The Weight of Blood (The Half-Orcs, #1)(27)

“Ashhur help us,” an exhausted farmer murmured before the line advanced upon them. The Forest Butcher at their heels, they could not run. Velixar’s army of undead tore the seven apart and cast their remains to the dirt. So ended the last life of Cornrows.



Harruq halted before the mess that had been his prey. The line of undead stood motionless, their unfocused eyes looking nowhere. The wind blew through them, shifting their hair and whistling through the holes in their bodies. The half-orc said nothing, just stared at the carnage and the servants of his master as he waited for Qurrah. The mindless rage that had consumed him slowly faded. By the time his brother arrived, it was all but a memory.

“The undead took them,” Qurrah said, his breath quick and shallow. “Velixar did not trust us.”

“I trust little,” Velixar said, stepping through the line of his servants. “The truth is I do not take risks. If any survived you would have been identified and my plans ruined.”

Both brothers bowed to their master.

“What are the plans you speak of?” Harruq asked.

“In time, my dear bone general, I will tell you both. For now though, I must deal with your brother.” Velixar brought his gaze to the young necromancer.

“Let us return to the village. It is time we test your power.”



The three stood in the center of the town, corpses scattered in all directions. There was an eerie silence creeping about, its soft touch tickling Harruq’s spine. He held the hilts of his twin blades in his hands, drawing comfort from them. At that dark moment, it was his only comfort.

“You know what I ask of you,” Velixar said.

“I do,” Qurrah said. “I pray I do not disappoint.”

He closed his eyes, his hands stretched to either side. His fingers hooked and curled in strange ways, many times so twisted and odd that Harruq could not bear to watch them dance. Words spilled from the frail half-orc’s lips. Some were strong, demanding, while others came limping out, twisted in form and barely existing as they were meant to exist. The words, however, did not matter as much as the dark power rolling forth from Qurrah. His sheer will would determine the full strength of the spell.

A cold wind came blasting in, seemingly from all directions. Faster and faster, the words poured from Qurrah’s pale lips. Harruq braced himself as his hair fluttered before his eyes. The spell neared completion, and Velixar hissed in sheer pleasure at the power flaring from his apprentice. Qurrah shrieked out one final word, the signal, the climax of the spell.

“Rise!”

All around corpses staggered to their feet.

“Qurrah,” Harruq stammered but could say no more.

“Eight,” Qurrah gasped, dropping to his knees. “It is…I am sorry, master.”

Velixar walked about, examining each of the undead farmers. He remained quiet, hiding all emotion from his apprentice and even refusing to look at him.

“This is the first time you have ever brought the dead back to life,” Velixar said. “Correct?”

“Of this size, yes,” Qurrah answered. His entire body rose and fell according to his unsteady gasps.

The man in black turned to him.

“When I was first taught that same spell I managed only four. Rise from your feet, Qurrah Tun.” He faced the undead. “Kneel!” he shouted to them. At once, the eight bowed to Qurrah. Velixar placed a hand on the half-orc’s shoulder.

“It is your servants that should bow to you,” he said. “And one could not ask for a more gifted disciple.”

Qurrah stood but kept his head bowed. Harruq shifted on his feet, scared and confused. The eyes of his brother…tears?

“Thank you, my master,” whispered the half-orc. “I have never felt more honored.”

Velixar placed a hand atop Qurrah’s head and accepted the tears he knew the half-orc tried to hide. He had long thought the weaker emotions fled from his soul, but that night he felt an overwhelming sense of pride.

“Harruq,” Velixar said, his normally unshakable voice faltering. “Escort your brother home. Protect him, even unto death. He will usher in a new age to this world. Of this I have no doubt.” He shouted an order to Qurrah’s undead. The eight obeyed, marching out of town to join the rest of Velixar’s army.

“I will take control now,” he said to his disciple. “In time, the burden of sustaining life in them will seem weightless. Until then, let me bear it. Look at me.”

Qurrah did, his eyes red and his face wet. “Yes master?” he asked. No weakness tainted his voice. The man in black put a hand on either side of Qurrah’s face and drew him close.

“Become a god among men,” he whispered. “Remain faithful to me, and to Karak, and I shall see it come to pass.”

Qurrah nodded but said nothing. Instead, he turned and joined his brother.

“Let’s go home,” he said.

“I’m thinking that’s a great idea,” Harruq said. The two stepped around the bodies of the slain as they headed east, leaving Velixar alone in the emptiness of Cornrows.

“Incredible,” Velixar said when they were gone. “Never would I have guessed they had such power.” He paused, listening to the words of his master. The man in black smiled.

“If you didn’t know then I do not feel as blind,” he said. “He will surpass me. Surpass us all. Should I bring him to your dark paladins?”