The Weight of Blood (The Half-Orcs, #1)(33)

Aurelia peered through a gap in the boards. She and Harruq had finished their sparring an hour before, and she expected him to be resting. She was right. What surprised her was how Qurrah remained asleep as well. Dieredon had mentioned nocturnal visits between the other brother and the man in black, but she had no idea how long they lasted. For Qurrah to still slumber they must last for several hours, if not the entire night.

She looked at him, sprawled out on a thick pile of straw, and wondered how he managed to walk, let alone cast spells as Harruq implied. His skin was pale and had a stretched look across his bones. He looked like a drained, emaciated version of his larger brother.

A good set of meals would do him wonders, Aurelia thought.

Boring as it was, Aurelia sat down and prepared to wait. She glanced around, making sure there was no chance a wandering passerby could accidentally bump into her invisible form. The sun moved along its path in the sky, and the brothers finally awoke. Qurrah vanished, returning later with meager portions of bread and tough meat. Aurelia watched, oddly amused by their silent noshing. Harruq continuously glanced over at Qurrah, and when the frailer half-orc was overtaken by a coughing fit, Harruq was there, pounding his brother’s back and looking like his world was about to end. Qurrah merely looked embarrassed and pushed him away.

They clearly love each other, thought Aurelia. Maybe Harruq more than Qurrah.

The day passed, and it was thankfully uneventful. She was almost ready to leave when Qurrah pulled Harruq closer and began whispering. Aurelia cast a spell over her ears, heightening her already sharp hearing. A pall settled over her as she listened.

“…must resume,” Qurrah was saying as her spell enacted.

“It’s dangerous,” Harruq said. “I thought you were learning enough from Velixar.”

“Exactly,” said Qurrah. “But I must practice what I learn. These nights are not enough, will never be enough. What point is sharpening your sword if you never wield it?”

Harruq had no reply. Eyes low, he stepped out into the night, Aurelia trailing not far behind. They travelled deeper into the town. A knot grew in her stomach as she noticed he had both his swords, and as they approached the poorer parts of the town, the knot only tightened. She watched the half-orc glance in through the windows of the buildings he passed. She found herself praying he only meant to steal possessions…just possessions, nothing more. Keep the swords sheathed, she prayed. Sheathed and bloodless.

He continued wandering, and she found herself circling several streets multiple times. Stalling, she thought, but it was little comfort. The day was almost done, the town covered with long shadows and darkened spaces. The older boys and girls would still be out to play, but the younger ones…

Harruq stopped. Aurelia positioned herself to the side, struggling to keep her breathing calm lest she alert him to her presence. They were beside an old house made of slanted boards shoddily nailed together. There was no glass for the window, nor a covering. She wondered what the occupants did during the winter months, preferring her mind dwell on that than the terrible look marring Harruq’s face. His skin had turned ashen. His right hand stroked the hilt of his sword like an itch he couldn’t ignore. He put a hand on the wood. Aurelia could only imagine what he saw: a small child slumbering in bed, positioned by the window to keep him cool. Just a child like any other the Forest Butcher had claimed.

When Dieredon had first come to her, she had expected little difficulty in the task.

“They are new to the town, and when they came so did the murders,” he had said. “Meet with one of them, discover who they are. If they are the vagrant scum they appear to be, it will be easy enough to catch them in their crime. The humans can then deal their judgment with a rope.”

It seemed perverse that she had met Harruq by saving him from the fate she was supposed to doom him to. Still, Aurelia was not one to judge by appearances, and what she had seen that night had seared her heart. Two soldiers beating Harruq bloody without cause or reason, Harruq who was so kind to her when they sparred, who brought her flowers and told her stories, who looked upon her like she was a goddess of light in his dreary world…

Harruq drew his sword. It shook in his hand. Aurelia watched as if in a dream. She felt magic spark on her fingertips. Under no circumstances could she watch him. She couldn’t. Nor could she believe it. He was so kind to her, so kind.

“Why,” she whispered.

He put a hand inside the window. The other pressed his sword against the side of the house. No longer a dream. A nightmare. She would kill him, burn his whole body to ash so she never had to look upon his dead face. Hatred burned in her breast. Qurrah, she thought. You make him do this. Put the blood on your own hands, you coward.

She knew the moment she struck with a spell her invisibility would end. She wondered how he would look at her when she killed him. Surprise? Anger? Shame? She didn’t know. She didn’t want to know. Magic sparked on her fingertips. Harruq might have seen if he had looked over, but his eyes stared through the window. He pulled back the sword. His hand reached in. Aurelia prepared to kill him.

“Damn it,” she heard him say. “I’m sorry, Qurrah. I can’t.”

He sheathed the blade.

Aurelia felt her world slow and the nightmare relent. He did no harm, she thought. No killing. He may not be the Forest Butcher, and even if he meant to do what she feared, it didn’t mean the others were him. The hope felt juvenile and ignorant but she clung to it tightly. The magic left her fingertips, and doing her best to calm her heart, she followed Harruq back home.