s new speed though, and one blade looped around to block 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 assailed her 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 pressed closer, 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 ch
opped harder and harder.

  His strength grew as the fight progressed. He held nothing back. He weaved his swords through three stabs, feinted 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.

  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. Harruq twisted against the vines, but they still held firm. Blood continued to trinkle down his chin.

  “I’m not blind,” she said, suddenly looking away. “Not stupid, either. I don’t know why I’m here. Lie to me if you must, just don’t expect me to believe it. Forgive me for hoping you could trust me.”

  The vines released, freeing the half-orc who smacked against the ground. By the time he picked himself up, the vines had pulled into the dirt.

  “I have something new planned for tomorrow,” she said. “Don’t be late.”

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

  “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 mind.

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

  Harruq sat nearby. The spidery, intangible lessons in spellcasting had little to do with him, but he politely remained silent and respected their usefulness

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

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

  “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. Images 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, people fleeing in the streets, and then he saw himself dressed in black armor that oozed 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 made him think he might have been one.

  This red-dream self looked straight at him and spoke, but Harruq could not understand the words. The sound of his own voice chilled him, though, for it was dark, it was dangerous, and it was exactly like Velixar’s.

  A god among men, said a second voice, one he had never heard before. It was darker than any shade that haunted his nightmares. There was only one it could be, and it was no mortal.

  Protect your brother, and I will grant you a kingdom. Live as you have always lived, and I will reward you with eternity. Kill, as I desire you to kill, and you will find a peace unknown to the mortal realm. The time for questioning is over. Trust your god as I now trust you.

  Love me, Harruq Tun. Kill for me.

  The dream shattered. Amid the haze of red and black, he heard the cries of battle urging him on, offering him a future he had always feared and desired. A life of killing and battle. A life given to Karak. An orcish life.

  The icy fingers left his forehead.

  “It is a select few who have received such a gift,” Velixar said in the quiet night. “You have heard the voice of the dark god himself. Now tell me, what is it you saw?”

  “Please, brother,” Qurrah said. “I need to know.”

  Harruq stared at the dirt, each breath making his shoulders heave. His mind reeled, and for reasons he did not understand, he opened his mouth and said, “That which I fear and desire. I have had no questions answered, but I do know this: the time for questions has long ended.”

  Velixar nodded. “Indeed, Harruq. It is time for action. I am done with both of you. Go home and rest. Tomorrow we will begin my plan. War shall come to Woodhaven.”

  “We await your orders,” Qurrah said. The two bowed and then returned to town beneath the blanket of stars.

  As the two brothers left, another soul traveled in the dark. He made not a sound as he moved. Any attem
pts at tracking his passage would be utterly futile, for not a single blade of grass remained bent when his foot stepped away. He was Dieredon, Scoutmaster of the Quellan elves, and few souls could match his silence, speed, or skills with blade and bow.

  When the village came into view of his eagle-like eyes, his gut sank. Not a single sign of life decorated the streets or moved in the fields. He prayed to Celestia he was wrong, but his heart knew he wasn’t.

  He found nothing to convince him otherwise as he quickly scanned the village. He found many homes left wide open, yet none answered him when he called inside. Everywhere, staining the earth a dark crimson, there was blood.

  “It is as I feared,” he whispered to the night. He stood, took his bow off his shoulder, and then thoroughly searched the town. He found no trace of life barring a few rats that fed off the now unguarded remnants of food. Several homes, those with their doors smashed open, had gore smeared on their floors. One pained Dieredon’s heart greatly; amid a great red circle on a wooden floor laid a small, bloodstained doll.

  He said a silent prayer before moving on.

  At the edge of the town, he found many frantic tracks fleeing west. He followed them, wincing as some ended in dried smears of red upon the grass. Others led far past the others. They ended at once in an enormous pool of blood, leaving the town a somber image in the distance. Chasing them the whole while were twin sets of tracks, one of enormous weight, the other light as a feather.

  “Every one of them,” he said, his hand clutching his bow so tight his knuckles were whiter than the moon. “They slaughtered even those that fled. Yet there are no corpses.”

  The corpses had been taken. Or made to walk again.

  “The man with infinite faces,” Dieredon concluded. Another thought came to him. “Or was it you, Qurrah Tun?”

  He raced back to Woodhaven, his mind decided. It was time he had a talk with one of the brothers Tun.

  Harruq arrived at the sparring point in the forest less disheveled than the previous day, and he seemed in better spirits.