David Dalglish - Weight of Blood

“I shall do as you command,” Ahrqur said in a lifeless voice.

“Of course,” Velixar said. “There is no other way.”

Ahrqur glanced to Qurrah, and his mouth opened to speak. Both Tun brothers felt a bit of panic, wondering what their new master might say if he learned what they had done. Instead, he closed his mouth and glared at Velixar one last time before running north on legs that would never tire.

“When will you know of his success or failure?” Qurrah asked once his eyes could no longer perceive the elf’s faint outline.

“Immediately,” Velixar whispered. “All he sees, I see. All he hears, I hear. His thoughts, dreams, and nightmares are available to me, hidden behind locked doors to which I now hold the key.”

Again, Qurrah lusted for such power and control. Velixar smiled, clearly seeing the desire the half-orc hid behind his eyes.

“One day you will hold such control. For now, be content with what I have to teach you.”

“And that is, master?” A wicked smile grew across Velixar’s face.

“All that I know.”

Qurrah gave a soft laugh and then nodded.

“I believe that shall suffice.”

Harruq did not know why, but the short exchange sent chills running to the pit of his stomach.

T he next morning Harruq met Aurelia as usual. The elf said nothing of what Dieredon told her, instead focusing on teaching the half-orc how to read.

“The dog…cassid the cat.”

“Chased.”

“Oh. The dog chased the cat.”

A page turned.

“The cat…what’s that say?”

“Climbed.”

“Ah. The cat climbed the tree.”

“Good!”

“Stop treating me like that.”

“Like what?”

“A little kid. I know this book is for kiddies, you don’t have to keep reminding me.”

“Awwww, does da liddle widdy biddy half-orcy feel all stoopy-woopy?”

“I’m going to smack you.”

“Just shut up and read.”

“Fine. The dog circled the tree, but could not get the cat. It was too high.”

“Excellent!”

“Aurry…”

“Yes Harruq?”

A pause. Wisdom prevailed.

“The cat was worried. He could not get down.”

“Sounds like a certain half-orc I know.”

“The cat’s in a tree, not vines.”

“Want to change that?”

“You’re going to write in the book?”

“I meant you, not the cat.”

Another pause.

“So the cat waited in the tree as the dog barked. The dog got tired and fell asleep. The cat was happy. He climbed down the tree. Then the cat clawed out the eyes of the doggie and bit his throat.”

“That’s not what it says!”

“Does too!”

“Where?”

“Right…there!”

Thumping footsteps of a heavy person running. Soft footsteps chased after. Then the sound of a great babbling spring, quickly followed by cursing and grumbling.

T he night was hot and miserable when Velixar met the half-orc brothers and told them the news they had long waited to hear.

“Ahrqur was successful, and in ways beyond what I could have hoped for,” he told them, joy dancing in his features. “King Vaelor has long felt inferior to the kings of his past. I have haunted his dreams, and I know his heart. He wishes a war with the elves to prove his worth. Ahrqur gave him his reason and it was beautiful.”

“What is it your slave did?” Qurrah asked.

“In a court full of human nobles, he broke through, slew four of them, and then took the king’s left ear.” Velixar laughed. “He killed five guards before he was slain. Two more died in the fiery consumption of his corpse.”

Qurrah smiled at the image. Harruq’s blood heated at the thought of battle, but the coldness in his stomach refused to succumb.

“Vaelor cannot yet risk war,” Velixar continued. “He must have all the people see him as a peaceful man driven to conflict. History does not favor the warmongers, not among the peasants and scribes. They favor so-called great men, driven to war by horrid acts of others.”

The man in black spat his disdain.

“It is a sad age when conquerors are seen as warmongering butchers and the cowards backed into corners are seen as the true heroes. Ashhur can be blamed for poisoning so many with such rubbish.”

“What will the king do?” asked Harruq, his hands rubbing the hilts of his blades.

“He has already evicted elven blood from his kingdom. Woodhaven, however, still contains hundreds of elves. In his pride, Vaelor will demand them to leave. A messenger is already en route. I have haunted his dreams as well. He is but a distant cousin to the king, spoiled and stupid. He carries orders to the elves of Woodhaven: leave or die.”

“They will never leave,” Qurrah said. “They are stubborn and will defend their homes until death.”

“It is more than that,” Velixar said. “The Quellan elves have already been pushed across the rivers by the Mordan people. Both races of elves fear for their existence. Celestia has grown distant to her clerics. Mankind breeds like mice while the elves find themselves gradually dwindling. A man fighting an elf is like a grain of sand blowing against a stone, yet strong winds and fields of sand can reduce the sturdiest of boulders to dust.”

“What are we to do?” Qurrah asked.

Velixar looked at him and smiled.

“Kill the messenger and the guards that accompany him. Vaelor will be furious at the death of family, however distant. He will have every excuse to war with the elves and we will exploit that war to our purposes.”

“Will you accompany us?” Qurrah asked.

Velixar shook his head.

“Bring me the head of the messenger. I will retrieve an elf to deliver it to the king.”

The man in black stood and motioned to the stars.

“Follow the left wing,” he said, his finger pointing to the constellation in the stars referred to as the raven. “It will not be long before you see the light of their campfire. Make haste. The battle grows closer with every move we make.”

“Yes, master,” they echoed before beginning their trek.

I t was not long before they saw the firelight in the distance.

“Can you run, brother?” Harruq asked.

“No, I cannot. The night is long, please, I will hurry, but let me rest when I must.”

“Course I’ll let you rest when you need it. Come on, let’s go.”

They stopped twice for Qurrah to catch his breath. His weak body gasped for air, sweat lining his face and neck. In the starlight, he looked so pale, so frail, that Harruq wondered how his brother could be so fearsome in combat.

When they neared the firelight, they stopped to plan.

“So what should we do?” Harruq asked.

“They are not asleep,” Qurrah said. “Something keeps them awake. I fear they know of our arrival.”

“Velixar?”

“I believe so. He tests us again.”

Harruq patted his swords.

“So be it. What’s the plan?”

Qurrah could see two men positioned on either side of the campfire. They kept their backs to the fire and sat far enough away so their eyes would not fully adjust to its light. They camped within a sparse copse of trees, the trunks not near thick enough to hide their approach.

“They are wise and alert,” he whispered. “Perhaps I can get close enough to cast a spell on one or two of them. They are on flat ground, so I see no way to ambush them.”

“Then why don’t we just walk over, say hello, and then whack ‘em?” Harruq asked.

“My dear brother,” Qurrah said, “that is a very good question.”

Brazenly they approached the campfire. They kept their weapons sheathed and hidden. The closer they got before the men panicked the better.

“Halt, who goes there?” one of the guards shouted to them as they neared. They wore polished chainmail shining red in the firelight. The crest of Neldar adorned their tabards. Longswords hung from their belts.