We’re walking a long way to go a short trip,” one of Karnryk’s thugs grumbled. “You think this necessary?”
“From the forest we’ll have free run of the tower’s backside,” their leader grumbled. “If we’re taking on the Watcher, we give him as little time to prepare as possible. You don’t think our rabble would get within half a mile if we stuck to the roads, do you?”
The same thug rubbed his arm, cut from passing through a line of thick brush, and spat.
“I don’t know. Just hate this stupid forest is all.”
“We’ll be out soon. All of you stay sharp and close. Won’t be too long, now.”
The rest, numbering ten plus Karnryk and Melhed, shouted their approval. That communal roar woke the two lovers from their sleep.
“Are you awake?” Qurrah asked, his eyes snapping open.
“I hear it,” the girl whispered into his neck. “They’re close, and they’re many.”
They stood, Qurrah throwing on his robes, Tessanna watching him.
“Aren’t you going to dress?” he asked her. She smirked in response.
“Don’t you think I’m more intimidating as is?”
The half-orc looked up and down her body. She was thin, she was pale, but by the gods, she was beautiful.
“You’ll steal their hearts, but only to draw them closer, not send them running.”
She laughed. “I know. I’ll put on clothes if you insist, though.”
She donned her short, weathered dress, tracing her fingers across the stains of blood. Finished, the two slipped through the trees toward the source of the noise.
I count twelve,” Qurrah said, hidden behind a collection of brush. Farther ahead marched the mercenaries, cutting and cursing their way through the forest toward the Eschaton tower.
“Who’s the big one?” Tessanna asked, licking her lips. When she caught Qurrah watching, she laughed. “I’m not interested in that, at least, not while he’s alive.” She laughed again. Qurrah wasn’t sure if she was joking or not, and that alone disturbed him.
“They move for our tower,” the half-orc said. “For what reason, though?”
Tessanna shrugged. “You need subjects for your scrolls, right? Well, I see plenty. I’ll leave you one breathing.”
With that, she stripped off her dress and left their cover. Fully exposed, she shouted to the group.
“What’s the hurry?”
The men turned, their eyes bulging at the sight of Tessanna approaching, her black hair falling down either side of her face, covering her shoulders and the sides of her breasts. The morning was cold, and her body showed it. Her face held no expression, for the being of apathy had come over her.
“What in Karak’s name is going on?” Karnryk growled. All around him, his thugs glanced at each other, each one looking for the courage to go to her, despite what their half-orc boss might say.
“A nymph of the forest, perhaps?” Melhed offered. “I have heard rumors of such beauty, but I’ve never seen one.”
“We can share her, can’t we, Karnryk?” asked one. Several others echoed similar sentiments.
“Hold it!” he shouted, putting his arms out to stop them. “Something ain’t right, boys, can’t you feel it?”
They could feel something, but it felt right to them.
“Look upon me,” Tessanna called, caressing her body with her hands as she walked. “Enjoy my beauty. Many already have.”
Karnryk felt a tug to go to her, but the warrior in him shrieked in protest. A cool wind blew from her direction, even though the air had been still all morning. The forest darkened with her steps, as if clouds formed a permanent cover above her head. And her eyes… When she looked upon him with those huge black orbs, he felt naked, helpless, and doomed to die.
“Get your weapons ready, boys, this girl’s no prize.”
“Are you mad?” said one thug. “You want us to hurt a thing like that?”
“I want you to-”
He stopped, for Tessanna had begun to change. The shadows around her darkened. Cold air tossed her hair in all directions. A creeping mist seeped out from her, hiding her features. Step after step, the transformation continued, until she appeared a dark goddess walking the land of Dezrel. Her eyes were the darkest of all, tunnels to the abyss leering out at the living.
“I am alive,” she said, her voice the shriek of a banshee, beautiful and deadly. “I am the angel. I am the nightmare. I have come.”
Black tentacles shot from her outstretched fingers, curling around trees, slicing through bushes and low branches, and then piercing into the flesh of the nearest thug. He screamed until two tentacles ripped out his tongue. Black lightning swirled around his body. The tentacles finally drew back, leaving a bloody pile of flesh.
Karnryk drew his sword, fear palpable on his face.
“If you value your lives, she needs to die,” he ordered. The others drew their daggers and swords, doing their best to ignore the carnage that had been their comrade.
“Come to the angel,” Tessanna beckoned. Tentacles flared out her shoulders and swirled into great black wings that stretched higher than the trees. Power flared through her, and the courage of all men who looked upon her melted like ice before the sun.
If the display had lasted a bit longer, they would have fled, never to return. Tessanna’s power, however, was not as absolute as she made it seem. The black wings dissipated, the tentacles faded as if they never were, and in one great silent implosion the darkness returned to her body. Now only a beautiful, naked girl, Tessanna fell to her knees, gasping for breath.
“Damn poison,” she whispered, sensing traces still lingering in her veins.
“Kill her,” Karnryk ordered. They charged, bolstered by her collapse. Then Qurrah stepped out from behind the brush let loose a crack of his fiery whip.
“I will drive mad any who dare touch her,” he shouted, ignoring the horrid pain in his throat.
“Too late!” Karnryk bellowed, not slowing in the least. The rest of his thugs were not far behind. He saw Qurrah cast a spell, so he raised his sword in defense. The bones of the dead body animated and assaulted the group from behind. Men screamed and fell, bones cracking their spines, necks, and heads. A pelvic bone smacked Karnryk hard in the back. He stumbled to the ground in a great explosion of leaves and dirt.
“Kill him,” he shouted, struggling back to his feet. “Kill him, quickly!” The first to approach tripped, his feet tangled and his pants aflame. Two more lunged, but Qurrah knelt beside Tessanna and cast a spell. A single, impenetrable wave of darkness rolled forth, rising higher than their heads. They flew back, pushed on by the wave. Karnryk jammed his sword into the dirt and braced himself. The magic slammed into his body like raging floodwaters. He felt his flesh peel away, yet he held his ground. When the wave passed, only he remained standing.
“Impressive,” he said, spitting blood. “But it will take more than a few spells to kill me.”
“I do not seek to kill you,” Qurrah said, snapping his whip. “As I said, I will drive you mad.”
“He is mine,” Tessanna said, rising from her knees. “The others you can do with as you wish, but I want him alive.”
Qurrah nodded, trusting her. Many of the thugs were getting to their feet, only dazed by his spell.
“Very well.” He turned to Karnryk. “My pity to you.”
The necromancer walked around the powerful warrior, giving him a safe distance considering the length of his two-handed sword. Karnryk let him go, only concerned with the dark angel.
“Do you want me?” she asked, displaying her body. The half-orc spat in response.
“Too skinny. A man like me would crush you.”
Tessanna giggled. “I’m tougher than I look. Really, I am.”
The half-orc roared, yanking his blade out of the dirt and charging. He swung with all his might, attempting to behead Tessanna where she stood. In response, she whispered words of magic and raised her hand. The sword smashed
against her fingers and stopped as if striking a mountain. The impact nearly shattered Karnryk’s hands and elbows. She reached out and ran a hand across his chest. Karnryk pulled back his sword and struck, this time at her scrawny waist. Again he smacked against stone.
“My sword is enchanted,” he said, the pain in his arms unbearable. “Why do you not die?”
In response, Tessanna flattened her hand against his skin and lowered it to his groin. He tensed, exhilarated and terrified.
“There’s only one sword I want,” she cooed. “I’ll tell you if you want to know.”
She groped and pressed. He held her with one hand and pressed his sword against her neck with the other.
“Stop it,” he snarled.
“Don’t you want to know?” she asked. “I’ll whisper it to you.” She leaned forward, unafraid of the blade at her exposed throat. The half-orc felt his heart skip as her hair and lips brushed the side of his face.
“Are you sure you want to know?” she whispered into his ear.
“Yes,” he gasped as she resumed the motions of her hand.
“Bleed,” she whispered.
The black magic poured into him. The pain he felt was indescribable, an overwhelming sensation so great his mind immediately shut down in defense. He fell, unconscious, a giant red smear across the crotch of his pants.
“I hope you’ll keep my secret,” she giggled, licking the blood off her fingers.
Let go!” screamed the man as Qurrah’s flaming leather whip wrapped around his ankle. He hacked at it with his sword, showering sparks and ash, but causing no damage. The smell of burning flesh filled his nostrils, and his screams grew all the louder.
“You will die like the others,” Qurrah said, releasing the leg. The thug charged, howling like a mad beast. Eager to test out a new spell, the half-orc whispered words of power and outstretched his hand. A gray, swirling funnel, like a tornado turned on its side, shrieked out from his palm. Flesh cracked and died as the rolling magic swarmed over him. The man inhaled to scream but the tornado swirled down his throat, shriveling his lungs and denying him his final death cry. The body fell, looking like a freshly unearthed corpse.
A dagger sliced through the air, only its clear whistle giving Qurrah warning. He cried out in anger as the blade cut across his cheek. He dropped to the ground as two more flew above his head. He sought out and found his attacker: Melhed, hiding behind a tree.
“If blood is what you want,” the half-orc said, “then I will gladly grant it.”
He wiped his face, smearing blood across his palm. Dark magic hardened it into a small stone. It vibrated in his hand, filled with power. The next time Melhed threw a dagger, Qurrah released his own projectile.
A blink of his eyes, and then Melhed felt the impact. The ball shattered, swarming him in a tremendous explosion of blood. Its stickiness wrapped around his face, his arms, and his legs. He collapsed, gasping for air. The blood thickened, pulsing as if still encapsulated in veins. Struggle as he might, the rope-like substance held firm.
Comparatively, Melhed’s dagger had far less effect. It bit into Qurrah’s shoulder, a deep wound that would take time to heal.
Qurrah had time. Melhed did not.
“You struck me twice,” the half-orc said. “I shall save you for last.”
Last would not be long, for only three men remained facing the necromancer, and all three were wounded.
“Do any of you dare strike against me?” he asked, snapping his whip to the ground. The men formed a triangle, eyeing him fearfully.
“Get him,” one shouted, his dagger thrusting at the half-orc’s back. The other two remained, cowardly at heart, and did not charge with him. Qurrah spun, shoving his hand forward with his fingers hooked in a bizarre way.
“Nightmare,” he hissed in the tongue of magic. The thrust faltered, all strength pulled out of it. Qurrah batted it aside with his free hand and then gripped the man’s face with an open palm. The man stared with wide, unblinking eyes as Qurrah forced him to his knees. From his mouth came screams of sheer terror.
“Do you wish this man’s fate?” Qurrah asked the other two, shoving the shrieking man to the dirt as if he were a pitiful child. “The things he sees are beyond description. Stay, and you may share them.”
“You’ll kill us if we turn to run,” one said, glancing to his partner for support.
“That’s right,” Qurrah laughed, wrapping his whip about his arm. Beside him, the shrieking man gagged and shivered as his heart gave out. “Still, if I were you, I’d be running.”
All light surrounding his fingers sucked in and vanished, leaving two voids where his hands should have been. Black lightning crackled between them, its thunder that of a wailing eagle. Where Qurrah’s eyes had been were now doorways to the abyss, seething with the cold promise of death. The men dropped their swords and ran. They died like cowards, lightning bursting their hearts in their chests.
Qurrah turned to see Tessanna approach. She remained nude, her dress in hand.
“They are all dead,” she said, a wonderful smile on her face. The smile did not flinch even when she yanked the dagger out of Qurrah’s shoulder.
“I left one alive,” Qurrah said, grunting as pain flooded him. Tessanna kissed his cheek, her pale hands gently pressed against the wound. Healing magic sank into him, ceasing the blood flow. Satisfied, Qurrah pulled out a few pieces of parchment from a large pocket within his robes.
“Stay back,” he said. “You must not hear the words I say.”
“But I want to see,” she pouted.
“When I am done, you may see the results,” he offered. She sighed but consented. He ran a hand through her hair, admiring the perfection of her body. Then went to Melhed, who was still bound by the blood curse.
“What do you want with me?” the scrawny man asked, his voice just below hysteria. “I have money. Lots of it! It’s in my house. Let me get it for you.”
“Where is your house, cretin?” Qurrah asked, yanking the man’s hair so that they stared eye to eye.
“It’s in southwestern Veldaren,” he said. “Fourth down Copper lane.”
“What does it look like?”
Qurrah took out his whip and draped it across the man’s neck, chest, and abdomen.
“Small, brown, thick cedar. My name is etched above the door. Please, I have gold in there, you can take it, all of it, just let me live.” The half-orc pulled back his whip. It vanished underneath the arm of his cloak.
“Thank you, kind sir,” Melhed said, thinking his life spared. “I have no quarrel with you, I was paid by Karnryk. Yes, paid, that’s all.”
“I never said you could live,” Qurrah said, his voice vile. He unrolled the parchment, to the horror of the bound man.
“No! No spells, please no, anything, please, use my daggers!”
“These are not spells,” he said. He pulled out two globs of wax and shoved them into his ears. “They are far worse.” His voice was distant and muffled. He hoped it would be enough.
The man screamed when he recited the first line of words written across the page. He thought Qurrah was about to explode his head or turn him into some pitiful creature. The words, however, had a hypnotic affect. He quieted, listening intently.
Qurrah continued. To him, he had read only seven lines, but to Melhed, nearly a lifetime seemed to have passed. His eyes grew distant, his mouth slackened, but still he listened, deep in concentration. When Qurrah reached the end of the passage, he stopped, feeling dizzy and weak. Melhed’s reaction was far worse.
“Nooo!” he shrieked, writhing against his bonds. “Noooo! Speak! Speak!”
Qurrah did not know, but to Melhed, the silence was more than deafening. His entire mind had ridden the magical words like a man caught in a stream. With the end of the water, though, he found passage upstream impossible.
Tessanna arrived as he pulled the wax from his ears.
“It looks as if he yearns for something,” she said, staring at Me
lhed’s fanatical eyes.
“I do not know what,” Qurrah admitted. “But this is nothing like you. He has no control. His entire mind is shattered.”
The girl nodded, laughing at the way the man flopped around.
“Are you going to leave him here?” she asked.
“There are more than two-hundred passages I must test. He, and the passage he represents, is incorrect. I have no use for him.”
“You poor baby,” Tessanna cooed, kneeling down beside the shrieking man. She put a hand across his head, holding him steady. She put the rest of her weight on his chest. She kissed him, plunging her tongue deep down his throat. She purred as the stink of madness filled her nostrils. Before she ended her kiss, she grabbed his tongue in her teeth and bit down. The tender flesh tore, and the man’s screams down her throat were waves of pleasure. The taste of blood filled her, and she reveled in pure, sexual delight. She stood, flashing Qurrah a smile.
“He will choke soon,” she told the stunned half-orc. “That, or he will swallow his own tongue. Want to stay and watch?”
“No,” Qurrah said, holding in his shudder.
“Aww,” she said, her lower lip pouting. She put her dress back on, flipped her hair over one shoulder, and then slowly licked the blood from her lips.
“No fun,” she told him. “No fun at all.”
12
I hope your brother and that girl of his return soon,” Tarlak said, pacing back and forth in the main floor of the tower. “If Dieredon decides to grab Aurelia and run, things could get nasty.”
“Qurrah will show if he wants, not much else we can do,” Harruq said.
“I could scry for his location,” Aurelia said, sitting on the stairs, her staff on her lap. “But I’d rather save my strength for more important things, like making sure you all stay alive.”
“Your concern for our safety is touching,” the wizard said. “Especially since we’re doing this for you.”
“Oh, please. You’d hate not seeing my cute butt again, and you know it.”
Tarlak shrugged. “So?”
The Half-Orcs: Books 1-5 Page 34
