David Dalglish - Weight of Blood

When the village came into view of his eagle-like eyes, his gut sank. Not a single sign of life decorated the streets or moved in the fields. He prayed to Celestia he was wrong but his heart knew he wasn’t.

He found nothing to convince him otherwise as he quickly scanned the village. He found many homes with their doors open wide yet none answered him when he called inside. Everywhere, staining the earth a dark crimson, there was blood.

“It is as I feared,” he whispered to the night. He stood, took his bow off his shoulder, and then thoroughly searched the town. He found no trace of life barring a few rats that fed off the now unguarded remnants of food. Several homes, those with their doors smashed open, had their floors smeared with gore. One pained Dieredon’s heart greatly, for amid a great red circle on a wooden floor laid a small, bloodstained doll.

He said a silent prayer before moving on.

At the edge of the town, he found many frantic tracks fleeing west. He followed them, wincing as some of the tracks ended in dried smears of red upon the grass. A collection of tracks led far past the others. They ended at once, the town a somber image in the distance. The pool of blood there was enormous. Chasing them the whole while were twin sets of tracks, one of enormous weight, the other light as a feather.

“Every one of them,” he said, his hand clutching his bow so tight his knuckles were whiter than the moon. “They slaughtered even those that fled. Yet there are no corpses.”

The corpses had been taken. Or made to walk again.

“The man with infinite faces,” Dieredon said. Another thought came to him. “Or was it you, Qurrah Tun?”

He raced back to Woodhaven, his mind decided. It was time he had a talk with one of the brothers Tun.

H arruq arrived at the sparring point in the forest less disheveled than the previous day, and he seemed in better spirits.

“So what is your surprise for me?” he asked.

Aurelia smiled from her seat against a tree. She patted the grass beside her.

“Sit, doggie. How’s your head?”

“Very funny,” Harruq grumbled as he plopped down. “And my head is fine.”

From behind her back, Aurelia pulled out a small blue object.

“Ever seen one of these before?” she asked. The half-orc stared at it, thinking. Suddenly he knew, and he looked at Aurelia in total disbelief.

“Is that a book?”

The elf nodded. “Is it a safe assumption that you don’t know how to read?”

Harruq frowned at the book. “You’re not going to teach me elvish, are you? I mean, it’s me, after all.”

Aurelia gave him a playful jab to the side.

“No, it is in the gods’ language, your gods anyway. Karak and Ashhur got something right having humans speak and write the same language.”

“What do you mean?”

“Do you not know the story of Karak and Ashhur?” The half-orc shook his head. “I will tell you it, if you care to hear. Mankind, as well as orcs, wolf-men, hyena-men, and all the other odd races scattered about Dezrel, are less than five hundred years old. Many elves remember the arrival of the brother gods and the creation of man.”

“Huh,” Harruq said. “You may have to tell me the story sometime.” He grinned at Aurelia. “So, are you one of the elves that were there way back then?”

She gave him a wink.

“No, but my father was. I’m not that old, Harruq. In elven terms, I am but a child.”

“How old a child?” he prodded.

“Seventy.”

“ Seventy? ”

The elf laughed.

“Don’t be too shocked. You have elven blood in you as well. I wouldn’t be surprised if you lasted a couple hundred years yourself. This is assuming someone doesn’t kill you, which I find rather unlikely.”

Harruq gasped at the thought. He had always felt akin to man and orcs, whose lives burnt out so quickly. The idea of living two hundred years was…well, it was more than he could handle.

“Strange,” he said. “Guess I have plenty of time to learn to read, don’t I?”

Aurelia laughed. “You do, but I would prefer we not take too many years. Spending that much time with you is bound to give me bad habits.”

She handed over the book. Harruq opened it and flipped through the pages. Each one was filled with various symbols, lines, and curls. Aurelia winced at the rough way he handled the paper.

“What are these?” he asked.

“The human alphabet. And you’re going to learn it.”

He protested, but it was a weak protest. Aurelia opened up the book and pointed at a large colorful object.

“This is the letter A. Say it with me. A.” She frowned when Harruq did not participate. “What?” she asked.

“You’re treating me like I’m a little child,” he sulked. Aurelia promptly hit him over the head with her staff.

“Until you get the alphabet down you are a little child. Now stop whining and start repeating. A.”

They went over the alphabet several times until Harruq could repeat most without thinking too hard.

“I want you to take it home with you,” she said when they were done. To her annoyance, Harruq refused to accept the book.

“I really don’t want to take it,” he said.

“Why not?”

“Well I, just…” His face turned a mixture of gray and red. “Qurrah doesn’t know I’m doing this.”

Aurelia sighed and set the book down beside her.

“Why don’t you tell him about me? Well? Why not?”

“I’m just embarrassed, alright,” he finally shouted.

“Embarrassed? Why?”

“Qurrah’s smart, can read and everything. He’d want to know why I never asked him. That and, well, you’re a…you know…”

“A girl?”

Harruq grew redder.

“An elf!”

“What’s wrong with that?”

Harruq viciously uprooted blades of grass with his fingers. “I don’t know.”

Aurelia stared at Harruq for a while, her eyes probing. The half-orc endured the gaze, concentrating fully on his grass-removing project.

“I would feel better having met your brother,” she said at last. “But you may take as long as you wish.”

“Good. Can we spar now?”

“Of course,” Aurelia said, picking up her staff.

H ours later, they finished and said their goodbyes.

“See you tomorrow,” Harruq called, sheathing his blades. The elf did not reply as she vanished behind the trees. He stared after her for a bit, then turned toward home. Before he could take two steps, a sudden weight crashed into his side. He tumbled best he could, his shoulder absorbing much of the impact. His legs tucked underneath him and pushed, shooting him back to his feet. Out came his swords.

Standing before him was Dieredon, his bow held in both hands like a staff. Long blades stretched out from either end, tiny razor teeth lining the front. The elf twirled the bow in his hands and then charged. Two quick hits batted one of Harruq’s swords out and away. A feint, so quick Harruq blocked on instinct, took care of the other. With his weapons wide, the half-orc was exposed. Dieredon wasted no time. His knee smashed the half-orc’s groin. As pain doubled him over, a snap kick smacked his chin, splattering blood. He dropped.

The sharp tip of a blade pressed against Harruq’s throat before he knew what was happening.

“Move,” Dieredon said. “Please, move. Give me excuse to kill you.”

Harruq was too stunned and disoriented to give him what he wanted. Instead he lay there, his nose throbbing and his swords limp in his hands.

“What do you want?” he asked, ignoring the sharp pain on his throat as a tiny drop of blood trickled down his neck.

“The entire village of Cornrows is missing,” Dieredon said. “Most likely dead.”

Harruq’s breathing quickened. His hands tightened around the hilts of his weapons.