David Dalglish - Weight of Blood

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.