Azariah sighed, watching him go.
“There are few better than you,” the angel said to the empty night. “But perhaps that is your burden.”
He turned and rejoined the others by the fire.
Harruq grunted as Aurelia slid next to him underneath their blanket.
“Careful, I'm fragile,” he muttered as she softly ran her fingers over his freshly bandaged chest.
“One of these days you'll learn your stupidity gets you hurt,” she said.
“And that's when you'll leave me,” he said, sighing heavily and leaning his head back. She poked a finger into his hip and glared a feline glare. The playfulness was forced, however, and she curled up against him as gently as she could.
“It's Qurrah, isn’t it?” he asked as she nuzzled her face into his neck.
“Just seeing him,” she said. “It brings back too many memories.”
“Some were good,” Harruq said. “The early days, when we first joined the Eschaton.”
She smiled. “Those were good days, weren't they? You were still a goofy, scared half-orc. I thought you would die every time I grabbed your hand and kissed your cheek.”
“Slain by beauty, isn't that what happens to beasts like me?” he asked.
She didn't answer, instead letting the quiet night envelop them. High above, a thin line of clouds blotted out the moon. Harruq watched, waiting for the light to return.
“He killed our daughter,” Aurelia said, so quiet, so timid.
“I know,” Harruq said.
“He's hurt you.”
“I know.”
The light of the moon returned.
“How do I let go of that?” she asked.
Harruq shrugged, the motion spiking pain along his ribs.
“He's my brother. I love him more than I hate him.”
Aurelia nestled closer in, wrapping an arm across his shoulders and burying her face, like an animal seeking refuge.
“But what else can he be to me?” she asked. “Not a brother. Not kin. Just a monster.”
Harruq closed his eyes, remembering those words long, long ago.
You're an orc, aren't you?
He had nearly cleaved the boy in two, his blade slicing down from shoulder to chest.
“I was a monster, too,” Harruq whispered.
They said no more, and after several hours, they found sleep.
They kept Qurrah isolated from the rest of the troops. Many were unaware of his involvement, but his black robes and pallid demeanor signified him as different. Accusations of traitor, necromancer, and demon-worshiper filtered through the human soldiers until nearly all were aware of Qurrah's relevance to Neldar's destruction. When not carried in the air by an angel, he trudged along at the back of the army, with Harruq, sometimes Aurelia, as his only guard.
“They will never forgive me,” Qurrah said after another long, exhausting day putting Veldaren farther and farther behind them. “I think one night I’ll wake up to a rope around my neck.”
“Hard to blame them,” Harruq said, carefully watching Qurrah's movements for signs of exhaustion. He hadn't eaten well in days, and his weak lungs worried him.
“I don't,” Qurrah said, stumbling over a sudden burrow in the dirt. Harruq instinctively reached to help him, but Qurrah waved him away.
“How could I blame them?” he continued. “I started this war. How many are from Neldar? How many watched their loved ones die while my undead chanted my name like I was some glorious conqueror? How many...?”
He couldn't go on, and for that Harruq was glad. Qurrah looked over at him, a rare moment of humility drenched him like reams of wet cloth.
“I always claimed we were superior,” he said. “I was full of shit, wasn't I?”
At this Harruq laughed, hoping to dismiss the pall them.
“We were young, powerful, and poor,” he said. “Of course we were full of shit.”
Qurrah motioned to the angels flying overhead.
“They say I need no penance. No punishments. To even suggest it ruffles their feathers. But I must do something, for my whole heart aches for it. What should I do? How do I make it even? What does one man do to erase a debt owed to thousands?”
Harruq tried to think of his own moment of humility, knelt before Qurrah's army, weeping open tears as he begged for forgiveness.
“You do what you can,” he said at last. “Perhaps you'll never make it even. But I don't think that's the point.”
Qurrah smiled at him.
“It seems you've supplanted me as the older brother,” he said.
“Bah. Hardly a job I want.”
Up ahead, a soft chant rose through the groups of soldiers. They had started singing a song of home, and for each voice that took up the song two more were inspired to join. The deep, rumbling longing reached the two, and in its sound Qurrah halted his march.
“Leave me,” he said, silencing his brother with a glare when he tried to object. “I must wait here. Bad blood lingers, and if I do not deal with it now, I may never have the courage.”
“Who?” Harruq asked, glancing back at the marching army.
“It doesn’t matter,” Qurrah said. “Will you go?”
The larger half-orc glanced at the angels to see if they’d noticed their pause. So far, it seemed they had not.
“Will you return to us?” Harruq finally asked.
“If I have breath within me still,” Qurrah said.
The promise wasn't very comforting.
The land beyond the capital, that which was not smooth and often tilled, was filled with hills, and beneath the carpet of grass the soil was rocky and difficult to dig. Trees clustered in random assortments of five or six, growing tall and surrounded by walls of bushes. It was in the shadow of one of these clusters that Qurrah waited, until day was gone and only the moon shone down upon him. His feet were thankful for the break, but his mind was not. The constant motion had given him little time to think, but now alone, his mind wandered down dark paths.
He nearly fled. It occurred to him his transformation may have been nothing more than a survival technique, a burning desire for life that held little regard for grace and forgiveness. Guilt was a foreign thing to him, and the temptation to cast it away was strong. He clutched the image of Harruq's daughter in his mind, using it to push away the weakness that tore into his flesh.
You killed her! Tessanna had shrieked as she clawed at his arms and chest, back when her attuned mind had sensed Aullienna's death. He let that memory slash away any growing sense of importance or infallibility. He had done wrong. There was no other way to view his morbid life. He had done wrong.
“Decide to run away and hide?” a voice asked from within the copse of trees. Qurrah turned, not at all surprised.
“Not run,” Qurrah said. “Just waiting.”
Tarlak stepped through the bushes, ignoring the brambles that stuck to his robe.
“For me?” Tarlak asked. “I'm flattered.”
“I knew you would come, but I am still not sure the exact reason. Perhaps that alone shows how much I have hurt you. Why, Tarlak? Why are you here?”
The wizard hurled his hat to the ground between the two.
“How did she die?” he asked. “Answer me truthfully, half-orc. How did you and your witch kill her?”
Qurrah felt a flare of anger at hearing his beloved Tessanna called such a name.
“You want the truth?” he said. “Tessanna held her by her hair as I cut her throat. She did not scream, and her pain was short.”
“Why?” Tarlak asked, tears in his eyes. “What did she do to you? What did I do to you?”
“Nothing,” Qurrah said. “But so much blood was on Tessanna's hands, and I had none on my own.”
He ran his fingers along the twin scars underneath his eyes.
“I cried tears of blood after her death,” Qurrah said. “Out of all I’ve done, that was when I felt myself beyond salvation. And I will not lie to you, Tarlak. I did so wil
lingly.”
“Beyond salvation,” Tarlak said, his clenched fists shaking. “Perhaps you were right, Qurrah. Maybe even gods have limits. Shall we test them? Will Karak and Ashhur fight over which must take you? Maybe you'll just fade away, eternally unwanted.”
“Will you murder me?” Qurrah asked.
“Sounds good.”
Tarlak hurled a ball of flame from each palm. Qurrah dropped to the ground, letting them sail past, consuming the trees. The half-orc labored to one knee, and before the red-orange glow of the fire, he appeared the demon Tarlak knew him to be. Lightning struck from the sky, beckoned by Tarlak's spell. Qurrah summoned a magical shield, but a portion of the attack broke through, jolting his muscles and flooding him with pain.
Anger and survival raged in his chest. He hurled a clump of grass, igniting it in a muffled explosion of darkness that sucked in all light and sound. Behind the wall of black Qurrah surrounded his body with purple fire that only blazed and did not consume. When the inky darkness dissipated, Tarlak was ready, a giant boulder ripped from the ground floating before him. He hurled it with his mind’s eye. Qurrah let it crash into him, and like a statue, he did not move. The purple fire roared, cracking and twisting the chunk of earth and shoving it aside. Flashing a dire grin, he outstretched his hands, letting the fire lash out, burning Tarlak's robes and searing the flesh of his arms and legs.
Tarlak stumbled away, summoning up protections against fire. The next wave that washed over him produced only smoke. Tarlak glared through watery eyes, doing his best to ignore the horrible pain of his blackened flesh. Qurrah's whip lashed the ground, uncurled from its hiding place about his arm.
“Just like in Veldaren,” Qurrah hissed as he struck. Tarlak's spell died in mid-cast, the delicate hand motions required to cast it disrupted by the cord wrapped around his wrist. Desperate, he snapped his fingers. A massive burst of light shone in all directions, as if his fingers were the epicenter of a thousand suns plunged together. Qurrah back, his mind aching from the horrific brightness.
“Just like the King's Forest,” Tarlak said, unleashing a blast of pure, raw magical energy. It struck like a beam, hitting Qurrah's outstretched palms as he channeled a shield. He felt his willpower cracking. Tarlak was riding a frenzy of hurt and anger, the emotions giving him strength Qurrah could not hope to match, not in his weakened state. Karak's strength had left him, but if he reached deep within, where that dark well waited...
“No,” Qurrah said. He released his shield and let the spell hit. He felt his arms and legs stretch back, the bones strained to the edge of their breaking points. A hundred fists pummeled his chest. He flew back, rolling across the ground like a limp doll. Coughing blood, he sagged to his knees and glared at Tarlak, who stood with magic surrounding his hands.
“I won't do this,” Qurrah said between coughs. “If you want Delysia back, then kill me. Watch her spring unharmed from my corpse, all your hurt and anguish made a forgotten memory. But I will not be pushed back into the monster you need me to be. As I am now, Tarlak, you will have to kill me. Not as I was.”
Qurrah sat on his knees and waited for the deathblow. And waited.
“Tarlak,” said Aurelia, stepping out from the burning trees, the fire parting for her like subjects before their queen. “Must it be this way?”
Tarlak glanced between the two, all the while channeling the power for his spell. The fire crackled in his ears, and he knew he could bathe Qurrah in it, burn his flesh and bones down to ash—ash he could scatter with another spell so only the wind knew where his remnants came to rest. He wanted to. So badly, he wanted to.
But Qurrah had invoked his sister's name.
“What would Delysia say to this?” Aurelia said, walking over and gently pushing his hands down to his sides. The fire faded. “You know this is wrong.”
“How can it be wrong?” Tarlak asked, the tears returning. “He slit her throat. My sister. My little baby sister, he...”
Like Qurrah, he fell to his knees, his battle rush fading, overcome by sorrow and grief he had held out against for so long while they fled and fought the demon army. Now he had nothing. Nothing.
“What has he left me?” Tarlak asked the elf, who kissed away his tears and tried to smile.
“You have me,” she said. “You have my husband. Your friends, the paladins. All around, men revere you as great and wise and humorous. Will you not fight for that? Will you sacrifice it all?”
“I can,” he said. “I will. But I'm so numb. So tired of being numb.”
He let her hold him. Tears fell, and he was numb no longer. Qurrah turned away, feeling unworthy of such grief. He doubted he had Tarlak's forgiveness, but the hatred was gone. He let them be, and, tired and cold, he returned to the many fires of the army's camp.
4
Her song floated along moonlight waves, drifting in and out of covering clouds. The entire city was one of ghosts, lifeless beings in armor without joy or happiness, only dire, ordered control. Her song punctured the quiet, lacking words but not a story. It rose high, and then lilted, a strong hum that drifted between whisper and heart-wrenching sob. Love lost, love found, brothers and sisters gone to the grave while mothers and fathers struggled on. Velixar heard, and was afraid.
He wandered through the castle, letting the song pull him closer, his chest aflame in a way he had not felt in ages. Through tattered halls and empty courts he traveled, until in a lone tower he found Tessanna, singing through a window to the starlit sky. Head bowed, he waited, letting the woman sing her course, his eyes closed as if in prayer. The respect wrapped around Tessanna like a warm blanket, and in its embrace she slowly quieted, humming only a few more aching notes before drifting away.
“That was beautiful,” Velixar said, his voice ugly and deep in the sudden silence.
“I didn't think you were capable of hearing beauty,” she said, her gaze distant.
“I am still a man, and still clinging to life,” Velixar said, sitting on his knees at the top of the stairs. There was hardly room for the two of them, unless Velixar crowded close, and he would not dare such a bold gesture, not yet. He followed her gaze, knowing she looked after the long distant army of Ashhur. At one time her powerful mind easily could have passed the miles and looked right into the tent of her lover...if indeed she still did love Qurrah Tun. But her magic had left her. The goddess no longer shone down on her beloved daughter.
“We will march after them soon,” he said, after waiting to ensure Tessanna had nothing she wished to say. “Thulos wanted to study maps and consult his most trusted before moving out. He's like a man with a game, wanting to know where every piece is and how it plays upon the board.”
“What do I care?” she asked.
“Because you care for the one we chase,” Velixar said. “Because you care for he that betrayed and abandoned you.”
“He would rather die than live at my side,” she said. “How can I care for one so weak?”
“Because we are all weak, in our own way,” Velixar said. He put his hand on hers. She did not flinch in spite of how cold his flesh was and how strong his bony fingers clutched her.
“Weak?” she said. “Is that what we are?”
Her voice was shallow and distant. No emotion, not even sadness, dared rear its head.
“Love continues on,” Velixar said. “Even after weakness, after lies, after anger and betrayal. It is not a weak thing, but it is weakness to bow before it and let it rule.”
“I do not fear pain,” she said. Tears ran down her cheeks. She put her other hand on top of his. “And I am used to hurt. But this was not that. So much worse, Velixar. I hurt so much worse, more than I ever thought possible. I am a mirror, twice broken, now abandoned. What hope do I have?”
Velixar laughed, and was pleased with how her eyes finally stole to his, a shred of passion flushing her cheeks.
“Hope?” he asked. “Forget hope. You are strong, stronger than even the god that walks among us. Anything you want,
you can have. All you need to do is take it. You are a goddess among these mortals, and I smile at the mere presence of your divinity.”
And indeed he was smiling, and stroking her face with his hand, wiping away tears with a smooth, pale thumb. He felt a heat building, and it thrilled him.
“I am not blind to your desires,” she said, and it seemed her eyes sunk deeper into her face. “You are a corpse pretending at life, but perhaps Karak left that tiny piece of you working. Is that why you harass me here?”
“Dear child,” Velixar said, not at all upset. “Do you think that is the kind of love I feel for you? Qurrah, perhaps, desired nothing more, but in you I have seen such beauty and strength.”
He rose from his knees and sat beside her. He was death enveloping her, and with a small gasp she let his arms slide around her. Her heart quickened, and she felt her breath sticking in her throat.
“What will it be like?” she dared ask.
In answer, he kissed her.
She felt fierce, horrifying passion pour into her like a well underneath floodwaters. She felt his singular obsession, his devotion to his god overwhelming even his lust and fear. Images of his hundreds of years of life flashed before her closed eyes. His tongue flitted across hers, and she sensed the very essence of death tingling its way up and down her spine. More and more poured in, his life, his death, his unlife, all of it in random, startling detail. As his hand brushed her breast, she knew the amazing respect he held for her, as well as the tiny inkling of fear. All of him, she knew all of him, and then she saw what neither wished her to see.
She saw a bag, its contents moving slowly against the limits.
She felt her hatred roar to life like an unleashed demon, and at the sudden rage his own hatred spilled forth, no longer hidden behind his glowing eyes. He hated her as much as he desired her, all for her power, the power of a goddess. Her whole body trembling, she clutched her elbows and backed to the very edge of the window.
“Get away,” she said, her voice colder than the blood in his veins. “Go now, or I will fall.”
The Half-Orcs: Books 1-5 Page 129
