The Weight of Blood (The Half-Orcs, #1)(46)

Harruq relished the feeling of true combat against skilled opponents. One would slash out, hoping for an opening, then back away as the other guard lunged, preventing Harruq from any chance to counter. Blood ran down his arms and sides from several minor cuts. The pain was good. It helped focus his mind. It also fed his rage.

“Kill me,” he shouted to one guard after another hit and fade. He smacked away a thrust but did not attempt to counter.

“Can you not kill me?” he asked, holding his swords out wide. Neither one attacked, instead holding their swords in defensive positions. Harruq shook his head, feeling his anger growing. These men did not fight with their hearts. They fought with their heads, and such foolishness could not be tolerated.

“Fine, I’ll show you a real warrior,” he said. His muscles tensed, his legs bulged, and then he charged the two, oblivious to his own safety. Overwhelming any of their attacks, he was a moving mountain of muscle, dangerous and powerful. The meager defenses of the guards faltered. One tried to block as Condemnation came for his head. The blade broke through and cleaved his skull in two. The other brought his sword down too late. Salvation tore through his chainmail. Harruq whirled on him, a quick double strike knocking the sword from his hand.

Helpless, the man staggered backward, clutching his wounded side. His eyes pleaded, but his mouth would dare not say the demeaning words. Harruq cut him again and again. His arms, his chest, his face: it all bled. But he remained alive, at least until that final moment when the two magic blades scissor-cut his neck. Harruq sheathed his swords and held the decapitated head of his foe high above him.

Full of pride, Qurrah watched his brother roar his victory to the night sky.





13





“Please, leave me be. I can give you gold, slaves, whatever you want!”

Qurrah chuckled. “Tie the bonds tighter. I do not want him breaking my concentration.”

Harruq nodded, yanking harder on the knot that held the noble’s hands behind his back. He was on his knees, his silk outfit stained by grass and dirt. Blood ran from where Harruq had broken his nose.

“Name a price, name it, anything, just name it!”

Harruq glanced at Qurrah, who only chuckled louder.

“We have little need for riches, noble. All we want is you.”

The man paled. “Me? What do you want me for? The elves…they sent you to attack me, didn’t they? Whatever they paid you, I can double it. Triple it!”

Qurrah shook his head. “No elf hired us, and no gold was put in our pockets.”

The flaming whip appeared, charring grass as it touched the ground.

“Then what do you want with me?” the man shrieked.

“You’ll see,” Harruq whispered into his ear before backing away.

The eyes of the nobleman grew wider, and panic gripped him entirely.

“No, no you can’t. You wouldn’t! Please, I beg of you, don’t…”

“Enough,” Qurrah said. His hand reached out, the tips of his fingers brushing the sides of the man’s face. Haunting words of magic flowed from the necromancer’s mouth. The noble’s jaw dropped, and black veins appeared in his eyes.

“By the gods, what is that?”

Harruq followed the man’s upward gaze but saw only clear night sky.

“Keep it away from me!” the man shouted as Qurrah released his hand and backed away. A glint of pleasure shone in his eyes as he watched his handiwork. The nobleman struggled against the ropes, his gaze locked on the sky.

“Please, no, take it away, I’ll do anything, anything, just keep it away. Don’t let it touch me, please, please, DON’T LET IT TOUCH ME!”

The man screamed for the next two minutes. Then he died.

“What did you do to him?” Harruq asked once the man was dead.

“Fear is an entertaining weapon, is it not?”

The warrior shook his head in wonder, but Qurrah said no more.

“Do we leave the bodies here?” Harruq asked.

The necromancer trotted over to the dead noble and did not answer. Instead, he ruffled through the silk robes until he found a scroll marked with the seal of the king. Qurrah ripped it to shreds and let the pieces scatter in the wind, then he turned to his brother.

“Do you remember what our Master wanted?”

Harruq unsheathed Condemnation and nodded.

“Aye, I do,” he said.



When they returned to where Velixar waited, Harruq dropped the head of the noble. It rolled twice before stopping face down in the grass.

“Excellent,” the man in black said. He looked his giant warrior up and down. “You are wounded. Is it serious?”

“Bah, I can handle far more than this,” Harruq said. “I’ll bandage them when we get home.”

“Very well. Leave me. Your work is done this night.”

Lying in the grass next to Velixar was the dead body of an elf male. Qurrah glanced at it, and then looked to his master.

“Do you need help bringing him back to life?” he asked. Velixar shook his head.

“Of course not. Both of you must rest. I will not be able to see you for a while, my disciples. The elves are more than wary of my presence now. Be ready come nightfall, and watch for my shadow. When it does come, that means war is on the horizon. Our glorious time has almost arrived.”