The Half-Orcs: Books 1-5

by David Dalglish

  “I should go as well,” Antonil said. “I need to visit the rest of my people camped among the fields. Care to escort me, Mr. Eschaton?”

  “Of course,” Tarlak said, slipping his arm through Antonil’s. “Is this respectful enough? You have the prettiest blue eyes.”

  When Antonil reached for his sword, Tarlak let him go, a feigned look of disappointment on his face.

  “Wrong kind of escort,” Harruq shouted after them as they left for the inner gate.

  He couldn’t tell for sure, but Harruq thought Tarlak made a rather rude gesture with his hand.

  “So what’s really going on?” Tarlak asked once the two were far enough from the camp.

  “Am I that obvious?” Antonil asked.

  “Maybe,” Tarlak said. “What’s bothering you?”

  The king glanced about and lowered his voice.

  “The priest of Karak,” he said as they walked. “I fear his influence over the queen.”

  “He’s just one advisor,” Tarlak said.

  “I’ve seen what just one advisor can do,” Antonil said. “She listens to him. Even worse, priests of Karak mingle with my people, giving away food and clothes. I don’t trust them.”

  “So what do you want from my mercenaries?” Tarlak asked, lowering his voice as well.

  “There’s a small temple to Ashhur not far from here. Seek them out, and uncover what you can about Hayden and his priests. When Karak’s army marches to these walls, I don’t want any spies in our midst throwing open the gates or turning the hearts of our soldiers.”

  “I’ll look into it,” Tarlak said. “And for your own good, you never had this discussion, and we will not have any further discussion. Consider the matter handled.”

  “You’re a good friend,” the king said.

  “And an expensive one, too,” Tarlak said, grinning. “Don’t you forget that.”

  10

  Tarlak waited until nightfall to move out. He thought about bringing Lathaar, but chose Harruq instead. The paladin’s sense of honor could have proved difficult.

  “What the Abyss do you want?” Harruq muttered as Tarlak prodded him awake.

  “Quiet,” the wizard ordered. “And don’t wake your wife.”

  “Too late,” Aurelia said, stirring beside him. “Where are you taking my husband?”

  “Nowhere,” Harruq grumbled. “I’m going back to bed.”

  “No you’re not,” Tarlak said, kicking him. “And be quiet. I’m on orders from the king, now get your swords and let’s go.”

  “I’m going with,” Aurelia said.

  “You’re too conspicuous,” Tarlak argued.

  “And a giant half-orc isn’t?”

  Tarlak bit his lip. “Good point. All right, hurry up.”

  Harruq buckled on his armor while Aurelia slipped her dress on over her flimsy nightgown.

  “We’re headed for the temple,” Tarlak said when they were ready.

  “Which one?” Harruq asked.

  “Ashhur. Let’s go.”

  They had camped between the two walls. Normally both gates were closed at night, but because of the massive amount of people, they had left the inner gate open. Four guards stood watch, torches in hand.

  “Time for a nap,” Tarlak said before whispering a few words of magic. He frowned when nothing happened. “Well that’s a problem,” he said. “They must have wards against sleep spells.”

  “How important is it we not be spotted?” Harruq asked.

  “Very,” Tarlak said.

  “You both are being stupid,” Aurelia said, drawing glares. The elf walked up to the wall, far away from the gate, and placed her hand upon it.

  “Grab my hand,” she told her husband. “And you, take his.”

  They both hesitated.

  “Now!” she said, loud enough to startle them. They did as they were told. She whispered a spell, and as she finished they felt their bodies tingle. Without pause, she suddenly leaped straight at the wall, her body vanishing through as she were a ghost. Harruq and Tarlak followed after, reappearing on the other side.

  “Simple enough,” Tarlak said. “But I could do without the insult.”

  Aurelia blew him a kiss. “Forgive me, oh wise one. Now lead on.”

  Through the quiet streets they weaved. Tarlak had expected at least a few people wandering about, perhaps from taverns that burned oil well into the night, but instead all was quiet and still.

  “Veldaren sure had more life,” Harruq said as they walked.

  “Fewer whores and drunks?” Aurelia said. “Yes, such a shame.”

  “It is,” Tarlak said. He pointed down a narrow street on their right. “This way.”

  The temple was a modest one. It had no grandiose pillars and statues, no huge doors or towering steeples. It looked like any other house, just larger and with the symbol of the golden mountain carved across its front. Tarlak knocked, and much to his surprise it immediately flung open. A bald priest thrust his hand forward, his holy symbol in hand. Bits of white light shone from his fingertips.

  “Um, hello?” Tarlak said, raising his hands to the air in surrender. The priest scanned the three as several other priests gathered about.

  “For what reason do you come to our temple so late in the night?” the priest asked.

  Tarlak pulled a small symbol of the mountain from underneath his robes and let it hang from a chain around his neck. It glinted in the light of the temple.

  “I’m here because I’ve been asked to be here,” the wizard said. “And I seek your wisdom on matters of utmost importance.”

  The priest lowered his hand, relief washing over his face.

  “Forgive me,” he said. “Our night has been long. And painful. Come in, all of you.”

  They entered. The temple had only one room, and was much larger than appeared possible from the outside. Rows of pews lined before a single podium. Neatly stacked along the walls of either side were blankets and bedrolls. Hundreds of candles lit the room, methodically spaced about on chandeliers and iron lamps.

  Aurelia gasped when she saw the dead man lying on the floor before the podium. His face was covered with a white cloth stained red with blood. His hands and feet were gone.

  “What happened here?” Tarlak asked.

  “I must first ask you, who is it that sends you?” said the priest.

  “We come from Neldar,” Tarlak said. “And we cannot say who sends us. I am Tarlak Eschaton, and these are my mercenaries, Aurelia and Harruq Tun.”

  The priest bowed to both. “My name is Bernard Ulath, head priest of our temple. I will accept you as friends, and respect your need for secrecy. But I do not wish to burden you with our troubles, for you bring your own to us.”

  “Your troubles are our troubles,” Tarlak said. “Who is responsible?”

  Bernard sighed. He walked over to the body and knelt down.

  “His name was Francis,” he said. “We found him on our doorstep less than an hour ago.” He pulled the cloth from the dead man’s face. His eyes were gone. His tongue had been cut out. A large sigil was carved on his forehead, one none of them understood.

  “It is an old symbol,” Bernard said. “Closely linked with Mordan heraldry, which is why you might not recognize it.”

  “What does it mean?” Aurelia asked.

  “Retribution,” said Bernard. “A life for a life.”

  At those words, Tarlak stood up straighter and frowned.

  “Oh shit,” he said. He blushed when he saw Bernard chuckling at him. “Forgive me, please. The priests of Karak did this, didn’t they?”

  Bernard nodded. “We have left them be, given how they outnumber us in both size and influence. We cannot challenge them, but it appears someone has.”

  “Haern, you damn fool,” Tarlak muttered. Bernard shook his head, and again Tarlak blushed. “Sorry. So, out of curiosity, what will happen if another priest of Karak is found dead?”

  Bernard looked back at his brethren, numbering less th
an twenty.

  “They will storm our temple and execute us all,” he said.

  Harruq tugged Tarlak’s arm so the wizard would face him.

  “You think this is Haern’s doing,” the half-orc said. “Don’t you?”

  Tarlak nodded. “We need our Eschaton here, now. It looks like we might have our own quiet battle before the real war ever hits the walls.”

  “I’ll stay,” Harruq said. “You two go get the others.”

  “Be careful,” Aurelia said, kissing him on the cheek.

  “Always am,” he said with a grin.

  The two left, and Harruq waited, feeling incredibly awkward and intrusive. The priests resumed preparing the body for burial. Only Bernard stood with him, watching with a look that he could not identify.

  “Your name,” Bernard said. “Harruq, wasn’t it? I thought so. I have to be careful, Ashhur’s blessed me with bones far healthier than my memory.”

  “We got to take what we get,” Harruq said, trying to make conversation.

  “Indeed,” Bernard said. He scratched his chin, still puzzling over something.

  “I’ve seen you before,” he said. “Sometimes you are strong, and fight with angels at your side. Other times you are weak, and surrounded by the dead. I’ve seen you both save our city and destroy it. What does that mean to you?”

  Harruq sighed.

  “I swear,” he said. “Everyone just has to know about my brother some way or another.”

  “Brother?”

  “Yeah,” Harruq said. “My brother helps lead the army that destroyed Veldaren. He’s the one you see with the dead. As for me fighting with angels, well, that better be symbolic or something. Guess Aurry could be an angel…”

  “No symbols,” Bernard said, his voice quieting. “No deeper meaning. I saw a glimpse of what might yet be. Do you pray to Ashhur, Harruq? Do you hold faith in his guidance?”

  “Really not interested in joining you as a monk or something,” Harruq said, suddenly even more uncomfortable.

  “Think about your life,” Bernard said. “About all the good, and all the bad. By whose hand was each? Do you even know what it is Ashhur would ask of you? Why do you reject his hand when you do not know what it is he offers?”

  “Enough,” Harruq said. “Just stop. Tend to your priests.”

  Bernard bowed.

  “I will be here,” he said. “Whenever you are ready to talk.”

  “Sure thing,” the half-orc muttered.

  Harruq found a corner to stand in, and in silence he watched the priests go about their rituals. He kept trying to shut out what the priest had said, but one question gnawed at him.

  The door opened, and before Harruq could draw his swords, Tarlak and Aurelia were inside.

  “Blasted fools,” the mage said.

  “What’s going on?” Harruq asked.

  “We can’t find Lathaar and Mira,” Aurelia said.

  “And Haern?”

  Tarlak shook his head. “He swears no involvement. He’s outside now, patrolling the area. This is going to be a long night.”

  Aurelia joined her husband in the corner, wrapping her arms around his waist and leaning her weight against him. “You all right?” she asked, feeling how tense he was.

  “Yeah, I’m fine,” he said. “Just thinking.”

  There they waited through the night, listening for the sound of singing, the marching of feet, and the coming attack of the priests of Karak.

  Lathaar found Mira between the walls, slowly pacing with a blanket wrapped around her shoulders. She heard his arrival and turned, smiling faintly.

  “I figured you would want solitude,” he said. “You’ve never been comfortable around so many people.”

  “Why should I be?” Mira asked. “I’ve killed them all.”

  “Don’t say things like that,” Lathaar said. He leaned against the wall and wrapped his blanket around himself. “Do you really love me?”

  The girl spun around, unable to look him in the eye.

  “I think so,” she said. “When I was to die, and make everything right, all I could think about was you. I’d lose you. My mirror would have died, and the winged soldiers would be gone, but I’d be gone too.”

  She turned, tears in her eyes.

  “I don’t want to lose you,” she said. “More than anything in the world. Is that love?”

  Lathaar wrapped his blanket around her and pulled her close.

  “Love is learned,” he said, staring straight into her solid black eyes. “But it sounds like you’re learning.”

  She kissed him. His arms held her waist. She nuzzled her forehead against his neck, shivering, but not from the cold.

  “I’m scared,” she said.

  “We don’t have to do anything that’d make you uncomf…”

  “Not that,” she said, pressing a finger against his lips. “It’s the half-orc. Harruq. Celestia wants me to tell him something.”

  “What is it?” he asked.

  “I’m not sure,” Mira said. “It’s just… it makes no sense, and I don’t know why I think he’s the one I should tell. He’ll think I’m crazy.”

  Lathaar held her tight and kissed the top of her head.

  “If you think you should, then you should,” he said. “Sometimes all it takes is a bit of faith.”

  Mira smiled, then flinched as if she’d been pinched.

  “Tarlak is trying to scry for us,” she said.

  “That’s a shame,” Lathaar said.

  “He won’t find us,” she said with a wink. “I won’t let him.”

  She wrapped her hands around his neck and kissed him.

  “Again,” Lathaar said. “Such a shame.”

  The next morning, the two awoke cuddled together, their blankets piled atop them for warmth. Lathaar stirred first, waking up Mira as he popped his back and stood.

  “They’re going to make assumptions,” Mira said, peering at him with one eye.

  “Let them,” Lathaar said, giving her a wink. “Now hurry up. I don’t want to miss breakfast.”

  They returned to camp hand in hand, only to be surprised by how empty it was. Antonil and Sergan ate by the fire, chewing on bacon and thin slices of bread.

  “Where’s the rest of the Eschaton?” Lathaar asked as he sat beside them.

  “I’m not sure,” Antonil said. “I haven’t seen them all morning.”

  “Neither have I,” Sergan said. “And if anyone stands out, it’s that crazy mage. Looks like he took a perfectly clean outfit and had a giant piss all over it.”

  Antonil elbowed him while choking on some bread.

  “I’m serious!” Sergan said. “What’s with him and yellow?”

  Before either could answer, a soldier wearing the colors of Mordan ran up and saluted.

  “King Antonil Copernus, I present high priest Hayden Farworth.”

  They all stood as Hayden approached, wearing even thicker gray robes and carrying a silver chain with a roaring lion pendant hanging from the end. He bowed to Antonil, then dismissed the soldier.

  “Greetings, priest,” Antonil said. “What business brings you out in the cold so early this morning?”

  “A fellow priest was murdered last night,” Hayden said. “He was a dear friend. I want to make sure you had no part in it.”

  King Antonil crossed his arms, his visage hardening.

  “No soldier under my command would ever do such a thing,” he said.

  “No soldier, but perhaps a mercenary,” Hayden said before glancing at Lathaar. “Or perhaps paladin?”

  “Go back to your death god,” Lathaar said. “I will not stand such accusations.”

  “Whatever you know of Karak, I assure you it is wrong,” Hayden said. “We desire order and stability, and the gray of our robes represents our neutrality in matters of war and death. But whoever strikes at us, unprovoked, will most certainly be dealt with.”

  “We understand,” Antonil said. “Now leave.”

  The hi
gh priest bowed and left.

  “There’s news to brighten your morning,” the king muttered before tossing the crust of his bread to the dirt.

  “I need to inform Tarlak,” Lathaar said, bowing to both. He turned to Mira. “Can you find them?” he asked.

  She closed her eyes and cast a spell.

  “In the city,” she said, eyes still closed. “They’re asleep, a temple of some sort.”

  “Perhaps they went to see Bernard,” Lathaar said. “Let’s go.”

  Lathaar knocked twice, but entered without waiting for an answer. Inside he saw the four Eschaton together in a corner, in various states of battle ready.

  “Where the bloody Abyss have you been?” Tarlak asked, startling to his feet.

  Mira went to say something, then stopped and blushed a deep red. Tarlak’s jaw dropped.

  “You didn’t,” he said.

  “No,” Lathaar said. “We didn’t.”

  Bernard looked up from his prayers and saw the paladin. His wrinkled face stretched into a smile.

  “Welcome back,” he said, using the bench to steady himself as he stood. “Though things have grown far more somber than your first joyous arrival.”

  “Someone murdered a priest of Karak last night,” Lathaar said. “Hayden’s blaming Antonil.”

  “Much as we’d like to take credit, we can’t,” Tarlak said. “Isn’t that right, Haern?”

  The assassin shrugged. “Is that sarcasm, Tarlak? Say it again; I couldn’t tell.”

  “Enough,” Aurelia said. “We need to find out who, and put a stop to it.”

  “Why?” Haern asked. “We should be joining them, not hunting them down. You saw what the priests of Karak did to Veldaren. We cannot let the priests here do the same, not with an army within weeks of laying siege.”

  “I will not listen to this,” Bernard shouted, startling them all. He stormed over to Haern, reached down his shirt, and yanked out the golden mountain pendant hanging from a chain. He let it fall, and as the candlelight reflected in all directions, the old man stared down the assassin.

  “I am no fool,” he said. “You have fallen far, young man. A lying tongue and bleeding hands are welcome even here, but only if they seek forgiveness and atonement. I will not listen to you advocate murder.”