The anger inside Harruq consumed him entirely. He charged the elf, abandoning any hint of precaution. He slammed his blades down with all his might. The elf blocked once, twice, then three times, wincing each time he did. Then the other elf was behind Harruq, stabbing at his back. While mad with rage, Harruq still knew very well where his opponents were.
He spun, avoiding the thrust, and then trapped his assailant’s arm with his elbow. A flex of his muscles cracked bone, and the sword fell from a limp hand. Harruq let him go, bellowed at the first elf, and then hurled both his blades. They turned end over end through the air, one missing, one not. The one that missed sailed until it hit ground and bounced. The hilt of the one that did not smacked him hard in the forehead.
The elf staggered back, swiping at Harruq as the half-orc charged. A thin line of blood appeared on the half-orc’s forehead, but he was oblivious to it. His hands were around his enemy’s throat and his strength at its greatest. The crunching flesh underneath his fingers was all that mattered. The elf behind him retrieved his sword and attacked, his right arm hanging useless, his left stabbing desperately. Harruq flung the dying body around by the neck. The sword buried up to the hilt in the makeshift shield.
Harruq dropped the dead elf and lashed out. His backhand broke the elf’s jaw. Reeling, the elf staggered back, only able to raise his meager arm above his head. Harruq smashed an elbow into his chest, followed by knuckled fists atop his skull.
“Stay down,” Harruq said. He retrieved Salvation and Condemnation from the dirt, and then stomped over to the beaten, bloody elf warrior.
“Mercy, I am beaten,” the elf gasped as Harruq lifted his head by the hair.
“No such thing,” he said. Salvation tore out his throat. Condemnation hacked off his head. He sheathed his blades, breathed in deeply, and then let it all out in an ecstatic, primal cry. As the last of it left his lips, he saw an elf’s shocked walnut eyes from a nearby alley. His gut lurched. The fire in his veins sputtered.
“Why so surprised?” he asked Aurelia, shame draining the thrill of his kill.
“How could you?” she asked him. “What harm have we done to you?”
Harruq shrugged. “You think you know me, but you don’t. I kill, Aurry. It’s what I do. It’s what I do best.” He drew out his swords, still dripping with blood. “Perhaps you didn’t believe it, but this is me.”
“Don’t do this,” Aurelia said softly. “It doesn’t have to be this way. Please, Harruq. I don’t want to fight you.”
“I didn’t want you to fight either,” Harruq said, his eyes leaving hers for an instant. He took a step toward her and raised his swords, just as when they sparred.
“Stop this,” Aurelia said. Her staff remained at her side. “Will you kill me, too?”
“I asked you not to fight, but here you are. Qurrah made it simple, Aurry. Either I love you or I kill you.”
Sparks rained down as he clanged his swords together.
“Is that how you feel?” she asked. The tears in her eyes ran down her cheeks, not to be replaced by any more. “So be it.” She took up her staff and held it defensively. “You are a fool, Harruq. May you die as one.”
Harruq charged, his black blades gleaming. Every nagging doubt, every tiny part screaming for him to sheath his blades, he channeled into his mindless rage. His swords hacked chunks out of the staff, which held together only by Aurelia’s powerful enchantments. She blocked several attack routines but one finally slipped past. Her dodge too slow, a black blade cut across her cheek. She paused, rubbing her cheek as Harruq smirked.
Blood. It was as she feared. Harruq’s weapons were enchanted.
“Your spells won’t save you,” he shouted. “No elf will save you. No one!”
“Why this hatred?” she asked, smacking away a dual thrust. “When have I shown you anything but kindness?”
Harruq gave her no answer. Instead, he stabbed with Salvation, a higher thrust of Condemnation trailing behind it. Aurelia turned her staff horizontal and pushed upward. Both swords stabbed high above her head. A quick turn and one end of her staff rammed the half-orc in the gut. The blow knocked the wind out of Harruq.
“For what reason do we fight?” she asked. “For what reason do you harbor this hatred?”
He glared. “I told you. I’m fighting elves. You’re one of them. No simpler than that.”
“Liar.”
Harruq snarled, the elf inside him all but invisible. He charged, recklessly hacking at Aurelia.
“Why do we fight?” she asked again, desperately trying to block every swing. Blood covered her arms, and another swing cut through her dress, slicing into the beautiful flesh of her leg. “Why, Harruq? Why!”
“I don’t know!” he cried. Strength surged into him, dark and unholy. In the blink of an eye, he twirled both swords, knocked Aurelia’s staff from her hand, and then looped his right arm all the way around to bury Condemnation deep into her stomach.
Everything, all fighting, all arguing, all bleeding, living and dying halted at that moment. For Harruq, there was only the sight of Aurelia doubled over, her eyes filled with sadness. His arm yanked the blade out of her, without any thought on his part.
“Harruq?” she gasped. She fell on her back, still clutching her bleeding abdomen.
That look of sadness tore through his rage. What should have been the exhilaration of the kill was instead the cold, biting emotion of guilt. His eyes lingered on the blood on his blade before something changed inside. He looked back to the elf, and again the words of his brother echoed in his head.
Do you love her?
No, he’d said.
Then kill her.
“Aurelia?” he asked, as if seeing her for the first time. “I didn’t mean to, I, Aurry, please…”
He knelt down, his blades falling from his limp hands. He pulled away Aurelia’s hand to see the blood, to see the wound.
“No,” he said. He rocked backward, the color draining from his face. “No, I didn’t mean to, I didn’t…I didn’t…”
Aurelia tried to say something, tried to comfort him, but no noise came from her throat. She was dying.
“No!” Harruq shouted. He pulled out one of his healing potions, yanked off the cork, and forced the contents down Aurelia’s throat. The elf gagged, retching up half of it onto her neck and chest. Harruq got out his last potion but could not open it for the shaking of his hands. Desperate, he put it down, picked up one of his swords, and shattered the top of the vial. He flung the potion back to Aurelia’s mouth, nearly shredding her lower lip on the broken glass. More of the silvery-blue liquid poured down her throat.
Harruq sat there, clutching her hands in his and waiting. The seconds crawled slower than the longest of years. He didn’t care if anyone came and saw him, not even his brother. His tears fell onto her bloodstained dress. For far too long, she did not move. His heart cried out in agony. It was too late. He had killed her.
“I’m so sorry,” he whispered to her. “Forgive me, please, if you can…”
“What are you babbling about?” the elf asked, her eyes cracking open. Harruq tried to smile, but a sob came out instead. He hugged her, his forehead pressed against hers.
“Help me up,” she said. Harruq did as commanded. When she was standing, he grabbed his blades and sheathed them. She leaned all her weight against him, and such close contact only deepened his guilt and anger. He knew she watched him, and he wiped away his tears as quickly and subtly as he could.
“Why, Harruq?” she asked him. The half-orc shrugged.
“We…Qurrah…I don’t know.”
“No,” she said, leaning on her staff. “Why did you save me?”
He kicked his toes into the dirt, unable to piece together the chaotic mess inside his head and heart. All he could think of was what his brother had told him to do.
“Qurrah said to kill you if I didn’t love you…”
“Yet you didn’t,” she said. Harruq nodded, but said nothing else.
“Hana fael!” a voice cried from far down the alley. Both turned to see an elf raise his bow and fire.
“Look out,” Aurelia said, shoving Harruq aside. The arrow hit her breast and reflected off as if hitting stone. She glanced at Harruq, her face a mixture of anger and fear.
“Others have seen you kill, haven’t they?” she asked.
Harruq could only shrug. More shouts came as two other elves turned the corner. Aurelia swore as she heard what they said.
“They call me traitor,” she said. “I protected you, and now I am a traitor.”
The half-orc stepped before her, preparing his swords. “They won’t touch you.”
“I know,” Aurelia said, summoning the last bit of magic inside her. A tear in the fabric of reality ripped open, swirling with white and blue magic.
“Get in,” she yelled.
“What about Qurrah?” he shouted.
“Go inside, you dumb fool!”
She cracked her staff across his back. Harruq stumbled into the portal and vanished. Aurelia stepped in after, arrows landing all around her.
* * *
Qurrah watched the blue portal close, leaving him alone and hunted in a town full of enemies.
“Brother, how could you?” he asked, dread clutching his throat. Elves were running down the alley, yelling in their language. Qurrah ducked back around, cursed his brother, and then darted to the nearest home. The first one had locks, as did the second, but the third was unbarred. He hid inside as the shouts of search parties went rushing past.
Qurrah climbed the stairs to the second floor, sat down beside a bed, and then in silence pondered his fate now that he was alone.
16
Far from town, a blue portal tore open above empty grass. The big half-orc tumbled out, followed by a flustered Aurelia. Upon her exit, the portal closed, swirling away as if it had never existed. Harruq groaned, spitting out dirt that had made its way into his mouth.
“Where are we?” he asked.
“About two miles east of Woodhaven,” she told him. Harruq glanced around, unable to see the town in the distance.
“So that’s how you always showed up behind me,” he said as he got to his feet. “That magic…blue thingie?”
“That magic blue thingie is a portal,” Aurelia said, her arms crossed over her chest as she held her elbows. “And yes, that is how I did it.”
Harruq shrugged, glancing about as he tried to get his bearings. A thought hit him, harder than any whacks of Aurelia’s staff.
“Qurrah!” he gasped. “You’ve got to send me back.”
“I can’t,” Aurelia said, her eyes fixed west.
“What do you mean you can’t?” He stormed over and grabbed her arms. “Send me back, I’m telling you to! Qurrah’s all alone, and they’ll kill him if I don’t help him!”
“I can’t, Harruq, I can’t!” she shouted, pulling back from his hands. “I have no strength left to open another portal. You, and he, will have to wait until I get some rest.”
“How long will that be?”
“Tomorrow morning,” she said.
He raged and sputtered but could think of nothing to say or do. Finally, he started walking.
“Where are you going?” she asked him.
“To get my brother,” he said without turning around.
“They will kill you,” she shouted. “They will see you and kill you. You do your brother nothing by running off to die.”
“Then what am I supposed to do?” he screamed. He whirled around, his helplessness showing on every feature of his face.
“Have faith in him,” she said. She pulled a strand of hair from her face as the wind blew against her. “I have given up everything for you, Harruq. Don’t you see that? My friends, my family, my home; they are all gone from me. Because of you. Don’t make it all for nothing.”
Harruq’s anger and frustration simmered and swirled in a dying fire. He could not argue with her, not about that. Even he could see what she had sacrificed to save his life.
“Where do we go?” he asked, his voice revealing his defeat.
“We’ll figure it out in the morning. For now, we travel north. Your brother will be fine, I promise.”
He nodded but said nothing. The two traveled in between the hills, exhausted but unwilling to stop their movement.
“Why did you fight the elves?” she asked when their silence had stretched for more than half an hour.
“It’ll be a long story,” he said.
“We have time.”
He chuckled. “Aye, I guess we do.”
He told her of Velixar and his plans. He told her of the strength, weapons, and armor granted to him. Hesitantly, he recounted killing Ahrqur and the people of Cornrows, a fresh wave of shame filling him as he thought of both.
“What part did Ahrqur play in this?” Aurelia asked. “Was he enlisted by Velixar?”
Harruq shook his head. “Me and Qurrah killed him, then Velixar brought him back and sent him off to the king. It was very much unwilling on his part. That guy was me and Qurrah’s dad, you know that? We killed our own dad, and never even knew it while we did.”
She frowned, and deep lines of exhaustion marred her beauty.
“Tonight we need to have a serious talk,” she said. “For now, I’d prefer we speak of lighter things.”
“Sure thing,” he said. They spoke no word of Woodhaven, Velixar, or the battle that morning for the rest of the day.
* * *
The sound of an opening door stirred him from his slumber. Qurrah glanced around, furious that he had fallen asleep. How much time had passed? An hour? Five?
“I cannot be so weak,” he muttered to himself. Footsteps echoed from the first floor. One person, he guessed, most likely an elf judging by the design of the building. Qurrah stood and readied his whip. He would not cower in hiding. This was his home now. He would defend it.
“You are not safe here,” Qurrah whispered. “For if you are safe, then I am not.”
He crept down the stairs, the whip coiled and ready to burst into flame. Before the circular front window stood an elf, one hand on the glass, the other holding a bow. Qurrah reached into his pocket, clutching a few pieces of bone. Before he could draw them out the elf spoke, his voice soft and sad.
“Too much death this day,” he said. “For hundreds of years my brother and I lived here, and for hundreds of years more we would have remained. He is dead now, and for what reason?”
“Death has no reason,” Qurrah said, his whole body tensing.
“No,” the elf said, turning around so he could stare at Qurrah eye to eye. “But murderers do.”
Neither moved. Neither spoke. Qurrah felt his nerves fray, and in his gut a sudden confusion swelled. He felt as if he hung over the side of a cliff, and the bones he held were the rope. The elf let go of his bow and held his hands out to either side.
“No more have to die,” the elf said. The flesh around his eyes sagged wearily, and he leaned against the window to aid in standing. It was as if grief had rendered him lifeless.
Let go, Qurrah thought. He could let go. Fall down the cliff, and find what awaited him at the bottom. All he had to do was let go of the bones. The confusion burned hotter in his gut.
“You’re right,” Qurrah said, standing to his full height. “No more have to die. But what we do doesn’t matter, for more always will.”
He opened his hands. Fueled by dark magic, the bones shot forth, piercing the elf’s throat and eyes. Against the window his dying body fell, his arms still held wide as if offering an embrace that would never be returned. Qurrah stared at the corpse, and as the blood pooled on the floor he felt himself standing once more on solid ground. The elves were his enemy. His brother was his only friend. Velixar was his master. Solid ground.
Qurrah slipped over to the window and glanced out. The sun hung low, its top edge barely visible above the rooftops. He had hoped the streets would be empty, but instead he saw a patr
ol of elves turn the corner, their swords drawn. He stepped back and hid as they passed by. The half-orc chewed on his fingers. Harruq had abandoned him, true, but perhaps he remained nearby, waiting for him. Then there was Velixar, no doubt furious at the elves’ victory. Where did Karak’s prophet linger now that the battle had ended?
There was only one way to find out. He would have to escape the town, regardless of the patrols that swarmed the area.
He waited until nightfall. Even in the dark the elves still patrolled, carrying no torches for their keen eyes had no trouble seeing in the starlight. The longer he hid and watched, the more Qurrah was convinced they searched for him. The Neldaren troops were long gone, Harruq with them. He knew he was being paranoid, but the only other person they could be searching for was Velixar, and the elves were deluding themselves if they thought they could handle him.
When a smaller patrol turned a corner and vanished, he opened the door, winked at the bloody corpse near the window, and then slipped into the night. The scent of mourning floated throughout the town, and he paused to enjoy the bittersweet strands of death that tugged on his heart. So many souls lost in battle, and even in the quiet aftermath, it was intoxicating.
“No sleep tonight,” he said, turning back to the building that had been his shelter. Fire swarmed around his fingers. Like streams of water, it flowed from his hands, splashing across the roof and setting it ablaze. Finished, he ran for an alley to hide as the fire gained the attention of the many patrols. He heard footsteps and shouts further down the road so he ducked left, running in between homes as all around the shouts grew louder.
The houses ended, and like a fleeing thief he burst out into the streets only to slam into a drunken man holding a small bottle. The two rolled, a tangle of legs and arms. The small bottle shattered.
“What the abyss are you…” the man started to say, but Qurrah’s hand pressed against his lips.
“Your voice or your life,” Qurrah said, danger flaring in his eyes. The half-orc pushed him away and got to his feet. He glanced around, trying to orientate himself, when he felt a sharp pain stab into his back. He spun, his whip lashing out as it burst into flame. It wrapped around the man’s neck, choking out death cries as his flesh seared and smoke filled his lungs. The only noise Qurrah heard was the sound of skin blistering and popping in the fire. At last the man crumpled, the bloodied shard of glass from the bottle still in his hand.
Magic, Myth & Majesty: 7 Fantasy Novels Page 184
