“I need no excuse,” Haern said, staggering to his feet. “And I need no hatred. You know what you have done.”
With that, he clutched his wrist and enacted the magic of one of his rings. White light swarmed over his body, banishing the clouds and scattering darkness for hundreds of feet. Qurrah cried out, the sight burning his eyes. The jewel on the ring shattered, the last of its power flooding Haern with healing magic. When the darkness returned, Qurrah’s eyes took a moment to readjust. A moment was all Haern needed. He charged for Tessanna.
Tessanna, however, had no trouble seeing when the light faded. Her skin glowed as if she had absorbed the illumination. Fire swarmed about her body, covering her exposed flesh. Her anger gave it fuel, and all the restraint she had held within the tower burned away.
“You won’t keep me from her,” she shouted, fire leaping from her hands. Haern ducked between the streams and rolled past, slashing her legs with both blades as he did. The metal clanged as if hitting stone. Fire leapt off her body, traveling down the metal and torching the skin of his hands. Haern held in a scream of pain. The stink of his own burnt flesh filled his nose.
A bolt of shadow struck his back. Pain overloaded his senses, doubling in strength as a second bolt smashed the base of his neck.
“Do not touch her!” Qurrah shouted, his hands outstretched and bleeding darkness. “You are a coward, a fool, and deserve not the breath in your lungs.”
The third shadow bolt flew. Haern tucked his arms and twisted. It struck ground, instantly killing the grass it touched. Not wishing to try his luck with a fourth, Haern leapt into the air, kicked off a tree, and slammed into Tessanna. Over and over, he bit his blades into her flaming flesh. His skin, his clothes, his hair: it all erupted into fire and smoke. He felt like a miner hacking a rock with a broken pickaxe in the middle of a wildfire. His lungs cried out for air as the fire on his skin continued to grow. He had no choice.
“Damn you, girl,” he said, shoving his foot into her face and leaping off, a living ember in the night. A whip took his foot out from underneath when he landed, smashing his face to the ground. He didn’t mind, for it put out the fire that had blackened his cheeks and nearly scarred his eyes shut. He rolled over to see Qurrah hovering over him, a sick anger in his eyes.
“I’ll send my brother to meet you soon,” he said. “Hemorrhage!”
The spell was aimed for his face, and most certainly would have finished him. Haern activated the magic of the king’s ring. The spell fizzled. Haern was gone. Qurrah spun, his eyes searching, but he did not look the correct way. He did not look up. Haern fell as he had lain, on his back. The heel of his foot cracked across the top of Qurrah’s skull, sending him spinning. Knowing his time was short, Haern scrambled to one knee, used his ring to teleport further into the forest, and then fled with all his remaining strength. Fire streamed after him, torching tree and bush and grass. It was not long before everything behind him was a raging inferno, a power that mocked his own feeble blades.
He chugged a small healing potion as he ran. It did little to subdue the pain he felt as his flesh tightened, ripped, and peeled. Anger burned his gut, far worse than the fire that had burned his skin. Even with the element of surprise, he had lost.
Tessanna, are you hurt?” Qurrah asked, gingerly touching the knot growing on the back of his head.
“I’m fine,” the girl said, the fire on her flesh withering away. Scratches covered her body. They were long and thin, and they were bleeding. Qurrah hurried to her, catching her in his arms. She giggled, licking her lips as blood from a slash across her eye trickled into her mouth.
“I burned him good,” she laughed. “He was fast, but I burned him, and he’ll glow forever.”
“We need to bandage these cuts,” Qurrah said.
“No. Let them bleed. I’ll be fine.” She shoved him aside. Her body appeared weak, but the will in her eyes was healthy, and terrifying, as ever. “He deserves what happened. I knew what he was thinking. He was thinking I will never see Aullienna again, and that made him happy. He deserves to burn. I want to burn him again and again and again.”
“We both need to rest,” Qurrah said, taking her arm. “Please, we still have a long walk ahead.”
“Then let’s walk.”
Arm in arm, they made their way home.
On the third knock, the tower door opened.
“Where the bloody abyss have you…” Brug caught Haern in his arms, grunting at the weight.
“Delysia!” he called back inside. “Hope you got a bit of magic still left in you.” He turned his attention back to the assassin. “Did you dance in a funeral pyre?”
“Amusing,” Haern said with a grimace. “And you’re closer than you know.”
Brug dragged him next to Harruq, who slept soundly. Aurelia slept with him, her slender frame nestled against his.
“I’ll do what I can,” Delysia said, giving him a faint smile. Her entire face sagged, and the dark circles underneath her eyes hid much of her beauty. Still, she placed one hand on Haern’s chest, another on his face, and began praying to Ashhur.
Lathaar took her hands into his own and removed them.
“You have done enough,” he said, brushing strands of hair away from her face. “Let me do what I can.”
Tarlak wandered over, his own eyes bloodshot from exhaustion. He watched Lathaar place his hands on the assassin’s chest and face, strong blue light flaring from his fingers.
“How could they do this to him,” the wizard wondered aloud. Brug heard him and snorted.
“You sent him after them, didn’t you?” A soft nod was his answer. “If they can do this to Haern, I’m sure glad they’re dining with the worms now.”
“They’re not,” Haern gasped. “I failed, Tarlak. I failed.”
Soothing light flooded his being. As the pain faded, his body cried out stronger and stronger for sleep. He had not the strength to resist. Lathaar backed away, letting Delysia go to him.
“Sleep will help you heal faster,” the priestess whispered, kissing his cheek as the man fell into slumber. Her back creaked, and her legs wobbled unsteadily when she tried to stand.
“Easy there,” Tarlak said, taking her into his arms. “I couldn’t have said it better myself. You must rest.”
“Since when did you start acting like the big brother you are?” she asked, smiling despite her aches.
“Never. This is just a fluke. Now go to bed.”
He helped her upstairs, leaving Brug and Lathaar with the three sleepers. When he returned, they had taken a seat at the table. A frothing mug was in Brug’s hand. Tarlak sighed and sat next to him, declining the offer for a drink.
“What Haern said, you think it means what it sounds like?” Brug asked.
“Qurrah and the girl still live,” Tarlak said. “Yeah, I think so.”
Brug gulped down a third of the mug. “That’s terrifying.”
Tarlak laughed.
“I’m being serious here,” Brug insisted. “Anyone who can do that to Haern, and look at him, he’s a crispy critter, anyone who can do that is not someone I want to mess with. You sent him to kill ‘em both, didn’t you? They know that. They have to know that.”
“You fear retaliation?” the wizard asked.
“Course not. Not for myself. They won’t retaliate against us, not in a normal way. They’ll hurt us differently. A deeper way.” Another gulp of the mug. “Always said they was bad news.”
“Never disagreed with you on that,” Tarlak said, snapping his fingers so that a long glass appeared, filled with a sparkling orange drink. He took a sip, ignoring Brug’s disgusted look.
“They are necromancers,” Lathaar said. “At least, the half-orc is. The girl knows many necromantic spells, but she isn’t one in the strictest sense. If they seek to harm any of you, they have the ability. When you sleep, when you walk underneath the stars, it is then they can find you.”
“Sounds like you have experience,” Tarlak said. “S
tories I haven’t heard yet?”
“Necromancers and followers of Karak are essentially the same thing,” Lathaar said. “They may believe otherwise, but any follower of Karak is a follower of a death god. And trust me, Tarlak, I’ve fought many followers of Karak.”
“We going after them, or do we wait like sitting ducks?” Brug asked.
“We wait,” the wizard decided. “We have no choice. I’ll let Antonil know we found the Veldaren Reaper. At least the killings will stop. I doubt Harruq will let me hunt down his brother. The two are sad souls, really. I hoped to show them kindness, bring them out of the pits they had sunken into, but…” He sighed. “No good deed goes unpunished, right Lathaar?”
“No good man goes untested,” Lathaar said, rising from the table. “All good deeds have their reward. Never confuse the two.”
“Night, Lathaar.”
“Night, Tarlak, Brug.”
The paladin prayed on one knee by the two wounded, his brown hair falling to hide his face as he whispered in the quiet. Finished, he climbed the stairs to sleep.
“It’s almost daylight,” Tarlak said, turning back to Brug. “Figure we should turn in.”
“Go ahead. I can go a day or two without sleep, no problem.”
“Aye, but you get grumpy. Go on to bed. This night’s been a long one.”
“Bah. If you insist.”
Tarlak waved at the fireplace. The light dimmed, although the heat from it remained strong. The two trudged up the stairs, leaving the three to sleep.
23
You have forsaken me.
“Leave me,” Harruq said. Sweat and blood covered his forehead. Fire raged around him, melting rock and billowing smoke. “I never worshipped you!”
You have forsaken your brother, and you have forsaken me. You turn to Ashhur, who has granted you no power, no wisdom, and no strength. Velixar’s fall is a fleeting moment in time. Will you stand beside him when he comes again?
“No,” he shouted. The wails of a thousand tormented souls overwhelmed his words. “I love my brother.”
You would kill him. You are blind, Harruq Tun. Blind to the path before you. Blind to those who seek to help you. Those who turn against me suffer, half-orc. They suffer greatly.
The tower crumbled to ash. The sky ran with blood, and every star fell. Hordes of the dead marched before him, a single cry on their lips.
“For Qurrah!” they shouted. “For Qurrah! For Qurrah!”
I will hurt you, Harruq Tun. I will ruin all. You betrayed me. Look upon the cost of your betrayal.
The vile voice thundered. The molten earth ran over the dead, burying them. The sky melted, filling the horizon with flame. Only Harruq remained to listen to the cries of his beloved. Aurelia fell into the fire, weeping silently. Tarlak stepped in willingly, tipping his yellow hat as the flesh melted from his bones. Finally, there was Aullienna, who waved at her father.
With a single laugh, she dove in and was consumed.
“Aullienna!” he screamed, horrified as his most precious love disappeared into the raging flow. “Aullienna! Aullienna!” The destruction was complete. Karak’s laughter filled the world, and the chant of the dead changed.
For Order! For Order! For Karak and his Chosen!
The fire rose. It burned his arms, his legs, his waist. It flowed in with every breath, charring all that it meant to be him.
“Aullienna!” he shrieked, lunging up from the ground. His arms flailed about in his blindness, each movement intensifying their aches. “Aullienna, don’t!”
“Harruq!”
Aurelia wrapped her arms around him and held him still.
“Harruq, it was a dream, just a dream.”
He felt her arms and calmed, burying his head into her chest and weeping.
“She was dead,” he sobbed. “All of you were dead. Karak wants you, her, and everyone…”
“We won’t let that happen,” she whispered, stroking his face. “We’ll always be here for her. Always.”
His sobs faded, and his exhaustion overtook him. He lay back down, glad his wife was at his side. He slept, and this time no dreams came to him.
What is it, Qurrah?” Tessanna asked. She had been awoken by the screams of her lover. Her kisses had slowly calmed him, chasing away the terror.
“Nothing,” he said, sanity returning to his eyes. “I dreamt of Velixar is all. And my brother.”
“Go back to sleep,” she said. “I was dreaming of dogs eating my heart while worms crawled from my mouth. You whimper like a child.” Qurrah chuckled. Tessanna placed her head across his chest, her long hair draping over him like a blanket. Qurrah opened his eyes and stared at the ceiling, unable to shake the horror of the dream. He had been dead, as had his brother. In a demonic haze of smoke and fire, Velixar had mocked him while Karak declared his victory.
“What have we done?” he asked, so softly that Tessanna did not hear. “Have you changed so greatly in the time I was gone?” To him, it had been a few weeks, but to the others, over a year had passed. Perhaps his brother had moved on. Changed. He had a wife and a daughter, after all.
“No,” he said. His brother had not changed. He had merely forgotten. The life they had lived, marching at Velixar’s side, was but a memory to his brother, one long suppressed.
“I will awaken your anger,” he whispered. “I will bring forth the killer you buried. You cannot strike against me, and then deny what we are.”
In his silent fury, he found the comfort to sleep.
Harruq awoke to throbbing pain in both his arms. His left felt weak and clumsy, while the right ached like a dagger was lodged to the hilt inside. His next realization, after the pain in his arms, was that he could see again.
Aurelia was gone. A shuffle to his side brought his attention to Haern.
“What are you doing in my bed?” he asked. The idea that he wasn’t in his bed followed, and he chuckled, glad that the assassin appeared to be asleep. “Never mind then,” he said.
“Did anyone ever tell you your voice is the worst thing to hear in the morning?” Haern mumbled, blinking open a bloodshot eye.
“I take it we’re not sparring this morning?”
“No, no sparring. I think I’ll pass out again, though.”
Harruq struggled into a sitting position, blinking as he looked around the main floor of the tower. Slowly, his groggy mind cleared. He glanced at Haern, seeing his many burns. They were bad, but they appeared to be healing.
“Um, what happened to you?” he asked.
“Your brother happened to me.”
“What?”
Haern pulled a pillow over his head. “Ask Tarlak.”
The man went back to sleep. Harruq grunted and used his numb arm to push his hefty self to his feet. The contact of his hand against the floor awoke a thousand shocks within. Each one reminded him of what his brother had done.
Needing answers, he wound his way up the stairs for Tarlak’s room. He was intercepted halfway there by a very angry priestess.
“What are you doing up?” Delysia asked. “Get your gray butt back downstairs and rest.”
“Where’s Aurry?” he asked.
“Upstairs with your daughter. I’ll get her for you, if you want.”
She examined his arms, her mouth locked in a little frown.
“It’ll be another day before they’re fine,” she said, tossing her red hair across one shoulder. “Don’t you dare try lifting anything until then. I need to reserve most of my magic for Haern, the poor dear.”
“What happened to him?” the half-orc asked, knowing he would not like the answer. “Did Qurrah do that?”
“Appears so,” the priestess said, letting go of his arms. “Tessanna as well. Ashhur protect us from those two if they decide to repay our kindness.” She gave him a wry smile.
Anger bubbled up Harruq’s throat. “Tarlak sent him after them, didn’t he?”
Delysia crossed her arms and pointed down the stairs.
�
�I’ll bring him to you as well, but get yourself back to your pillows before you hurt yourself…again.”
The half-orc reluctantly obeyed. He mulled over the previous days, desperate to understand what had happened. He had struck at his brother, wounded him severely, and then his brother had responded in kind. Now a friend had attempted to take his brother’s life. How would Qurrah respond? Would he accept an apology? More importantly, should he even offer one? The sight of the massacred child in the alley, his young eyes frozen in a death gaze, was a haunting one.
“Ugh. Too much thinking,” he said, plopping beside Haern.
“Do it silently,” came Haern’s muffled reply.
Tarlak arrived a few minutes later, just ahead of Aurelia and Delysia.
“How’s our wonder-orc?” the wizard asked.
“Loud and annoying.”
“Thanks Haern. Seriously, though, your eyes and arms fine?”
Harruq shrugged. “Did you send Haern after Qurrah and Tess?” he asked. Tarlak sat down at the table, sighing.
“Never been one to beat about the bush, eh, Harruq?” the wizard asked.
“Harruq, perhaps this is better to wait for another time,” Aurelia said, sliding in beside her husband. Harruq kissed her cheek but disagreed.
“What happened when I was out,” he asked.
“I sent Haern to retrieve your brother. He went into the King’s Forest and returned hours later looking like a burnt log. End of story.”
The half-orc groaned, fighting through his hundred initial reactions. “You had no right to do that,” he finally decided on.
“No right?” Tarlak stood, marching over to the wounded half-orc. “No right? Last I remember, he was a wanted fugitive for the city of Veldaren. Last I remember, he has the blood of innocent children on his hands. Last I remember, he had struck down a member of my mercenaries. He may be your brother, Harruq, but you are my family, and I do not take kindly to anyone who hurts my kin. Now he has hurt Haern. What did you expect me to do?”
“Just let me deal with him.”
“No!” Tarlak knelt down, his face inches from Harruq’s. “This is no private matter, not anymore. He is a threat and must be dealt with accordingly. He is too dangerous to leave in the wild.”
The Half-Orcs: Books 1-5 Page 47
