“Come on, pansy-boy,” the half-orc warrior roared. The two collided in a brutal exchange of steel. The elf shoved his sword upward, using his forward momentum to slam the point straight at Harruq’s throat. Harruq swung Condemnation left, deflecting the incoming thrust. His other blade stabbed, tearing away the soft flesh beneath his attacker’s ribcage.
The elf leapt back, landed shakily, and then lunged once more. His speed was not what it should have been, though, and Harruq needed little opening. He swung both swords, the entirety of his might behind them. The elf blocked. His sword was elven-make and had been wielded in his hands for two hundred years. Never would he have guessed Harruq’s were older by three centuries. Never would he have guessed that those two blades would shatter his own, pass through the explosion of steel, sever his spine, and cleave his body in two.
The half-orc continued his charge, engaging the two elves behind. They struck as one, their swords aiming for vitals high and low. Harruq knew he could not block both, so he accepted a thrust curving to the side of his armor, grinning darkly. As the sword punched through the enchanted leather, the half-orc cut his adversary’s throat, using that same swing to parry the other attack away.
The remaining elf swore as his eyes grew red and watery. He backed away from the half-orc, his sword held defensively before him.
“What demon magic is this?” he asked.
“Mine,” said Qurrah.
And then blood poured out from the face of the lone elf. The eyeballs hit the ground before the dead body did.
“Hurry,” the necromancer said. “This is but a taste of what we must do.”
“Very well,” Harruq said. He tried to follow but the pain in his side stopped him. He clutched his bleeding side and breathed deeply. His armor had saved him, but the elf had managed to penetrate deeper than he thought.
“Are you fine, Harruq?” Qurrah asked, glancing back and halting his walk.
“I’m coming,” he said, marching after his brother. He hid his pain well.
The alley opened up to the main street, running south from the center of town into the forest beyond. It was there that the bulk of combat had spread. Elves battled in the street, horribly outnumbered. They were skilled, though, and a steady stream of arrows from homes continued to weaken the human forces.
“Halt here,” Qurrah said. To their right was a two-story elven home. Three bowmen fired from the windows at a party of fifteen soldiers. The men of Neldar had their shields raised high, but the synergy between the elves in the home and the elves on the street was superb. The Tun brothers watched the sword wielders on the ground dance in, make a few precise swings to change the positioning of the shields, and then dart away. Arrows quickly followed these maneuvers, biting into exposed flesh.
Qurrah motioned to the building housing the archers.
“Go inside. I will distract them.”
“You sure?”
“Yes, now go!”
Harruq kicked open the barricaded door and then barged up the stairs.
Qurrah withdrew a few pieces of bone from a pouch. He tightened his grip about them, whispering a few words of magic as he did. Then he looked to the window. He could barely see a bow and part of a hand. Qurrah waited. The Neldaren warriors charged, hoping to overwhelm their opponents before arrows took them all. The elf in the window leaned out to unleash a killing strike, but it was Qurrah who did the killing. Four pieces of bone leapt from his hand. They hit the elf’s neck and temple, making a satisfying crack.
The archer spilled through the window and landed with a clattering thud.
“The rest are yours, brother,” he whispered.
Inside felt like a modest rendition of Ahrqur’s home. Stairs in the center led to the upper floor. Harruq charged up them, making no attempt at silence. Either they would hear him through the chaos of battle or they would not.
It turned out they did. An arrow flew across the room and pierced his shoulder when he reached the second floor. He bellowed, letting the pain spark his rage. One archer continued to fire out the window, believing his companion capable of finishing a single warrior. He believed wrong.
The elf fired only one more shot before Harruq crossed the room. The arrow lodged into Harruq’s side, and then Salvation tore through his bow and into flesh. A kick sent the remains tumbling out the window. The other archer pulled back and fired at point blank range. Harruq roared as he felt a sharp pain bite into his neck. His mind blanked. He dropped his swords. His hands closed about something soft. By the time his rage calmed, blood was on his hands and the remains of an elf lay in the dirt below the window.
“Stupid elfie,” he said, gingerly touching the arrow in his neck. Not knowing what else to do, he closed his hand about the shaft and pulled.
A minute later, still lying in agonizing pain, the half-orc managed to pry open one of his healing potions. He gulped the swirling blue-silver contents and then tossed the vial. Ripping the other arrow out of his side, he felt a warm, soothing sensation fill his body.
“Are you alright?” he heard a raspy voice ask from atop the stairs.
“Yeah, I’m fine. Just had to take care of something here.”
He trudged down the stairs to where Qurrah waited.
“How many did you kill?” the necromancer asked.
“Just two,” he replied. His skeptical brother raised an eyebrow.
“That is a lot of blood for just two.”
Harruq ignored him. “Where to?” he asked instead.
Qurrah glanced outside the door. “The battle is moving on. Follow me.”
“Lead on,” he said, trudging after his brother into the daylight chaos.
Out the window Aurelia stared, frowning as she watched the battle unfold.
“Aurelia,” called a voice from behind. She turned to see a female elf, a friend of hers from many years before she moved to Woodhaven.
“Yes, Felewen?”
Felewen stood beside her and faced the window. Her hair was tied in a long, black ponytail, her slender figure covered by rare chainmail crafted of the hardest metals known to the intelligent races. She had come from deep within Nellassar, the thriving capital of the Dezren elves, as just one of many that had arrived to protect the town.
“Many are dying,” Felewen said. “The humans have a spellcaster of their own who repelled our ambush.”
Aurelia nodded. She knew something had gone wrong; otherwise, the battle would have been over in seconds.
“Very well,” Aurelia said. “Will you accompany me?”
Felewen smiled at her. She drew her longsword and saluted.
“But of course, Lady Thyne,” she said with none-too-subtle sarcasm. Aurelia tried to return a smile. She failed.
“Come. Let’s end this now.”
The two left the building and joined the fighting on the streets. It did not take long before a group of soldiers spotted them.
“Show them no mercy, Aurelia,” Felewen said, her warm voice turning cold.
“They will die with little suffering,” the sorceress responded. “It’s the most I can give.”
Electricity arced between her hands. Blue fire surrounded her eyes. The five human soldiers raised their shields and charged as a single unit. Felewen stood next to Aurelia, her sword high and her armor gleaming. She kept the blade out and pointed at the center soldier. When the bolt of lightning came shrieking out from Aurelia’s hands, that same soldier found himself lifted from the ground, his hands flailing, his useless sword and shield falling.
The blue electricity entered through a second soldier’s body through his right eye. He died instantly. Then the remaining three were upon the elves, and it was Felewen’s turn to kill. The first soldier to swing at her found his sword cut from his body, his hand still clutching it as it flew through the air. He cowered back, pulling his bleeding arm behind his shield. Another leapt forward to defend him. A longsword punched through his throat before he even saw her swing.
Shock and panic took over, and th
en the wounded soldier turned to flee. The final human soldier smashed his shield forward, preventing Felewen from chasing. The slender fighter flipped backward, clutching her sword in both hands. She landed softly behind the sorceress.
“Take him,” she said. A bolt of lightning hit his shield, numbing his arm and knocking him back. The shield slumped low, but he charged anyway, fully willing to die fighting.
“For Neldar,” he cried, thrusting at Aurelia’s chest. Felewen was there first. All it took was three cuts. The first took the man’s sword from his hand. The second took his arm from his body. The third took his life. A final bolt of lightning shot down the street, killing the wounded soldier who had fled.
Felewen wiped the blood from her blade and sheathed it. She used the same cloth to clean the blood from her face.
“Come,” she said. “We must go north where we are needed most.”
The two ran through the town, listening for sounds of battle. The worst seemed to be about the middle of Celed and steadily working its way south. They encountered a few soldiers as they hurried there. All died before they had the chance to swing their blades.
“At last!” Felewen cried, staring out from a side alley. They were behind a group of ten soldiers battling a pair of elven warriors who stood back to back. “Make haste, they need us!”
Felewen charged, desperate to arrive before her brethren were overwhelmed. Aurelia stepped into the street and summoned her magic. Frost surrounded her hands, and a thin sheet of ice spread beneath the human soldiers. Many of them stumbled, unable to balance the sword and shield in their hands and the heavy chainmail on their bodies. Felewen slid on one leg, her sword out and ready. She passed right between two men, slicing out heels and tendons as she flew by. The elf reached the end of the ice, turned, and went sliding back.
The two she had cut were on the ground, unable to stand after such precise hits. As she reached them, she stabbed one of their legs to halt her momentum, yanked her sword free, and then rolled around to stab the other in the throat. Another roll back, and she delivered the first soldier the same fate.
The elves they saved wasted no time recovering. They both pressed forward, unafraid of fighting on the ice. Their light armor made balancing an easy task while their human counterparts were doing all they could to swing and stand at the same time. Two men fell to each of their blades, bringing the total down to four.
As Felewen lay upon the ice, a soldier stabbed down at her. She spun on her rear, her sword out in an arc. After knocking him off his feet, Felewen snapped her legs high above her, spinning her body off the ground. She landed on her stomach, her sword skewering the guard’s innards. She pulled herself to her feet with the hilt of her sword, twisted the blade, and then finished him.
The remaining soldiers turned to flee, but there was one slight problem. An enormous ball of fire erupted at their feet, engulfing all three in flame. Two died from the horrible burns. A third slumped and whimpered in pain. Aurelia walked over to him and knelt on one knee. She placed a hand on his head and looked over his wounds while he glared up at her.
“Your wounds are beyond saving,” she said softly. “I’m sorry.”
She ended his pain with a small lance of ice through his forehead.
“Thank you for your aid,” one of the elves said. “We must fall back to the forest. If they chase us there, it will be suicide.”
“We will not have to fall back so far,” Felewen disagreed. “They have scattered about our town. Their numbers mean nothing now. Besides,” she grinned, “we have Aurelia Thyne.”
Both bowed politely.
“Never could we have used a mage’s power more than now,” one said. Aurelia blushed and waved him off.
“Please we must…”
A cold chill spread through her body, like water from an underground stream meeting a creek. She whirled and stared down the street. Walking without escort was a lone man shrouded in black robes. The cowl of his cloak hid much of his face.
“Come, brother,” one of the elves said. “It is the one who protected them from our arrows.”
The other nodded, took up his sword, and charged. His brother was not far behind. Felewen joined them, for she too had watched as the black shield had knocked aside their arrows and then shattered their bows.
Aurelia did not move. Her eyes were frozen on this strange man. Power rolled off him. He was strong, and even more so, he was terrifying. She had no doubt of this man’s identity; he was the nameless necromancer, one of the few who could best Scoutmaster Dieredon in combat.
“Stop, you cannot defeat him,” she shouted. None listened. “Felewen, please!”
Felewen glanced back to her, and that small pause saved her life.
The man in black had made no threatening move as the other two charged. They were almost upon him when he cast aside his hood to reveal his ever-changing face, his deep red eyes, and his horrible smile. His hands lunged forward, the floodgates opened, and all his power came rushing forth. A wall of black magic rolled like a tidal wave conjured from his fingertips. The elven brothers tumbled through and vanished. Felewen leapt back when she saw the attack coming. She rolled behind a house and tucked her head.
The wave continued down the street, straight for Aurelia.
“I do not fear you,” she hissed through clenched teeth. A wall of water swirled about her, flowing from the otherwise dry dirt street. She sent it forward, just as tall and high as Velixar’s. The two met in a thunderous roar, intermixing in a maelstrom of darkness, water, and air. Then they both dissolved, their magic spent.
Aurelia held back tears. Velixar’s magic had peeled the flesh from the elves’ bodies. Blood leaked through muscle and tendon, and their innards spilled from their abdomens. She hoped they died instantly, but she knew better. They had suffered tremendously.
“You monster,” she shouted. “What meaning does this battle hold to you?”
“Everything,” Velixar shouted, hurling a flaming ball of fire from each hand. “I desire panic and bloodshed all across the east!”
Aurelia summoned a magical shield about her body. The fireballs thudded three feet from her body and detonated. The two nearest buildings crumpled, their walls and roofs blown back by the power. The elf winced, nearly knocked to her knees by the force.
“What madness gives you such a desire?” she asked, sending forth the strongest spells she knew. Several lances of ice flew down the street, followed by a ball of magma. The ball rolled behind the lances, covering the ground in flame. Velixar laughed.
A wave of his hand created a similar shield as Aurelia’s, but instead of keeping it close to his body, he shoved it forward. The lances shattered into shards when slammed against it. The ball of magma halted when touching the barrier and then reversed direction. The elf glared, detonating the attack with a thought. Molten rock covered the street, splattering across both Velixar’s and Aurelia’s shields before sliding to the dirt.
“How long can you keep this up?” the necromancer asked. He took out a bag of bones and scattered more than thirty pieces. “How long before you break?”
One by one, the bone pieces shot straight at Aurelia.
The elf dropped to one knee, words of magic streaming out her mouth as fast as she could speak them. Her magical shield could halt attacks of pure magical essence, such as the conjured fire, but animated objects were a different matter. The magic projecting them would die at her shield but the pieces would retain their momentum.
The dirt before her rumbled, cracked, and then ascended in a great physical wall. On the other side, pieces of bone thumped against it, one after another.
“Cute,” Velixar said, “but pointless.”
An invisible blast of pure force shattered the wall. Aurelia crossed her arms before her face as chunks of earth slammed into her slender form. She rolled with the blows, her mouth casting before she halted. Ice spread from house to house, walling Velixar off on the other side.
“From dirt to ice?�
�� Velixar asked. “The end is just the same!”
The center of the wall exploded inward, but this time Aurelia was prepared. A rolling thunder of sound shoved all the broken shards forward, sending even the remaining chunks of the wall down the street in a chaotic assault. Velixar grinned. Clever girl.
The wave of sound and ice slammed his body. He flew backward, ice tearing his skin, but no blood came forth from those wounds. The larger pieces smashed his body from side to side, which turned limply with each blow. When the wave passed, Aurelia leaned on one knee, gasping for air as she stared at the man in black, now a crumpled mess of robes in the center of the street. The body suddenly convulsed, the chest heaving in quick, jerky spasms. When the sound reached her, Aurelia knew her doom. Velixar was laughing.
He stood, brushed off pieces of ice clinging to his robes, and then glared at her from afar.
“Not good enough,” he said.
Wild anger contorted his face. Black lightning thicker than a man’s arm tore down the street. Aurelia gasped as all her power flowed into her shield. The collision sent her flying, her magical barrier shattered into nothingness. The lightning continued, swirling about her body. Every nerve in her body shrieked with pain. She landed hard, unable to brace for the fall. The air blasted out of her lungs, and for one agonizing second they refused to draw in another breath. Slowly the black magic seeped out of her, the pain faded, and then she sucked the dusty air into her lungs.
“You are a powerful sorceress,” Velixar said, his anger gone as quickly as it had arrived. “But I have fought the founders of the Council of Mages. I have killed men who thought themselves gods. I have died but once, to Ashhur himself. There is no shame in your defeat.”
Aurelia struggled to her feet. The well of magic inside her was dry. In time, her strength would return, but she doubted the necromancer would give her a day to rest. She used a bit of the magic she did have left to summon her staff. If she were to die, she would die fighting any way she knew how.
The man in black paused, extended his hands, and began to cast. He would give her no chance to strike.
The Half-Orcs: Books 1-5 Page 16
