David Dalglish - Weight of Blood

Helpless, the man staggered backward, clutching his wounded side. His eyes pleaded, but his mouth would dare not say the demeaning words. Harruq cut him again and again. His arms, his chest, his face: it all bled. But he remained alive, at least until that final moment when the two magic blades scissor-cut his neck. Harruq sheathed his swords and held the decapitated head of his foe high above him.

Full of pride, Qurrah watched his brother roar his victory to the night sky.

Please, leave me be. I can give you gold, slaves, whatever you want I can get for you!”

Qurrah chuckled. “Tie the bonds tighter. I do not want him breaking my concentration.”

Harruq nodded, yanking harder on the knot that held the noble’s hands behind his back. He was on his knees, his silk outfit stained by grass and dirt. Blood ran from where Harruq had broken his nose.

“Name a price, name it, anything, just name it!”

Harruq glanced at Qurrah, who only chuckled louder.

“We have little need for riches, noble. All we want is you.”

The man paled. “Me? What do you want me for? The elves…they sent you to attack me, didn’t they? Whatever they paid you, I can double it. Triple it!”

Qurrah shook his head. “No elf hired us, and no gold was put in our pockets.”

The flaming whip appeared, charring grass as it touched the ground.

“Then what do you want with me?” the man shrieked.

“You’ll see,” Harruq whispered into his ear before backing away.

The eyes of the nobleman grew wider, and panic gripped him entirely.

“No, no you can’t. You wouldn’t! Please, I beg of you, don’t…”

“Enough,” Qurrah said. His hand reached out, the tips of his fingers brushing the sides of the man’s face. Whispering words of magic flowed from the necromancer’s mouth. The noble’s jaw dropped, and black veins appeared on his eyes.

“By the gods, what is that?”

Harruq followed the man’s upward gaze but saw only clear night sky.

“Keep it away from me!” the man shouted as Qurrah released his hand and backed away. A glint of pleasure shone in his eyes as he watched his handiwork. The nobleman struggled against the ropes, his gaze locked on the sky.

“Please, no, take it away, I’ll do anything, anything, just keep it away. Don’t let it touch me, please, please, DON’T LET IT TOUCH ME!”

The next two minutes the man screamed. Then he died.

“What did you do to him?” Harruq asked once the man was done.

“Fear is an entertaining weapon, is it not?”

The warrior shook his head in wonder, but Qurrah said no more.

“Do we leave the bodies here?” Harruq asked.

The necromancer trotted over to the dead noble and did not answer. Instead, he ruffled through the silk robes until he found a scroll marked with the seal of the king. With his cold hands, Qurrah ripped it to shreds and let the pieces scatter in the wind. Then he turned to his brother.

“Do you remember what our Master wanted?”

Harruq unsheathed Condemnation and nodded.

“Aye, I do,” he said.

When they returned to where Velixar waited, Harruq dropped the head of the noble. It rolled twice before stopping face down in the grass.

“Excellent,” the man in black said. He looked his giant warrior up and down. “You are wounded. Is it serious?”

“Bah, I can handle far more than this,” Harruq said. “I’ll bandage them when we get home.”

“Very well. Leave me. Your work is done this night.”

Lying in the grass next to Velixar was the dead body of an elf male. Qurrah glanced at it, and then looked to his master.

“Do you need help bringing him back to life?” he asked. Velixar shook his head.

“Of course not. Both of you must rest. I will not be able to see you for a while, my disciples. The elves are more than wary of my presence now. Be ready come nightfall, and watch for my shadow. When it does come, that means war is on the horizon. Our glorious time has almost arrived.”

With a pale hand, he dismissed them. Qurrah turned to leave, but Harruq stayed behind.

“Master,” he asked, “when this fight starts, which side will we be on?”

His brother narrowed his eyes, knowing exactly why the question was asked. Velixar, however, seemed to either not know or not care.

“If the elves win, Vaelor will have no choice but to leave them be. The assault of my orcs has weakened his army. They cannot suffer any more losses. If the humans win, however…”

A grin spread wide across his ever-changing face, chilling Harruq’s spine.

“If the humans win, the elves will declare full scale war against the kingdom of Neldar. So which side do you think will have the privilege of our blades and magic?”

“We will kill the elves,” Harruq said. The man in black nodded and then dismissed his bone general.

“Go. Patch your wounds.”

The half-orc bowed and then joined his brother. The two journeyed across the hills and then snuck inside Woodhaven. When they reached their home, Harruq removed his armor and began wrapping his cuts with strips of old cloth. Qurrah watched him for a moment before speaking.

“You know what you must do, should it come to it,” he said.

Harruq nodded, knowing exactly what he meant.

“Don’t have much of a choice, do I?”

He wrapped a long piece of cloth around his chest and then struggled to tie a firm knot behind his back with his beefy hands. Qurrah crossed the room, silent. He took the bits from Harruq’s hands and tied them in a double knot.

“Do your best to convince Aurelia not to fight,” he said, his voice quieter than normal. “Do everything you can. Make her listen.”

“I don’t want to kill her,” Harruq whispered.

“Will you if you must?”

The half-orc did not answer. Qurrah stepped around and stared into his brother’s eyes.

“If we meet on the field of battle, if we fight, she might attack me instead of you. Her or me, brother. Who would you choose? Which of us will die?”

The burly half-orc buried his gaze into Qurrah’s eyes. He did not flinch, and he did not lie, when he spoke.

“She would die. I would hate it forever, but she would die.”

The necromancer nodded. “Never forget it. Now let me help you dress those wounds. Some look deeper than you let on.”

Harruq remained silent as his brother scanned him over, tightening bandages and cleaning out some of the nastier cuts. His mind lingered on the fight that night. He thought of blocks he had missed, moves he made he shouldn’t have, and opportunities presented he had not taken advantage of. But mostly he thought of Aurelia, giggling as she trapped him with vines and blasted his back with springs of water.

He did not sleep well that night. It would be a long while before he did.

T he mood in Woodhaven grew somber as dark rumors spread. First came word that troops were on their way to enforce an edict evicting all elves from the city. The more this rumor spread, the more elves seemed to arrive. Elven men and women with camouflage and great longbows patrolled the city. Even more lingered in taverns and the homes of kin. Many humans left for family and friends, wanting no part of the coming conflict. Many others spent hours whispering with the elf men in the bars. The tension grew. A group of men, not daring to admit where their pay came from, built sturdy palisades between the two halves of town. Everyone knew why but none spoke of it, at least outside of a whisper.

Two weeks after Harruq and Qurrah had slaughtered the messenger from Veldaren, the burning lights of an army encampment filled the fields north of Woodhaven. Soldiers of Neldar had arrived.

A ntonil Copernus was quiet as he gazed at the town. The wind teased his long blond hair, never letting it rest as he stood. The moonlight cast an eerie glow on his gold-tinted armor, which was carefully polished. Behind him, the tents of his soldiers, numbering more than six hundred, lay scattered about in loose formation. In the silence, an elf walked up beside him, his keen eyes taking in the torches that lit the city.