David Dalglish - The Death of Promises

The girl bit her lip and shook her head.

“I like myself, Qurrah. I thought you liked me, too.”

The half-orc collapsed to the ground and buried his face in his hands.

“Then what is it you want,” he asked. “For what reason can I justify the massacre of thousands? I was to sacrifice this world for you, Tessanna. I still will. But I march with the murderer of my brother’s daughter. Karak has guided my life as if I am a pet, trained to fight and kill, but for what reason?”

The shyness vanished as Tessanna heard his words.

“Velixar killed Aullienna?” she asked. The half-orc nodded. She knelt down and pulled his face up so they could look eye to eye.

“Do you know what I want?” she asked. Tears filled her eyes as he shook his head. “I want to live in a world where I don’t feel my mother watching every step I make, preparing me for a fate I don’t want. I want to live where no god will meddle in our lives and kill those we love to ensure our paths.”

“How,” Qurrah asked. “I would accept that so desperately, but how?”

“Velixar offered us escape,” she said. “Thulos can send us away from Dezrel. We keep our promise, and he keeps his. That is what I want.”

“But what we do, is it wrong?”

Tessanna crossed her arms and frowned at him. “Since when do you care about right and wrong? Too many people are suffering. I don’t want us to be one of them.”

The half-orc reached out, and this time she did not shy away. He pulled her close and kissed her lips.

“Before you I wanted nothing but power,” he said.

“And you still should,” she whispered. “I like it when you’re strong. I always have. Don’t change on me now.”

For the first time since Aullienna’s death, he felt the confusion that had clouded his mind finally lift. He kissed her again, nearly shoving his tongue down her throat as he held her tight.

“I’ve almost forgotten what it means to be stronger,” he told her when their lips parted. “What it means to take a life and truly enjoy the taking. I will remember today. Come with me. The camp is not far. We’ve already passed several of their banners.”

“Velixar and his orcs are not far behind,” she told him.

“We don’t need them,” he said, taking her hand. “Not when we are together.”

The girl smiled. “That’s the Qurrah I fell in love with.”

Hand in hand, they marched north, feeling warm despite the cold winter air.

T he Mug tribe was the largest and the strongest of the orc tribes, with numbers in the thousands. Their territory was spread across the Vile Wedge, occupying more than a third of all the land between the two rivers. Camps waving the image of a bloodied wooden cup of ale dotted the entire wedge, each one ruled by a warleader who in turn pledged allegiance to Lummug.

“So what is the plan?” Tessanna asked as they walked through a small valley. Hills stretched to either side of them with towers built atop. Each waved a banner of a bloodied mug. Despite the drunkenness of the sentries within, it would not be long before one glanced down and spotted them.

“They will not expect attack during winter,” Qurrah said. “Food is poor, and the cold is vicious against morale. Our campaign will be swift and short, and Velixar’s undead will need little food.”

At the end of the valley was the camp. Wooden palisades surrounded it, their tops carved into spikes. A giant door made of tree trunks remained wide open. Two guards slumbered in the cold.

“I know we have surprise,” Tessanna said. “What are we to do with that surprise?”

“Make them kneel,” the half-orc said, grinning.

“So dramatic,” she said. “How about specifics.”

“No plan,” Qurrah said. “So no specifics. I will show them my power, and I will make them obey. The orcs are brutish children. They need to believe their lives are at stake when I tell them to bow. Nothing else matters.”

Tessanna clutched his arm and kissed his cheek.

“It’s going to snow soon,” she said. “Will you be warm enough in these robes?”

“No,” Qurrah said. “But I will survive. Prepare your magic. I think we have been spotted.”

A horn sounded from one of the towers. A moment later the other tower joined with its own horn. The guards at the gate readied their spears as hundreds of orcs joined them, howling and bellowing. The air was cold, the morning dull, and the idea of combat both warmed and awakened them. They had armor made of leather, weapons of crude iron, and animal skins for warmth.

Qurrah cast a spell, and then shouted to the camp. His booming voice sounded like a deity taken the form of a spider or a serpent.

“Look upon me, orcs of the Mug tribe. I have the blood of orc in me, just as you. We come bearing an offer. Karak is returning to this world. His power will not be denied. An age ago your kind wielded swords and axes at his side. That is where you gained your strength. That is where you gained your bloodlust. I am a servant of Karak, as you once were. Kneel, and cry out his name, and I will give you everything. I will give you war against the humans. I will give you land to pillage and fields to burn. Cast off your worship of the wild animals of this world. Karak is your god. Will you serve him?”

The leader of the camp, a smaller brother of Lummug, pushed his way to the front. While he might have been smaller than Lummug, he still towered above the nearby orcs by a solid foot.

“Trummug bows to no one,” he shouted as he raised a mighty axe high above his head. “Others bow to the Mugs. You take your god and leave. We not want him.”

“You will serve,” Qurrah said. “Or every one of you will die.”

“Go get ‘em boys,” Trummug shouted. “Whoever brings me his head gets the girl.”

A hundred orcs charged, whooping and hollering. Qurrah laughed despite the danger.

“At last a foe who relishes combat,” he said. “At last a fight where neither side regrets the bloodshed.” Dark magic flared across his fingertips. “It’s about damn time.”

“I will keep us alive,” Tessanna said, a shy smile on her face. “You have your fun.”

The first group of orcs neared, foaming at the mouth as they waved their weapons high.

“For the Mugs!” they screamed. Maniacal bloodlust coursed through their veins. The two strangers were unarmed and weak in form. They should have been an easy kill. Then the half-orc began casting. A black circle stretched from Qurrah’s feet, consuming the grass. From the circle hundreds of tentacles crawled, sparking with electricity. Six orcs died shrieking as the tentacles lashed at their faces and chests, pushing aside the weapons they held up to defend themselves as if they were made of cloth. The gruesome sight slowed the charge, and that time was all Qurrah needed to cast another spell. The bones from the dead orcs tore from their bodies, showering blood in a gruesome rain.

“Kill the demon,” Trummug shouted. “Kill him now!”

“Yes,” Qurrah said. “Kill the demon.”

The bones he commanded pelted the orc force, tearing at their eyes and exposed throats. Tessanna giggled at the carnage it caused.

“Qurrah,” she said. “I want to have a little fun myself.”

Her hands waved in circles that glowed a deep crimson. Two orcs collapsed, blood spurting from every orifice. She took control of the blood, giving it rigidity and energy. She stretched it into a long, bladed weapon. The bloodsword lashed through the orcs, mutilating flesh and severing limbs.

The tentacles vanished, their power spent. A band of orcs charged, furious at seeing so many of their brethren massacred. Qurrah knelt, placed his palms against the dirt, and spoke the words of a spell. When he pointed a finger, a shadowy ghost of a face rose from the earth, with black holes for eyes and a gaping maw that seemed infinite in depth. Then it shrieked. The sound slammed into the orcs like a physical force, shattering bones. They fell, writhing, convulsing, dying.