“You all are idiots,” Brug mumbled, munching on a thick chicken leg smeared with sauce. “He comes in, Aurelia wiggles her ass, and then he leaves, everyone happy. Since when are things gonna get crazy?”
Aurelia winked at him. “It’s me. Things tend to go that way when I’m around.”
“I’ll agree to that,” Harruq said.
“Just try to keep the damage to a minimum,” Delysia said, coming down the stairs in her spotless white robes. “I’m still a little weak, so if you can do with some bandages, then you will.”
The door to the tower swung open, revealing Haern, his face hidden by his hood. “Dieredon circles above,” he whispered.
“Fun time,” Harruq said, drawing his swords.
“Put those away,” Aurelia ordered, glaring at the dark blades. “Wait until you absolutely must.”
The half-orc frowned but obeyed. Tarlak slapped his back before taking command.
“Look sharp and smart, everybody. You’re Eschatons. You have a reputation to uphold here, mainly mine. Don’t blow it.”
“Oh yes, great and wise leader,” Brug said, dropping his chicken and grabbing his punch daggers. “Your speech of inspiration reveals a silver tongue, indeed.”
“Shut up, shorty.”
The two were still bickering when they exited the tower.
Dieredon remained high in the air as he looped around the tower, his bow still slung across his back. There was no reason to expect trouble, but he kept it loose just in case. With a couple soft commands, he landed his winged horse, Sonowin, a safe distance away.
“Stay safe,” he whispered, patting her side. “Things get interesting, take off. Understand?” The white horse snorted, showing her opinion of fleeing.
“Fine,” Dieredon laughed. “Then trample whoever you wish.”
He slapped her rump before approaching the tower.
An interesting crowd awaited him. A yellow-robed wizard stood at the front, beaming at the elf. Beside him was a priestess of Ashhur, her hair the same shade of red as the wizard’s. To the side lurked a short warrior, his beard covered with red sauce. A man garbed in cloaks guarded the other flank. The subtle placement of the man’s feet and his sheer intensity in watching Dieredon’s every move identified him as the Watcher, rumored to live at the Eschaton tower. Dieredon marked him as the primary threat. Behind them, he saw the bounty he had come to collect, Aurelia Thyne. Standing next to her…
He halted, the grip on his bow tightening.
“Hail Dieredon, Scoutmaster of the Quellan elves,” the wizard said. “I am Tarlak Eschaton, leader of the Eschaton mercenaries. I welcome you to my tower.”
“You have puzzled us all, Lady Thyne,” Dieredon said in elvish, ignoring the wizard. “You train with a murderer, flee with him from battle, and now accompany this wretch into the city of the humans?”
“And who would this murderer be?” Tarlak asked in fluent elvish. The scoutmaster glanced over, his opinion of the man rising.
“Harruq Tun, traitor to the city of Woodhaven.”
The half-orc heard his name. His hands tightened on the hilts of his blades. Things were not going smoothly. He didn’t need to understand elvish to understand that.
“Murderer or not, he is none of your concern,” Tarlak said, glancing at the half-orc. “No bounty is upon his head, at least, none I am aware of.”
“Answer my question, Lady Thyne,” Dieredon asked, switching to the human tongue. “Why did you betray us? He killed elves, Aurelia. How do you stay by his side?”
Aurelia slipped to the front of the group, ignoring Tarlak’s attempts to hold her back.
“He is a good man,” she said, staring down Dieredon. “The one who ordered him is dead. He is free of his oath. Besides, the actions he committed were in battle. We all killed men that day.”
“I know his puppet master is dead. I killed him myself. Come with me, Aurelia. You will be tried for treason in Quellassar for aiding the escape of a murderer.”
“Nonsense,” Aurelia said. “Even if he was a traitor to Woodhaven, the town does not fall under elven rule. I am staying. I ask you, as a friend, to rescind this pointless bounty.”
Dieredon glanced about the mercenaries. “That half-orc is a murderer,” he said to them, daring each to meet his gaze. “But he didn’t just kill elves. He killed children. You have invited the Forest Butcher into your home.” He glared at Harruq when he spoke, nearly spitting out the words.
“You don’t know that!” Aurelia insisted.
“Enough of this,” Harruq said, drawing his blades. He shoved past Tarlak, pulled Aurelia back, and stood between her and the scoutmaster. “She’s not going with you, elf, and that’s final. So hop on your flying horsie and get out of here, and call off this dumb bounty after you do.”
The bow was off his back before any could move. Blades shot out the front, top and bottom as a cold expression fell over Dieredon’s face.
“Twelve children,” he said, his voice almost a whisper. “Twelve.”
Harruq remembered the last words a child had spoken to him, just before he had ended his life.
You’re an orc, aren’t you?
The guilt sent him charging, his blades lashing out. Dieredon ducked into a crouch. The two swords cut air. He flipped backward, one foot cracking the bottom of Harruq’s chin. As he staggered, the elf lunged, the bottom blade of his bow leading.
Harruq jerked his head at the last second, the bow slicing a gash across his cheek instead of ramming out the back of his head. Blood poured down the side of his face, further igniting his rage. He batted the bow to one side, thrusting with his other sword, only to have the bow swing around and parry the attack away. Twice Dieredon slapped Harruq’s face with the flat ends of his blades, stinging his pride.
The half-orc lunged, every nerve in his body on edge. He had seen the speed of Haern. The assassin had trained him rigorously, yet still he felt as he had that very first day, clearly outmatched. His next few attacks, the elf blocked with ease, and then he found himself on the receiving end of a brutal series of thrusts. He dodged side to side, his desperate blocks barely connecting.
“He’s going to kill him,” Tarlak said, preparing a spell. Haern shoved his hand over the wizard’s mouth, halting any casting. Tarlak glanced at the assassin and raised an eyebrow.
“Dieredon does not aim to kill,” Haern whispered. “Something more is at stake. It is not for us to intervene.”
“If he is too wounded, you must stop them,” Delysia said.
“I will surrender before it comes to that,” Aurelia said, her staff clutched tightly between her fingers as she watched Harruq hammered repeatedly in the face by kicks.
“I thought you were a warrior,” Dieredon shouted, countering a thrust with a stab that cut through Harruq’s enchanted leather and into skin. He pulled back, drawing only a small amount of blood, and then blocked a dual chop by the half-orc. “I thought you skilled. How many elves fell to you? Did you stab them in the back?”
“I killed them in combat,” Harruq snarled, shoving hard against the elf’s bladed bow. “They fought me face to face and lost. How many have you killed?”
“Thousands,” the elf said, matching the half-orc’s strength. “Orcs, goblins, humans, hyena-men, even elves.” He tilted the bow, hooking the two swords on the razors along the front, and then shoved to one side. Harruq’s blades and arms went with it, exposing his entire left side to a series of kicks.
“Why does Aurelia stay with you?” he asked, spinning back and away. “What spell has convinced her good is in your heart?”
“You would never understand,” Harruq said, clutching his side as best he could without dropping his sword. “And neither will I.”
The blades snapped in, and a bowstring materialized from thin air. Dieredon readied an arrow before the half-orc could move.
“Then why is it you stay with her?” he asked. “Why do you fight for her?”
“I don’t know!” he shout
ed. He stayed where he stood, knowing the slightest movement would send the arrow flying.
“Then why should I not kill you?” Dieredon shouted back. “Why should I not bury this arrow in your eye!”
“Enough of this!” Aurelia yelled. “Please, I will go.”
“No!” Harruq roared, charging the elf. The arrow flew through the air, its aim true.
Aurelia screamed as the arrow pierced into the half-orc’s flesh. Harruq bellowed out his pain, the arrow deep in his shoulder. He neared Dieredon, who remained completely still. When Harruq swung, the elf darted inward, grabbed his wrist, and flung him over his shoulder. The blades snapped out of his bow, and down came the spike, halting just above the half-orc’s throat.
“Why is it you should live?” Dieredon shouted.
“Because I love her!” Harruq screamed, his voice echoing across the land. All was silent as Dieredon kept the blade hovering.
“How can you love her?” he whispered. “Do you even know what love is?”
“She was kind to me,” he said, gasping from the pain of his many wounds. “When I didn’t deserve it, she was still kind to me.” His voice dropped quieter. “And I hurt her, and still I was forgiven. I owe her everything.”
Dieredon pulled back the blades, which vanished into his bow. He knelt down and whispered to the half-orc.
“If you ever, ever hurt her again, you will answer to me, and I will kill you.”
“I know,” Harruq whispered back.
Dieredon left him laying there and approached Aurelia. He slung the bow over his back and opened his arms. The two embraced, Aurelia staring past him at the beaten, bleeding Harruq.
“I still don’t trust him,” he said to her in elvish.
“I do,” she said. “Is that not enough?”
Dieredon pulled back and smiled. “I guess it is, for now,” he said. “I’ll tell Felewen you are well. She might even visit, she misses you so.”
Aurelia smiled. “Tell her that would be nice.”
The elf looked to Tarlak and gave him a nod.
“I will rescind the bounty. Will you release them from your capture?”
“Release?” Tarlak laughed. “They’ve become part of the family. You’re more than welcome to join. I know a few dragons we could slay with your help.”
“I must decline,” the elf said, cracking a smile. “Dragons scare me.”
Dieredon hugged Aurelia once more, and then trotted back to Sonowin, halting beside Harruq on the way.
“She loves you as well,” he said. “Only Celestia knows why, but she does.”
The half-orc offered no response. The rest of the Eschaton mercenaries watched until he mounted Sonowin and took flight.
“Dang that guy’s good,” Brug muttered once he was gone. Aurelia rushed to Harruq, who started to apologize. She ignored him, wrapped her arms around his bruised neck, and kissed him. The stunned half-orc dropped his swords and held her close. When the kiss ended, she smiled at him.
“You stupid half-orc,” she said. “Got yourself beat up for silly little me.”
“Anytime,” he said, blushing through the bruises.
Brug rolled his eyes at the display and returned to his meal. Tarlak followed, pretending to throw up. Delysia and Haern moved to Harruq’s side, both their expressions somber.
“Go to my room, Harruq,” Delysia said. “Looks like my healing magic is going to be needed after all.”
“Yeah,” he said, glancing down at the arrow. “That’s gonna hurt when you remove it, isn’t it?”
“Of course. I’ll be waiting.”
With a flip of her red hair, she returned to the tower. Harruq grinned at Haern, unsure of what his teacher would say.
“You need a lot more practice,” the assassin whispered. “Not even a single hit. When I fought him my first time, I scored two cuts.”
“You’ve fought him before?” Harruq asked, trying to imagine the two in battle. Haern only shook his head and left.
“Come on, big lug,” Aurelia said, smacking him playfully. “Let’s get you healed so I can snuggle you without getting blood all over me.”
“As you wish,” he said, seeing no reason to argue.
If Karnryk lay perfectly still, the pain only throbbed. If he kept his breaths shallow enough, the throbs weakened to dull aching. If he moved, the dull ache exploded into a thousand piercing daggers.
“Melhed,” he groaned, no louder than a whisper. “Melhed!” The wave of pain this caused nearly rendered him unconsciousness, but he was Karnryk the Slayer. Never before had pain bested him, and he would not let it do so now.
He stared at the light streaming through the forest canopy, wondering how much time had passed. The girl and the necromancer were gone. The only sound he heard was a constant sobbing to his right, broken by the occasional shriek. A third time he called out, and still he received no answer.
That whore, he thought, trying not to visualize the damage to his lower half. Hits me like a coward and leaves me for dead. I’ll kill her. I’ll eat her beating heart!
Anger gave him strength to move. He lifted his head, ignoring the cry of protest from the waist down. The pain was so great, his mind could not focus where it came from. His legs felt broken, his thighs throbbed as if stabbed, and his feet were all but numb. Where she struck him, however, was beyond pain.
“Melhed, what’d she do to you?” he asked, propping himself up on his elbows. He could see his friend lying there, rolling back and forth as he sobbed. The half-orc waited, gathering strength for the agony he knew to come. Taking a deep breath, he lifted to a crouch. The movement was salt on an open wound. Agony assaulted his mind. Stubbornness alone kept his legs moving. He roared, throwing away rational thought and pushing upward, slowly, horrifically, until he stood screaming at the top of his lungs.
When his mind was back under control, he inspected his injured self. It looked as if he had wet himself, except with blood instead of urine. He sensed, in a way, that was exactly what had happened.
“You’ll pay,” he muttered, taking one small, painful step toward Melhed. Dead bodies littered the forest floor. His friends, his pride, and even his manhood, were now reduced to a single ally sobbing incoherently in the leaves. He often dealt in retribution, but never before had he felt hatred as stark and naked as when he took another step. His stomach churned as he felt a bit more blood slide down his leg, warm and fresh.
“Long and brutal,” he said. “Very long, and very brutal.”
As he neared Melhed, he knew something was wrong. His skin was pale, his arms and legs bound, and blood covered his mouth. His sobbing turned to a strange sucking sound, one that turned Karnryk’s already weak stomach.
“It’s me, Karn,” he said, hoping against hope. “Look at me. I said look at me!”
The sucking sound grew louder, louder, and then Melhed began choking. Karnryk watched, his entire heart and soul numbed. The wiry man gasped and rolled to his side, gagging and retching silently. After thirty seconds of this, he managed to spit out something wet and red. It was a large portion of Melhed’s tongue.
“I’m sorry, Mel,” the half-orc said, kneeling beside the man, who gasped in air. He took a throwing dagger from his belt, gripped it in his fist, and said goodbye to his friend. Down went the dagger, through his eye and into the shattered remnants of what had been a mind. Karnryk screamed out his rage. Another reason for vengeance.
He started heading south, step by agonizing step. If he reached the end of the forest, Veldaren would only be a mile or so east. The distance, while not far, felt like a thousand leagues to Karnryk. The first few hours he took childlike steps, using a ricocheting path from tree to tree to give him support. Eventually he collapsed against a sturdy trunk and slept.
When he awoke, stars filled the sky. He took to his feet, with no greater ease than the first time. The hours crawled by, broken only by brief moments of sleep or unconsciousness. His heart cried out for him to fall, to succumb to the pain, hunger,
weakness, thirst, but mostly the pain. His desire for vengeance was stronger than all of them. He pushed on.
It was well into midday before he reached the city gates. He said only one word to the gate guards before he fell.
“Healer.”
Such horrible taste,” Tessanna said, frowning at the ornate furniture designed to look worth far more than the craftsmanship warranted. Her grimace grew when she saw the curtains, the worst shade of orange she had ever seen. Without a word, she yanked them down and tossed them to the floor.
“There are many houses nearby,” Qurrah said, glancing out a tiny window. “Each one a potential for a prying eye.”
“Why would you fear prying eyes?” the girl asked, sneering at him. “Because you drove the former owner insane and left him for dead in the forest, screaming like a mad little puppy?”
The half-orc frowned.
“There is that, as well. Any screams shall be heard, possibly by many. We cannot live here.”
Tessanna crossed the room, giving him a flirty look.
“I’m sure some screams can be heard from inside without causing too much alarm,” she said. “What is it that you plan on doing in here?”
“Just casting a few spells,” Qurrah said. “Nothing to concern yourself about.”
“Nothing you do could concern me,” said Tessanna, curling her arms around his neck and looking at him with the wild eyes of an animal. The half-orc pulled her down onto the couch, locking her in a violent kiss.
Later, as they lay silent in each other’s arms, Tessanna whispered into her lover’s ear.
“There is a home where there are no neighbors. No one for miles.”
“Where?” Qurrah asked, tracing a finger from her belly button to her chin.
“In the King’s Forest. Not too far from the tower.”
The half-orc sat up on the cushion and looked down at her.
“You speak of your home as a child.”
“Few know it is there,” she said, her voice shy. “Any we bring will be miles from help. The screaming will not bother anyone. I can cut myself again, too. There is a stream nearby. I used to watch the blood drip into the water. I miss it.”
The Half-Orcs: Books 1-5 Page 35
