David Dalglish - Weight of Blood

A roar from Harruq at their heels spurned them on. They charged the line, crying out for aid.

“A creature attacked our town,” shouted the mother. “Please, my daughter is still there. They might hurt her, please, help us!”

“There’s two,” shouted one of the farmers. “They killed my wife! You have to…”

Their words trailed off once they were close enough to see clearly. Their saviors were men, orc, and elf, and they were dead. Flesh hung from their bones, pale and rotting. Wounds spotted nearly every one, although no blood poured from them. Their eyes were open, but they saw little.

“Ashhur help us,” a farmer murmured before the line advanced upon them. Exhausted, and with the Forest Butcher at their heels, they could not run. Velixar’s army of undead tore the seven apart and cast their remains to the dirt. So ended the last life of Cornrows.

H arruq halted before the mess that had been his prey. The line of undead stood motionless, their dead eyes looking nowhere. The wind blew through them, shifting their hair and whistling through the holes in their bodies. The half-orc said nothing, just stared at the carnage and the servants of his master as he waited for Qurrah. The mindless rage that had consumed him slowly faded. By the time his brother arrived, it was all but a memory.

“The undead took them,” Qurrah said, his breath quick and shallow. “Velixar did not trust us.”

“I trust little,” Velixar said, stepping through the line of his servants. “The truth is I do not take risks. If any survived you would have been identified and my plans ruined.”

Both brothers bowed to their master.

“What are the plans you speak of?” Harruq asked.

“In time, my dear bone general, I will tell you both. For now, though, I must deal with your brother.” Velixar brought his gaze to the young necromancer.

“Let us return to the village. It is time we test your power.”

T he three stood in the center of the town, corpses scattered in all directions. There was an eerie silence creeping about, tickling Harruq’s spine with its soft touch. He held the hilts of his twin blades in his hands, drawing comfort from them. At that dark moment, it was his only comfort.

“You know what I ask of you,” Velixar said.

“I do,” Qurrah said. “I pray I do not disappoint.”

He closed his eyes, his hands stretched to either side. His fingers hooked and curled in strange ways, many times so twisted and odd that Harruq could not bear to watch them dance. Words spilled from the frail half-orc’s lips. Some were strong, demanding, while others came limping out, twisted in form and barely existing as they were meant to exist. The words, however, did not matter as much as the dark power rolling forth from Qurrah. His sheer will would determine the full strength of the spell.

A cold wind came blasting in, seemingly from all directions. Faster and faster, the words poured from Qurrah’s pale lips. Harruq braced himself as his hair fluttered before his eyes. The spell neared completion, and Velixar hissed in sheer pleasure at the power flaring from his apprentice. Qurrah shrieked out one final word, the signal, the climax of the spell.

“ Rise! ”

All around corpses staggered to their feet.

“Qurrah,” Harruq stammered but could say no more.

“Eight,” Qurrah gasped, dropping to his knees. “It is…I am sorry, master.”

Velixar walked about, examining each of the undead farmers. He remained quiet, hiding all emotion from his apprentice and even refusing to look at him.

“This is the first time you have ever brought the dead back to life,” Velixar said. “Correct?”

“Of this size, yes,” Qurrah answered. His entire body rose and fell with his unsteady gasps of breath.

The man in black turned to him.

“When I was first taught that same spell I managed only four. Rise from your feet, Qurrah Tun.” He turned to the undead. “Kneel!” he shouted to them. At once, the eight bowed to Qurrah. Velixar placed a hand on the half-orc’s shoulder.

“It is your servants that should bow to you,” he said. “And one could not ask for a more gifted disciple.”

Qurrah stood but kept his head bowed. Harruq shifted on his feet, scared and confused. The eyes of his brother…tears?

“Thank you, my master,” whispered the half-orc. “I have never felt more honored.”

Velixar placed a hand atop Qurrah’s head and accepted the tears he knew the half-orc tried to hide. He had long thought the weaker emotions burned from his soul but that night he felt an overwhelming sense of pride.

“Harruq,” Velixar said, his normally unshakable voice faltering. “Escort your brother home. Protect him, even unto death. He will usher in a new age to this world. Of this I have no doubt.” He shouted an order to Qurrah’s undead. The eight obeyed, marching out of town to join the rest of Velixar’s army.

“I will take control now,” he said to his disciple. “In time, the burden of sustaining life in them will seem weightless. Until then, let me bear it. Look at me.”

Qurrah did, his eyes red and his face wet. “Yes master?” he asked. No weakness tainted his voice. The man in black put a hand on either side of Qurrah’s face and drew him close.

“Become a god among men,” he whispered. “Remain faithful to me, and to Karak, and I shall see it come to pass.”

Qurrah nodded but said nothing. Instead, he turned and joined his brother.

“Let’s go home,” he said.

“I’m thinking that’s a great idea,” Harruq said. The two stepped around the bodies of the slain as they headed east, leaving Velixar alone in the emptiness of Cornrows.

“Incredible,” Velixar said when they were gone. “Never would I have guessed they had such power.” He paused, listening to the words of his master. The man in black smiled.

“If you didn’t know then I do not feel as blind,” he said. “He will surpass me. Surpass us all. Should I bring him to your dark paladins?”

Karak’s answer was swift.

Let him learn at your side. He loves you, and this love will drive him to power not seen since I walked Dezrel. Use it. Give me a sacrifice worthy of my name. Burn the east to the ground.

Velixar closed his eyes and bowed his head in acknowledgement.

“Only in absolute emptiness is there order,” he said, the goal of all those who worshiped Karak and knew the true purpose of their lives. “And I will bring order.”

T he Tun brothers did not go straight home that night. Harruq veered them off into the grassy hills south of Woodhaven.

“Why do we go this way?” Qurrah asked, his arm draped around his brother. His sagging body seemed ready to collapse into slumber at any time.

“I need to pick up the swords I dropped,” Harruq said quietly. “I want to train with them.”

Qurrah nodded so absently that Harruq wondered if his brother even heard him. They walked in silence under the beauty of the stars.

“Hey, Qurrah?”

“Yes, brother?”

“What we did…is it…”

“Did you revel in the power granted to you?” Qurrah asked. Harruq paused, searching for an honest answer.

“Aye,” he said at last. “I did.”

“Then why do you now question it?”

Harruq shrugged. “Velixar’s strong. What do you think he wants with us?”

“Order,” Qurrah said. “We will kill, brother. It is all we are good at. It was what we were made for. What other purpose do you see for your life?”

Harruq shrugged. “I said it before. I’m here to protect you.”

“Then kill those that seek to kill me,” Qurrah said, a bit of his sleepiness leaving him. “Our master has given us so much. Power. Weapons. A purpose. What more could we ever ask for?”