David Dalglish: Weight of Blood

“That where you two live?”

“Yes.”

“Fine,” the leader said. “Go and get whatever the abyss you can carry.”

Harruq climbed into the shed, throwing Qurrah a worried look before he did. When he came out holding his sheathed swords to his chest, the guards tensed, readying their weapons.

“Drop those right now,” they ordered him. Harruq clutched them tight, and the look on his face was clear. He would fight, and die, before he gave them up. The lead guard, already having their coin as well as the bonus of having found elves in hiding, was willing to let it slide.

“You draw them, even fiddle with them in their sheaths, you die, that clear?” he told the half-orc. Harruq nodded, again saying nothing.

“Calm yourself,” Qurrah whispered as the two marched in front of the guards back toward the main streets.

“Trying,” Harruq whispered back.

At sword point they marched. Onlookers cackled as they passed, figuring the two were thieves or vagrants caught brawling. Their orcish features lent them no kindness, and a few children even threw rocks until the guards shooed them away. The whole while Harruq burned with shame and rage.

They reached the western gate, which remained open during the day. Without ceremony they were kicked through, both falling to the dirt and scraping their knees.

“Get going,” one said. “See if somewhere else will take your mutt ass.”

It was not just adrenaline that caused Harruq’s hands to shake, but Qurrah put his hand on his wrist and begged him to calm.

“Never forget this shame,” he said. “Let it burn in you. Let it be a reminder of what I have always said. We are better. Superior. Never feel guilt at what we do to them for you see what they would do to us.”

Harruq stood, brushed some dirt from his pants, and then offered Qurrah a hand. Together they trudged west, without food, water, or blankets. The guards watched them go, smirking all the while.

T hat night Harruq collected a bunch of sticks and twigs. Qurrah lit them with a clap of his hands. The two huddled over the fire, each lost in their thoughts. Harruq first broke the silence.

“So where will we go?” he asked.

“Where else is there?” Qurrah said. “We go to Woodhaven. Perhaps this was meant to be. The journey will not be long, perhaps a week or two at most. There are enough animals about for me to kill, so do not worry about food. As for water, there are many small streams, and we can beg from the occasional farms we pass. We were to leave anyway, now we do so sooner.”

“Sooner?” Harruq said. “We paraded through the city like criminals and tossed out with swords at our backs. If we were to leave so be it, but I want to leave on our own terms, not like that.”

He swore a few times, getting progressively more colorful as he went.

“Two minutes alone with that guard,” he muttered. “I’d have him drinking through a brand new hole in his neck.”

“How skilled are you with those?” Qurrah asked, gesturing to the swords that lay in the grass next to Harruq. Even though they lived in such cramped quarters, Qurrah still knew very little of Harruq’s life other than what he did at his request.

“I’ve watched the guards training new men,” Harruq said, drawing a blade and holding it with one hand. “And I’ve been practicing every night after you’re in bed and no one is around to watch and get curious. Near the castle they have these stumps for smacking with your sword. Not sure what for, but it helps them, and it seemed to help me. I snuck over there plenty of times. No one guards a big, beaten log.”

“But you are yet to face men in combat,” Qurrah said. “Do not be overzealous about your skills. Confidant, perhaps, but not foolish. Don’t die on me, brother, for I need you more than ever.”

“Yeah, I know,” Harruq said, growing quiet. The subject of Qurrah’s experiments always made him uneasy.

“This time there will be a slight difference,” Qurrah said.

“What’s that?”

The half-orc shook his head.

“Not now. Another time I will explain.”

The two grew quiet, and they stared at the fire as the time passed. At last, when Harruq was sure Qurrah would not bring up the subject, he spoke up.

“About the guards,” he said. “You think they’re telling the truth?”

Qurrah glanced up.

“About the elven blood in us?”

“Yeah.”

Qurrah chuckled, but it was mirthless.

“I do, and it does not surprise me as much as it should. I’m not sure who would mate with our mother, but some elf man did. We are smarter than most realize, you know that. Our features are sharper, and we only resemble the orcs that attacked Veldaren. It is a part of us. Unwanted, perhaps, but I shall not cower and hide a part of who I am.”

“Just strange, is all,” Harruq said.

“Life is strange.”

They both lay down to rest, and two weeks later, they arrived at Woodhaven and took up residence there.

In silence Harruq Tun stared at the body. Seven, he guessed. No older than seven. He didn’t know the boy’s name. He didn’t know why he had wandered into the forest. The bloodied body lay sprawled across the knotted roots of a tree, its innards spilled out a massive gash from shoulder to waist. The eyes remained open, their young innocence spoiled by a lingering look of horror.

You’re an orc, aren’t you?

Harruq snarled and shook his head. He shouldn’t have spoken to him. Shouldn’t have let him ask questions. The last of his adrenaline faded as images of the child’s quivering lips and trembling hands haunted his vision.

“Half,” Harruq whispered as he wiped blood from his swords onto the grass. “Only half.”

The kill had been quick, just a single cut through the shoulder blade, the heart, and then lung. No suffering, little pain. It was all he could offer.

“He’s dead, Qurrah,” the half-orc shouted. His deep voice, like a bear’s growl, seemed right at home in the forest. “Come on over.”

Qurrah approached through the trees, clutching a worn bag in his long fingers. His brown eyes glanced over the dead boy. He nodded in approval.

“Well done,” Qurrah said.

“Killing kids is hardly worth a well done.”

Qurrah frowned as he glanced from his prize to his brother, who sat against a tree, arms on his knees. “Take pride in all you do,” Qurrah said. “Only then will you improve.”

Harruq shrugged. “You need me?”

The smaller half-orc opened the bag he carried. Inside were ashes, roots, herbs and a sharpened knife: all Qurrah needed to work his art.

“No. You may go.”

Harruq stood, glanced at the body, and then left.

W hat are they looking at?” Harruq asked as the two brothers walked down the winding streets of Woodhaven.

“Let us see,” said Qurrah.

Harruq muscled his way past two men, his brother following in his wake. They found a proclamation nailed to a post.

“What’s it say?” Harruq asked.

“All children are to be kept outside the boundary of the forest,” Qurrah said, his eyes narrowing. “Six have been killed by the…”

Qurrah laughed, a hideous sound.

“By the what?” Harruq asked.

“The Forest Butcher,” said an aged woman next to him, her voice creaking as if she had tiny pebbles lodged in her throat. She glanced back to the worn brown paper. “Hope they find him. Been a long time since we had an execution but whoever that sick bastard is deserves a lengthy one.”

“Such hatred in a meager body,” Qurrah said, and his smile earned him a sneer.

“Come on, Qurrah, I’m getting hungry,” Harruq said as he trudged off, his hands at his sides grabbing the air where his swords no longer were.