“Haern’s not here,” Tarlak said. “But perhaps you can spar with them.”
“Guess I could use a warm-up,” Harruq said as he stood. “After Haern, who here’s going to compare?”
He wandered deeper into the angels’ camp. He felt a little intimidated by their height, and the folded up wings against their backs only enhanced their difference. Strangely timid, he found a trio of angels taking turns sparring and quietly watched them. Their fighting style seemed strange, a jarring mix of brutal strength and careful, weaving feints. After several minutes, one of them saw him watching and nodded.
“Care for an attempt?” asked the loser of the last match. Another angel nearby laughed. Harruq drew his swords and twirled them in his hands. The others stepped away, giving him room to face his opponent, who wielded a large sword in both hands.
“I promise not to hurt you,” Harruq said, a grin on his face. The angel feinted a low slash, shifted his weight, and then swung for Harruq’s shoulder. The half-orc slapped it aside, stepped forward, and placed his other blade on the angel’s neck.
“Don’t patronize me,” Harruq said, his voice deepening into a growl.
The angel’s wide eyes, however, revealed how little he had held back.
“Mortals can’t move that fast,” he said.
“Then you haven’t fought enough mortals,” Harruq said, stepping back and falling into a defensive stance, both his swords at ready. “Again?”
The angel swung. Harruq blocked with both his blades, grunting at the strength of the impact. The angel stepped to the side and then thrust for Harruq’s chest. Instead it cut air, for Harruq spun, smacking aside the blade with his elbow as his own swords twirled above his head. When he finished the spin the angel’s sword was raised high, blocking Condemnation’s chop, but Salvation slipped underneath, its sharp tip jabbing against the top of the angel’s chest piece.
By now a crowd had formed, with a couple laughing and clapping when he scored the hit.
“Let me have a try,” an angel said, grabbing his mace and stepping forward. Harruq bowed, dodged his initial swing, and then smacked him twice in the back. Another competitor approached, wielding a gigantic sword. Again the fight lasted only seconds, with Harruq dancing around a few slow but powerful hits before slapping the angel’s face with Condemnation’s flat edge.
Harruq laughed, feeling adrenaline coursing through him. It felt good, engaged in honest combat with new opponents, though he was beginning to miss Haern. Strong as his opponents were, they relied entirely on that strength. He chuckled, realizing he probably felt like Haern in their early days after he and Aurelia had joined the Eschaton.
“I hear we have a true fighter in our midst,” shouted an angel above the rest. The crowd split, revealing Judarius and his enormous mace. He hefted it onto his shoulder and bowed with his free arm held against his chest. “Care for a duel, half-orc?”
“Been wanting some fun,” Harruq said, twirling his swords. “So let’s go.”
“Give it to him, Har!” Tarlak shouted from outside the ring of angels, having arrived with the crowd. “Just remember, it’s not your life on the line, just your pride. Oh, and your woman!”
Harruq shook his head as he tensed, already deciding who his next opponent would be. Judarius did not attack, instead watching and waiting for the half-orc to make a move.
“Patient, are we?” Harruq asked as the two circled.
“You excel in your reactions,” Judarius said. “You’re faster than you look, and you use that. But what if someone matches you in speed?”
The angel swung, the mace nothing but a blur. Harruq braced his legs and slammed both swords in the way, gasping for air as they connected. It felt like Judarius had swung a boulder at him. Grass tore as his feet slid across the ground. Before he could react the mace was coming in for a second hit. Harruq leaped back, not dumb enough to try another block, but Judarius was ready, lunging in with his elbow leading. Harruq ducked, slashed with Salvation to buy some separation, and then thrust both blades. Judarius’s mace twirled in his hands, batting them away.
Again their weapons crashed into each other, strength versus strength. Harruq grimaced, just barely able to hold back the enormous mace.
“You can’t out-react,” Judarius said. “Your best hope is a stalemate, but I am the stronger. You have no hope of winning.”
“Forgot one thing,” Harruq said as he pushed away the mace and slammed his swords together. “I can get really, really pissed.”
Harruq lunged, roaring like a wild animal released from a cage. Judarius parried the first couple strikes, but Harruq kept coming, his hands a blur. He pressed and pressed, unafraid of the giant mace, until he was close enough to drop Salvation and slam his fist into Judarius’s face. As the angel staggered, Harruq kicked out his legs, blocked a desperate swing with the mace, and then descended upon him, his knees on his throat and Condemnation stabbing into his arm.
This time there were no cheers or clapping. The angels stood stunned, their greatest fighter knocked low by a mere mortal. Harruq stood, sheathed Condemnation, and then offered a hand.
“We’re good at adapting,” Harruq said. “You need to remember that.”
Judarius accepted the hand, but his face was a somber glare as he brushed the dirt and grass from his armor. Blood trickled from his nose.
“I have much to practice, and much to learn,” Judarius said. “That should never happen again.”
He pushed his way through the angels, but before he could leave Ahaesarus was there, blocking his way.
“If we underestimate them, it is always our own failure,” Ahaesarus said. Judarius glanced back at Harruq, shook his head, and then continued on without saying a word.
“I’m sorry,” Harruq said as Ahaesarus approached and the rest of the angels dispersed. “Didn’t mean to upset him.”
“Just as we need to learn of you, you need to learn of us,” Ahaesarus said. “We are not perfect. We have pride and anger and doubt like we did when we served Ashhur on Dezrel. Judarius needed a bit of humbling.”
Ahaesarus led him back to Aurelia and Tarlak, who sat waiting by the fire.
“Now that was great,” Tarlak said, a giant grin on his face. “You did us human types proud.”
“We’re but soldiers made for battle,” Ahaesarus said. “So forgive us if your creature comforts are lacking, and the food poor. It doesn’t appear we will catch the demons. If we cannot gain ground, we will slow our pace and link up with Antonil’s army.”
“It seems that will be the case,” Tarlak said. “Where’d the paladins run off to, by the way?”
Ahaesarus chuckled. “They are discussing what you would refer to as theology with Azariah. I would stay away if I were you.”
“Not much for the particulars?” Tarlak asked. Instead Ahaesarus shook his head and patted his sword.
“Ashhur has given me people to protect and a sword to protect them with,” the angel said. “For me, that is enough.”
20
Qurrah hurried throughout the camp, doing his best to find comforts that weren’t there. Pillows, blankets, even torn cloaks would do. He looked wearied and feverish, his skin pale and his shoulders stooped.
“She still has weeks before she will be give birth,” Velixar said as he watched Qurrah search through their supplies. “There is no need to panic.”
“The months have been hard on her,” Qurrah said, shaking his head. “Traveling night and day, hanging from the arms of demons, all because we cannot rest, cannot slow.”
“She is a strong woman. And Veldaren is not far. Just a few more days, Qurrah, she can last that long.”
“No!” Qurrah shouted. He turned and gestured to the surrounding forest, the trees blooming with orange flowers and thick, wide leaves. “Here. We stay here.”
The man in black crossed his arms. His shifting face narrowed in the center, as if his entire being were focused where he glared.
“You will be vulnera
ble,” said Velixar. “We have not made it this far for you to be ambushed now.”
“Harruq’s pets are miles away,” Qurrah said. “And it doesn’t matter. Months left or not, our child is coming soon. Tess knows it, and I trust her. Now please, out of my way.”
Velixar stepped aside. As Qurrah hurried past, Velixar pulled his hood low and looked away.
“I will be near,” he said. “There is an old altar to Karak a mile north, following the creek upstream. I will pray for you both.”
“Thank you,” Qurrah said, his entire body sagging as if hundreds of men clung to his back and limbs. “But we won’t need it.”
The demon army took flight as the sun set, leaving Qurrah alone in the sudden silence. To him, it was a great relief. Solitude was something he craved, and for months, solitude was the one thing he had been denied during their flight across Dezrel. But now they were alone, just he and Tessanna.
“Finally,” Qurrah whispered.
Deeper into the forest the trees closed together, as if their trunks and roots intertwined, making them one being. Tessanna lay against one such tree with two trunks, a few thin blankets underneath her swollen form. Sweat poured down her face.
“Not ready,” Tessanna said as she saw his approach.
“You will do fine,” Qurrah said, laying a cloak across her body as she shivered in the cool night air.
“Not me,” she said, then winced as an enormous cramp filled her abdomen. She closed her eyes and clawed the grass. Qurrah watched, a horrible sickness in his chest. His beloved was suffering, and there was nothing he could do to ease the pain. Nothing he could do to quicken the experience. He could only remain at her side, impotent, worthless.
No, he thought as Tessanna grabbed his hand and held on as if her whole body were falling from him. He wasn’t worthless. He was needed, desperately so. He put both his hands around hers, and when her pain subsided he allowed himself to smile.
“You will be a good mother,” he said to her.
“And you’ll be a horrible father,” she said, aware enough in her exhaustion to crack a smile. “Get me something to bite. This is only going to get worse.”
He found her a stick, used his dagger to carve off the crumbly outer layer, and then handed it to her. She bit down on the center, breathed deep, and then moaned as another wave of pain flooded through her abdomen. Qurrah held her hand, stroked her face, and kept silent, wishing again and again he could ease her pain.
An hour passed. He checked her only once, and saw nothing resembling a baby. Her cramps worsened, and it seemed she clung to life by a single, vicious thread of pain and determination. Every wave she leaned forward, tears flowing from her eyes as she moaned and screamed and pushed. Every wave he thought she would die, her tiny frame breaking under the stress. But she was strong, so much stronger than he had ever given her credit for.
Another hour passed. He checked her, and saw what he thought was a head. He kissed her fingers and told her.
“I know,” Tessanna said between deep, labored breaths. “I can feel her when I push.”
“Her?” Qurrah asked, a tiny smile pulling at his lips.
“I know it’s a her,” she said, leaning back and trying to relax even as her lower back throbbed in agony. “I just know.”
The night deepened. Every few minutes her screams pierced the silence. Tessanna felt the baby’s shoulders push through. The pain was beyond immense. The pain was everything. Blood poured out of her. Qurrah knelt at her feet, a blanket in his hands. She had to be close, she had to be. Her body couldn’t take anymore. She felt herself tearing. The contractions worsened. She pushed and pushed.
“Get it out of me,” she sobbed, her dark hair matted to her face.
“One more,” Qurrah said, same as always. “Just one more.”
She gave him one more. She pushed, and Qurrah cried out as he saw the child’s head push through. Fluids rushed over his hands, but he didn’t care. He grabbed the little form and pulled.
“A girl,” Qurrah said as he lifted her to his chest. The forest turned silent but for Tessanna’s gasps of air. The silence turned cold.
“Qurrah?” Tessanna said, trying to sit up but unable to muster the strength. “Qurrah? Say something!”
The child wasn’t moving.
Qurrah used his dagger to cut the umbilical cord, then dropped it. He put his finger into the baby’s mouth, clearing out what he could see, but it didn’t matter. He held no life. He held a shell. He stroked the girl’s face with a trembling hand. Her eyes were closed. Her nose was scrunched against her face from the birth. Red splotches covered her slimy pink skin. But she was beautiful. And she was stillborn.
“Qurrah!” Tessanna cried amid a deep sob.
“You bastard,” Qurrah whispered, tears pouring down his cheeks. “How dare you? How dare you…”
“Give her to me,” Tessanna screamed. Qurrah wrapped the body in a cloak and handed it over. Tessanna clung the child to her chest, weeping. Qurrah stood, his whole body shaking, his heart swirling with too many emotions to understand. Above it all, above the pain and the betrayal, he felt anger.
“He promised us a life,” Qurrah said. “He promised.”
He gestured to their child.
“Is this the promise of Karak?”
“Don’t leave me,” Tessanna said between wracking sobs. “Please, don’t leave me.”
He knelt beside her, and into his pale, shriveled hands he took the baby’s small fingers. The pain inside him seemed unbearable. The sense of loss, beyond anything.
“What have I done to you, brother?” he dared ask. “Is this it?”
He stood. Tessanna lay there, blood pooled about her as if she were some sacrificial offering to a craven deity.
“Don’t go,” she pleaded.
“He promised,” Qurrah said, stumbling north. “I have to.”
The forest was red to him. Red with death. Red with anger. High above the stars were drops of blood, like that which covered his daughter, his divine curse. Everything he had done. Everything he had offered and lost. Cruel. Cruel and vicious and horrific. Someone had to pay. Someone had to suffer, as he suffered.
The trees suddenly cleared, and Velixar waited by a fire amid a circle of stones. He stood, and at the look in his disciple’s eyes he knew something had gone terribly wrong.
“What happened?” he asked.
Qurrah did not answer. Instead, he hurled a bolt of shadow at Velixar’s chest. Stunned, Velixar staggered back as the magic crushed his bones and tore into his rotting flesh. The second bolt, however, he did block, batting it aside with his hand as his glowing eyes glared in the darkness.
“How dare you strike at me?” Velixar said. “Tell me what happened!”
“You are a liar!” Qurrah shouted. Purple flame poured from his fingers. Velixar crossed his arms and summoned a shield. The fire rolled across it, unable to penetrate. Qurrah’s whip lashed out next, cracking across the shield with loud sparks of flame. Velixar released his protection, leaped away from the whip, and then clapped his hands. Shadows shot like arrows from the sky, each one piercing Qurrah’s flesh and dissolving into mist that flooded his body with pain. Qurrah ignored it with ease. He had felt more pain that he had ever thought imaginable. A few stinging darts meant nothing.
He braced his wrists together and stretched his fingers. A solid beam of magic shot forth, sparkling with stars and planets of a lost galaxy. Velixar crossed his arms and raised them high. A wall of stone tore from the ground. The beam shattered it like glass. Velixar rolled, barely dodging the beam, which continued on through several trees, exploding their trunks and burning their leaves. The trees collapsed, and from their branches the grass set fire. Smoke billowed as the two glared, their forms demonic in the flickering red and yellow light.
“When have I lied?” Velixar asked as he staggered to his feet. “I promised you Tessanna would conceive, and she did!”
“The child was dead!” Qurrah shouted back.
“You promised us a lie. A cruel joke. Everything you are, everything you claim, is a lie or a joke.”
“I am the only truth this world has ever known,” Velixar roared. He grabbed a clump of dirt and threw it. The dirt melted into a black goop that burst into flame, slamming into Qurrah’s chest with the force of a bull. Qurrah collapsed to the ground, gasping for air and rolling along the grass to put out the fire.
“What truth do you know?” Velixar asked. “Tell me, oh wise one.”
“Truth?” Qurrah gasped on his hands and knees. “I know one. My brother loved me, and I hurt him more than I ever knew.”
“Your brother,” Velixar said, throwing his hands up in disgust. “He was weak, a fool. He turned his back on the both of us, Qurrah, you once knew that as well as I!”
Qurrah stood and raised his hands high. Spells slipped through his lips. All around the fire grew in strength, fully surrounding them. It was as if they were in their own personal piece of the Abyss, reserved just for them. From within the fire, bones tore up from the ground, the remains of many sacrificed hundreds of years ago in the name of Karak. Gripping them in his mind, he flung them like spears at Velixar.
Karak’s prophet made a noise akin to a growl as the bones smacked into his face and chest. He pointed at Qurrah, his patience ended.
“Hemorrhage,” said Velixar.
Qurrah gasped as a large portion of his chest exploded in a shower of blood. He collapsed to his knees, his arms clutched tight against his body. He tried to cast a spell, but his head was dizzy, his vision blurred through tears and exhaustion.
“Kill me,” Qurrah said as Velixar approached. “Kill me, and let the weight of the portal crush you as well. I am too damn tired for this.”
Velixar paused, fighting for words.
“I promised you a child,” he finally said. “But even I do not hold the gift of life. If it was denied to you, then it was denied to you by Celestia, or Ashhur, not by me.”
Qurrah wiped tears from his eyes, smearing blood across his face.
The Half-Orcs: Books 1-5 Page 122
