David Dalglish: Weight of Blood

“These brother gods did not make their own creation. Instead, they made man, much the same as man existed in their former world. They wanted to make a paradise, one of justice and order. The world they came from was full of chaos, death and murder. This world, this land of Dezrel, would be different.”

Both men shared a soft laugh, Velixar’s far bitterer than Qurrah’s.

“What caused their failure?” Qurrah asked.

“Karak and Ashhur spoiled their creations. Crops grew bountiful and healthy. A single prayer cured all sickness and disease. Mankind spread across the land with remarkable speed, forming two kingdoms. East of the Rigon River was Neldar, ruled by Karak. To the west was Mordan, governed by Ashhur. However, there was a delta at the end of the river controlled by none. Within were a few small villages with no government, no ruler. Karak brought his troops to establish order. Ashhur was quick to defend it, and in turn, claim it his own.”

“You speak of centuries ago,” Qurrah interrupted. “Yet you claim to be one of Karak’s first.”

“I was his high priest, half-orc,” Velixar said, his eyes narrowing. “He blessed me so I would never die of sickness, age, or blade. I have watched the world shape, and I have watched gods make war. Do not accuse me of a lying tongue. The truth is always enough, even for those who walk in the darkness.”

“Forgive me, master,” Qurrah said, bowing. His teeth chattered in the cold.

Velixar waved a hand. The dwindling fire between them flared back to a healthy blaze.

“The two brothers were arrogant to think they could create a paradise with a creature so full of faults as man,” Velixar continued. “I saw the fight waged in the small town of Haven, there in the center of the delta. It is an awesome thing to watch gods battle. Ashhur fled before either could strike a killing blow. I summoned our armies, as did the priests of Ashhur. Think now of the many deformed creatures that walk this world. Know that they were all mere animals before the gods turned them into soldiers for their war. The elves were vicious in this time, slaying any that dared come near their forests. But some elves did side with Karak, determined to help end the war so the world could heal.”

“Did Celestia not interfere?” Qurrah asked.

In the darkness, Qurrah watched as Velixar’s face curled into a deep snarl.

“Celestia befriended both brothers, but she took Ashhur to be her lover. She begged each to stop. Neither listened. It was a dark time, Qurrah. All squabbles and wars since are a pittance compared. Ashhur’s great city of Mordeina nearly toppled to my hand, but then the priests of Ashhur brought the dead to life to fight against us. Yes, Qurrah, it was the priests of Ashhur, not Karak, who first created the undead. We were beaten back, forced into Veldaren with little hope to survive.”

The man in black pulled back his hood to reveal a long scar. It ran from his left ear, across his throat, and then down past the neck of his robe. “I died in that battle. Celestia had begged Ashhur to make peace. He should have listened. The two gods fought once more as I remained a rotting body.”

The fire between the two suddenly roared with life. Its flames danced high in the air far above their heads. Within Qurrah saw images dancing. They were scattered and random, without time or order. He saw a small town strewn with corpses. He saw massive armies of undead marching across the plains to battle a horde of hyena-men. He saw the walls of a great city smashed to pieces as men climbed over, swords high and armor shining. And then he saw Karak and Ashhur cross blades.

He tore his eyes from the fire, unable to withstand the strength of the image. The fire shrank back to a small blaze.

“Most men cowered at the sight of it,” Velixar said. “Do not be ashamed. There might have been a victor, but Celestia interfered at last. She cast each god far beyond the sky, to where she herself had made a home. She gave half to Ashhur and half to Karak. The souls of the soldiers that fought and died alongside them were given to their masters. She cursed the elves that sided with Karak, branding them the ‘orcish,’ or ‘betrayers’ in her tongue. With the brother gods locked away from the world, and each other, Celestia issued her final decree.”

“What was it?” asked Qurrah after Velixar remained quiet for a moment.

“She ordered that Ashhur and Karak continue the fight they refused to end for all eternity. Many centuries have passed, Qurrah. I am the hilt of Karak’s sword. I was his greatest priest in the war against Ashhur, and I have not relinquished my position.”

The man’s eyes grew so bright that the half-orc felt the urge to grovel.

“Ashhur himself killed me. Karak brought me back. He cursed those who had failed him, changing his realm into the abyss. I was the only one he spared, and he gave me life with all of his dwindling power.”

The two sat in silence as the fire crackled between them. Qurrah dwelt on all he had heard, trying to decide what he believed. Strange as it seemed to him, he believed every word.

“So what the priests say,” Qurrah asked, “of how Karak is the god of death and darkness, is it true?”

Velixar’s eyes narrowed, and that vicious snarl returned.

“There were good men and evil men in his abyss after the war. The punishment was not to be eternal, not then, but Celestia chose Ashhur over my master.” Qurrah watched as Velixar’s hands clenched so tight his nails dug deep into his skin. Flesh tore, but no blood surfaced. “She took all who were good out of the abyss and gave their care to Ashhur. Left with nothing but thieves and murderers, Karak had no choice but to make it eternal. The abyss is dark, Qurrah, and there is fire, but there is also order.”

“What do you wish of me?” Qurrah asked. Velixar’s face softened into a dark smile.

“To fight the war. Celestia may have condemned it to continue forever, but she slumbers now. With enough power, we can defeat the goddess. We can bring all of Dezrel under our control and declare victory for Karak.”

Qurrah stood, his eyes glimmering with anticipation. “Where will we strike first?”

“Woodhaven is a symbol of cooperation between races. That must be ended. We will burn Veldaren to ash thereafter. Once all of Neldar is in chaos we may proceed however we wish.”

“Will we strike the elves?” Qurrah asked.

“Why do you ask?”

The half-orc laughed.

“Mother was an orc who had lived here in Woodhaven. I do not know her name, other than what she instructed my brother and I to call her: Mama Tun. Our father was from Woodhaven, she told us. We later found out he was an elf, bizarre as it seems.”

“It is an interesting elf who would mate with an orc,” Velixar said.

“No true elf would,” Qurrah said. “This means he was weak to have done so. His weakness has seeped into my blood.”

“You hold no weakness,” the man in black said. “The blood of orcs and elves is more similar than either race would care to admit. What happened to your mother?”

“I don’t know. I was sold,” he said, his face visibly darkening.

“To whom?”

“I was never given his name,” Qurrah said. His voice, already soft and quiet, grew even quieter. “He was Master. That was all that mattered.”

“Tell me of your time with Master,” Velixar ordered.

“There is little to tell,” Qurrah said. “I was his slave. I cleaned up after him while he fed me scraps of his failed experiments. I slept in a cage. One time he caught me practicing words of magic. As punishment, he shoved a hot poker down my throat, ruining my voice into what you hear now. One night tribes of hyena-men stormed his tower, wanting vengeance for the many of their kind he had taken to butcher and maim.”