The Half-Orcs: Books 1-5

by David Dalglish

  Qurrah struggled to his feet, his arms clutching his stomach as he spat black spittle.

  “Forgive me for my jealousy,” he said, his raspy voice a whisper. “Forgive me for not accepting you as you are. And forgive me for letting Karak turn us into this. But do not treat me like a child. I see the way you look at him. He is a thorn between us, Tess, and he needs to be removed. Kill him, or set him free.”

  He turned to go, then stopped.

  “When the sun rises,” said Qurrah, “the choice will no longer be yours.”

  He wandered off, coughing and clutching his chest. When he was gone Tessanna lunged for her knife, grabbed its hilt, and stabbed deep into her wrist. She cried out in pain, tears running down her face, but she still smiled. The pain helped her focus. Helped her decide. She yanked out the blade and sucked on the blood. She hated hurting so much. She hated being confused. She had to stop it. Had to end it.

  Qurrah entered the large tent Krieger slept in. A snap of his fingers and Krieger’s dreams filled with gnashing teeth and vague, shapeless beings clawing at his arms. He gasped twice, then woke.

  “What are you doing here?” he asked upon seeing Qurrah.

  “Gather your best soldiers,” the half-orc told him. “When the first light of the sun reaches our camp, you may kill the paladin. I will not stop you, and neither will Velixar.”

  “About bloody time,” Krieger said, getting out of bed and reaching for his armor.

  “Indeed,” Qurrah said before slipping back out into the night.

  A wave of her hand and Jerico awoke. He sat up and looked about, still groggy.

  “What’s going on?” he asked.

  “Go,” Tessanna said. “Take your shield from the carriage and leave.”

  “This a trick,” Jerico asked as he stumbled to his feet.

  “No trick,” she said. She tried not to watch him, but did anyway. He slipped his shield onto his back and turned to her.

  “Thank you,” he said.

  “Go quickly, before I decide otherwise,” she said. “We’re on the outskirts of the camp. You should be able to run several miles before any realize you are gone.”

  Jerico bowed, not wanting to question his sudden good fortune. Just before he left, he turned to her and knelt. He took her bleeding wrist into his hand. She watched as he closed his eyes and prayed. Healing magic flowed into her, sealing the wound.

  “You don’t need the pain,” he told her. “Nor the blood.”

  She pulled her arm to her chest, fighting a sudden flare of anger. He turned to go west, but then stopped.

  “The promise of Karak is emptiness,” he said. “There is no life in it. I hold little hope for your child, Tessanna, but I shall pray for you both just the same.”

  He vanished into the night, running as fast as his sore legs could go. Tessanna clutched her knife and stared at her wrist. She placed its edge against her skin, but for once could not bring herself to cut. Inside her was life, she thought. So instead she put down the knife and placed both hands on her belly. Life, she thought.

  Life.

  Jerico ran.

  He didn’t get far before he saw someone waiting for him, wearing deep black robes, their color darker than the night. He reached for his shield, determined to die fighting than return as a prisoner.

  “You have no need to worry,” said the stranger, his voice a hiss. “I have one question, that is all.”

  Qurrah lowered his hood, his eyes bloodshot, his tears running down both scars on his face. Jerico slowed to a walk, still holding his shield.

  “Ask your question,” Jerico said. “I will answer honestly.”

  “Did you sleep with her?” Qurrah asked as Jerico passed by.

  “Yes,” Jerico said when they were shoulder to shoulder. He felt his shame grow anew. “But only once.”

  Qurrah looked as if he’d been struck ill.

  “Be gone from here,” he said. “Should I see you again, I will kill you.”

  Jerico ran.

  Qurrah returned as the sun was rising. Approaching from the other side of their camp were Krieger and his men, armor polished and swords drawn. Only Tessanna waited for them, standing before a dead fire.

  “Qurrah!” she said, rushing to him when she saw him. He took her in his arms, shocked by how desperately she clung to him.

  “You sent him away,” he said.

  “I love you,” she said. “Not enough to kill him, but enough to send him away. Does that please you, Qurrah? Please, tell me it does.”

  He held her tight and kissed her forehead.

  “Of course,” he said, but his words were hollow.

  Krieger’s dark paladins surrounded the camp. They looked but saw no sign of Jerico. Krieger stepped forward, pointing one of his swords at Qurrah.

  “You promised me the paladin come the rise of the sun,” he said. “Well, the sun has come. Where is Jerico?”

  “Gone,” Tessanna said. “Escaped into the night.”

  Krieger slammed his swords together, letting their clang ring loud in the morning air.

  “Don’t lie to me, woman,” he shouted. “You let him go! You fucked him, didn’t you? You had your fun and then let him go, all while the blood of my men stains his hands!”

  The commotion stirred through the camp. Preston soon arrived, a dozen of his priests with him. Qurrah glared at their intrusion.

  “To release a paladin of Ashhur so he may escape execution is a very serious crime,” Preston said. “Punishable by death.”

  “We don’t live under your laws,” Qurrah said, slipping a hand into his pouch of bones at his hip.

  “That’s the truth,” Krieger muttered.

  “You march among us but do not count yourself subject to the laws we obey,” Preston shouted, more to the gathering crowd than to Qurrah and Tessanna. “You act as if your power gives you importance, and that power puts you above all others, above even the very word of Karak himself!”

  “I am the word of Karak!” Velixar roared. Priests scattered to give him passage as he approached. “Yet you question me with every breath you take!”

  “You are the word no longer,” Preston challenged. “You have turned your back to Karak. You have insulted his laws, his priests, and his very principles. He is order, pure order, and you are nothing but an agent of chaos.”

  Velixar curled his hands, and bolts of shadow flew from them, straight for Preston. He slammed an open palm to the ground. The shadows scattered as a shockwave of air and sound rolled in all directions. Qurrah lashed out with his whip, but several priests protected their appointed Melorak, using their meager magic to summon black shields.

  “They are traitors to Karak,” Preston shouted. “Strike them down! Show your faith!”

  Krieger’s men remained where they were, waiting for word from their leader. The dark paladin shook his head.

  “Jerico should have died the very moment we laid eyes upon him,” he said.

  “Show some wisdom,” Velixar said. “You know who I am, what I can do.”

  “I know who you were,” Krieger said. “Kill them.”

  Before they could follow the order, a giant spear landed among them, burying into the dirt. Over a hundred war demons landed, their weapons at ready. Ulamn landed beside Qurrah, and he pointed his gigantic sword at the dark paladins that surrounded them.

  “I have no time for such squabbles,” he said, his voice booming. “Nor your laws and punishments. I will not be stranded here on this young, tiny world. As long as Qurrah and Velixar hold open the portal, they are under my protection. If any question this, speak now! I would hear your challenge.”

  None dared speak. Ulamn turned to Velixar.

  “You and your apprentice stay among my soldiers from now on. No arguments.”

  Ulamn signaled, and his soldiers surrounded the three, flanking them in a protection of wing, muscle, and armor. Velixar offered one last threat before he left with the demons.

  “Karak will suffer your bl
asphemy for only a little longer,” he said. “And I pray that your death will be by my hand.”

  Ulamn led them away. Preston hurried to Krieger’s side.

  “We must move fast,” he said. “The paladin cannot be far. Send out your men!”

  “Get away from me,” Krieger said, brushing the high priest aside. “I know how to do Karak’s will.”

  Within five minutes teams of riders rode west into the hillside.

  All the while, Jerico ran.

  9

  The last survivors of Neldar were a week from Mordeina when the first messenger arrived.

  “Queen Annabelle Baedan, ruler of all of Mordan, extends greetings from her throne,” the man said as he saluted from atop his horse. “She has heard of your plight and extends her hand in friendship. Come to the capital. Mordeina will greet you with open arms.”

  “It is a kind offer,” King Antonil said, seated around a campfire with his soldiers. “I thank you. Return to your queen, and tell her we accept her generosity.”

  Antonil turned to the Eschaton, who had gathered around him when the messenger arrived. “It appears Queen Annabelle is more welcoming than Neyvar Sinistel,” he said.

  “Guess so,” Harruq said. “But queen? Thought Mordan had a king.”

  Antonil chuckled. “So did I. But is it surprising things change while you march for months across the wild?”

  “Course not,” said Tarlak. He removed his hat and scratched the top of his head. His bald spot had filled over the past months, but the habit remained. “I’ll spread word to the people. They’re already excited as is about nearing civilization, but to be greeted so warmly!”

  The Eschaton bowed, and Antonil gave them leave. Ever since they had returned from their excursions with Dieredon, the king had treated them like brethren. He consulted them for advice, shared his worries, and relied on them heavily. Tarlak, having needed coin to endure his cold relationship with former King Vaelor, found all this a fantastic improvement, even with the drastically reduced amount of gold.

  “So who’s this Queen Annabelle?” Harruq asked as they weaved through the refugees.

  “King Baedan’s wife,” Aurelia said. “I think I remember her. She was just a girl when we fled here, twelve or thirteen perhaps.”

  “Maybe she’ll be more forgiving than her husband,” Harruq offered.

  “Maybe,” Aurelia said.

  They stopped at their tent, which was just as meager as the others around them. They had declined special treatment, suffering in the cold like everyone else. The blankets and food the elves had given them were exquisite, and had saved many a life as the winter tore on. Harruq himself had grown rather attached to his bedroll, which had a slit so he could slide inside like a caterpillar in a cocoon.

  “I’m worried about Tar,” the half-orc said as he knelt down and started rolling up his belongings.

  “Why’s that?” Aurelia asked, busying herself with breaking down their tent. The day was young, and all around others were preparing for hours of marching.

  “Because of Delysia,” he said. “He’s not grieved, not since we left Veldaren. Been damn near cheery, even. Now Haern, I know he’s just as hurt as Tar, can tell just by how he looks at me, but the wizard…”

  He shook his head. Aurelia stood, kissed his cheek, and returned to her work.

  “I’ll talk to him,” she said. “I have an idea why he’s been like he has.”

  “What’s that?” he asked, but was only given a shake of her head.

  “Just keep packing,” she said. “If I’m right, I’ll tell you later.”

  She found him half a mile ahead of the throng of people, trotting along with staff in hand. Tarlak heard her approach and turned, a smile on his face.

  “Weather’s finally warming up,” he said. “Course, it waits until we’re already across all the nations, but hey, who am I to complain?”

  “You’re the perfect one to complain,” Aurelia said, smiling as well. “You’re so good at it.”

  “Bah, just an innate gift. It’s something all us wizards have.”

  Aurelia walked beside him, her arms crossed over her chest. Her smile faded a little as she tried to find a gentle way to ease into her desired topic.

  “Tar,” she finally said, “we’ve been a little worried about you.”

  “Worried?” he asked, his smile weakening. “Why’s that?”

  “Your sister,” she said. “She was dear to us, but you most of all. We each grieve in our own way, but…”

  “But what” Tarlak asked. “I haven’t wept enough? Bawled and hated the world like a moping half-orc I know?”

  Aurelia halted. “That is uncalled for.”

  Tarlak sighed and stared at the ground, his forehead resting against the top of his staff.

  “I’m sorry, Aurry,” he said. “But look behind us. You see that huge throng? All of them have lost someone, some their entire families. Parents without children, husbands without wives. I lost my sister, and unlike all of them, I was given time to bury her.”

  He pulled his head from his staff and chuckled.

  “Too many rely on me to lead. Even a new king seeks my judgment. I’ve not the time, nor the luxury to grieve. Ashhur was kind to give me the moments I had, with friends and family, to say goodbye. I cannot ask for more.”

  Aurelia put her arms around him, and he accepted her hug.

  “You’re sweet,” he told her. “But if anyone needs watched over, it’s Haern.”

  “He loved her, didn’t he?” Aurelia asked as she pulled back and smoothed her hair.

  “Like a sister,” Tarlak said. “But more. They might have married one day, had he ever found the guts to ask me for permission.” The mage looked away, suddenly uncomfortable.

  “I know,” Aurelia said. “He blames Harruq. I was hoping his anger had faded.”

  Tarlak pulled off his hat and scratched his head. “Like I said, I’m not the one you need to worry about.”

  They camped less than a day from Mordeina, and the mood was beyond festive. Tarlak used up the last of the topaz the elves had given him to create a great feast. Bread rolls and biscuits glazed with honey, slabs of ham, and cobs of corn lined an entire table he had somehow pulled out of his hat. A snap of his fingers, and the remaining water turned to wine.

  “You’re a miracle worker,” Harruq said, winking at him.

  “I try,” Tarlak said, stuffing a roll into his mouth. All around people sang and danced. More than a cup or two was raised high to toast the health of King Antonil. The Eschaton gathered around the king and his favored generals, who in turn toasted the health of the mercenaries.

  “You just keep pretending we’re doing this for free,” Tarlak said as he accepted the toast. “You’ve got one monster of a debt.”

  “And we’ll pay it tenfold,” Antonil said. “And I’ll relocate your silly tower to the city, so I don’t have to run so far in the cold and rain every time I need you.”

  Harruq took a swig of wine and glanced north, where in the distance he could make out faint lights from the city of Mordeina.

  “What’s it like?” he asked.

  “Been there only once,” Tarlak said. “Beautiful place, and far better fortified than Veldaren. No offense, Antonil.”

  “Better be careful how you talk around a king,” Haern said, smirking at the wizard.

  “I’ll throw him in the stocks later,” Antonil said. “But continue, for I have never seen the city, either.”

  “Well, when Ashhur built the city, he surrounded it with a gigantic wall of white stone, five men wide. But evidently that wasn’t enough for our beloved deity, so he built a second wall around the first.”

  Tarlak drew a few lines in the dirt to illustrate his point.

  “Try to climb over the first wall, maybe even blow a hole in it, and you’ve still got a full second wall to get past,” he said. “And even worse, the gates to the city are cattycornered. Break down one and you’ve got to turn and march a
good hundred feet to the second, and of course, the gap between the walls is so thin no battering ram is going to fit.”

  “Sounds impressive,” Antonil said. “We will be in need of such defenses.”

  “Winged attackers ruin a lot of the fun,” Tarlak said. “But any troops on the ground are doomed. Archers line that inner wall, and they’ve got retractable ladders from one wall to the other in case they need to retreat. Needless to say, no one’s ever successfully laid siege to Mordeina, not even Karak.”

  “No matter how big their storehouses,” Aurelia said, “if they try to starve us out it would not take very long, not with thousands of people pouring into the city.”

  “Let’s hope they’re too overconfident for that,” Antonil said. “For all our sakes.”

  “Enough of this,” Tarlak said. “We worry about dying tomorrow, but tonight! Tonight is for fun!”

  He downed the rest of his wine and bowed to the rest.

  “I hear music in the distance,” he said. “And there’s bound to be a pretty lass dancing to it.”

  “I better go with,” Haern said as he stood. “I’d hate for him to act too big a fool.”

  “But that’s what I’m good at,” they heard Tarlak argue as the two vanished into a sea of torches and revelry.

  “I best see to my men as well,” Sergan said, hefting his ax onto his shoulder. “And crack some heads that get a bit too much drink in them, if you know what I mean.”

  “Go easy on them,” Antonil said, grinning. “I want my soldiers to make a good impression when they enter the city, and I doubt they’ll look too impressive covered with black eyes and broken noses.”

  “As you wish,” Sergan said with a bow.

  That left just Harruq and Aurelia with the king, who leaned back and chewed on his lip.

  “Where’s the paladin?” he asked.

  “Lathaar’s out somewhere with Mira,” Harruq said, grabbing a slab of meat from a plate between them. “He’s not much for the whole drinking and celebrating thing, I gather.”

  “I see. And the Ash Guild?”

  Harruq shrugged and looked to Aurelia.