The Half-Orcs: Books 1-5

by David Dalglish

  Jerico turned to the door and held up his hand to silence them. A man appeared before the entrance, shrouded in dark robes. Deep red eyes flared from within the cowl of his cloak.

  “This is most amusing,” the figure said. His voice was a frail hiss that echoed off the walls with unnatural strength. “But I did not come here to play. Give me the book, or more will have to die.”

  Jerico heard soft crying behind him as the clerics entered the bedchambers that the undead had broken into. Keziel placed a hand on the paladin’s shoulder.

  “You have our blessing,” the priest said. With those very words, Jerico felt every hint of exhaustion flee his body. His shield and mace weighed nothing. He looked at the strange figure at the door and laughed.

  “How many undead do you have, necromancer? I think more litter our floor than fill your army.”

  “As I said,” the figure hissed, “I am not amused.”

  A ball of flame formed around his hands. Jerico pulled Keziel behind as he lifted his shield. The ball flew down the hallway and struck his shield with such force that he was lifted from his feet. His bulk knocked the cleric against the wall, and together they fell dazed to the floor.

  “Look out!” Jerico shouted as he struggled to his knees. A second ball of flame roared down the hallway, and this time nothing stood between it and the clerics. Desperate, Jerico freed his shield from underneath his body and then flailed Bonebreaker upward. The very tip of the mace touched the ball of flame, and that was enough. He rolled against Keziel and covered both of them with his shield as the fire ignited. When the bright light vanished, it left behind a great amount of smoke but no dead.

  “Is that the best you can do?” Jerico asked as he pushed against the wall to stand. He glanced back at the priests. “Get as deep as you can into the Sanctuary. No arguments.”

  “Not the best,” the figure at the door said. “Just a warmup, if you will forgive the pun.”

  “Not forgiven,” Jerico shouted.

  “In the very back there is a room carved into the stone of the mountain,” Keziel said, latching onto Jerico’s arm and using it to pull himself up. “We can hide within.”

  “Go,” he told them. “All of you. Now!”

  The paladin faced his attacker. Fire swirled around both his hands, and in the demonic glow his face was visible, a tired gray visage with horrific eyes.

  “He doesn’t want us,” Keziel said as the rest of the clerics hurried down the hall. “What he wants is hidden within the fireplace. Do not let him get it.”

  “Ashhur be with you,” Jerico said. “Now get your ass out of here.”

  Keziel smiled, but it was sad and tired. He turned and ran.

  “So honorable,” the stranger said. “If you surrender, I will spare all their lives. Even yours. I just want what I have come to claim.”

  “Sorry to tell you this, but I don’t surrender,” Jerico said, readying his shield. “Never have, never will, especially to someone whose name I don’t even know.”

  “Qurrah Tun,” the stranger said, fire still surrounding his hands.

  “Jerico of the Citadel.”

  “A pleasure.”

  Two more balls of fire flew down the hallway, roaring with power. When the first hit his shield, he grit his teeth and bore the pain. When the second hit, he gasped for air and felt his entire body slide back a foot. The heat was incredible, and he had to keep his head ducked behind the shield to keep it from being burned.

  “If you burn off my hair not even Ashhur will keep me from you,” he muttered. He peered over his shield as he took a step to the door. His foot stepped on a long leg bone, and for an agonizingly long moment Jerico thought he would to lose his balance and fall to his rear. Then the bone caught and halted. Qurrah saw this and laughed.

  “You say you’ve defeated half my army,” he said. “Let me show you how shallow your victory was.”

  Words of magic echoed down the hallway. The bones of the undead, the ones not made dust by Bonebreaker, snapped erect. They swirled around Jerico in an elongated sphere. The paladin kept turning, kept positioning his shield, but he knew there was little he could do.

  “Die well,” Qurrah said.

  The bones shot as his body from every direction. Jerico closed his eyes and dropped to his side, his shield hiding his face and neck. The bones smashed against his legs but were unable to penetrate his armor. The first barrage over, Jerico tucked his knees to his chest and shifted his weight. He kept his face down and hidden. A small finger bone slipped past his defenses and struck his cheek. Blood ran down his face. He used the pain to focus. He could banish undead back to their plane with his sheer will. Could he do the same with their bones?

  “In the name of Ashhur and through his power, I command you to be gone from my presence,” he shouted, his will unshakable. All around him, the animated bones halted their movements. Qurrah snarled, trying to grasp them with his mind, but it was as if they had grown slippery to his touch. Again Jerico shouted out his command. This time the bones flew away as if a great wind poured out of him. The bones clacked against the wall and ceiling, all power gone from them. The paladin stood, his shield readied before him.

  “No dying yet,” he said. He wiped blood from the wound on his face and gestured to it with his mace. “And what was that about shallow?”

  “Such a terrible pun,” Qurrah said.

  “Just learning from you.”

  “Hemorrhage!”

  The light on Jerico’s shield flickered for a moment before resuming its steady glow.

  “Did you really think your spells could make it past my shield?” the paladin asked. He laughed when Qurrah did not respond. “You haven’t fought many like me, have you? You’re forgiven. It’s what I do after all, forgive people. Beacon of light and all.”

  The red eyes narrowed.

  “Tessanna,” Qurrah said. “Remove this insect.”

  A young woman appeared in front of the door, her shadowy silhouette curling about Qurrah’s body.

  “As you wish, lover,” he heard her say. She turned toward him. In the starlight he could see very little of her, but then brilliant yellow light arced between her hands. He saw her eyes. He saw her hair. Keziel’s words rang loud in his mind.

  …pure black eyes and long hair that is dark as the night.

  “Not right,” he said before diving into one of the side rooms. A bolt of lightning shot down the hallway, accompanied by a deafening thunderclap. The paladin scrambled to his feet, doing his best to ignore the sight of a dead priest torn in two. Lathaar’s daughter of balance, the one he had seen in Neldar, had come to the Sanctuary.

  “Don’t want to play?” he heard the girl ask down the hallway. “But what if I want to play with you?”

  From nowhere she appeared before him, giggling like a little girl. Jerico shouted in surprise. Bonebreaker swung out of instinct. The image broke when the weapon touched it, fluttering away in a thousand butterflies made of shadow. Jerico’s mind raced, trying to think of an advantage he could gain. Against spellcasters, distance was his enemy. In the narrow corridor he could not dodge, only brace for impact and trust his shield. He knew that his greatest chance of victory involved close quarters combat, but the idea horrified him. Another bolt of lightning tore through the hallway, gigantic in size. His fear of her only grew.

  “Get it together,” he told himself. “Help me, Ashhur, I’m not sure how to get out of this one.”

  He took his shield, positioned it facing the door, and then leapt into the hallway.

  Tessanna was waiting for him, still standing beside Qurrah. Black tendrils shot from her fingers, electricity swirling around them. Two wrapped around his ankles. Two more found his waist, and then rest tried to wrap about his shield. The holy light burned them away, but the ones around his body remained. The paladin screamed as dark energy poured into him. His heart pounded faster and faster, so much that he feared it would explode.

  The momentum from his leap slammed h
im against the wall on the other side of the hallway. With all his energy, Jerico lurched forward. Unbalanced, he fell to the floor, his shield leading. The gleaming surface struck the other tendrils that stretched out from Tessanna’s fingers, severing them. The paladin gasped for air as the pain slowly faded. If she was upset by this turn of events, the girl did not show it.

  “Come dance with me, Jerico,” she said. “Come play.”

  She entered the hallway.

  He put one leg underneath him and pushed. He stood, tottering precariously. His arms shot out, pushing against the walls for balance. Labored breaths poured in and out of his mouth as he stared at the girl with blackest eyes.

  “You want to dance,” he said, “Then come inside and dance.”

  He turned and ran further into the Sanctuary.

  “Coward,” Qurrah murmured, taking out his whip.

  “No,” Tessanna said. “Only a fool would stand there and let me strike at him.” She waved her hand, and at once the rest of the undead began entering the Sanctuary. “That should keep him defensive. Do you know where the spellbook is? I’d prefer not to have to kill everyone inside.”

  Qurrah closed his eyes and let his mind grow attuned to the darker world. He could feel the spellbook nearby, pulsing with a black energy. As to where exactly, he did not know.

  “I need to be closer,” he said. “Follow me.”

  “I’m leading this dance,” Tessanna said, twirling in front of him. “So you follow me.”

  Again he felt his ego bruise, but the girl just laughed at him, laughing as she danced amid the broken bones and dead bodies that littered the hallway.

  6

  When Jerico neared the fireplace, he remembered Keziel’s request.

  “Book, huh?” he said, glancing about the room. He saw nothing, so he assumed it hidden. What the book could be, he didn’t know. Given the power of the two intruders, it most likely was not some mundane object.

  The clacking sounds of approaching undead jarred him from his thoughts. The sharp turn into the room was his best strategic point so he sprinted for it, his shield leading. He didn’t even slow when the first undead turned the corner. His shield flared as he crushed three skeletons against the wall, their bones almost melting to its touch. Jerico spun, swinging Bonebreaker in a wide arc. It shattered the spine of the closest undead, then hooked upward to knock off the head of a second.

  A swift kick and he was off the wall and back into the room with the fireplace. More undead came, but he smashed them one after another. They wielded no weapons or armor, and against the magic of his mace they could not withstand him. Bodies began to pile at his feet, and he used this to his advantage. He took a step back, and when an undead stumbled over the pile, he lunged forward and smashed it with his shield. The pile grew larger.

  “Sing, song, sing a song if you have a song to sing,” he heard Tessanna call as she approached. The paladin shook his head, trying to shake the fear of her from his mind. He had fought casters before, powerful ones even. She was no different.

  “But when you sing a song until its done, the song sings no more.”

  Tessanna turned the corner.

  Bonebreaker smashed the side of her face. Her skull cracked against the wall. The girl slumped against it, blood pouring from her nose and mouth. Her cheek was cut and mangled. Her black eyes stared at him, frozen in surprise, as a trail of blood painted the wall.

  “Tessanna!” Qurrah shouted.

  A whip snaked around the corner, wrapping around his wrist before bursting into flame. The metal of his gauntlets glowed red, and Jerico screamed as the fire burned his flesh. He twisted his wrist, dropped Bonebreaker, and then madly flailed at the buckles. Just as a strong tug came from the whip he flicked it free. The gauntlet flew around the corner, taken by the whip. Jerico reached for his weapon with his bare hand, but changed his mind when the whip lashed the ground beside it. Unsure, the paladin took a few steps back, his mind racing.

  He looked at the girl still slumped against the wall before his pile of undead. He thought she breathed, but the wound on her head was horrendous. Her left eye was covered with blood, even the iris filled with burst veins. He could see her teeth through the tear in her flesh. Her cheekbones were a shattered mess.

  “Celestia’s going to be mad at me,” he said before breaking into nervous laughter. The whole while he backed away from her body. He had his shield, and in many ways he could still use it as a weapon, but would it be enough? When Qurrah walked around the corner, and he saw the rage in the half-orc’s eyes, he knew it wouldn’t. Not even close.

  “You,” Qurrah said, his entire body quivering with anger. “You dared scar her face.” He lashed his whip against Jerico’s shield. “You’re a greater fool than I imagined.”

  “Never claimed to be the smart one,” the paladin said, taking another step back. There was just enough room to get some momentum before reaching the necromancer. Perhaps if he charged…

  Qurrah gave him no time. A bolt of pure shadow flew from his hands, crackling with energy. Jerico braced his legs and let his shield take the blow. The power of it jarred his shoulder, and his elbow screamed in pain. Another bolt hit, then another. He had taken so many spells with his shield, and while the holy enchanted metal bore no mark, his own flesh was another matter. His entire left side turned numb as the shadow power slammed against him. He staggered back, collapsing against the wall. Behind him, the heat of a fire warmed his legs, alerting him to its presence.

  “You are weak flesh and bone,” Qurrah said, lashing out with his whip. “Do you know why you still stand? Let me show you.”

  Spidery words left Qurrah’s lips. A fleeting image of white mist rising from his armor graced Jerico’s eyes.

  “You were blessed with strength not your own,” Qurrah said. “Do you feel it now, how strong you truly are?”

  A lash of the whip knocked his shield an inch to the side, exposing his face. The whip curled back and then lashed inward, burning his already bleeding cheek. The paladin cried out, his balance fading. He tried to raise his shield, knew his life was exposed, but his arm refused to cooperate. As he collapsed before the fire, he heard the half-orc speak.

  “Hemorrhage.”

  He felt the rupture just above his wrist. Blood exploded out of it, splattering across his face and chest. Dizziness claimed his mind, that which was not occupied with his screaming. Qurrah came and stepped upon his bleeding wrist, his heel grinding into the agony.

  “Listen to me, and listen carefully,” the half-orc said, his voice quiet and cruel. “You have scarred my beautiful lover. You will make amends.”

  “And if I don’t?” Jerico asked in between labored breaths. Qurrah placed his knee on Jerico’s other shoulder and knelt down so his face was inches from the paladin’s.

  “I will slaughter every single priest hiding in this building. It will be slow, and it will be painful. If you heal her, I will spare their lives.”

  “Either way, you’ll kill me afterward,” Jerico said. “How can I trust you not to lie?”

  Qurrah stood, grinding his heel in semicircles.

  “You sacrifice your life in the hope to save others. Is that not how your order works? Does it matter if I follow my word, if you do all in your power to save the innocents that cower in fear of me?”

  The paladin nodded, trying to ignore the horrible pain spiking up his arm. Qurrah walked to where Tessanna lay. Slowly Jerico stood, keenly aware of the black energy sparkling on Qurrah’s fingertips. Any false move and he would die.

  “She is Celestia’s daughter,” Jerico said as he took an uneven step toward her. “Perhaps Ashhur won’t be too upset if I heal her.”

  “Quit speaking nonsense and do your duty,” Qurrah said, though his eyes had narrowed at the mention of the elven goddess. He watched as Jerico knelt and pressed the palm of his shaking hand against the wound he himself had created.

  “Daddy?” she asked, her eyes closed and her voice drowsy.


  “Shush, Tess,” Qurrah said.

  “You hurt me again, didn’t you daddy?”

  “Ashhur, forgive me if what I ask is wrong, but give me the strength to do what must be done,” Jerico prayed. Healing light surrounded his hands, pulsing unsteadily. Tessanna moaned as it poured into her flesh. Her broken bones snapped together. Her torn skin pulled tight. She let out a gasp as dizzying waves filled her head.

  “Be healed,” Jerico told her as he removed his hand. Both men observed his work. The shape of her jaw was back to normal. Amid the drying blood ran a single scar from ear to chin. When she opened her eyes, even the burst vessels had closed.

  “Good man,” Qurrah said. He waved his hand. A wall of energy slammed into the paladin, throwing him across the room. He collapsed in a heap of armor and muscle. The half-orc knelt beside his lover, his pale hand slowly tracing the scar.

  “How do you feel?” he asked her. The girl looked up at him and smiled.

  “I feel awful. I dreamt my daddy hit me. Did he?”

  “No,” Qurrah said, kissing her lips. “Just a dream. You’re fine now.”

  The paladin rolled to his side, eyeing a door a few feet to his right. Beyond it was the deepest parts of the Sanctuary where the clerics of Ashhur had hid. If he could reach them… He tried to stand, but his entire arm remained numb. He could see blood pooling underneath his body. He would die if he lost too much more. The wound needed closed, and he lacked the strength to do it.

  With his good arm he pushed, grinding his teeth to focus against the pain. He stood.

  “Where are you going?” Qurrah asked, sounding amused.

  “Forgive my rudeness,” Jerico said, touching his shield with his other hand. “But I should go.”

  The light from his shield flared a brilliant white, blinding the half-orc. He shielded his eyes with his arm, but it did no good. When the light ended, the door was open and the paladin was gone. Qurrah stood to chase but Tessanna grabbed his ankle.

  “No,” she said. “Let him go. Take what we came here for.”

  Qurrah rubbed the tears from his eyes, blinked a few times, and then accepted the girl’s request.