Weight of Blood

5

D id you practice the spells I taught you?” Velixar asked as Qurrah took his seat by the fire.

“Yes,” Qurrah said. “I am more than pleased with them.”

“You will need to keep a fresh supply of bones with you,” Velixar said, reaching into his pouch. “Take these for now until you can obtain more.”

Qurrah accepted the bones, stashing them into a small pocket he had sewn onto his robe. A silence fell over the two as far away a wolf howled.

“I wonder,” Velixar said, gazing in the direction of the howl. “Do you have a brother?”

Qurrah shifted his weight a bit. “Why do you ask?”

Velixar looked up to the moon and stared as he spoke.

“I have had dreams. I see you beside me, a strong ally, but I see another half-orc leading my army. He is strong and wields two enormous swords. Again I ask, do you have a brother?”

Qurrah pulled out a bone from his pouch and stared at it.

“I do,” he said. “You wish for him to aid us?”

“He will do more than aid,” Velixar whispered to the moon. “His power is as great as yours, Qurrah. You two are vessels of flesh unseen in centuries. It is as if one of the gods had a hand in your creation.”

Qurrah chuckled. “If any god had a hand in creating us, we were forgotten soon after. We both have suffered, I more than Harruq. We never had a home, or a family. By will alone we survived. There is nothing special about us, not even our blood.”

“And that is why you are strong,” the man in black said with ever-changing lips. “All things are for a reason. Even those who dwell in the darkness such as I will not deny this truth. You were meant for me. I will train you, and you will aid me in sundering all that brings false stability to this chaotic world.”

“For death and power,” Qurrah whispered.

“For Karak,” Velixar corrected. “When can I meet your brother?”

The half-orc shrugged, and while he seemed calm, the man in black did not miss how his eyes still refused to meet his.

“Give me time,” Qurrah said. “Let me make sure he is ready.”

“Is he not open to Karak?” Velixar asked.

“He is open,” Qurrah said a bit too vehemently. A glare from Velixar calmed him before he continued. “My brother can be a mindless butcher, but he must be angered or spurned into battle. When peaceful, his mind entertains ideas that run… contrary to what he and I are.”

“And what is that, Qurrah? What are you and your brother?”

The fire sparked a shower of orange into the sky as Qurrah spoke.

“Superior.”

In the distance, elven eyes watched that cough of flame stretch to the stars, as well as the sight of those two huddled figures talking long through the night.

T he first week of training went well for both Harruq and Aurelia. The half-orc kept offensive, determined not to add a fresh set of bruises to his body. Aurelia still fell for the feints, however slow, but her blocks were already quicker and more precise. They fought until both collapsed against trees, their bodies soaked with sweat.

“You’re starting to get the hang of it,” Harruq said after their fifth session.

“Don’t flatter me,” Aurelia said, refastening one of her braids that had come loose. “You’re still going too easy.”

“If I move too fast you won’t learn anything,” Harruq insisted.

“How do you know?” she asked. “Do you train elves often?”

The half-orc grinned. “All the time. I’m known for it, in fact. Harruq Tun, trainer of elves, slayer of dragons, and man of the ladies.”

“Please.” She rolled her eyes. “Not this lady.”

“Never said you were one, elfie.”

Aurelia gave Harruq a brutal glare. “And why not?”

He picked at some grass and said nothing.

“Well?” she asked.

“Well what?” He looked up, his face blank and his eyes wide as if he hadn’t a clue.

“Why am I not a lady?” Aurelia asked.

“I don’t know,” Harruq said. “Did you cast a spell on yourself or something? Look like one to me.”

She stood and took up her staff. Instead of grabbing his swords, Harruq ducked behind a tree.

“Don’t hurt me,” he shouted. “Me be a stoopid half-orc that dunno what he saying!”

His face poked around the tree, his long brown hair falling down past his eyes. Much as she tried not to, Aurelia burst into laughter.

“Get over here,” she said.

A small silver dagger appeared in her hands. Harruq eyed it warily.

“What’s that for?” he asked.

“When was the last time you cut your hair?” Aurelia asked.

The half-orc shrugged, for some reason embarrassed. “I don’t know. I just hack it off with a sword if it ever gets to be a bother. Been awhile, though.”

“It shows.” The elf motioned to the grass before her. “Sit, and tell me another of your wonderful stories while I make you look less like an animal.”

Harruq grumbled, but when she frowned and crossed her arms the normal defiance in him melted away. He plopped down and sighed.

“Something must be wrong with me,” he said.

“Shut up and start telling me more about yourself.”

“Huh?”

“Just do it.”

So the half-orc shut up, paused, shrugged, and then began.

“Well, this one’s not a happy one, but it’s the only thing I can think of. It’s about a present Qurrah gave me. He’s a softie at times, and this is one of them times.”

Aurelia smoothed his hair in her fingers, frowned, and then sliced off a large chunk with the incredibly sharp dagger. Brown hair fell in clumps at Harruq’s feet.

“You’re going to leave me some up there, right?” he asked.

“Don’t make me cut your ears,” Aurelia warned.

Harruq began his story. He told her of a gift from his brother, a tiny sword Qurrah had whittled from bone. A bully had stolen it, but then Qurrah used a dead rat under his control to steal it back while they slept.

The haircut ended with the story. Dirty hair was strewn over the grass.

“Never had much,” Harruq said. “That bone sword was my only possession. Still had to hide it because of that bully. You know, it’s probably still there, buried underneath our home.”

“You and your brother had such rough beginnings,” Aurelia said, tucking away the dagger. “Very rough.”

Harruq shrugged. “Never seemed a big deal to us. Others were better off. A few were worse. We did what we had to live, just like everybody else.”

He ran a hand through his now shoulder-length hair, shaking away loose strands. It felt odd having so little hair on his head. Aurelia sat down on her legs, her hands folded upon her dress.

“Harruq, have you killed before?” she asked.

The half-orc opened his mouth and then closed it. A boy’s face flashed before his eyes.

You’re an orc, aren’t you?

“Yes,” he said at last. “I’ve killed.”

He eyed Aurelia, desperately wishing to know what she thought yet unable to figure out why he even cared.

“Tell me of the first time,” she said.

He shook his head. “Not today. Maybe some other session, if I feel I can.”

They both stood, Aurelia stepping away while Harruq stretched and popped his back.

“Goodbye Harruq,” she said.

The elf was almost past the trees when he spoke. “Hey, Aurelia?”

“Yes, Harruq?” she said, turning to face him.

“Have you ever killed?”

She paused, and then ever so slightly nodded. The two parted without another word.

W hat did you learn this time?” Dieredon asked as Aurelia arrived at their designated spot in the forest.

“Something is wrong,” she told him. “He’s kind-hearted, even goofy. He takes to his swordcraft with almost perfectionist precision. Everything else he does is for fun or survival.” Aurelia sighed and rubbed her hands across her face.

“It could all be an act,” Dieredon ventured. “Or just a part of his whole self. Perhaps you see the elf in him. There are multiple sides to all men, for only the insane and the dull contain just one facet to their being. It could be Harruq’s orcish side that pushes him to kill the children.”

She nodded at the possibility. “I will defer to your wisdom. The more time I spend with him, the more I wonder. What about you? What have you learned?”

Dieredon’s face darkened. “His brother worries me. I have seen him conversing at night with a strange man.”

“Strange?” she asked. “How so?”

He chuckled. “It may sound odd, but I can see his eyes. They burn like fire. He dresses himself in the black robes of a priest, and I cannot find his tracks come the morning. That doesn’t happen, Aurelia. If it moves, I can track it. And I can’t find a thing.”

“These two brothers are certainly a mystery,” Aurelia said.

“When will you meet this other brother?” Dieredon asked.

“Qurrah?” Aurelia shrugged. “When Harruq is ready for us to meet.”

“Very well. I will continue tracking them. There have been no murders for the past few days. It seems our warnings have worked, for now.”

Aurelia smiled. “Praise Celestia for that. May she watch over you, Dieredon.”

“And you as well, Aurelia Thyne,” he replied.

C lear your mind,” Velixar said to his apprentice. “Let the emptiness give you comfort.”

The wind blew, swirling cold through his ragged clothes. Velixar watched his apprentice take several deep breaths.

“For this spell to work, you must have a significant idea in mind,” he said. “Make it bleak and vile. If you are to darken someone’s dreams your own mind must be just as dark.”

Qurrah breathed out, his eyelids fluttering as a memory surfaced in his meditation.

“Send the image to me, my apprentice. Let me have the anger, the darkness, and the despair.”

Velixar lurched backward as the memory rammed into his mind. Qurrah was unpracticed, and his delivery brutal. Still, the vision did come, clouded and chaotic.

A gang of children slept on a stack of hay. They were filthy, scrawny, and sick with disease. A small rat crept near, its mouth covered with flecks of white foam. When close enough, it latched onto the hand of the biggest child, who awoke screaming. Time distorted so that days passed as that scream lingered. His face paled, his mouth foamed, and then he died, screaming, still screaming.

T he vision ended. Velixar opened his eyes.

“What is it that I saw?” he asked.

“The second time I ever killed,” Qurrah said. “I watched that wretched bully succumb to madness from the disease carried by an undead rat. He took something I made for my brother, and I made him pay dearly for it.”

The man in black nodded, going over the memory in his mind.

“Could be darker, though,” he said. “You need not use memories, but they are easier to project. Any thought can be sent to those who slumber. After you have practiced, we will try with images you created on your own.”

The half-orc pulled his robes around him and looked back to the city. “When will we assault Woodhaven?” he asked.

Velixar’s face was an unmoving stone. “When did I say we would?”

“When we first met,” Qurrah said. “The cooperation between the races needed ending. If we are to destroy our home, I must know when.”

Then Velixar did something completely unexpected. He laughed.

“It will not be our hands that destroy Woodhaven,” Velixar said. “King Vaelor will do so for us, starting a war that will give us the dead we need.”

“How?” Qurrah asked.

The fire burned in Velixar’s eyes, deep with anticipation.

“I will darken his dreams, just as I have shown you. He is a cowardly man, and fears the elves already. I played a large part in his banishing the elves from his city. But after I move he will want them gone from all his lands, including here.”

The man in black gestured to the city nestled against the forest.

“This city has long been treated neutral even though it resides within Neldar’s border. The elves will not take kindly to removal from a home many have lived in since before our dear king’s grandparents were alive.”

“I eagerly await the bloodshed,” Qurrah said. He bowed to his master.

“Go. The night is young. Taint the dreams of the slumbering.”

Qurrah left Velixar to sit alone before the fire. The dark night sang a song of crickets and wind. Even in the quiet, Dieredon entered the light of the fire without alerting the man in black.

“Greetings, traveler,” the elf said, bowing. “The town is not far, and all are welcome. Would you not sleep in safety rather than in the wild?”

Velixar looked at the elf, dressed in camouflaged armor and holding his wicked bow.

“You are a scoutmaster for the Quellan elves, are you not?” he asked.

“I am. And you have remained outside our village for several days yet vanish with the morning sun.”

“Have I done something wrong?” Velixar asked.

Dieredon frowned, noticing the subtle yet constant changes to the man’s facial features. His instincts cried out in warning. This man was dangerous.

“Children have been dying in our forest, all found horribly butchered,” Dieredon said.

“As you can plainly see, I am nowhere near the forest,” Velixar said. His voice was calm, disarming. Dieredon did not buy it.

“Give me your name,” he said.

“Earn the privilege,” Velixar countered. The elf’s arms blurred, and then the bow was in his hands. He pulled no arrow, though, for he held the weapon much like one would hold a staff.

“Leave this place,” Dieredon ordered as two long blades snapped out of either side of the bow and many spikes punched out the front. The man in black rose to his feet, an aura of death and despair rolling out from him.

“You should not threaten those who can rip the bones from your body with a thought,” he said, his voice dripping with venom.

“And you should not threaten an elf who can tear out your throat before a single word of a spell may pass through your lips. Go. Now.”

“As you wish,” Velixar said, giving a low, mocking bow. Then he was gone, fading away like smoke on a strong wind. Dieredon sprinted back to Woodhaven, knowing that the darkness was no longer safe to him.