The Half-Orcs: Books 1-5

by David Dalglish

  “Velixar.”

  “Leave him alone,” Lathaar said as he heard the name. “You leave… you leave him alone.”

  “Lathaar? Wake up, Lathaar, you have to fight this! Fight it!”

  He dreamt of a thousand mouths filled with white teeth that shone in the dark, and all of them laughed at him, laughed and laughed as he felt total helplessness and abandonment.

  Light pierced the darkness. He felt hope. The mouths ceased their laughing, and instead they wailed in anger.

  For a brief moment, Lathaar thought he had died and gone to the eternity. The walls were gold. The ceiling was marble. He was in a bed, the sheets a brilliant white. Paintings of trees and mountains decorated the room. He started as the large door opened, and in walked an angel.

  “You’re awake,” the angel said. “Excellent.”

  “Where am I?” Jerico asked.

  “Avlimar. You’ve been here for several days under Azariah’s care.”

  “What happened to me?” Lathaar asked. He tried to remember, but all he could see in his mind was fire, darkness, and teeth. The clothes on his body were wet with sweat, and as he shifted off the bed he realized his armor was gone. The floor was cold against his bare feet.

  “In time,” the angel said. “But first, there are others who would like to see you.”

  The angel left, and a moment later Jerico entered the room, a gigantic grin on his face. Tarlak followed, wagging his finger at him.

  “No scaring us like that again,” Tarlak said. “Or so help me, I’ll make sure you don’t wake up next time.”

  “Welcome back to the land of the living,” Jerico said, bear-hugging Lathaar. “I thought we had lost you.”

  “I’m too stubborn for that,” Lathaar said. He gently pushed Jerico away, his whole body covered with aches. “And why do I feel like I was run over by a battering ram?”

  “That pendant you found,” Tarlak said, plopping down in a golden chair with gigantic red cushions. “That was one doozy of a magical item. Touching it, well, that was like hopping into a volcano to see if the lava’s hot. Suffice to say, you got burned.”

  Jerico vanished outside the room and reappeared with a handful of Lathaar’s armor.

  “Sorry to hurry you, but you need to put that on,” Jerico said. “Otherwise we might be late for Antonil’s wedding.”

  Lathaar paused and raised an eyebrow.

  “Care to repeat that?” he asked.

  “Antonil and Annabelle are getting married,” Tarlak said. “King and Queen, uniting Mordan and Neldar in a blessed union of political convenience. As for the honeymoon, Antonil’s leading her armies across the nation to take back Veldaren. Romantic, eh?”

  “Incredibly,” Lathaar said, pulling on an undershirt. “But what about the pendant?”

  “Just get dressed,” Tarlak said. “Wedding now, object of doom later.”

  Jerico had wasted away the hours waiting for Lathaar to recuperate by polishing and cleaning both their armor, so when they emerged from Lathaar’s room both gleamed in the light. Tarlak frowned and covered one of his eyes with a hand.

  “I’m blind!” he said.

  “Quit exaggerating,” Jerico said.

  “You’re awake,” said the angel that had helped care for Lathaar. “Good. Follow me. I have several of my brethren ready to fly you back down to Mordeina.”

  “Lead the way,” said Tarlak.

  They hurried down the hallway. Lathaar walked with his mouth hanging open, mesmerized by the golden walls, the intricately crafted candelabras, and the many paintings of Dezrel. They passed by several windows, and through the glass he saw a stretch of green grass followed by nothing but sky.

  “Amazing,” Lathaar said.

  “You get used to it,” Tarlak said, chuckling.

  They exited two giant doors made of dark stained oak. Three angels waited for them. They bowed at their arrival.

  “Welcome,” one of them said. “We are pleased by your recovery, Lathaar. All our hearts have been heavy by word of your illness.”

  “And you have my thanks,” Lathaar said, bowing in return and doing his best to appear far healthier than he felt.

  “Take our hands,” the angels said. “And try not to panic.”

  One after another grabbed the wrists of their charge and rose into the air.

  When they landed just inside the city walls, Tarlak whooped and hollered and smacked both paladins on the shoulders.

  “We are never doing that again,” Jerico said as he fell to his knees and clutched the grass.

  “What, you guys didn’t have fun?” Tarlak asked.

  The paladins glared.

  “The wedding starts soon,” one of the angels said. “You must hurry. King Antonil has prepared a place of honor for you.”

  “About time I started getting some reward for all our hard work,” Tarlak said.

  The wedding festival spread from the castle outward throughout the city. Lathaar shook his head as they passed by colored streamers made of cloth and rows and rows of lit candles.

  “You’d think there wasn’t a war going on,” he said.

  “We won,” Tarlak said, grinning at the paladin. “You think it matters the enemy’s still alive and kicking? Just endure the show. We’ll be chasing after Karak’s pets soon enough.”

  Antonil and Annabelle waited atop the stairs before the castle, the hill high enough that most of the city’s inhabitants could look upon them, if not from the streets then from the rooftops of their homes. In what was a switch for the city, a priest of Ashhur, not Karak, led the procession.

  “Flank the sides of the stairs,” Tarlak told the paladins. The ceremony was yet to start, and the hum of conversation was strong and constant. Tarlak slipped in beside Harruq and Aurelia, winking at the two of them.

  “Nice of you to dress up,” he said to Harruq. “You even wore pants.”

  “Keep it up,” Harruq said. “Another crack like that and I’ll make you bald again.”

  “Play nice,” Aurelia said, jabbing both with her elbows.

  “Did Lathaar make it through all right?” Harruq asked.

  Tarlak gestured to where Lathaar and Jerico stood opposite of each other at the foot of the stairs.

  “Looks like it,” he said. “Roughed him up pretty bad, but he survived. Let’s hope the same for Antonil. The queen may be old, but I think she can give him a good run.”

  “Tarlak!” Aurelia shouted as loud as she dared. Tarlak winced, fully expecting a spell to turn him into a lizard. None came.

  “Once this is over,” the elf said, crossing her arms. “You are in deep trouble.”

  “Yes, mother,” Tarlak said. Again he winced. No polymorph spell.

  Harruq took Aurelia’s hand in his and held her closer as trumpets blared, signaling the start of the wedding.

  Deep inside a well-worn mansion seven men gathered wearing gray robes. A fire burned between them in a stone pit, but it gave off no smoke. The seven finished their chant, and the leader among them spoke.

  “Our time here is limited,” he said. “And our lives in danger. As we once persecuted priests and paladins of Ashhur, so now are we persecuted. So quickly Mordeina turns her back to our Lord.”

  “A reminder,” said one of the seven.

  “Yes,” said another. “They need a reminder.”

  “Hayden was our greatest, but he will not be our last,” said their leader. “And Karak has spoken to me in dreams. This is still our world’s final moments. Our great prophet remains, spurned and angry. But Karak whispers to me of a second prophet, one we must be wary of. We must be diligent. We must be strong. Above all, we must hold faith.”

  “What are we to do?” one asked.

  “You said it best,” said the leader. “We give them a reminder.”

  “With great joy I stand before these two individuals,” Bernard said, his voice carrying far in the silence that had fallen over the crowds. “King and queen of different nations, but coming togeth
er in peace and unity. No wounds are too old, no pain too great. Love heals. A simple statement, perhaps, but it is true, and it is powerful.”

  Harruq squeezed Aurelia’s hand and leaned over.

  “Our wedding didn’t take half this long,” he whispered.

  The seven raised their arms to the ceiling, their hearts throbbing in their chests. Desperate pleas for power poured from their lips. They called for a sign. They called for a message of truth and warning for their city. They called for a revival. The fire flared higher and higher, its strength tied to the strength of their prayers.

  “A name,” one of the priests suddenly shouted. “I hear a name!”

  The others heard it as well, strong in their ears. Their leader fell to his knees, and he cried out to his god.

  “I am unworthy,” he shouted. “Please, pass the burden to another.”

  “Take it!” the priests cried. “Take the name offered!”

  The fire soared, a brilliant orange and yellow pillar in the gigantic room. Their leader bowed his head and accepted Karak’s will.

  “Then let my old name be forgotten,” he said. “Melorak is now my name.”

  The other priests cheered, delighted at the long-prophesied arrival of Dezrel’s conqueror. The true Melorak closed his eyes and lifted his palms to the ceiling.

  “Let all of Mordan hear our anger,” he said.

  The exchange of rings done, Bernard began the final instruction of the ceremony.

  “Each of you holds the love of the other in your heart. Keep it sacred, and keep it close,” he said. “Queen Annabelle, I now pronounce you of the family Copernus. King Antonil, you may…”

  He stopped, his skin turning pale and his eyes widening. Whispers spread throughout the crowd.

  “Bernard?” Antonil asked.

  The ground shook. Wind blew down the streets, random in its swirling. The sky darkened. The rows of angels that surrounded the castle drew their swords as if for battle. Screams of fear and pain pierced the wind as people fled, trampling others too slow to move.

  “What’s going on?” Harruq shouted as he clutched Aurelia’s hand and held her close.

  “The sky,” Tarlak said. “Damn it all to the Abyss.”

  The roar of the lion shook the city. Its sound rumbled through their chests and pierced their hearts. The ground recoiled and broke. People fled to their homes, and the new king and queen hurried to their castle for safety. Those outside looked to the darkened sky, and all who saw it knew what it meant.

  Shimmering as if it were made of a thousand red stars, the image of a lion rippled in the air, its eyes angry, its teeth bared, and its claws outstretched. Twice more it roared, cracking walls and rendering the roads broken and uneven.

  Harruq watched as a group of angels flew toward the craven image. Azariah led them, his amulet in hand. As one they raised their right hands and shouted out the name of Ashhur. Holy light pulsed about their fingers. The image of the lion shook, its power fading. Again and again the angels prayed, until the wind died, the sky filled with light, and the lion broke apart.

  “Just like in Veldaren,” Tarlak said as an uneasy calm settled over the city.

  “We have an army to chase,” Harruq said, looking over the wall to the east as Mira and the paladins joined them. “Perhaps now the city will remember that.”

  Ahaesarus landed beside them, his beautiful face marred with anger.

  “We leave at the rise of the sun,” he said, glaring at where the image had been. “We have waited long enough.”

  “Antonil’s army won’t be ready by then,” Tarlak argued.

  “Then they can chase after us,” Ahaesarus said. “Prepare your mercenaries, unless you wish to stay behind.”

  Tarlak glanced around at his Eschaton, who all nodded.

  “We’re going,” he said. “All of us.”

  “Good,” said Ahaesarus. “Be ready.”

  He flew back to Avlimar, his angels following.

  “We’ll be outnumbered,” Mira said when he was gone. “Even with Antonil’s men.”

  “So be it,” Tarlak said. “We just fled across an entire continent. For once, I want to be the one giving chase. All of you, prepare your things. We’re leaving at dawn.”

  The Eschaton did as they were told. Their resting was done. They had a war to fight.

  18

  The three of them huddled before a fire, feeling isolated amid the remnants of the demon army. Qurrah seethed in silence, pondering Harruq’s eyes and the glow of his swords. He went over their battle again and again. At no point had his brother tried to score a killing blow. He had struck with the hilt of his swords, or at his legs and hands. Compared to their previous battle after Aullienna’s death, the whole ordeal seemed tame. Qurrah was baffled.

  “What do we do now?” Tessanna asked, disrupting his thoughts.

  “We rebuild,” Velixar said. His arms were crossed, and he bent toward the fire as if he were ready to plunge his face into the embers. “We cannot collapse now, not so close to victory.”

  “The demons have already replenished their numbers,” Qurrah said. “I feel the strain of their passing with every breath I take.”

  “As do I,” Velixar said. “But we must endure.”

  “It’s been months since we first opened the portal,” Qurrah said, rubbing his temples. “I am flesh and bone, Velixar. I will break soon, as will you.”

  “I am not weak,” Velixar said, his eyes looking up from the fire. For a moment they flared a bright red, a bit of his old self reemerging.

  “Neither of you are weak,” Tessanna said. She curled her knees to her chest and hid her face behind her arms. “But you’re dying. You can’t do this forever. But they want more from you, and they’ll keep taking and taking until you can’t stand, can’t fight, can’t do anything…”

  They hushed as Ulamn approached. He had taken off his helmet, and if not for the darkness of his eyes and the multitude of scars on his face, he could have passed as one of the angels they had just fought.

  “We will fly for much of the distance,” Ulamn said. “Uncomfortable as it may be for you, we will travel much faster that way. Ashhur’s angels will give chase, and we cannot fight them, not until we reinforce our numbers from Veldaren.”

  “What of my priests, my paladins?” Velixar asked.

  “They have forsaken you,” Ulamn said. “You know this as well as I. You both are too important to leave our side. You stay with us. If we’re lucky, your disloyal brethren will buy us time. Rest well tonight. Tomorrow will be long.”

  He bowed and left. Velixar shook his head, and his features shifted between sadness and anger.

  “So many good paladins,” he said. “So many faithful. I will make them pay. All of them.”

  Qurrah grabbed Tessanna’s elbow and stood.

  “We must rest,” he said. Velixar dismissed them with a wave, not watching them go. They hurried away. Qurrah wasn’t ready for sleep, but he couldn’t stand seeing Velixar in such a state.

  “He vows revenge,” Tessanna said, echoing his thoughts. “But what strength does he have to keep such a promise?”

  “He doesn’t,” Qurrah said. “And neither do I.”

  Tessanna kissed her lover’s cheek, but her comfort was hollow. Never before had she hated Karak as much as she did then.

  Tarlak slipped inside the room, trying not to make any noise.

  “I’m awake,” Haern said from his bed, his eyes still closed. “And beaten or not, my ears still work.”

  They were in a dark, windowless infirmary within the castle. There were many beds, but only Haern, with so many bones broken and shattered, remained.

  “We’re giving chase,” Tarlak said, sitting on the bed. “About an hour from now. Antonil’s army will follow in a day or two.”

  “I should go with you,” Haern said, frowning.

  “You’re damn lucky to even be alive,” Tarlak said. “Trying to travel so soon will kill you.”

  �
��You leave to banish a demonic army from our world, and you expect me to stay and hope for the best?” Haern asked.

  The wizard gently squeezed the assassin’s shoulder.

  “I expect you to get better,” he said, his point made clear by the pain flashing over Haern’s face. “You want to chase after us in a few weeks, you go right ahead. I hope we have a victory party waiting for you in Veldaren.”

  Haern sat up enough to hug Tarlak goodbye, then collapsed back onto the bed.

  “Tarlak?” Haern said, right before he left.

  “Yeah?”

  “I’m sorry,” Haern said. “For how I’ve been.”

  “Apology accepted,” Tarlak said, winking. “See you in the months ahead.”

  He left. Haern tried to sit up, tried to ignore the pain flaring throughout his body. He couldn’t, and he crashed back onto the bed, groaning and covered with sweat.

  With much fanfare the angels departed, hundreds and hundreds of winged soldiers in perfect formations. The Eschaton rode in the arms of the angels, their weight seemingly nothing to their powerful white wings. They flew east in pursuit of the demons.

  Antonil watched them go from the outer wall, scratching at his chin as he did.

  “Itching to go with them?” his old general Sergan asked. “Can’t say I blame you.”

  “I just led thousands of refugees across the continent,” Antonil said. “And now I am to travel back with an army at my command. To think, I always thought King Vaelor had it easy.”

  “He did have it easy,” Sergan said. He plopped his ax to the stone and leaned on its hilt, staring after the rapidly fading army. “He sat on his throne, issued paranoid edicts, and expected respect without earning it. You, however, have led your people as needed, fought beside them, bled with them, and gave everything you had. A good king, that’s what I see.”

  “And if we fail?” Antonil asked, turning toward his trusted friend. “And if I lead so many to their deaths, and return to Mordeina with her army broken, her food spent, and the whole world lost to fire?”