The Weight of Blood (The Half-Orcs, #1)(48)

“An elf came, killed several nobles, and took the king’s ear. Then his cousin is slain bearing a message to this town, his head left at the gate of our city. Paranoia it might be, but it is justified.”

Antonil quieted. Dieredon watched him, amazed just how young the man could still look in the moonlight. He was a year beyond forty, yet he commanded the entire Neldaren army. Publicly, he handled the weight wonderfully, but when prying eyes were gone, his all too-human fear and doubt showed. When the man spoke again, his voice trembled.

“I will not break my oaths. His Majesty asked I enforce his edict, and so I shall.”

Dieredon nodded, the sparkle in his eyes fading.

“I had hoped otherwise, but follow your oaths and your heart as you must.”

The elf whistled. From the night sky came the sound of soft wing beats. Then a white, winged horse swooped down, landing in front of Dieredon.

“Come, Sonowin,” the elf said to his cherished companion. “Let us leave this place while it is still in peace.”

The beautiful creature neighed in agreement. Dieredon mounted Sonowin, needing no reins or saddle. Antonil saluted the elf just before his mount leapt into flight.

“Stay safe, friend,” he said.

“You as well, friend.”

Before the elf took to the sky, however, he paused.

“Antonil…something more is at work here. Be wary. I will not take sides in this conflict, and neither shall the Quellan elves, but if I find who caused this war, I will kill him. It is the least I can do.”

A great beat of white wings and then the elf was in the air. Antonil watched him fly far south, watched until he was a tiny white dot among a blanket of stars. Before he stopped watching, however, he saw more than fifty similar white dots line the horizon. The guard captain smiled, somehow heartened by the sight.

“Let us hope for miracles,” he whispered to the night. “And let us hope that at tomorrow’s end all my troops are still alive.”

He stared at the stars for a long while before joining his troops in slumber.



Harruq and Qurrah waited anxiously at their door. They were fully armed and ready. The half-orc’s sister swords were sharpened and gleaming. Wrapped around his arm, Qurrah's whip writhed hungrily. Their eyes rarely blinked, but as hour after hour passed and no blanket of shadow came to them, their patience wore thin.

“The human army is right outside the town,” Harruq grumbled. “We can’t wait until tomorrow night.”

“Patience, brother,” Qurrah said. “Just…patience.”

Another hour, and still no shadow. Harruq stepped back inside and plopped down. The other half-orc remained at the door, his eyes not leaving the gray outside.

“He’s not sending for us,” Harruq said.

“You are correct,” said Velixar’s voice, startling both of them. They turned to see their master emerge from the shadows of their home, his red eyes gleaming.

“How did you get in here?” the warrior asked.

“Listen to me,” Velixar said, ignoring the question. “I have little time. The elves have erected barricades near their homes. Surely you have seen them. Slip past their defenses and wait. When the battle comes, slaughter the elves from behind. You must weaken them enough so that Vaelor’s army has a chance at victory.”

“We will not fail,” Qurrah promised. “Where will we meet you?”

“Listen for where the screams are at their worst,” Velixar said as his shadow began to fade. “There shall I be.”

A pale hand reached inside his robes and pulled out five glass vials. Qurrah knelt and accepted the gifts.

“The vials contain powerful healing elixirs. If either of you are injured tomorrow, drink from them and resume the slaughter anew.”

“Thank you master,” Harruq said, accepting three from his brother before kneeling as well.

“We will await you in the chaos,” Qurrah said.

Then the man was gone, vanishing into the shadows of the room. The two glanced at each other. Harruq shrugged.

“That was easy. Bed time?”

“Sleep if you must,” Qurrah said. “I will join you in a bit.”

Harruq removed his armor, lay down on the bed of straw, and slept. The necromancer stepped outside his home, walked to the side, and stared at the flickering lights in the distance. Campfires and torches. An army, the same that had removed him and his brother from their home, slept so close. Every one of them contemplated their death.

Qurrah closed his eyes and inhaled the cold night air. Yes, the tension was delectable. The quiet moments before battle were a rare thing that so very few were lucky enough to experience. Fear, worry, hope, prayer, regret, and sorrow all floated to the stars.

The half-orc let his attuned mind drink it all in. Beautiful, he thought. Absolutely beautiful.



The next morning Harruq did not put on his armor or prepare his blades.

“I have to see Aurelia,” he told his brother, who nodded in understanding.

“I will wait for you,” Qurrah said. “Return before the battle starts.”

“I will,” Harruq said. Then he was gone, rushing down the streets of Woodhaven toward the calm forest that nestled about it.



“Aurry, are you there?” he shouted. He had hoped the elf would be waiting for him, but as he neared their usual clearing there was no sign of her. His heart skipped, and he feared she had already gone off to prepare for battle.