The Shadows of Grace (Half-Orcs Book 4)

by David Dalglish

  Ulamn burst into a run with such speed Harruq was completely unprepared for the elbow that slammed into his face. He could have been gutted, but Ulamn’s sword slipped right past, aimed straight for Qurrah’s stomach. Qurrah slammed his hands together, yanking a wall of shadow from the ground. The sword could not penetrate. Harruq fell back against the shadow wall, lashing out with his blades. Salvation clacked against armor, but Condemnation nicked a piece of neck, drawing blood. Ulamn swung, attempting to sever Harruq in two. Quick as he had summoned the shadow wall, Qurrah released it. Harruq fell, the gigantic blade slicing the air above his head.

  “Hemorrhage,” Qurrah shouted again, leaping past his brother with his hand outstretched. It connected with Ulamn’s chestplate, and from it magic poured out stronger than ever. The demon screamed as the flesh of his chest exploded with blood. He fell to one knee, gasping through the pain. He backhanded Qurrah with his gauntlet, strong enough to draw blood from his nose. With a quivering arm, he grabbed his sword and shoved it forward, hoping to gut Qurrah while he staggered. Harruq, however, had other ideas. From his perch on his back he slapped the blade away with both his swords, rolled to a sitting position, and then lunged. His knee smashed Ulamn’s face. As they heard the sick crunch, Harruq slipped Salvation’s edge against Ulamn’s throat.

  “You can yield,” Harruq said as he pressed hard enough to draw blood. “Pull your troops out and be gone.”

  “I’d rather die,” Ulamn said. He lunged for his sword, knowing full well he would never reach it. Harruq snarled like a beast as he yanked his blade, tearing open the demon’s throat. Gurgling and gasping, Ulamn clutched the wound with his hands and bled until he died.

  “Come,” Qurrah said, grabbing his brother’s arm and pulling him further up the stairs. “Our time is short.”

  “Yeah,” Harruq said, wiping blood from his face and following after.

  Tessanna stood before the throne room, openly weeping. Her face was not of sorrow, though, but of vicious, unbridled fury. In the corner Velixar lay curled on his hands and knees, gasping out labored breaths as he watched the girl with blackest eyes approach the dying portal.

  “You both were fools to try what you did,” she said to Velixar without looking at him. “Neither of you could have survived without my help. Mommy would have torn you to pieces.”

  She spun and glared at Karak’s prophet.

  “I’ve carried the burden, same as you both,” she said. “But I hid it. You never saw it, never felt it, but I’m why you two never crumpled under the weight. Thousands of troops, you damn fool.”

  She turned back to the portal and took another step. It swirled a dark blue, and within its ripples she saw hundreds of stars. She lifted her arms and let her tears fall.

  “He’s gone,” she said. “His hold on the portal is gone. You feel it too, don’t you? Of course you do. That’s why you’re a crumpled child. My lover’s gone. He’s cursed me, blamed me, and abandoned me. What am I to do, pawn of a death god? What do I do?”

  The drain of the portal was an acute pain in her mind, and with all her focus she grabbed it, held it firm.

  “I’ll tell you what I’ll do,” she said to Velixar. “If I’m a disease to this world, then I’ll burn the world away. I will give you what you want. What you’ve always wanted. Will you live to see it?”

  She poured all her power, the power of a goddess, into tearing open the portal. It swirled larger and larger, and the entire castle shook beneath her feet. She never heard the castle doors swing open, but when Qurrah’s voice rang out behind her, she spun, tears of blood running down her face.

  “Qurrah?” she asked, her hair fluttering in an ethereal wind.

  “Don’t!” he shouted as loud as he could. “Forgive me, Tess, I was wrong. Close the damn thing!”

  Her mouth dropped open. Her black eyes flared red and white. She was furious at his earlier words. She was joyful he was alive. She was confused by the sight of Harruq with him, and she was afraid of what it might mean. And above all, she was hurt, very hurt.

  “No,” she said. “You’ve earned this.”

  A final wave of her hand and the portal stretched wall to wall, filling the entire castle with its glow. Air blasted outward. Harruq held onto his brother, lifting an arm and bracing his body against the door to hold them still. In the corner, Velixar laughed.

  The portal rippled. A frightening stillness filled the room, broken only by their breathing and Velixar’s maniacal laughter.

  “What have you done?” Harruq dared ask.

  And then Thulos, god of war, stepped through the portal and into the land of Dezrel.

  A Note from the Author:

  If you ever listen to authors talk about their work, you’ll often hear them mention how their characters take over the story. That may seem a little silly, or even impossible. I’m writing the dang thing, right? I’m in control. I decide every twist, every turn. But believe me when I say this in total honesty:

  I had no clue what Harruq would do.

  The final confrontation was nearing. When I first plotted out the story, Qurrah was to die. But things changed on me, and decisions I made on a whim carried far-reaching consequences. Tessanna was never meant to be pregnant. Karak’s total failure in that regard broke him far worse than I could have imagined. So as that meeting neared, as I felt the story shifting unsteadily beneath me, I started wondering just how certain Qurrah’s fate was.

  About that fate… I’ve got a feeling this might not be a popular turn of events. So many readers have been calling for Qurrah’s death (though to be fair, a good many have pitied and wished better for him as well). But I mean what I wrote, even if not said by me but one of my characters instead. If Grace has limits, it is a sad, useless thing. Does Qurrah deserve forgiveness? Of course not. That’s the whole damn point.

  Could I do what Harruq did, if in the same position? I don’t know. A shameful part of me thinks not. A cowardly part of me thinks I could, though not out of idealism but instead simple weakness. In this, Harruq is better than I. I carry petty grudges and too often greet others with a sharp tongue. If all goes well, my dumb little half-orc will never become as I am.

  Not to say my characters will treat this rather odd occurrence kindly. Qurrah has hurt many, and they will have their say. Qurrah’s trial is coming. Mordan has fallen. Thulos now walks the land. Does look kinda bad, doesn’t it? Just one book left, and I promise it’ll be a good one. Keep an eye out in early 2011 for A Sliver of Redemption.

  Enough yammering. Thanks to John and Scott for help with edits, and as usual, to Peter Ortiz for the wonderful cover. Feel free to email me at ddalglish@yahoo.com, swing by www.facebook.com/thehalforcs to stay up to date, and visit ddalglish.com to read some free stories or order a spiffy signed copy.

  I also want to thank you, dear readers, for sticking with me so far. Give me your trust, and I’ll keep you entertained. I still have plenty of stories to tell.

  David Dalglish

  October 7th, 2010