FIERCE: Sixteen Authors of Fantasy

by Mercedes Lackey

  The other guards laughed and shouted in agreement. They had spread out, flanking the half-orcs on all sides. The leader stepped forward and gestured with his weapon.

  “You know what this is? This detects elves, and every elf I find I get to politely escort out of the city. Oh, and their possessions, well, obviously they were stolen. That coin you got there, you might as well hand it over before I take it.”

  Qurrah glared while Harruq clutched the coins tighter and fought down his anger. He glanced back to the shed, cursing his idiocy for not retrieving his weapons while he had the chance.

  “The coin,” demanded a guard to their right. “Hand it over.”

  “No,” Harruq said.

  The leader rammed his fist into the half-orc’s face. Harruq staggered but held his ground. Blood ran down his face, and he spat some away from his mouth. He waited for another punch, but nothing came. The man was staring in total disbelief at the weapon he held. As he had stepped closer to punch, the gem at the end had shimmered a soft green.

  “Of all the dumb luck,” he said, a grin spreading across his face. “We got some real elves here!”

  They drew their swords. Harruq held an arm defensively in front of Qurrah, his eyes darting in all directions. Slowly, the leader extended the stick, poking it against Harruq’s chest. The soft glow turned into a brilliant flare of emerald.

  “Elves,” the man said. “No doubt about it.”

  He laughed to the others and then punched Harruq in the gut. As the half-orc doubled over, the guard grabbed his hair and tugged.

  “Got to be a disguise,” he said. Another guard used the hilt of his sword to strike Harruq’s back. The blow blasted the air out of his lungs. The leader of the guards tugged all along Harruq’s face, pulling hair and scratching skin.

  “I’ll be,” he said. “It is real. No illusion and no disguise. You two cretins have god-damned elf blood in you.”

  “You jest,” Qurrah said, hanging back and showing no sign of aggression. The soldiers clearly thought Harruq the more dangerous of the two, and he was more than willing to let them continue thinking that.

  “No jest,” the guard said. “You two are leaving this city, now.”

  “My things,” Harruq said, his voice coming out as a weak croak.

  “I don’t see anything,” said the guard, scooping down and retrieving the scattered coins Harruq had dropped.

  “In the shed,” Qurrah said.

  “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 to his brother as the two marched in front of the guards toward the main streets.

  “Trying,” Harruq whispered back.

  They marched at sword point. 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.

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

  “So where will we go?” he asked.

  “Where else is there?” Qurrah said. “Perhaps we were meant to go to Woodhaven. 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 were tossed out with swords at our backs. If we were to leave, I wanted 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 at the swords 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 have yet to face men in combat,” Qurrah said. “Do not be overzealous about your skills. Confident, 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.

  “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, a new life awaiting them in Woodhaven.

  Chapter III

  IN SILENCE, HARRUQ TUN STARED at the body. Seven, he guessed. No older than seven. He didn’t know the boy’s name or why he had wandered into the forest. The bloodied corpse was sprawled across the knotted roots of a tree, its innards spilled through 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 imag
es 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 the 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 rose, glanced at the body, and then departed.

  “What are they looking at?” Harruq later 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 gruesome 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.

  The two brothers lived in the poorest part of town, sheltered in an old building long abandoned. When they had first arrived, several homeless men claimed it as their own. Harruq had slit their throats when they slept and then Qurrah worked his art. The few vagabonds left in the city quickly learned to avoid the worn building marked by holes in its roof and long shadows that lingered no matter where the sun shone.

  Harruq shoved open the door and then halted as he breathed in the stuffy air.

  “Nothing like home, eh?” he said.

  “Move, before the meat spoils,” Qurrah said.

  The big half-orc stepped out of the way. Qurrah came through, carrying a slab of meat in his hands. He weaved across the missing planks in the floor and sat next to a small circle of stones. Above him was a hole in the ceiling for the smoke to escape.

  “Since when has spoiling meat stopped me from eating it?” Harruq asked.

  Qurrah laughed. “Which explains so much.”

  Murmuring a few words, he smashed his hands together. Fire burst to life in the center of the stones. Harruq grabbed a small pot and brought it to the fire, but Qurrah stopped him.

  “There is no need,” he said.

  “How come?” Harruq asked.

  Qurrah narrowed his eyes and stared at the meat in his hands.

  “I have something I wish to try.”

  The bigger half-orc stepped back, willing to watch his brother work. While Harruq was skilled in swords and had all the muscle, Qurrah possessed far more interesting talents.

  Qurrah mumbled words, sick and spidery. The bones in the slab of meat snapped erect as if pulled by invisible strings. He kept whispering, his eyes wide. The meat floated from his hands and then lowered into the fire. Qurrah twirled his finger, and the slab turned as if on a spit.

  “We’re eating fancy tonight,” Harruq said, tossing the pot back to its corner. His stomach growled as the aroma of cooked meat filled his nostrils.

  “Glad you approve,” Qurrah said.

  They ate in silence until only bones remained, which Qurrah then tucked away in a pouch. Harruq relaxed and enjoyed the heat while his brother tightened his robe and leaned toward the fire.

  “Things are more dangerous now, aren’t they?” Harruq asked after a pause.

  Qurrah nodded, his thoughts distant. “They’re ready for us. Many elves will be lurking inside the woods as they hunt for the Forest Butcher.” Again Qurrah chuckled at the name his brother had earned.

  “Will we stop for a while?” Harruq asked.

  The smaller half-orc shook his head. “Of course not. I must keep learning, increasing my strength. We will resume, just this time amid the darkness.”

  Harruq nodded, obviously uneasy. “Hey brother?”

  “Yes Harruq?”

  “Are you sure what we’re doing isn’t wrong?” He twiddled his fingers, suddenly embarrassed. “I mean… they’re children.”

  Qurrah sighed. He had sensed apprehension in his brother before, especially when it came to the children. Such nuisances needed to be eradicated.

  “If given a choice,” Qurrah asked, “would you split a seed or burn a flower? Let the children meet their end before they learn the torment and anguish of their parents. Besides, kill a child and the mother has one less mouth to feed. Kill the mother or father and all the children suffer and starve.”

  The larger half-orc shrugged. He was not convinced but that mattered little. He would trust his wiser brother as he always had. Qurrah let his eyes drift back to the fire. “Tomorrow night, bring me a body, but don’t let yourself be caught. A gruesome execution does not suit my immediate plans.”

  “Sure,” Harruq said. “Whatever you want.”

  They slept in their pile of hay and cloth. Harruq did not wake until late morning, but Qurrah slept far less. The dream had come again.

  Woodhaven burned behind him, billowing smoke. The sun was gone, and no stars penetrated the blanket of rainless clouds that loomed above. Far away, a wolf howled.

  Come to me, said a voice. Qurrah looked to the distance. He could see a man cloaked in black standing upon a hill. Red eyes burned through the blackness within his hood. The feeling of absolute power then was greater than Qurrah had ever felt, greater than even the master of his youth.

  Why should I follow? Qurrah heard himself ask. Hands stretched to the heavens, the cloaked man laughed. His power surged with the laughter, obliterating Qurrah’s ability to stand.

  Because I am eternal, said the figure. I sire war. I sow bloodshed. I create my dead, and the dead follow.

  What must I do? Qurrah asked.

  You know the words.

  As the dream began to shatter, the words did indeed come to his mind. He could have everything he desired, but to obtain it he must give all he had.

  My life for you.

  Those were the words.

  The following night, Harruq slipped out into the street. Lamps were lit here and there, casting shadows across the road. Harruq stayed far from Celed, the elven side of town, since they sent all their children to be raised in Nellassar, deep in the heart of the Erze forest. It was the human children, especially the poor and the destitute, that Harruq sought. Of course, none would be out playing, not with so many dead and missing. He would need to take different measures.

  Not far from their home, a ratty building operated throughout the night. It was Maggie’s Place, half tavern and half orphanage. Maggie enjoyed the free labor and the ability to rant and slap her orphan workers without fear of reprisal while still maintaining the image of a heart of gold to her regulars. The tavern filled the first floor, while the orphanage and a few modest rooms for rent composed the second.

  Harruq stepped into t
he alley beside the tavern and looked up. A window. Perfect. As he searched for a way to scale the wall, he saw a drunken man watching him.

  “Get lost,” Harruq growled. The man obliged, taking his bottle of ale and running. That taken care of, the half-orc went around back where he found a few worn and uneven crates. He lifted one and approved of its strength after a simple test. Satisfied, he went back around and placed it against the wall. He was about to go back for a second when torchlight flooded the alley.

  “Move and you’ll find an arrow in your throat,” said a voice.

  “Pincushion him anyway,” urged another.

  Harruq held a hand before his eyes, cursing his awful luck. He saw two figures, night patrolmen, and both human. One had a readied bow aimed at his neck.

  “I haven’t done anything wrong,” Harruq said.

  “Sure you haven’t,” one of the patrolmen said. “Then what’s with the crate?”

  The half-orc’s mind groped for a reason. “Um, well, I needed to piss, so I came out here.”

  “So you needed that to go behind?” asked the other. Harruq nodded. “Bullshit. Put your hands up. I see those sword hilts.”

  Harruq mumbled another curse, his pulse racing. It wouldn’t take long to down the closer soldier, provided the archer wasn’t too good a shot. Even then, he risked at least two arrows sticking in his flesh. Unsure of what to do, he played dumb and let the first soldier approach.

  “Careful, he’s a biggie,” the bowman said.

  “Nothing I can’t handle,” said the other before smashing the butt of his sword into Harruq’s face. Rage surged through the half-orc’s veins, his orcish side screaming for blood. He fought it down even as a mailed fist smashed against his spine. Harruq collapsed to his knees, choking down a furious roar.

  “Goes down easy, I say,” the guard said to the bowman. “How much you want to bet this guy is the sick bastard killing the kids?”