Weight of Blood

9

H arruq 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.

I t 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 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.

This red-dream self looked straight at him and spoke but he 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, his shoulders heaving with each breath. 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.

A s the two brothers left, another soul traveled in the dark. He made not a sound as he moved. Any attempts 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.

It had been two days since he had heard word from his friend, Jeremiah Stoutmire. The elf had an uncanny gift for reading clouds and understanding weather. If it would rain a few drops the following day, he would know. Jeremiah, being the farmer that he was, craved every bit of knowledge over the weather that he could get. Every other day some young man or woman from Cornrows came to him in Woodhaven, eager for news about the heavens. But not the past two days. Normally Dieredon would have given this no thought, but times were not normal. He had been unable to locate the mysterious man in black for many nights, but he knew he was still there. His dark dreams told him so.

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 with their doors open wide 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 their floors smeared with gore. One pained Dieredon’s heart greatly, for 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 of the tracks ended in dried smears of red upon the grass. A collection of tracks led far past the others. They ended at once, the town a somber image in the distance. The pool of blood there was enormous. 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 said. 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.

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

“So what is your surprise for me?” he asked.

Aurelia smiled from her seat against a tree. She patted the grass beside her.

“Sit, doggie. How’s your head?”

“Very funny,” Harruq grumbled as he plopped down. “And my head is fine.”

From behind her back, Aurelia pulled out a small blue object.

“Ever seen one of these before?” she asked. The half-orc stared at it, thinking. Suddenly he knew, and he looked at Aurelia in total disbelief.

“Is that a book?”

The elf nodded. “Is it a safe assumption that you don’t know how to read?”

Harruq frowned at the book. “You’re not going to teach me elvish, are you? I mean, it’s me, after all.”

Aurelia gave him a playful jab to the side.

“No, it is in the gods’ language, your gods anyway. Karak and Ashhur got something right having humans speak and write the same language.”

“What do you mean?”

“Do you not know the story of Karak and Ashhur?” The half-orc shook his head. “I will tell you it, if you care to hear. Mankind, as well as orcs, wolf-men, hyena-men, and all the other odd races scattered about Dezrel, are less than five hundred years old. Many elves remember the arrival of the brother gods and the creation of man.”

“Huh,” Harruq said. “You may have to tell me the story sometime.” He grinned at Aurelia. “So, are you one of the elves that were there way back then?”

She gave him a wink.

“No, but my father was. I’m not that old, Harruq. In elven terms, I am but a child.”

“How old a child?” he prodded.

“Seventy.”

“ Seventy? ”

The elf laughed.

“Don’t be too shocked. You have elven blood in you as well. I wouldn’t be surprised if you lasted a couple hundred years yourself. This is assuming someone doesn’t kill you, which I find rather unlikely.”

Harruq gasped at the thought. He had always felt akin to man and orcs, whose lives burnt out so quickly. The idea of living two hundred years was…well, it was more than he could handle.

“Strange,” he said. “Guess I have plenty of time to learn to read, don’t I?”

Aurelia laughed. “You do, but I would prefer we not take too many years. Spending that much time with you is bound to give me bad habits.”

She handed over the book. Harruq opened it and flipped through the pages. Each one was filled with various symbols, lines, and curls. Aurelia winced at the rough way he handled the paper.

“What are these?” he asked.

“The human alphabet. And you’re going to learn it.”

He protested, but it was a weak protest. Aurelia opened up the book and pointed at a large colorful object.

“This is the letter A. Say it with me. A.” She frowned when Harruq did not participate. “What?” she asked.

“You’re treating me like I’m a little child,” he sulked. Aurelia promptly hit him over the head with her staff.

“Until you get the alphabet down you are a little child. Now stop whining and start repeating. A.”

They went over the alphabet several times until Harruq could repeat most without thinking too hard.

“I want you to take it home with you,” she said when they were done. To her annoyance, Harruq refused to accept the book.

“I really don’t want to take it,” he said.

“Why not?”

“Well I, just…” His face turned a mixture of gray and red. “Qurrah doesn’t know I’m doing this.”

Aurelia sighed and set the book down beside her.

“Why don’t you tell him about me? Well? Why not?”

“I’m just embarrassed, alright,” he finally shouted.

“Embarrassed? Why?”

“Qurrah’s smart, can read and everything. He’d want to know why I never asked him. That and, well, you’re a…you know…”

“A girl?”

Harruq grew redder.

“An elf!”

“What’s wrong with that?”

Harruq viciously uprooted blades of grass with his fingers. “I don’t know.”

Aurelia stared at Harruq for a while, her eyes probing. The half-orc endured the gaze, concentrating fully on his grass-removing project.

“I would feel better having met your brother,” she said at last. “But you may take as long as you wish.”

“Good. Can we spar now?”

“Of course,” Aurelia said, picking up her staff.

H ours later, they finished and said their goodbyes.

“See you tomorrow,” Harruq called, sheathing his blades. The elf did not reply as she vanished behind the trees. He stared after her for a bit, then turned toward home. Before he could take two steps, a sudden weight crashed into his side. He tumbled best he could, his shoulder absorbing much of the impact. His legs tucked underneath him and pushed, shooting him back to his feet. Out came his swords.

Standing before him was Dieredon, his bow held in both hands like a staff. Long blades stretched out from either end, tiny razor teeth lining the front. The elf twirled the bow in his hands and then charged. Two quick hits batted one of Harruq’s swords out and away. A feint, so quick Harruq blocked on instinct, took care of the other. With his weapons wide, the half-orc was exposed. Dieredon wasted no time. His knee smashed the half-orc’s groin. As pain doubled him over, a snap kick smacked his chin, splattering blood. He dropped.

The sharp tip of a blade pressed against Harruq’s throat before he knew what was happening.

“Move,” Dieredon said. “Please, move. Give me excuse to kill you.”

Harruq was too stunned and disoriented to give him what he wanted. Instead he lay there, his nose throbbing and his swords limp in his hands.

“What do you want?” he asked, ignoring the sharp pain on his throat as a tiny drop of blood trickled down his neck.

“The entire village of Cornrows is missing,” Dieredon said. “Most likely dead.”

Harruq’s breathing quickened. His hands tightened around the hilts of his weapons.

“I had nothing to do with it,” he said. “Why would I?”

“Children have been dying since you arrived here in Woodhaven,” Dieredon replied. “Butchered, with intestines removed, strange carvings on the bodies, and pieces of them missing. We thought a sick mind, but now I understand better. Necromancy requires many interesting artifacts for spells. Your brother is a necromancer, isn’t he?”

Harruq said nothing. He fought back his swelling anger and panic.

“I don’t understand what Aurelia sees in you,” Dieredon continued. “You murdered the children and gave them to your brother. You’re the Forest Butcher. Admit it so I may kill you.”

“I will admit no such thing,” Harruq said, his jaw trembling. “You’re guessing.”

“I have also seen your brother meeting with the strange man in black with the ever-changing face. What is his name, Harruq? What is it he offers you?”

“You’re out of your mind.”

The tip buried in deeper. The elf lowered his face so that the fury in his eyes was all Harruq could see.

“Yes, I am out of my mind. I will let you live. Until Aurelia sees you for what you are, I will spare your life. But know I will be watching you, and I will be watching your brother. One false move and I kill you both. Is that clear?”

Harruq nodded, shivering as he felt the tip of the blade rubbing up and down against the tender skin of his throat.

“Good. Pleasant days, half-orc. May Celestia watch over you…and condemn your actions to death.”

The biting tip left his throat, the blades in the bow retracted, and then the elf was gone. Harruq struggled to his feet, clutching his neck as he gasped for air.

“Damn elf,” he cursed. “How dare you threaten us?”

His hands shook violently as his adrenaline faded. He had been terrified. He thought the elf would kill him, yet he didn’t.

“Big mistake, elfie,” he said. He picked up his swords and sheathed them. “I’ll make you pay for that.”

After a bit of debate, he decided not to tell Qurrah. Velixar had already made it clear they needed to be careful. Now he understood why. He wouldn’t tell Aurelia, either. That would be stupid, and stupid he was not…most of the time.

“I need a drink,” he said, turning toward the town and trudging back. All he could think about was getting a good, stiff drink. If he was lucky, he might get in a good bar fight. Nothing helped him forget his worries better than walloping a fellow drunken idiot.