She looked at Qurrah. A thousand emotions swirled within her breast. She thought of his bitter words to her for sleeping with Jerico. She thought of the times they’d shared alone, their lovemaking vicious and desperate. They’d clung to each other through the most horrible of tragedies, and she’d clawed his chest when Aullienna died. There had to be good times, though, moments of sun and warmth. That time by the rose, they’d declared each other husband and wife, more than lovers. Had they lived up to such a promise? Who was she to judge? She’d let Thulos into the world, dooming them all, and why? Because she’d been hurt? Because she wanted to punish Qurrah?
He was looking at her, and when she looked back, something in his eyes quivered. What did he think of her? Could he forgive her? Could she forgive him? What madness had separated them? What dire need had broken them? The dagger in her hand, could she do it? She couldn’t. She couldn’t!
“I’m sorry,” Qurrah whispered. “For everything.”
Tears ran down her face, and his too. She clutched the dagger so tight her knuckles turned white.
“I never wanted to hurt you,” she said.
“I know.”
“I’ve missed you so much.”
“So have I.”
“I love you, Qurrah.”
“I love you too, Tess.”
She tried to drop the dagger, but then Velixar was there. His hand was ice, and it was strong. He pushed forward, and she fought, she screamed, but in went the blade. It pierced through his ribs and into his heart. He gasped once, then fell to the side. Blood spilled across her hands. His blood. Qurrah’s blood.
He said something in his raspy voice. She leaned closer, clutching his white robes now stained red.
“…not mad…” he said. “Not…I’m not mad. Tess…”
She shrieked as he died. His body went still. No breath. No life.
“Please,” she sobbed, beating her hands against his chest. “Please, no, I’m sorry! Please, Qurrah, I’m so sorry! Don’t leave me alone, I don’t want to be alone. I can’t. I can’t, please…”
She felt Velixar towering over her, lurking like the damned reaper-man he was.
“You sick fuck!” she screamed. “I hope you burn!”
She tried to stab him, but he slapped the dagger aside. It skidded off the side of the bridge and vanished. Her flailing did nothing to him, but she kicked and clawed anyway until he grabbed her wrists and held her back.
“He deserved nothing less,” he said to her.
“How could you?” she asked amid her hysterical sobs. “How could you make me? Put his blood on your own hands, you damn coward! Your hands! Your guilt!”
The words seemed to sting him, and he let her drop. The bridge was slick underneath her feet, but she crawled toward the body of her lover and put his head in her lap. Gently she stroked his face, smearing blood across his forehead. Her tears fell down, mixing with the blood. She looked up at Velixar, who watched the display as if torn.
“He was better than you will ever be,” she said. “I felt it when I held your damn portal open.”
One of the war demons landed beside Velixar. He gave her a strange glance, then dismissed her.
“A third of my soldiers,” the demon said. “I send them under cover of darkness like you insist, and I lose a third!”
“And I lost nearly every single one of my undead, and half the mercenaries and men of Felwood!” Velixar shouted back. “Are you happy now, Myann? Thulos will have both our heads, all because you wouldn’t crush them when the battle first started.”
“The blame is on your head, not mine,” Myann said. He flew away, crimson feathers floating in the air after his departure.
Tessanna fled, wanting to be anywhere else, to think of anything else. She thought he’d follow, but Velixar remained behind. For a moment she thought he was as broken as she was, but that seemed impossible. She felt apathy sliding over her, returning like an old friend, and she welcomed it.
Velixar knelt beside the body, a strange stirring in his soul. He’d killed thousands before. He’d even felt regret, such as when he’d sacrificed Harruq’s daughter to reveal the brother’s true loyalties to Qurrah. But this was different from them all. Kneeling before Qurrah’s body, he felt a complete and total failure.
“You were my greatest disciple,” Velixar whispered as he carved runes into stones with his forefinger, which glowed red with fire. He’d taken the body and with tenderness surprising even to himself, set it down to the cold earth beyond the bridge. “How is it you fell so far? And how is it that I never saw it until now?”
He did his best to put Tessanna out of his mind. He’d broken her, perhaps worse than she’d ever been broken. The separation should have lessened her hurt. Qurrah’s betrayal and anger should have been enough for her to realize how inferior he’d been at the end. But whose fault was that? Who had let such a promising disciple become nothing but an enemy? He’d spent hours tormenting Jerico, revealing his lies, proving his faith false. Yet he’d failed. His war was not just for land, for gods, but for the souls themselves. Tessanna refused him. Jerico denied him. And Qurrah betrayed him.
Failure after failure after failure.
He wouldn’t fail this time. When he’d first found the two brothers, he’d told Karak that Ashhur had made his greatest failure in letting them fall into his hands. Yet who had them now?
“Ashhur will not keep you,” he said as he put down the last stone. “You are not his. Your soul belongs to me, Qurrah. To me it was promised, to Karak it was sworn. You won’t escape this. You won’t deny what you know is true. I don’t know what you were told that made you change your allegiance. I don’t know the promises and lies of your brother, or what sentimentality stayed either of your hands.”
He sensed someone approaching but kept his eyes focused on the body.
“I know what you’re thinking,” he heard Tessanna say.
“You never know your own thoughts. How could you know mine?”
Tessanna sat opposite him, and she let a hand rest atop Qurrah’s cold chest. Most were disturbed by corpses, but Velixar shouldn’t have been surprised that Tessanna would not be upset by their touch…
“I know because it is written on your face, and on these runes,” she said. “Why must you do this? What do you hope to gain?”
“I failed Qurrah in life,” he said. “I will rectify that failure. Help me, or leave me be.”
“He will only be a puppet, a lifeless shell of who he was. You rectify nothing.”
He glared at her. She looked haggard and tired, dark circles making her face look sunken and hollow.
“What do you know?” he asked. “This spell is one of the strongest in existence. His soul will be trapped inside his body, and bound to my command. He was swayed by his emotions and unreasonable expectations. He cast blame on me when it belonged to Celestia. But now we will walk side by side for eternity. We will travel through the realms, him and I, master and disciple.”
“Don’t do this,” Tessanna said. She pulled her hand back and shivered. “Don’t condemn him to such a fate.”
“Condemn?” he asked. He felt his exasperation grow. “Are you really so blind? He is condemned now, having turned his back on Karak. Do you think Ashhur’s Eternity is beyond our reach? With Karak freed, we will storm even there, and cast down the great host. Into Karak’s fire he will go, if things go unchanged. I must save him. I must bring him back so he can learn the truth of Order and Justice. Leave me be, harlot. You are just a slave of the whore. Go worship the wilds and the trees and leave the true matters to me.”
She stared at him, her red eyes dripping tears, her lips quivering. He could almost feel her hatred rolling toward him.
“Whatever you hope from me,” she said, “you will never get it. And whatever you seek from him, you will not find it. You play with bones, Velixar, and you know only shadows.”
When she was gone, Velixar sat on his knees and went over the words to the spell. He’d u
sed a variant of the spell on an elf such a long time ago, and Qurrah had been there to witness the display of power and control. The bitter memory stung. Never could he have guessed then that he’d be using that same spell on his most beloved disciple. This was his moment of triumph, damn it all! The world was theirs! Why must he suffer over such a wayward son?
An hour crawled as he prepared. It must be perfect. He must have Qurrah back exactly as he was, or the entire act would mean nothing. Cries came from the bridge, but they were muted and tentative. Thulos had returned, and every soldier there feared his reaction. All but Velixar. He could not care less. Let the god be furious. He’d done his best, and been foiled only by his own demon he left in charge.
Thulos’s heavy footsteps alerted him to his approach. He felt a wry smile come over his face.
“To think you thought the defenders of Ker would prove poor sport,” Velixar said.
The war god crossed his arms and frowned down at the body.
“What is this?” he asked. “Myann has told me much of the battle, and while he does his best to deflect the blame, I know it was him that cost you dearly. I do not blame him in protecting my demons, but it was foolish to sacrifice your soldiers and undead instead.”
“We won,” Velixar said. “Every defender died, with no surrender offered, nor accepted. The land of Ker is yours. Nowhere is there a city to stand against us. Now please, leave me be. I have matters I must attend.”
“Yes,” Thulos said, his deep voice booming his disapproval. “You consort with the daughter of the whore, and now you seek to bring back he who stood strongest against you. Bury the swords of your enemy, Velixar. You never know when they might turn against you.”
“My control is complete,” Velixar said, his anger flaring.
Thulos chuckled. “We will press men into service as we travel toward Mordan. Those who refuse will join your ranks of the dead. As for your control…tonight is a night for humility, not pride. Remember that.”
He left, and Velixar was thankful for it.
“He thinks this is for control,” he said to Qurrah’s body. “What arrogance. What single-mindedness. What does it gain me if I lose your soul while conquering this world? I never lie. I swore that to you time and time again. I will not let your entire life equal a lie.”
The moon rose higher, and he felt comforted in its light. Despite his long dead state, he still found the night sky beautiful. It was the time of Karak, a time for escape from the blaring, persistent sun. Peaceful. Calm. Order.
“Rise, Qurrah,” Velixar whispered.
The runes flared. The magic poured out of him, and he felt a pull on his chest. His reservoir of magic drained at a frightening rate. Sparks flared from the stones. A sheen of violet hovered over the body, gradually spreading into the cold flesh. From death to life…how could anyone deny the beauty and majesty of such a nature? Velixar knew that he served the miracle worker, the conqueror of death, not Ashhur.
The culmination of that proof lay before him. Qurrah’s eyes opened, and deep within his irises shone a red glow.
“No,” he said, his voice a cold whisper. He lifted a hand, and it shook. “No!”
“Welcome back,” Velixar said, feeling his lips spread into a smile. “I have missed you, my disciple.”
Qurrah screamed. Not an uncommon reaction, really, though he was still disappointed in how easily his disciple seemed to lose control.
“Enough,” he said. “You are not some frightened peasant or stubborn elf. You are Qurrah, servant of Karak’s dark throne. You should have enough presence to endure the transition from the hereafter to now.”
“What…what have you done to me?” Qurrah asked. He looked at his hands as if they were foreign to him.
“In time, you will understand the new way your senses work,” Velixar said. “Touch and smell will come to you as if from a distant room, though you will hear and see better than when you were alive. As for your…”
Qurrah extended his hand, a spell on his lips. Velixar was too shocked to defend himself. He flew back as the lance of ice pierced his chest. When he landed, the ice shattered, leaving a gaping hole in his robes.
“You will obey!” Velixar roared, every shred of pity leaving him. He poured his will into Qurrah’s undead body, denying it free will. The half-orc struggled, and his body quivered with exertion, but still he went down on one knee with hardly a pause.
“That is better,” Velixar said. He glared at the hole in his chest. That would take time to mend. Thank Karak he didn’t have to breathe…
“Why?” Qurrah asked. Given the commands flooding him, Velixar was impressed by the effort that single word must have taken to say.
“Why did I bring you back?”
The half-orc nodded. Velixar shook his head, again disappointed. Was it no so obvious? Was the world so muddled and gray that only he saw the truth clearly? He knelt before Qurrah and put his hands upon his face.
“Because you are my son,” he said. “You once loved me, for I rescued you from a fate of obscurity and powerlessness to become something greater. Something more. And I will not let you die here, that promise unfulfilled. At my side, Qurrah. That is where you belong. Tessanna, your brother, the elves…all conspired to keep you away. No longer. You are mine.”
Velixar denied the half-orc a chance to respond. He knew in his confusion he would not understand, not yet. But he had made magnificent progress on the paladin, and that had only been over months. With Qurrah, he would have centuries, if not the rest of eternity.
“I know you wish to see her,” he said, switching the subject. “For a while, your emotions for her might linger. Go to her. Let her see your true form, and see if she will still cling to you.”
Velixar gave his disciple his control back, though he still remained on edge in case he did something rash. Instead Qurrah stood and looked about.
“There,” Velixar said, pointing to a distant fire. “She is there.”
Without a word, Qurrah left for her.
Tessanna shivered although the fire was warm. It seemed like the heat could not penetrate her skin, and no matter how close she scooted, nor how badly her skin burned under the heat, she could not feel its warmth seep in. She thought of plunging her bare hand within the embers, to watch her flesh peel away, all to see if ice coated her bones. She cut herself instead, though the comfort was meager. It helped her slip away into apathy, though, and compared to the torment she felt, it was divine.
But then Qurrah approached, and the apathy revealed itself a lie. She felt her love and hatred swirl through her, and lost for words, she sat there as he joined her at her campfire. Long minutes passed as they both stared at the fire. It seemed neither knew what to say. At last Qurrah stood and turned to leave.
“Wait,” she said. He stopped and looked back over his shoulder.
“What?” he asked, his voice so soft, so tentative.
“Are you still who you were?” she asked.
He paused as if to decide, and then nodded.
She flung herself against him, wrapping her arms around his neck as she buried her face in his bloodstained robe.
“I missed you so much,” she cried. She let her tears bathe his chest. His hands wrapped around her waist. They were cold, but the warmth came from the act itself, the love that guided them. They said nothing as she cried, only held one another. She thought to say sorry, but didn’t know for why or if it even mattered. She wanted to tell him of everything that had happened, of the abuse by Velixar, the rapes by the men, and of how every single night she’d prayed for his touch before she could even think to fall asleep. But instead they held one another.
“What do we do?” she asked once she regained her composure.
“My life is no longer my own,” Qurrah said. “I do only what I am allowed. I’m sorry, Tess. You don’t deserve this.”
“I don’t deserve anything,” she said. “Please, just stay. I don’t care what he’s done to you. Just stay with me. Don�
��t leave me, not ever again. I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry.”
He kissed her forehead, and his lips were like ice. Compared to Velixar, though, he was a comfort, and that night she lay down with his arms around her, and though his breath did not blow against the back of her neck, she still slept without a single nightmare to ruin her rest.
20
Bram rode northwest with his vanguard when they first saw the men flying in the sky.
“What in the gods’ name is that?” asked Ian riding beside him. They had just passed through a gap in the Southron Hills, and before them spread the green plains of Ker.
“Either angels or demons,” said Bram. “Though I see them flying no standard.”
“They are too far away,” said a soldier beside them. “I see only birds.”
“Damn lot of birds,” said Ian. “And I never knew a bird that wore armor that glinted in the sun.”
They pressed on, now on edge and clutching their weapons tight. Their numbers were far from impressive, only five hundred knights and two thousand footmen. The rest of his army waited at Bloodbrick Crossing, guarding the entrance from Mordan into Ker. The southern lords had already been preparing for war before Bram ever contacted them, for they feared the covetous eye of Karak’s priest-king in the north. If it came to battle now, and Antonil’s men had fallen at the Gods’ Bridges, then they were already too late. Against such a formidable host, they had little chance.
Their fears were unfounded, though, for as the army approached the standard of the Golden Mountain shone from winged banner carriers. The ground forces also came into view, and they were clearly not dead but alive, men of Mordan and Neldar.
“Several thousand,” Ian said as they veered off course to meet the approaching army. “At least a thousand winged. Might it be enough to take Mordeina back from Karak’s devil?”
“We need only one man,” said Bram. He veered his horse around a deep patch of grass that grew like a tall pillar, sprouting from a muddy stretch where a spring surfaced. “If Antonil is there, the rest of the northern lords will turn to him, at last finding a unifying name to rally behind. Despite how thin his grasp, he is still their true king.”
The Half-Orcs: Books 1-5 Page 147
