The Weight of Blood (The Half-Orcs, #1)(20)

The man in black nodded, going over the memory in his mind.

“Could be darker, though,” he said. “You need not use memories, but they are easier to project. Any thought can be sent to those who slumber. After you have practiced, we will try with images you created on your own.”

The half-orc pulled his robes around him and looked back to the city. “When will we assault Woodhaven?” he asked.

Velixar’s face was an unmoving stone. “When did I say we would?”

“When we first met,” Qurrah said. “You said the cooperation between the races needs to end. If we are to destroy our home, I must know when.”

Then Velixar did something completely unexpected. He laughed.

“It will not be our hands that destroy Woodhaven,” Velixar said. “King Vaelor will do so for us by starting a war that will give us the dead we need.”

“How?” Qurrah asked.

The fire burned in Velixar’s eyes, deep with anticipation.

“I will darken his dreams, just as I have shown you. He is a cowardly man, and fears the elves already. I played a large part in his decision to banish the elves from the city. After I’m done, he will want them gone from all his lands, including here.”

The man in black gestured to the city nestled against the forest.

“This city has long been treated neutral, even though it resides within Neldar’s border. The elves will not take kindly to removal from a home many have lived in since before our dear king’s grandparents were alive.”

“I eagerly await the bloodshed,” Qurrah said. He bowed to his master.

“Go. The night is young. Taint the dreams of the slumbering.”

Qurrah left Velixar to sit alone before the fire. The dark night sang a song of crickets and wind. In the quiet, Dieredon entered the light of the fire.

“Greetings, traveler,” the elf said, bowing. “The town is not far, and all are welcome. Would you not sleep in safety rather than in the wild?”

Velixar looked at the elf, dressed in camouflaged armor and holding his wicked bow.

“You are a scoutmaster for the Quellan elves, are you not?” he asked.

“I am. And you have remained outside our village for several days yet vanish with the morning sun.”

“Have I done something wrong?” Velixar asked.

Dieredon frowned, noticing the subtle yet constant changes to the man’s facial features. His instincts cried out in warning. This man was dangerous.

“Children have been dying in our forest, all found horribly butchered,” Dieredon said.

“As you can plainly see, I am nowhere near the forest,” Velixar said. His voice was calm, disarming. Dieredon did not buy it.

“Give me your name,” he said.

“Earn the privilege,” Velixar countered. The elf’s arms blurred, and then the bow was in his hands. He pulled no arrow, though, for he held the weapon much like one would hold a staff.

“Leave this place,” Dieredon ordered as two long blades snapped out of either side of the bow and many spikes punched out the front. The man in black rose to his feet, an aura of death and despair rolling out around him.

“You should not threaten those who can rip the bones from your body with a thought,” he said, his voice dripping with venom.

“And you should not threaten an elf who can tear out your throat before a single word of a spell may pass through your lips. Go. Now.”

“As you wish,” Velixar said, giving a low, mocking bow. Then he was gone, fading away like smoke on a strong wind. Dieredon sprinted back to Woodhaven, knowing that the darkness was no longer safe to him.





6





One sword came from above, aiming for her shoulder, while the other thrust low. The staff twirled, batting the thrust to one side. Aurelia spun, evading a downward strike slicing through the air by just an inch. She continued the turn, her staff whirling. The swords sliced, trying to block, but they were too slow. The staff cracked against Harruq’s forehead.

He staggered backward, his eyes going wide and blank.

“You could fell an ogre with that hit,” he said.

“Very funny,” Aurelia said. She smiled. “That was my first good hit of the day. Mind if we make it the last?”

“I’m doomed,” Harruq said, ignoring her. “Oh, the agony. What a way to die.” He collapsed, his arms splayed wide and his tongue hanging out of his mouth.

Aurelia giggled. “Never thought a half-orc dying could be so adorable.”

His eyes flared wide.

“I’m not!” he insisted.

She slid over beside him, her long hair cascading toward his face.

“Oh, but I think you are,” she said. “Since you’re down here, how about I--”

“I’m fine. I’m fine.” Harruq sat up, breathing heavily even though the sparring match had been relatively casual. The elf smirked and trotted away.

“Hey, Aurelia,” Harruq said.

“Yes, Harruq?” She turned around.

Harruq tapped his fingers against the hilts of his swords and glanced about the clearing.

“I…you still want to hear that story?” he asked.

The playful atmosphere vanished into the trees. Aurelia returned and sat on her heels. She placed a hand on his shoulder. He tensed and jerked away, then blushed at his reaction.