He kissed her again.
“Sure thing,” he said. He nodded toward Tarlak’s door. “He going to make it?”
The elf frowned. “I hope so.”
“No sense sitting here. Floor’s freezing my butt numb. Let’s go.”
Just before they left, Aurelia knocked on the door, then slowly pushed it open. When she poked her head inside, Tarlak lay on the bed, his arms behind his head, his eyes absently staring at the ceiling.
“Get some rest,” she said. “If you need anything…”
He didn’t respond, didn’t look at her. She left.
Despite his exhaustion, Harruq slept little that night. Memories of better times haunted his tired mind, and horrible nightmares plagued his sleep. Before the sun had even crept above the horizon he was up and about. He dressed in full armor, anticipating yet another long day of practice. He made his way to the courtyard, stopping only to grab a chunk of bread and wedge of butter from the mess hall. Once he finished eating, he swung his swords in lazy arcs.
After ten minutes, a commotion alerted him to the arrival of several men, all of them leading horses from the stable. One of them was King Theo, the others his private guard. Upon seeing Harruq, the king said a few words and then approached alone.
“We go to hunt,” Theo said.
“I’m not much for hunting,” Harruq said, halting his practice. “Hunting is for bows and spears. As you can see, I’m more of a sword man.”
“You sound modest. Shame it is false. The people tell stories of you, did you know that? I’m not sure who started them, though many say your wizard friend told them first. I must say, I am a little jealous.”
Harruq raised an eyebrow. “Jealous? Of what?”
Theo chuckled and leaned against his horse.
“You helped bring down an abomination that killed a hundred city soldiers. You stood alone at Veldaren, holding off a legion of undead so the people could escape. Others have said you spilled the blood of a thousand demons to keep a portal open from the hills of Neldar to the elves’ forest. Some even claim you frightened away Karak’s forces at Mordeina, and that your very prayers summoned the angels of Ashhur.”
The half-orc sheathed his swords and did his best to look anywhere but Theo’s face.
“I’m no hero,” he said. “You hear trumped up stories, or people forgetting how many friends stood at my side.”
“That doesn’t matter. You stood against the many, and by your sheer will you endured. A last stand, giving no ground. What I would give to have been there, or to have guarded these walls when the demons first assaulted our nation. To kill protecting your land, your nation, your countrymen. To fall knowing you died for something, and that a hopeless cause can still be a noble cause. You have earned your status in these campfire stories, Harruq. In these dark times, I hope I have a chance to do the same.”
Theo mounted his horse and then whistled for his guard.
“Are you sure you don’t want to come?” the king asked. “If we’re lucky, we may find a boar, and they give more than enough fight. Perhaps not for one such as you, but plenty for the rest of us.”
“I’ll stay,” Harruq insisted. “I have your men to train, after all.”
Theo frowned, as if deciding how upset he should be at the refusal.
“So be it,” he said at last. “Train them well. Our nation of Omn may soon depend on the skill of those blades.”
He joined his guard. As they rode out the gate. Harruq watched them go, thinking of what Ahaesarus had said about the king’s fatalistic views. Theo didn’t just expect to die; he wanted to. But not any death. A hero’s death. A noble death. One worthy of legends.
“What do you plan, you crazy noble you?” the half-orc asked the courtyard. Wind blew through the air, but it carried no answers with it, only a chill that sent him back inside to warm himself before a fire until the sun rose and the training began.
When he returned, the peaceful calm had been replaced by a gathering of soldiers. At first he thought they were sparring in practice, but then he saw the stranger surrounded at the gate. Harruq muscled his way closer, curious to hear what was going on.
“I must speak with your lord,” the newcomer was saying. “I bring a message from King Henley of Ker!”
“Ker’s sided with Karak,” shouted one chubby soldier Harruq recognized from their training. The guy couldn’t block to save his life.
“What you hoping for, surrender?” asked another. That guy blocked well, but his attacks were painfully obvious.
“My name is Sir Ian Millar, and I bring a message of hope!” the knight shouted, repeating this again and again while Harruq watched. “I must speak with your lord!”
“He’s out hunting,” the half-orc shouted, tiring of the annoying spectacle. “I’m not of Ker, but I can assure you the hospitality has so far been much better than what these asses have shown.”
Several turned on him, furious, but others quieted or even backed away in embarrassment. Harruq put his hands on the hilts of his swords, his glare daring anyone to challenge him.
“He’s your problem then,” said one of the soldiers. “Keep an eye on him, and keep him here in the open until our king returns.”
“I’m already training your troops,” Harruq said. “Might as well carry even more of your weight, eh?”
He grinned, but his hands closed tight on his hilts, ready to draw. The man backed down, though, and the others disbanded into pairs to spar. Only the knight remained, Ian was his name if Harruq remembered correctly, and each gave the other a funny look.
“You look strange for a knight,” Ian said.
“I’ve got orc-blood, not noble-blood. You pick a strange time to arrive in a nation at war.”
“I’ve nearly ridden my horse into its grave to arrive here, and I carry what is surely the first ray of hope to this war-torn country in months, yet my welcome is a band of thugs accusing me of being a spy, or worse.”
The knight huffed and crossed his arms. Harruq chuckled.
“Not much for politics, are you?” he asked.
“Loathe them.”
“Good. We might just get along.”
Harruq caught the knight staring at something over his shoulder, so he turned around to see what. The two paladins were strapping on their armor and stretching. They’d taken to helping Harruq in training the men, Lathaar focusing on offensive drills and Jerico on increasing endurance, the both of them preaching or discussing theology with the men while they sweated and fought. The half-orc chuckled.
“You look like you haven’t seen a paladin before,” he said.
“We were told all paladins of Ashhur had been killed,” Ian explained.
“You were told wrong, but only barely. Those two are the last.”
“And you let them wander freely through your castle?”
This time it was Harruq’s turn to look surprised. “Uh, what?”
Ian paused a moment, then coughed and looked away.
“Forgive me, I just…there are no priests or paladins to Karak here, are there? I am so used to Ker. Their kind is viewed as an unlawful presence.”
Several men from the castle gates raised a call, and others took it up.
“The king approaches! All hail the king!”
“Come on,” Harruq said. “Let’s deliver your message, and then I can introduce you to the paladins. I assure you, they’re a lovely couple, but I can’t wait to hear them browbeat you about your country’s wonderful laws. Oh, and if you think they’re bad, just wait until you meet the angels.”
Ian glanced skyward.
“Angels?” he asked.
Harruq only laughed.
Harruq had expected Theo to dismiss him once they reached his throne, but instead he ordered him to stay, sending away all others. Feeling oddly out of place, the half-orc listened as Sir Ian detailed his master’s plan.
“We seek freedom from Mordeina’s tyranny,” Ian explained. “Their priests will soon rule if
we do not stop them. Even now, my king gathers soldiers to fight, but this Melorak possesses a grand army, and is rumored to wield unmatched magical power. Soon he will march against us, but we will make our stand.”
Theo’s eyes seemed to sparkle at that.
“A valiant effort,” he said, leaning forward in his throne. “But why come to me?”
“We will pledge our banner behind King Antonil, rightful ruler of Mordan. In return for helping him retake his throne, he promises our nation complete sovereignty. We will bow to no god, neither Karak nor Ashhur.”
“A fair request, and one I am sure he will accept,” Theo said.
Harruq wondered why Theo didn’t bring Antonil in to listen. Surely this was something he should be present for?
“But not my only request,” said Ian. “We ask for an alliance, good king. We hear rumors of a second army from the east. We cannot fight a war on two sides. If we are to succeed, then Ker must not fall. My king will defend the Bloodbrick Crossing. You must hold them at the Gods’ Bridges.”
Theo stood, and despite his best attempts, he could not hide his enthusiasm.
“Give me a day to prepare,” he said. “I must discuss this with my advisors, and Antonil as well. I have servants waiting on the other side of the door. Go to them, tell them to give you my finest room.”
“You are too kind,” Ian said, and he allowed himself to smile. “If our nations may ally, then perhaps good will emerge from this darkness.”
“But only if we are strong enough to fight for it,” Theo said, dismissing the knight.
Harruq tried to decide whether to follow or not, but the king had not dismissed him, just Ian. Shrugging his shoulders, he waited and wondered.
“What more could we ask for?” Theo asked once they were alone. The king paced, too excited to remain seated. “An army coming from the east, to the only bridge into our lands. We have the place, and now the honor. If we win, or even delay, then Bram can destroy the usurper and retake Mordeina. We defend not just our homeland but the homelands of thousands of others!”
“It does sound like a good plan,” Harruq said, doing his best to be tactful but feeling woefully inadequate. “But maybe you should discuss this with Antonil first? Or the angels?”
“I don’t need to,” Theo said, turning to him. “For I have you.”
“Me?” Harruq’s jaw dropped a little. “What do I have to do with anything?”
“Everything! If you stay, then your elf wife will as well. Then that yellow-robed wizard follows, friends staying with friends, and suddenly I have the heroes my men whisper of around their campfires. Even the paladins will join me. Among the company of heroes, my men will make their stand. Antonil would not dare interfere, nor is he stupid enough to turn down such unexpected aid in reclaiming his throne.”
“Antonil might not be,” Harruq said. “But what if I am?”
Theo paused. His eyes narrowed.
“Surely I did not hear you correctly,” he said.
Harruq grinned. “Afraid so.”
“But why? You have fought far more hopeless battles before. What is this but another part of your growing legend? You defended the people of Neldar, then Mordan, and now Omn calls for your aid. Yet you dare turn me down?”
“I like making my own decisions,” Harruq said. “Besides, you think I’ll abandon Antonil? You think I’ll make everyone else stay to fight a god, all so you get your prideful death? You’ll abandon this castle, your lands, the homes you’re supposed to protect, all for one last desperate battle protecting Ker’s border?”
The ensuing silence frightened the half-orc. Theo looked ready to kill him.
“Get out,” he said. “Tomorrow my men march west for the Gods’ Bridges. If you would be a coward, then so be it. I will build my own legend.”
Harruq bowed and left, feeling the glare of the king burning into the back of his head. He went straight for the paladins, trusting their judgment on the matter. If any of his friends knew the politics and standings of the nations, it was they.
He found them sparring each other, lightly armored and sweating in the courtyard.
“Harruq!” Lathaar shouted upon seeing him. “Care for a fight? Jerico’s not much sport; feel like I’m spending my time chopping down a tree.”
Harruq shook his head, then blurted out everything he’d heard. The two paladins listened without saying a word.
“He’s desperate for glory,’ Jerico said when he was finished. “He probably spent so much time competing with his brother for his father’s devotion that it’s just become a part of who he is. Question is, do we think it is a good plan?”
“It’s the best one I’ve heard so far,” Lathaar said. “Granted, it’s the only plan I’ve heard so far. I’ve gotten the impression everyone here is just waiting for Karak to make a move so we can react.”
“Well, we’d be taking the initiative,” Harruq said.
“But you don’t like it,” Jerico said, seeing Harruq’s frown. “Why not?”
The half-orc shrugged.
“Not sure. But my place is with Antonil, don’t you think? That’s where we belong.”
“We should prepare for travel,” said Lathaar. “Either with Theo or with Antonil, we’ll be moving west. There’s no point in staying, not in an unguarded, unoccupied castle.”
“Come,” said Jerico. “Someone should tell Antonil. If all goes well, we might yet salvage his crown.”
11
He’d spent almost two days weaving his way through the alleys and secret spots of Veldaren, but at last Deathmask was certain Haern had lost his trail. Under cover of night he slipped through the broken window, then snapped his fingers to summon a purple fire about his hand. He looked down at Veliana’s body and frowned.
“You slit her throat,” he said to the absent Haern. “Now why did you have to do that?”
Her eyes were still closed, her flesh pale and still. He put a hand against her face, the purple fire cold and giving no heat, only light. Carefully he looked her over.
“You seem no worse for wear,” Deathmask whispered to her. “Though you’re really not going to like feeling those maggots that I’m sure a few flies laid.”
He set down his pack of supplies and rummaged through them. The cut on her neck worried him, and complicated an already delicate task. It hadn’t bled, and the flesh had turned an ugly yellow where the wound had failed to seal. From his pack he found a small spool of thread and a single needle.
“You’re going to have one nasty scar,” he told her. “Hopefully you’ll forgive me for that, too. Sewing is not one of my better skills.”
Stitch by stitch he closed her throat, until it looked like she wore a grim necklace. After that he moved on to the stab Haern had given her, stitching it shut. That done, he stripped her naked and took out a bottle of alcohol from his pouch. He splashed it across her body, then began scrubbing. Anywhere she had a cut or opening he checked for bugs, eggs, and any other such vermin that was fond of the dead. He found plenty, but knew despite his diligence, he’d still miss some. Veliana was going to be so pissed…
“Cross your fingers,” he told her, then grinned at his own bad joke. With a single word he removed the spell he’d cast two days prior. Her heart resumed its pumping. Her blood unfroze. Her lungs gasped in a long, painful breath. As she emerged from her stasis, her mouth opened in a single scream that lacked the force to express the delirium and pain she surely felt.
“Easy,” he said, holding her in his arms as she shivered and thrashed wildly. “Don’t scream. Don’t talk. Haern cut your throat to make sure you were dead.”
Her fingernails dug into his skin as she clutched him. Blood seeped from numerous cuts and bites, and he winced knowing they had to sting like a hornet because of the alcohol. Her jaw and hands trembled as her body endured wave after wave of jolts and shivers.
“If there’s anywhere that hurts, point,” he told her. “I need to make sure nothing is in you and…alive.”
>
He carefully tilted her chin so she’d look up at him. Her good eye looked into his, and then pooled with tears. She nodded in understanding, then pointed toward her side. Taking out his knife, Deathmask knelt close and forced down any squeamish sensations. If Veliana was to endure, he had to be quick, thorough, and calm.
“This’ll hurt,” he said before slicing into her skin. A moment later he pulled out a thin white worm. He burned it with a spell before Veliana could see it. “Where else?”
She touched her ankle. Deathmask saw the bite, which had begun seeping puss once her body resumed its normal functions. Doing his best to ignore her choked cries, he pried it open. At first he saw nothing, but as the blood pooled he saw a ripple from squirming. The tiny grub died on the tip of his dagger.
One after another she pointed, he cut, and the intruder died. Dark blood seeped through the stitches and trickled down her neck, and any color slowly drained away from her face. Several times he thought she might vomit, but she never did. With every cut, he felt more and more proud.
“Any more?” he asked her after a very long pause. She bit her lip, then nodded. Her tears, which had dried up, started anew. With a trembling finger she pointed to her right ear.
“Inside?” he asked. She nodded. “Shit.”
He put his hand against her head and closed his eyes. He let his mind focus on the essence of life. The touch would be so gentle, so weak…there. With a few words of magic he focused in on it, a threat, a feasting intruder, and without warning he cast another spell. The bug burst into flame. Veliana screamed at the pain, her inner ear burning. Deathmask held her tight against him, wincing at her sobs, but he did not end the spell. He burned and burned until there was nothing left but the tiniest pile of ash. He tilted her head to the side, leaned down, and blew with a soft breath tinged with magic. Out came the ash, sparkling as it floated to the ground.
“It’s over,” he whispered, holding her naked body against him. “It’s all over. Your body needs to heal, and then it won’t hurt anymore. Hopefully Haern’s second cut didn’t cost you your voice, but it might take awhile before we find out.”
A Sliver of Redemption (Half-Orcs Book 5) Page 12
