David Dalglish - The Death of Promises

The girl smiled.

“Yes, master, but don’t worry about pleasing me, I’m here to please you. Isn’t that right, Qurrah?”

The half-orc stammered an unintelligible response. Tessanna laughed and buried her face into his robes. Velixar stood and turned his back to them, and in the light of the fire he seemed a hunched, angered demon.

“Sleep well. The Mug tribe will not follow, not until we show them our strength. You will kill tomorrow, both of you. Be ready for it.”

“Yes, master,” Qurrah said.

“And Qurrah…” Velixar shifted his head. “There is a world beyond you and your lover. Never forget that.”

He left them to the dwindling light of the fire.

T essanna’s arms were empty when she awoke. She pushed herself up on her elbow and glanced around. The morning was still early, with only a sliver of the sun climbing above the horizon. The orcs were still asleep.

“Qurrah,” she asked, rubbing away the tiredness from her eyes. She saw a hunched form far from the camp, sitting cross-legged with his back to her. She stood, pulled her thin clothing tight about her, and started walking. In the cold she could easily see her breath. The sky was gray and overcast. She wondered if it would snow.

The lone figure shifted, and as she neared she could see it was Qurrah busy reading Velixar’s journal. Her slender mouth frowned at the sight of him, cold and shivering with the book on his lap.

“You should be by a fire,” she told him. The half-orc looked up from his reading.

“The cold helps me focus,” he said. “Velixar was right, Tessanna. That damn specter’s always been right.”

She sat beside him and wrapped an arm around his waist.

“What’s bothering you, love?”

“I’ve become passive,” he said, slamming the book shut. “I do as commanded, as expected. I disappoint him.”

“That’s easy to fix,” she said, brushing away his bangs to kiss his forehead. “Take charge. Give your opinion, whether he wants it or not. You are no fool and no weakling. Even the wisest would listen to your advice.”

“I plan on doing more than that,” Qurrah said as they stood together. “Much more.”

He returned to the camp. In her heart she wanted to follow, but she knew Qurrah needed to find the answer on his own. The life he had shared with Velixar was unknown to her. So she stayed and watched the sun rise, letting the little warmth it offered seep into her pale skin and sad black eyes.

North of the camp Velixar waited, also watching the rise of the sun. He sensed Qurrah’s approach but did not acknowledge him.

“Where is the next camp?” Qurrah asked. The man in black crossed his arms and remained quiet. “I asked where is it?”

“Several miles north. About four hundred orcs, just a pittance of the Mug tribe’s numbers. Why do you ask?”

“When we arrive I will recruit them. I know what will make them bow.”

“I have led many armies, Qurrah,” Velixar said, raising an eyebrow. “And I have had thousands of orcs swear allegiance as my puppets. Have you?”

“I have the blood of orcs in my veins,” the half-orc said. “And I will make them respect it. They will swear to you, all of them.”

“They will swear to Karak,” Velixar corrected.

“I don’t care. I don’t do this for him.”

The man in black chuckled and gestured back to the camp.

“Yes, I know. You do it for her. For Tessanna. Whether she wants it or not.”

“She does,” Qurrah insisted.

“How many will you kill to heal her mind?” Velixar continued. “You would sacrifice this entire world just for that? And what happens, Qurrah? What happens when Karak comes and rids her of the child, of the apathy, of the wild animal? Will you recognize the girl that remains? Will the lives you have ruined be justified?”

The half-orc glared at Velixar, meeting the burning red eyes without fear.

“You question what I do? You question the very acts you yourself wish me to commit?”

“It is not the end, Qurrah, it is the means that matters!” Velixar insisted. “It is what we do, every bit of it, that defines who we are. I do not want you as my disciple if your allegiance to Karak is only of convenience.”

He quieted as he turned back to the sunrise. Qurrah looked to the ground, remembering what he had told his brother when he questioned their killing of children. Take pride in everything you do, he had told him. So did he take pride in what he did now, marching alongside orcs in a campaign to release a war god into his world?

“You were so promising,” Velixar said, breaking their silence. “For a time you saw what Karak offered. Everything you have now, Karak gave you. All you desired was power and the skill to use it, and I gave you both. In my absence you lost your way. You’ve succumbed to womanly flesh, forgetting that it is a pleasure, not a purpose.”

“What is it you want from me?” Qurrah asked.

Velixar turned, and the force in his eyes sent Qurrah to one knee.

“I want you at my side, but not for her. Not to mend a mind that is beautiful in its chaos. I want you to relish, and worship, every second of what you and I are, and what we are meant to do. You once relished the thought of Neldar burning. I want you to feel that excitement once more.”

“What of my brother?” Qurrah dared asked.

“Ashhur has corrupted him. I made a choice, him or you. You were always my disciple, and he, your bodyguard. Without you I have no need of him. So I chose you.”

The half-orc stood, a sudden fear piercing his gut. He met Velixar’s gaze.

“What do you mean you made a choice?” he asked, his voice nearly shaking with kindling rage.

“I killed Harruq’s child,” he said. Each word pierced Qurrah like a burning arrow. “I sent her into the woods and told her to play. It needed to be done.”

“You?” Qurrah said, his fists shaking. “You turned my brother against me. You tore apart our lives like we were your playthings!”

“I did it with a heavy heart!” Velixar shouted back. “I had to make you see what you yourself were in danger of becoming. Harruq turned his back on Karak. I would not lose you as well.”

A terrible silence fell between them. Qurrah felt all he knew flailing in a cyclone. He remembered the pain on Tessanna’s face, and how she had shrieked against him in her sorrow.

“Do you understand now,” Velixar asked. “Aullienna died because you thought of nothing else but your lover. You felt your end justified your means, but the truth is your actions should justify themselves. I will kill thousands, but I do it for my god, without remorse, without pity. You will kill as many, but what phantom do you do it for?”

“You think me a disappointment,” Qurrah said, his soft voice gradually rising in anger and volume. “But I will show you the strength I have gained. When we reach the camp, I will make them bow and serve Karak. I will not cheapen my sacrifices, Velixar. I will not regret what I have done.”

He stormed off. The man in black watched him go, his calm facade turning into pride.

“Welcome back, Qurrah,” he whispered to the morning air.

Tessanna found him an hour later, marching north with nothing but his whip and Velixar’s journal. His breath was labored and weak, and his stride unsteady, but his eyes were wide with fury and determination.

“Why did you leave me?” she asked him as she dismounted from Seletha.

“Do you want what I have offered?” Qurrah said, whirling on her and grabbing her shoulders. “Do you truly want your mind made whole?”

“I want what you want,” she said, shying away from him.

“No!” Qurrah shouted, not caring that he spit blood as he did. “What is it that you want? Do you want me to change what you are?”