David Dalglish - Weight of Blood

Qurrah drew out a few pieces of bone from a pouch. He tightened his grip about them, whispering a few words of magic as he did. Then he looked up to the window. He could barely see a bow and part of a hand. Qurrah waited. The Neldaren warriors charged, hoping to overwhelm their opponents before arrows took them all. The elf in the window leaned out to unleash a killing strike, but it was Qurrah who did the killing. Four pieces of bone leapt from his hand. They hit the elf’s neck and temple with a loud crack.

The archer slumped out the window and landed with a clattering thud.

“The rest are yours, brother,” he whispered.

I nside felt like a modest rendition of Ahrqur’s home. Stairs in the center led to the upper floor. Harruq charged up them, making no attempt at silence. Either they would hear him through the chaos of battle or they would not.

It turned out they did. An arrow flew across the room and into his shoulder when he reached the second floor. He bellowed, letting the pain spark his rage. One archer continued to fire out the window, believing his companion capable of finishing a single warrior. He believed wrong.

The elf fired only one more shot before Harruq crossed the room. The arrow lodged into Harruq’s side, and then Salvation shredded through his bow and into flesh. A kick sent the remains tumbling out the window. The other archer pulled back and fired at point blank range. Harruq roared as he felt a sharp pain bite into his neck. His mind blanked. He dropped his swords. His hands closed about something soft. By the time his rage calmed, blood was on his hands and the remains of an elf lay in the dirt below the window.

“Stupid elfie,” he said, gingerly touching the arrow in his neck. Not knowing what else to do, he closed his hand about the shaft and pulled.

A minute later, still lying in agonizing pain, the half-orc managed to pry open one of his healing potions. He gulped the swirling blue-silver contents down and then tossed the vial. He ripped the other arrow out of his side as a warm, soothing sensation filled his body.

“Are you alright?” he heard a raspy voice ask up the stairs.

“Yeah, I’m fine. Just had to take care of something up here.”

He trudged down the stairs to where Qurrah waited.

“How many did you kill?” the necromancer asked.

“Just two,” he replied. His brother looked him up and down and then raised an eyebrow.

“That is a lot of blood for just two.”

Harruq ignored him. “Where to?” he asked instead.

Qurrah glanced outside the door. “The battle is moving on. Follow me.”

“Lead on,” he said, trudging after his brother into the daylight chaos.

O ut the window Aurelia stared, watching the battle with a solemn frown.

“Aurelia,” said a voice from behind. She turned to see a female elf, a friend of hers from many years before she moved to Woodhaven.

“Yes, Felewen?”

Felewen stood beside her and faced the window. Her hair was tied in a long, black ponytail, her slender figure covered by rare chainmail crafted of the hardest metals known to the intelligent races. She had come from deep within Nellassar, the thriving capital of the Dezren elves, as just one of many that had arrived to protect the town.

“Many are dying,” Felewen said. “The humans have a spellcaster of their own that repelled our ambush.”

Aurelia nodded. She knew something had gone wrong; otherwise, the battle would have been over in seconds.

“Very well,” Aurelia said. “Will you accompany me?”

Felewen smiled at her. She drew her longsword and saluted with it.

“But of course, Lady Thyne,” she said with none-too-subtle sarcasm. Aurelia tried to smile back. She failed.

“Come. Let’s end this now.”

The two left the building and joined the fighting on the streets. It did not take long before a group of soldiers spotted them.

“Show them no mercy, Aurelia,” Felewen said, her warm voice turning cold.

“They will die with little suffering,” the sorceress responded. “It’s the most I can give.”

Electricity arced between her hands. Blue fire surrounded her eyes. The five human soldiers raised their shields and charged as a single unit. Felewen stood next to Aurelia, her sword high and her armor gleaming. She kept the blade out and pointed at the center soldier. When the bolt of lightning came shrieking out from Aurelia’s hands it was that same soldier who found himself lifted from the ground, his hands flailing, his sword and shield falling useless.

Another bolt killed a second soldier, the blue electricity entering his body through his right eye. He died instantly. Then the remaining three were upon the elves, and it was Felewen’s turn to kill. The first to swing at her found his sword cut from his body, his hand still clutching it as it flew through the air. He cowered back, pulling his bleeding arm behind his shield. Another leapt forward to defend him. A longsword punched through his throat before he even saw her swing.

Shock and panic took over, and then the wounded soldier turned to flee. The final human soldier smashed forward with his shield, preventing Felewen from chasing. The slender fighter flipped backward, clutching her sword with both hands. She landed softly behind the sorceress.

“Take him,” she said. A bolt of lightning hit his shield, numbing his arm and knocking him back. The shield slumped low, the muscles in his arm unable to keep it high. Still he charged, fully willing to die fighting.

“For Neldar,” he cried, thrusting at Aurelia’s chest. Felewen was there first. All it took was three cuts. The first took the man’s sword from his hand. The second took his arm from his body. The third took his life. A final bolt of lightning shot down the street, killing the wounded soldier that had fled.

Felewen wiped the blood from her blade and then sheathed it. She then used the same cloth to clean the blood from her face.

“Come,” she said. “We must go north where we are needed most.”

The two ran through the town, listening for sounds of battle. The worst seemed to be about the middle of Celed and steadily working its way south. They encountered a few soldiers as they made their way there. All died before they had the chance to swing their blades.

“At last!” Felewen cried, staring out from a side alley. They were behind a group of ten soldiers battling a pair of elven warriors who stood back to back. “Make haste, they need us!”

Felewen charged, desperate to arrive before her brethren were overwhelmed. Aurelia stepped out into the street and summoned her magic. Frost surrounded her hands, and a thin sheet of ice spread beneath the human soldiers. Many of them stumbled, unable to balance with sword and shield in their hands and heavy chainmail on their bodies. Felewen did not attempt to balance. Instead, she fell and slid on one leg, her sword out and ready. She slid right between two men, slicing out heels and tendons as she flew past. The elf reached the end of the ice, turned, and went sliding back.

The two she had cut were on the ground, unable to stand after such precise hits. As she reached them, she stabbed one of their legs to halt her momentum, yanked her sword free, and then rolled around to stab the other in the throat. Another roll back, and the first soldier met the same fate.

The elves they saved wasted no time. They both pressed forward, unafraid of fighting on the ice. Their light armor made balancing an easy task while their human counterparts were doing all they could to swing and stand at the same time. Two men fell to each of their blades, bringing the total down to four.

As Felewen lay upon the ice, a soldier stabbed down at her. She spun on her rear, her sword out in an arc. She took his feet off at the ankles. As he fell, Felewen snapped her legs high above her, spinning her body off the ground. She tucked her knees underneath her as she spun. She landed on her stomach, her sword skewering the guard’s innards. She pulled herself to her feet with the hilt of her sword, twisted the blade, and then finished him.