The Weight of Blood (The Half-Orcs, #1)(49)

“Aurelia, come on out now,” he shouted again. His eyes searched the forest.

“I’m here,” Aurelia said. Her voice was quiet, subdued. Harruq turned and tried to smile.

“There you are. Are you doing alright?”

The elf shrugged. Her hands hugged her sides, her walnut eyes filled with worry.

“The elves are going to fight today, Harruq. I’m sure you’ve heard why.”

“Are you going to join them?” he asked.

The elf nodded.

“They are my family. This is my home. I cannot abandon them.”

Harruq’s heart skipped, and the words of his brother echoed in his head. He had to make her understand.

“Aurry, I’m asking you, please don’t fight. You aren’t needed. The elves will win, right? Right?”

Aurelia shrugged. “We’re outnumbered four to one. We might win, but we’ll still suffer many deaths. If I am needed, I will fight.”

“No,” Harruq said, running up and grabbing her arms. “No, you must understand, you can’t fight. You can’t!”

“Why?” she asked as tears formed in her eyes.

“I can’t lose you, Aurelia. Please don’t fight. For me, will you not?”

It seemed all the forest paused, listening for the answer.

“Harruq, I love you. But I also love my home. I love my brethren.”

She stood on her toes and gave him a quick, soft kiss on his lips. A tear ran down Harruq’s cheek as he stood in shock. His mind relished the soft feel of her lips on his, the scent of flowers, and the subtle fire that had escaped onto his tongue.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” she said, taking a hesitant step toward the trees.

“Sure thing,” Harruq said, rubbing the tear off his cheek and pretending it had not been there. Aurelia smiled. Tears were on her cheeks as well, but she left them alone.

“Bye-bye, Harruq.”

“Bye-bye, Aurelia.”

Then she was gone. He stood there, not moving, his mind a chaos of fear, swords, Velixar, his brother, and that lingering kiss. Then he screamed to the sky, one long, primal roar of hopeless confusion.

He stormed back to Qurrah, his chest a boiling pot of rage. She had not listened. He had begged, he had opened his heart, and she had not listened. So fine then. If he saw her, well then…then…

Even in his anger, he could not voice the words in his mind, but the feeling was there. Death. If he met her, there would be death, and that death would be preferable to the torment of pain he felt in his heart. Qurrah did not have to ask what her answer was when he returned to their home.

“I am sorry,” was all he said before handing Harruq his weapons. “Get ready. When the fighting begins you will forget all about her.”

“Unless I see her,” he said. Qurrah chose not to respond. Suited and ready for battle, the Tun brothers left their home in Woodhaven for the last time.





14





“The men are ready, milord,” Sergan said. “Do we march?”

Antonil stared at the small town, seeing very little motion within. No people wandered the streets. No traveling merchants hawked their wares. He sighed and turned to Sergan, his trusted advisor in war. The man was old, scarred, and had dirty hair falling down to his shoulders. He had seen many wars, and the axe against his shoulder had claimed more than a few lives.

“Yes, let us end this, one way or the other,” Antonil said. “Order them to march. I’ll lead us in.”

“Yes, milord.”

Sergan turned and started barking orders, all his calm and politeness vanishing. The guard captain glanced at the edict from the king he carried in his hand. A rash impulse filled him, an insane desire to tear the paper to shreds and return to his liege bearing a lie on his lips. Under normal circumstances the king would know no difference. His advisors, however, were many, and every one of them would betray Antonil for the chance to gain esteem in the eyes of the king.

No, he would have to deliver the message, regardless of his desires. He sighed one final time, turned toward his army, and began the march.



Where Celed and Singhelm met there was a small clearing. No buildings or monuments marked it, just a single circle of grass upon which no house would ever be built. On that spot, Singhelm the Strong and Ceredon Sinistel, leaders of Neldar’s troops and the Erzen elves, respectively, had made a pact that a city could exist between the two races without bloodshed. Singhelm had long since passed away, while Ceredon remained, two hundred years older, as the leader of the elven elite ekreissar.

It was in that clearing Antonil halted his army. The men shuffled around nervously, their eyes searching for enemies that always seemed to be hiding beyond their vision. The guard captain unrolled the edict, his gut sinking as he realized where he stood. Long ago, man and elf had agreed to live together in peace. Now, on that very same spot, he would rescind that agreement.

Beyond the clearing loomed several palisades. All nearby windows were closed, and several boarded. A few humans stuck their heads out their doors to glimpse the armored men trampling through their city. Most kept themselves far from danger.

“Elves and men of the city of Woodhaven,” Antonil shouted. “By order of the noble and sovereign King of Neldar, all elven kind has been banned from human lands. The elves of Woodhaven have ignored this edict, ignored the laws of the great kingdom in which they live. This will not be tolerated any longer. All elves must leave the city, which being outside the forest of Erze, falls inside our borders. Those who do not immediately leave will be forced out at the edge of a sword. These are the words of our great King Vaelor, and may they be never forgotten.”