The Half-Orcs: Books 1-5

by David Dalglish

  “All will be fine,” she whispered to him.

  “You don’t know,” he said to her.

  “That changes nothing,” she said, kissing his forehead. “Come to bed. Whatever it is, it can wait until morning. I only have an hour before she needs fed, and I would like to sleep as much as I can until then.”

  He nodded, stood erect, and did his best to smile.

  “Alright, let’s go to bed.”

  Harruq slept with his back pressed against her stomach, her arms wrapped under his arms and around his chest. The steady feel of her breath against his neck calmed many of his thoughts. Sleep came, coupled with nightmares. When light flooded the room from an illusionary sun rising at dawn, his eyes were bloodshot and heavy.

  “Morning, love,” Aurelia said, kissing his back. “You should go. Haern will be waiting for you.”

  Without a word he stood, dressed in his armor, and left to spar.

  The baby wake you often?” Haern asked, seeing the red in the half-orc’s eyes.

  “Nah. Just didn’t sleep well.” Harruq drew his blades. “Let’s get this over with.”

  Instead of attacking, the assassin frowned. “This is hardly the competitive spirit I prefer. Is something amiss?”

  “Nothing is amiss. I just need some damn sleep, now either swing a blade at me or let me go back to bed.”

  The half-orc tensed, ready for a lunge, but instead Haern sheathed his swords.

  “Get out of here.”

  Harruq stepped out of his combat stance. “What?”

  “You heard me. Get out of here. My training is a privilege. My apologies for your lack of sleep, but you and I have suffered far worse. It is your attitude that has soured.”

  “Nothing’s wrong with my attitude.”

  Haern crossed his arms. “You were a beacon of happiness yesterday. Do you fear being a father?”

  “I don’t fear anything,” Harruq snarled. “Say stuff like that again, and you’ll find yourself fighting, and the cuts won’t be fake.”

  Haern turned his back to the half-orc and walked back to the tower. Harruq watched him go, emotions swirling in his stomach, until he violently sheathed his blades and stormed off into the woods.

  Aurelia found him several hours later, sitting beside a stream that ran through the forest not too far from the tower. Unknown to Harruq, it was the same spot Qurrah and Tessanna had made love before Karnryk and his thugs had arrived. Sitting on a log, he stared at the moving stream, tossing in stone after stone.

  “What is wrong?” Aurelia asked as she neared. “Haern told me about this morning.”

  “I don’t deserve her,” he said.

  “And you don’t deserve me either, but you have both.”

  Harruq glanced back at her, chuckled, and then threw another stone.

  “Cute. But you’re right. I don’t. I’ve done… Aurry, she’s just a child. A helpless child.” He dropped a handful of rocks and ran his fingers through his hair. “Just helpless,” he mumbled.

  “Harruq, I don’t understand. Please, tell me what’s wrong. You’re my husband. Nothing you have done will change how I feel about you.”

  “I’m sure you think that,” he said. “You might even believe it. But you’re wrong.”

  Aurelia knelt in front of him, her eyes strong as iron. She put her hands on his face and forced him to look at her.

  “Don’t do this tortured-hero nonsense. And don’t you dare assume you know how I feel about you. I love you, unquestioningly and unconditionally. You cheapen us both when you spew such filth. Now tell me what damns you, so we may be damned together.”

  “I killed the children!” he screamed, lunging to his feet. Aurelia flinched at his words, but did not falter her gaze.

  “What children?” she asked.

  “Woodhaven, Aurry! I’m the Forest Butcher. I killed them, all for Qurrah. Every single one, it was me. That is who you married. That is who you want raising that precious child. I won’t raise her. I can’t. There’s too much blood.”

  The silence that followed seemed to confirm Harruq’s worst fear. Pain washed over her face, and for a long while, she struggled to speak. Harruq tore from her grasp and started walking deeper into the forest.

  “How dare you,” she said, the shaking emotion in that quiet voice deeper and stronger than any raging river. “How dare you.” He turned to her, his eyes pained and his face frozen. She crossed the distance between them and slapped him across the face. When she spoke again, the sheer will in her eyes kept him from looking away.

  “That child, that life that lives in our room, is from our love, Harruq. It is our doing. It is our creation. How dare you try to abandon it because of your pain? Because of your sins. How dare you try to abandon me?”

  “Aurry…”

  “No,” she said, nearly screaming the word. “There are no excuses, Harruq, no reasons. Condemned or not for what you did, I would never abandon you for your past, nor for mine. How would I explain why no father was there for her first steps? What would I tell her when she asks who you were? What would I tell her when she asks me if her father loved her?”

  “Tell her he loved her with all his heart,” Harruq said, tears filling his eyes. “Tell her that’s why he left.”

  “Never,” Aurelia said, wrapping her arms around his neck and pressing the side of her face against his. “That is why you stay. I will not do this without you, Harruq. I won’t.”

  He tried to stay angry. He tried to convince himself he was doing the right thing. He tried, how he tried, but against Aurelia’s tears he felt rolling down his neck, he was powerless. The guilt of his sins crushed him, and every face he had murdered rushed through his mind.

  “I’m sorry,” he said, wrapping his arms around her. “I’m so sorry. I should have told you.”

  “It’s alright,” Aurelia said back. “I’ve always known. I just never wanted to believe.”

  To this, he said nothing, only sniffing as he felt his own tears streak down his face. As they embraced, Aurelia spoke.

  “Never again, Harruq. Please, swear it to me. We will kill. It is the nature of those with skills as ours. But never children. Swear it.”

  “I swear it,” he said. “I can bear the guilt no more.”

  She kissed his lips. “Then let it be gone forever. Come. Your daughter is waiting.”

  Hand in hand, husband and wife, they walked back to the Eschaton tower.

  It was two months before Qurrah saw his niece. Harruq greeted him warmly, and proudly led him up the stairs to where his daughter slept.

  “What name did you give her?” Qurrah asked as he neared her crib.

  “Aullienna,” Harruq answered, leaning against an ivy-covered wall.

  “Aullienna?” his brother said, rolling the word over his tongue. “An elvish name. Do you hold no care for our heritage?”

  “We have no heritage,” he said. “I like the name, and so does Aurry. That’s all that matters.”

  Qurrah stooped before the crib and peered down. Aullienna was napping, sucking on her thumb as she did. She was dressed in clothes given to her by Delysia: a plain white dress that hung over her diaper-cloth. Trailing down the crib was the ribbon given to her by Haern. Qurrah looked at this foreign creature, unsure of how to feel.

  “She looks elvish,” he said. “And you give her an elvish name. Do you wish to hide the blood that flows within her?”

  “We’re hiding nothing,” Harruq said, his tone hardening. “You of all people should know that.”

  “Do I?” he asked, turning his back to the child. “The orcish blood in your veins gives you strength. It helped you survive the streets of Veldaren. Would you wish it gone?”

  “Never,” Harruq said.

  Their gazes met in silence, broken moments later by Qurrah’s voice.

  “She is beautiful,” he said, not looking at her when he said it. He climbed down the stairs, not having once touched her. “Though I fear for her fostering. A wild elf and a burly
half-orc are far from normal parents.”

  “We’ll be doing what we can,” Harruq said, fidgeting as he followed Qurrah. “I was hoping you would be around more often. Help us raise her.”

  Qurrah put his hand on his brother’s shoulder. “You will do fine in raising her. Teach her strength, teach her pride, and she will grow up an honor to your name. Now I must be off. Business awaits me in Veldaren.”

  “When will you be back?” Harruq asked, opening the door.

  “I don’t know. It will depend, but I fear it several months at least.”

  Harruq’s disappointment was obvious. “Are you sure?”

  Qurrah bowed to his brother. “My congratulations on such a wonderful daughter.”

  He walked past his brother to the top of the stairs. He stopped, turned around, and gestured to the illusionary grass, ivy, and clouds.

  “Did Aurelia do all this?” he asked. Harruq grinned.

  “All of it. You like?”

  Qurrah nodded, smiling at a small cloud floating across the ceiling-sky.

  “Impressive,” he said.

  18

  The black gates gave no feeling of home, and no comfort in their familiarity. Only the aura of certainty, of order, that permeated from the bars soothed his turmoil. They opened as he approached, needing no word or touch from him. Halfway across the obsidian walkway, the great doors creaked inward. The night was young, and the wise man who stepped out seemed almost youthful in the moonlight.

  “Welcome home,” said Pelarak.

  “No home of mine,” Qurrah said. “I do not worship your god. How may it be my home?”

  “Because your family is here, waiting for the wayward prince to ascend his throne.” The old man bowed. “I trust my meager knowledge was useful to you?”

  “Some things should be discussed in quiet rooms,” Qurrah said. “No matter how calm the night may seem.”

  “Indeed,” Pelarak said, fully opening the door. “Come inside, Qurrah Tun.”

  Inside he went, fighting the newly awakened feeling that perhaps he had come home after all.

  They headed straight for Pelarak’s small room, pausing only to offer a prayer before the majestic statue of Karak. The two sat opposite each other. With reverence, Qurrah took the tome the priest had given him and placed it on his desk.

  “Your wisdom on such matters is humbling,” Qurrah said, gesturing to the book. “I have to ask, how did you obtain such knowledge?”

  “Do you mean the spells?” the priest asked.

  “No, your writings. You talk of madness, its causes and its effects, with authority that leaves me in awe.”

  The priest rested his chin on his knuckles.

  “That first tome I gave you, with the words to drive men mad, proved helpful. I truly believe they can create every kind of madness. It took many years, but I have seen the effects of all two hundred.”

  “Tessanna’s mind,” Qurrah said, “could you remember which of them formed something similar to hers?”

  The priest sighed and leaned back in his chair, uncrossing his fingers as he did.

  “In truth, no. I have spoken to her before, although I doubt she remembers me. Regardless, the key to her does not lie in my findings.”

  “But why?” Qurrah asked. “Surely one resulted in a similar madness.”

  Pelarak raised a bushy white eyebrow at the half-orc.

  “Are you so sure it is madness?” To this Qurrah had nothing to say, so the priest continued. “Madness is a loss of order in the mind. The worse the madness, the less the order. Tessanna’s actions may seem chaotic, but I have sensed the winding weave that is her mind, and within I found order, frail as it may be.”

  “Then how may I cure her?” Qurrah asked.

  “If she has obtained a semblance of order in her mind, then I dare say she might already be cured. Her current mental state may be salvation from the true madness she suffered earlier in life.”

  “No,” Qurrah said, rising to his feet. “Her mind is shattered, broken. It can be put together again.”

  “I welcome you to try,” Pelarak said, his voice tired and honest. “But she is not mad. I was reluctant to tell you earlier, but I feel she is more fractured than insane, each piece seperate and controlled. As for what controls them, I may have something for you to think over.”

  The half-orc stayed silent, his mind sifting through what Pelarak had said. The priest rose from his seat and pulled a small diary from a shelf. He flipped through the pages until he found a specific passage and then read it aloud.

  “A man called out to me for coin. He lived off the pity of others, for he was blind since birth. When I declined, he at first accepted, but as I passed, he lunged like a rabid animal, biting for my leg. I threw him back, broken. The animal left him as he cried for forgiveness. He claimed a demon lived inside him. Curious, I touched his mind to see. I found the demon, but it was not what he thought. Instead, it was himself, or at least, a part of himself, isolated into a second being.

  “This vile second-self wished nothing but death and pain upon others. It fought for control constantly, and though I sensed no strength in the beggar, he succeeded in holding it at bay for many an hour before each temporary escape. Curious as to how, I searched deeper, and there I found it. I viewed a vine growing out of both, yet at the same time, it seemed a wall, blocking one from the other. I sensed this entity had a full form deep inside, but I was unable to probe any farther. Sadly, the beggar died. Karak curse my carelessness. If I had been more patient, I might have followed the snaking tendrils from these two selves to the center…”

  Pelarak closed the book and set it down next to his spellbook.

  “Take both,” he said. “You still have much to learn. Focus upon this wall that separates her selves, and yet also connects them as well. Ask her if she knows about it, for she might. If anything can bring the pieces back together it is that secret, hidden self.”

  Qurrah took the books and bowed. “I will consider what you have said,” he promised. “Although you err in saying she cannot be cured.”

  “I know little about love,” Pelarak said, showing Qurrah to the door. “My mind is too cynical to study such chaos. Good can come from love, however, for I love Karak with every beat of my heart. Love Tessanna as she is. If you fail to cure her, the sting will hurt that much less.”

  “I will not fail,” Qurrah said. He held the books tight against his chest and bowed once more. “I never fail.”

  “Spare me the theatrics,” the priest said, a smile creeping on the corners of his mouth. “We all have failed. Some are humble enough to learn from their failures. They are the wise.”

  Qurrah left the temple, having gained no answers but plenty of questions, as well as a gnawing fear that there was more to Tessanna’s mind than he so far discerned.

  Back at their cabin, they lay soaked in each other’s sweat. In the calm afterward, Qurrah dared ask the question Pelarak had urged him to ask.

  “Tessanna,” he said, his eyes closed. He felt less awkward bringing up the subject when he wasn’t looking at her. “Do you understand what I mean when I say there are many in your mind?”

  “Yes,” she said, her voice subdued. She usually fell into such a state after they made love, although how long the apathy lasted varied greatly. “I believe I understand.”

  Qurrah searched for a way to ask what he barely understood himself.

  “These different…parts of you. Pieces of you. They are all separate, but there’s one that isn’t. Part of it connects to every piece. Do you understand?”

  Tessanna giggled, fading out of the apathy smoother than a boat floating across still waters.

  “Something is wrong with me,” she said, her voice intolerably shy. “I’ve always known it. People die around me, and sometimes it feels like strangers sit behind my eyes, spitting at them.”

  “But what of my question?” he asked. Tessanna did not answer. She closed her eyes, appearing deep in thought. Her eyelids
fluttered. A look of pain crossed her face. When she reopened her eyes, a new identity spoke, one he had never witnessed before.

  “The girl is a maelstrom,” she said. All emotion, all fear, all shred of anything human drained out of her. “Her selves swirl about the edges. I am the Center. I am Celestia’s chosen. Speak!”

  Qurrah felt a phantom presence pass over his body. Shadows stretched and crawled along the floor toward them. The wood creaked, the bed shook, and all about darkness formed where darkness should not have been. He stared at her face with detached horror. Her black eyes were aflame, consumed with purple fire. Swirling deep within, he saw the face of a woman glaring out, similar to Tessanna except older and wiser. The creeping darkness took corporeal form, wrapping around her naked body like a phantom dress.

  “How may I cure the madness within?” he asked, his voice almost lost in a sudden roar of wind.

  “Do not meddle, half-orc,” Tessanna said as her hair danced wildly about her arms, back, and breasts. “Otherwise Time itself will protect her from you.”

  The darkness flared, washing over Qurrah with burning wave after wave. His skin crawled with vile sensations. His mind reeled against horrible images of a vast emptiness beyond comprehension. Mortal power could maim, could kill, but this was beyond that. This was the power of a goddess.

  The final wave came and went. The shadows returned to their rightful positions. A fragile calm overtook the cabin. Tessanna’s hair halted its writhing. She stared at Qurrah with a terrified look, tears running down her face.

  “I thought you would be dead,” she said. She flung her arms around his frail body and cried against his neck. “I thought…”

  He held her, his eyes staring into nowhere. After a few minutes, her crying ended, her sorrow and fear vanishing as if it had never been.

  “You should be bleeding right now,” she said, pulling away from him. “Everyone always is after that.”