Weight of Blood

by David Dalglish

  Qurrah stood erect, his hands touching the sturdy oak. Words of magic slipped from his lips. The shadows that weaved about the door suddenly gained life, crawling and gliding until impenetrable darkness covered every bit of oak.

  “What’d that do?” Harruq asked. His deep voice seemed like thunder in the quiet, although he did his best to speak softly.

  “Follow me,” Qurrah whispered. “You will see.”

  He took a step forward and vanished into the shadows. Harruq glanced around, swallowed, took two quick breaths, and then hopped into the door with his eyes squeezed shut. He expected to thud against wood, feel a strange sense of vertigo, or some other bizarre sensation usually accompanied with magic. Instead, he felt only the slightest tingle of cold air before his feet thumped against the floor. He opened his eyes to see a posh living room decorated with red and gold furniture, silk sheets, and a lit fireplace. Everything oozed elegance, to a point that even the half-orcs knew was over the top. When Harruq looked behind him, the darkness had left the door.

  “Why did you not do that to the gate?” he asked.

  “I can let us pass but a single object at a time,” Qurrah whispered. “The bars had gaps between them.”

  Harruq gestured to the room.

  “Amazing no one ever robbed this guy before,” he said. Qurrah shot him a glance, his meaning clear. The half-orc shrugged, drew his swords, and began walking. A sleek staircase led to the upper floor, while through the hallway they could see a room with an iron stove and shelves for storing food.

  “Which way do we go?” Harruq asked.

  “Up,” Qurrah said. “And quiet, before you wake him.”

  “Too late,” said a voice from the stairs. Both turned to see Ahrqur standing at the top step, his arms crossed. He was dressed in a long green robe. Silver swirls marked the sleeves and front. Brown hair fell far past his shoulders.

  “Pleased to meet you,” Harruq said with a bow.

  “Indeed,” Qurrah said, his hand itching to retrieve his whip curled underneath his raggedy robe.

  “If you are thieves, you are certainly incompetent ones,” Ahrqur said, his voice filled with contempt. He descended halfway down the stairs, his eyes never leaving the two. “Of course, what could one expect from Celestia’s cursed?”

  “We are not thieves, Ahrqur Tun’del,” Qurrah said. “We are assassins.” The whip writhed around his arm, begging for use.

  “Arrogant ones at that,” said the elf. “Such a claim is foolish. If you were assassins, you would strike without chatter. You are nothing but pretenders.”

  Harruq clanged his swords together, showering the ground with sparks. His armor shimmered as his anger grew.

  “Pretenders with wonderful toys,” the elf continued, eyeing Harruq’s blades. “Toys I will take from your dead bodies.”

  He leapt down the stairs in a single bound. His feet hardly touched before he was vaulting over a red silk couch to land before the fireplace. He drew an ornate sword that hung over the fireplace, letting the scabbard fall to the floor. The blade gleamed in the firelight, impossibly sharp and deadly.

  “I have killed a hundred like you,” Ahrqur said.

  “And I hope to kill a thousand just like you,” Harruq said, clanging his swords together one more time before lunging across the room. Salvation and Condemnation smacked hard against Ahrqur’s blade. The weapons sparked, all three of the swords imbued with powerful magic. The elf fell back, his arms lacking the strength to block the massive blow. He danced away, his sword whirling upward to deflect two quick slashes by the half-orc.

  Ahrqur found no reprieve for three bones flew for his eyes and face, even veering to follow the elf’s dodges. The elven blade whirled, cutting two out of the air. The third smacked into his throat. Luckily, the bone was part of a finger and lacked a sharp enough edge to cut skin. Instead, the elf was left gasping for air and retreating from another series of strikes from Harruq.

  “Pretenders, are we?” Qurrah asked as his fingers performed a dark weave. “How much I wish for your pride to suffer.” Magical energy ripped out of him and tore across the air. The elf whirled, sensing the incoming invisible blow. Only a tiny part hit his shoulder, immediately encasing it with ice. Then Harruq was upon him, slashing recklessly.

  Ahrqur batted his sword left and right, then jumped as Harruq swung back in a scissor-cut that should have shredded his waist. The elf landed atop one of his couches, balancing with ease.

  “What reason do you have to kill me?” the elf asked. “Are you here for money? I could pay you twice the pittance you work for.”

  “Just shut up,” Harruq said, hurling Salvation across the room. Ahrqur leapt again. The sword punched through the couch and embedded in the wall. The half-orc gripped Condemnation in both hands, snarling as the elf launched his own offensive series. The elven blade glided through the air, repeatedly feinting and looping wide so that Harruq’s sword danced about for phantom blows. Ahrqur let out a mocking laugh, gave him an obvious feint, and then kicked high. The foot smashed the bottom of Harruq’s chin, the same sore part Dieredon had hit.

  Harruq staggered back, his sword swinging wildly. The elf charged in, knowing he outmatched the half-orc in speed and skill. The kill would be his.

  “Hemorrhage.”

  Pain exploded across Ahrqur’s side. The force smashed him into a decorative table. He rolled off the broken thing and glanced down at the blood soaking his robe. Despite the wound, no cut or hole was visible in the cloth.

  “You are pathetic, Ahrqur,” Qurrah said, his hands whirling. “You are skilled but you are soft. You lack spirit. You lack will. It is why you cannot resist my power. Hemorrhage!”

  A visible wave of distorted reality crossed the distance between the necromancer and Ahrqur. The elf crossed his arms against the blow. His mind was nearly overwhelmed by the sudden pain that hit him. Blood splattered from two horrid gashes along his forearms, soaking the carpet crimson. He collapsed to one knee, his hands latched around his sword. He tried to bring up the blade, but all the strength had left his hands. He had lost too much blood. When Harruq came charging forward, Condemnation red and hungry, all he could do was dodge.

  Condemnation shattered what remained of the table. The elf rolled, his arms tucked against his chest. When he pulled out of the roll, he dashed for a large dresser. Inside was a stash of healing potions. All he needed was one and he could fight again. Just one. As he reached to open a drawer he felt his leg jerk back, halting his momentum. He crashed to the floor, screaming in pain as one of his forearms landed hard. Then he felt his ankle start to burn.

  “Take him, brother,” Qurrah said, his whip wrapped around Ahrqur’s left foot. Harruq did not bother to cross the distance. He had had enough. Condemnation flew through the air, its aim true. The blade sank into the elf’s back. Blood and fluid covered the carpet as all life fled the body of Ahrqur Tun’del.

  Harruq crossed the room, the sound of his ragged breathing filling the sudden quiet. He drew out his sword, grimacing at the sick wet sound it made.

  “What do we do about all the blood?” he asked.

  “We will clean it, but first we must drain the body.”

  The two dug through dressers upstairs, grabbing old and expensive robes and shirts. They then dragged the body outside to where the deceased elf had kept a private garden. Thick brick walls guarded against any prying eyes. In a corner they dug a large hole and then bled the body dry, letting the fluids soak into the dirt. Occasionally they would halt and listen, worried their violent struggle had reached unwanted ears. No curious investigators arrived, however, and they continued with their dark deed. When the blood dripping from the elf’s wounds became but a trickle, they filled the hole and moved on.

  Using the clothes and robes from upstairs, the two brothers wiped away as much of Ahrqur’s blood as they could. The bloody clothes, the table, and the pieces of glass they tossed onto the fireplace and burned. Harruq wrapped the body in spare blankets he fou
nd in a closet.

  “Grab the sword,” he said as he hoisted the dead elf onto his shoulder.

  “I have it,” Qurrah said, retrieving the elven blade and its dark green sheath from the floor. They gave one last look around. Everything was back in place. No drawers remained open or scattered, no blood stained the floor, and only the sword that used to hang above the fireplace was blatantly missing.

  “Come brother, the night is waning fast,” Qurrah said.

  Harruq shifted the body to a more comfortable position.

  “Lead the way.”

  The two slipped out the front door and into the night. Upon arriving home, Harruq tossed the body into the far room, stripped off his gorgeous black armor, and plopped down onto the bed.

  “Nighters, Qurrah,” he said. “Sorry, but that elfie wore me out, and I never thought cleaning a place could be so tiring. I need to rest.”

  “Good night, then,” Qurrah replied, crawling onto his side of the uncomfortable bed. He curled his rags about him and drifted off to sleep, pleasant memories of the battle looping in his mind.

  11

  Dieredon was stunned by the simple fact that he was awake. He had expected death. He had also expected darkness. Instead, the welcoming light of morning met his eyes when he leaned up and looked around. The elf smiled, then laughed. They had walked right over him but not seen him.

  “Thank you, Celestia,” he said, his smile remaining even as the pain in his ribs and shoulder reawakened. The pain, however, paled compared to the previous night. He sat up, still cradling his right arm. A look around showed no sign of Velixar or his undead. The morning continued to improve. The elf pulled out a roll of thick cloth from a knapsack and began bandaging his wounds.

  “Aurelia, we need to talk,” Dieredon said while fashioning a sling for his right arm. “Those half-orcs have some very interesting friends.”

  He stood, tested the tightness of his bandages, took up his bow, and then headed for town.

  Harruq awoke late the next morning. His tired eyes winced as sunshine streamed into them from the ceiling. He covered his face with an arm, moaning against the evils of interrupted sleep. Then he remembered Aurelia.

  “Aaah, I’ll be late,” he said. He rubbed his eyes once, and then blinked when he saw his brother leaning against the far wall, waiting for him.

  “What will you be late for?” Qurrah asked, his voice hinting only mild curiosity but his eyes revealing otherwise.

  “Nothing. Just my practice is all.”

  “Indeed. Your practice. I have held my tongue, Harruq, but I will hold it no longer. Your hair is cut. You come back every morning bruised. What is it that you hide from me?”

  Harruq lowered his eyes in shame. “It’s not…I didn’t mean anything…”

  “What is it, Harruq? Tell me the truth.”

  “I…I’ve been training with someone.”

  Qurrah crossed his arms. “Who is he?”

  The half-orc chuckled.

  “She, not he. She saved my life, and she’s also been teaching me to read.”

  “How did she save your life?” Qurrah asked.

  “Remember a few months back when I came home beaten bloody and blue?” he asked. “Guards caught me trying to sneak inside Maggie’s Tavern. They attacked me, said they were going to arrest me as the Forest Butcher. Aurelia stopped them.”

  Qurrah rubbed his chin, lost in thought. He glanced at Harruq, a tiny smile forming on his face.

  “May I meet her?”

  Harruq immediately began blubbering.

  “No, but you see, I don’t know if she’s ready, and you might not…I need to let her know you’re coming first!”

  Qurrah chuckled.

  “Why do you worry?”

  The big half-orc let his gaze drop back down to the floor. “She’s an elf. Is that alright?”

  Qurrah walked over and put a hand on Harruq’s shoulder.

  “You may be with whoever you wish, my dear brother. Just do not try to deceive me.”

  Harruq nodded. “Alright, then you can come this morning. We got to hurry though, or we’ll be late.”

  “I am ready,” Qurrah said. “When you are ready, lead on.”

  The big half-orc flew about their home, grabbing his old swords and donning his faded leather armor. When ready, he nodded to Qurrah, who let out a rare laugh.

  “You are amusing, brother,” was all he said before following him out.

  This is it,” Harruq said as he gestured about the small clearing he and Aurelia sparred in.

  “Where is she?” Qurrah asked. Harruq shrugged in response.

  “She’s never here. She always shows up after I do.”

  The smaller half-orc scanned the area, seeing no sign of the elf.

  “Perhaps she is not coming,” Qurrah offered. “You are late, after all. On the other hand, perhaps I scared her off. I do have a creepy aura about me, wouldn’t you agree?”

  “Suuuure, Qurrah,” Harruq said, crossing his arms as he waited. “You’re big and scary and send little kiddies running when they see you on the street.”

  “I wouldn’t be surprised,” said a female voice behind the two brothers. “Any man who would hang out with a brute like Harruq must be a disturbed individual.”

  Both turned to see Aurelia step out from behind a tree. She smiled at Harruq, and then nodded to his brother.

  “Care to introduce me?”

  “Oh yeah, this is--”

  “Qurrah Tun, my lady,” Qurrah said with a bow that sent Harruq’s jaw dropping. “It is a pleasure to meet you. May I have the name of the one who has brought civility to my brother?”

  Aurelia laughed at Harruq’s flabbergasted look.

  “I am Aurelia Thyne,” she said, offering a quick curtsy. “And it will take years to civilize that big lug. I’m not sure I have the patience.”

  “If your patience matches your beauty then my brother will soon be dressed in nobles’ finest, sipping wine and commenting on the taxing errors of our dear King of Neldar.”

  Aurelia blushed. She smiled at Qurrah. “You surprise me. It truly is a pleasure to meet you.”

  “And it is a pleasure to meet the elf that my brother is so smitten for.”

  Aurelia giggled at Harruq’s squirming. “He’s a loveable puppy dog, but I do not think he is smitten. Are you, Harruq?”

  “Um, course not,” the half-orc said. Aurelia and Qurrah shared a quick, knowing smile. The frail half-orc’s face lost much of its lifelessness, and a gentle caring filled his eyes. His seriousness quickly buried it, but Aurelia had seen enough.

  “I shall leave you two to your studies and sparring,” Qurrah said after a long pause to torture Harruq. “Although I doubt the wisdom of leaving him alone with such a beautiful teacher.”

  “Good thing you will not have to worry about that, considering I see no beautiful teachers around,” Aurelia replied.

  Qurrah walked to Aurelia and bowed again, taking her hand in his and kissing it. As Aurelia smiled, he rose and whispered into her ear.

  “He loves you, elf. I can feel it. Do you love him back?”

  “I don’t know,” she whispered.

  “Will you hurt him?”

  “Never.”

  “Then accept my blessing.”

  Finished, Qurrah bowed once more, wished his brother good luck, and then trudged through the forest toward Woodhaven. When he was out of earshot, Aurelia walked over to Harruq and jabbed him in the side with a finger.

  “Now why did you take so long to let me meet him?” she asked.

  “I, but, he, but…”

  “No buts. He was a perfect gentleman.”

  The half-orc threw his arms up in surrender.

  “Me just be all stoopid,” he said.

  Aurelia twisted her fingers and whispered, causing a magical spring of water to burst up from the ground. The spring vanished quickly as it came, leaving a soaked Harruq glaring at Aurelia.

  “Speak properly,” the e
lf warned, “or another bath for you.”

  “Buh, wuh, you,” Harruq stammered.

  “Yes, dear Harruq?”

  “Nothing,” he grumbled, walking over to her. Before she could react he swooped her off her feet and bear-hugged her, soaking her dress. He then set her down, ignoring her open-palm smacks to the side of his head.

  “Stupid half-orc,” she muttered.

  “Ready to teach me to read all smarty-like?”

  “Yes. Just one second.”

  Vines emerged from the woods and wrapped around Harruq’s arms and legs, lifting him off the ground and holding him snugly in place. The elf grinned, crossing her arms over her wet dress.

  “Um, why am I hanging from the air like this?” he asked. A spring of water soaked him.

  “Felt like it,” she answered.

  “Oh. Alright. Should we start?”

  “Sure.”

  Aurelia took out a small book and levitated it before Harruq, letting him read aloud. Whenever he purposely erred, or took too long on a page, the elf blasted his face with cold water. It was an effective teaching method. When the half-orc finally finished the book, Aurelia let it slowly descend to her hands.

  “Why does your brother speak so strangely,” she asked, trying to broach the subject casually. She sat stretched out on the grass, her legs crossed and her weight leaning back on her arms. The whole time they had taught she had found her mind wandering to the sick, spidery voice Qurrah spoke in, a voice that had nearly spoiled his otherwise surprising charm.

  “Qurrah was sold to a necromancer. I told you that, right?”

  Aurelia nodded. “I believe you did.”

  “Well, he caught my brother practicing a spell once. Qurrah was forbidden from ever casting magic, yet he tried anyway. He’s like that, always been, always will. Anyway, his master took a hot poker and shoved it down his throat. Said that way he’d never cast again.”

  Harruq chuckled.

  “He was wrong, obviously. Qurrah was stuck talking like that. Like a snake hiss or a raspy whisper.”

  “Or a dying man,” Aurelia whispered, so soft that Harruq could not make out her words.