David Dalglish: Weight of Blood

Harruq crossed his arms and stared into the corner.

“People die every day here,” he said. “Shall I find their bodies and bring them to you?”

“For now,” Qurrah said. “Yes. If the death is fresh, the power should still linger.”

Harruq reached out, grabbed his brother's wrist, and clasped his hands in his.

“I won’t like it,” he said. “But I’ll do it for you.”

“We are better than them,” Qurrah said, standing so he could look through the cracks of the boards across the broken door. “Stronger. Life is for those who take it. I need you to understand this, brother. Together, we can become something great.”

“Like what?” Harruq asked. “What can we become?”

Qurrah's eyes twinkled, but he said not a word.

G uard captain Antonil marched through the street, fifty of his men in perfect union behind him. His face was a portrait of stoic calm but it was all a lie. His heart was troubled and he had not a soul to tell why. He held a proclamation of King Vaelor to the entire nation of Neldar. He had argued as best he could, but his words meant little. When he asked that someone else deliver the proclamation, a frown had crossed the king’s smooth face and he had slammed a lotioned hand against a table.

“It will mean more coming from you!” the king had shouted. “They will know the seriousness of my order. I will not be flooded with spies, treated like a mere peasant, and then insulted by such blatant snubbing of my humble call for aid. Let them know I am king, my dear Antonil. Make sure they know.”

Antonil halted at the center of Veldaren where the four main roads of the city interconnected and a large marble fountain towered over all. Not bothering to call for silence or attention, he unrolled the scroll and shouted its edict. Because of his rank, the troops in attendance, and the overall respect given to the man who had engineered the city’s successful defense only days before, he was quickly given a respectful silence.

“By order of the King, all elves are to be removed from Neldar lands. They shall not travel within our cities, live in our settlements, or trade with our people. They are banned in all possible sense of the word. They have abandoned us, so let us abandon them. These are the words of your King, Edwin Vaelor, and may they never be forgotten.”

Antonil closed the scroll and then nodded for his soldiers to return to their post. Holding in a curse, he headed to the royal stables. He needed to speak with Dieredon and personally break the terrible news.

Q urrah watched with a smirk on his face as the guard captain hurried away.

“Elves banned,” he said to his brother. “Amusing, though unnecessary. Only handfuls live within these walls, and they are just diplomats and messengers. Our king is a spiteful, paranoid one.”

“Not my king,” Harruq muttered loud as he dared. He meant to say more but stopped as another man neared the fountain. He was large, well muscled, and scratching at a long beard that stretched down to his belt. In a massive voice he shouted to the many that passed by.

“The royal guard is in need of able-bodied men to help rebuild the walls of the city,” he shouted. “The work will be hard, but we offer a threepence of copper a day. Come to the castle and ask for Alvrik.”

He repeated the message three more times and then wandered back north.

“A threepence,” Harruq said. “We could eat well for weeks.”

“The king must be desperate for workers,” Qurrah said. He raised an eyebrow at his brother. “I take it you're interested?”

“I'm strong enough for whatever they want from me,” Harruq insisted.

“We have no need for money.” Qurrah said. “We take what we need. We always have.”

“My day is spent in boredom and you know it,” Harruq said. “How long will they offer that much coin?”

Qurrah popped his neck, wincing as he did. “So be it,” he said. “Take the work…if they'll take you.”

This put a bit of a damper on Harruq's enthusiasm.

“Course they will,” he muttered, his frown refuting the confidence in his voice. “Why wouldn't they?”

A lvrik,” Harruq muttered as he approached the giant double doors leading into the castle, flanked on each side by two soldiers. “Avrik? Alrik? Avlerik? How the bloody abyss did he say his name?”

He stopped when he realized the soldiers were staring at him with none-too-happy looks on their faces.

“Oh, hello,” he said, doing his best to smile. “I was looking for, er, Alvrik. He was just in the center of town, and…”

“Does the orcie want some money?” one of the guards asked. He jabbed the soldier next to him with his elbow, and both laughed in Harruq's face.

“Just want some work,” he said, his deep voice muttering and almost impossible to understand.

“Head on around back,” one told him. “Alvrik will be waiting, if he'll take you.”

“That'd be west,” said the same rude guard. “You know which way west is, right?”

Harruq's hands opened and closed as he imagined his swords held within them, ready to butcher for blood while the soldier proceeded to say the word ‘west’ as long and drawn out as possible.

“Thanks,” he mumbled and hurried off.

Alvrik sat at a small table with a single sheet of parchment. Beside him sat a young man with an inkwell and a quill. Several people stood in line before him, so Harruq slipped into the back and tried to calm down. He had never done anything like this before. He had stolen food, fled from guards, lived in poverty, and kept to himself. He and his brother, that was his life. What the abyss was he doing asking for work?

He almost left. Several men in front of him turned away, dejected or angry. He didn't hear the reasons why and didn't want to know. The idea of so much money, more than enough to buy warm food and clean drink, kept him there. At last it was his turn, and he approached the table where Alvrik sat chewing on a piece of bone long since void of meat.

“You,” he said before Harruq could mutter a word. “You don't look like all the others.”

“I'm not like the others,” Harruq said.

“That so?” Alvrik face hadn’t changed in the slightest. “Tell me why.”

“Stronger,” he said. “Tougher. Whatever work you got two men doing I can do alone. Whatever hours you got them working I can do double.”

“A large boast,” Alvrik said. He took the bone out of his mouth and pointed at Harruq's ears. “You got orc blood in you.”

“I do.”

“Will that be a problem?” Alvrik asked.

“Up to all the others you hire,” Harruq said. “But I'll be fine. I don't start much, but I always finish.”

Alvrik laughed. He nudged the man next to him, who grabbed the quill.

“Give me your name,” he asked, dabbing the tip into the ink.

“Harruq,” he said. “Harruq Tun.”

“Well, Harruq,” Alvrik said, slowly nodding his head. “I'll see you right here at sunrise tomorrow. Got that?”

Harruq grinned ear to ear, even his nervousness unable to lessen his excitement.

“I'll be here before the rooster knows it is dawn.”

A sharp pain in his gut dragged Harruq from his dreams. He lifted open a single eye and glared at the blurry image of his brother.

“The sun is almost up,” Qurrah said, kicking him again. “You need to be as well.”

“What are you…awww, damn it.”

He sat up straight and shook his head, trying to clear the fuzz that clogged the vast empty space between his ears. Qurrah helped by offering a third kick, this one right to the kidney. Harruq gasped and staggered to his feet. He was outside their little home in seconds, urinating on the grass.

“Hadn't pissed yet,” Harruq shouted to his brother. “You could be a bit kinder, you know.”