The Weight of Blood (The Half-Orcs, #1)(52)

Qurrah withdrew a few pieces of bone from a pouch. He tightened his grip about them, whispering a few words of magic as he did. Then he looked to the window. He could barely see a bow and part of a hand. Qurrah waited. The Neldaren warriors charged, hoping to overwhelm their opponents before arrows took them all. The elf in the window leaned out to unleash a killing strike, but it was Qurrah who did the killing. Four pieces of bone leapt from his hand. They hit the elf’s neck and temple, making a satisfying crack.

The archer spilled through the window and landed with a clattering thud.

“The rest are yours, brother,” he whispered.



Inside felt like a modest rendition of Ahrqur’s home. Stairs in the center led to the upper floor. Harruq charged up them, making no attempt at silence. Either they would hear him through the chaos of battle or they would not.

It turned out they did. An arrow flew across the room and pierced his shoulder when he reached the second floor. He bellowed, letting the pain spark his rage. One archer continued to fire out the window, believing his companion capable of finishing a single warrior. He believed wrong.

The elf fired only one more shot before Harruq crossed the room. The arrow lodged into Harruq’s side, and then Salvation tore through his bow and into flesh. A kick sent the remains tumbling out the window. The other archer pulled back and fired at point blank range. Harruq roared as he felt a sharp pain bite into his neck. His mind blanked. He dropped his swords. His hands closed about something soft. By the time his rage calmed, blood was on his hands and the remains of an elf lay in the dirt below the window.

“Stupid elfie,” he said, gingerly touching the arrow in his neck. Not knowing what else to do, he closed his hand about the shaft and pulled.

A minute later, still lying in agonizing pain, the half-orc managed to pry open one of his healing potions. He gulped the swirling blue-silver contents and then tossed the vial. Ripping the other arrow out of his side, he felt a warm, soothing sensation fill his body.

“Are you alright?” he heard a raspy voice ask from atop the stairs.

“Yeah, I’m fine. Just had to take care of something here.”

He trudged down the stairs to where Qurrah waited.

“How many did you kill?” the necromancer asked.

“Just two,” he replied. His skeptical brother raised an eyebrow.

“That is a lot of blood for just two.”

Harruq ignored him. “Where to?” he asked instead.

Qurrah glanced outside the door. “The battle is moving on. Follow me.”

“Lead on,” he said, trudging after his brother into the daylight chaos.



Out the window Aurelia stared, frowning as she watched the battle unfold.

“Aurelia,” called a voice from behind. She turned to see a female elf, a friend of hers from many years before she moved to Woodhaven.

“Yes, Felewen?”

Felewen stood beside her and faced the window. Her hair was tied in a long, black ponytail, her slender figure covered by rare chainmail crafted of the hardest metals known to the intelligent races. She had come from deep within Nellassar, the thriving capital of the Dezren elves, as just one of many that had arrived to protect the town.

“Many are dying,” Felewen said. “The humans have a spellcaster of their own who repelled our ambush.”

Aurelia nodded. She knew something had gone wrong; otherwise, the battle would have been over in seconds.

“Very well,” Aurelia said. “Will you accompany me?”

Felewen smiled at her. She drew her longsword and saluted.

“But of course, Lady Thyne,” she said with none-too-subtle sarcasm. Aurelia tried to return a smile. She failed.

“Come. Let’s end this now.”

The two left the building and joined the fighting on the streets. It did not take long before a group of soldiers spotted them.

“Show them no mercy, Aurelia,” Felewen said, her warm voice turning cold.

“They will die with little suffering,” the sorceress responded. “It’s the most I can give.”

Electricity arced between her hands. Blue fire surrounded her eyes. The five human soldiers raised their shields and charged as a single unit. Felewen stood next to Aurelia, her sword high and her armor gleaming. She kept the blade out and pointed at the center soldier. When the bolt of lightning came shrieking out from Aurelia’s hands, that same soldier found himself lifted from the ground, his hands flailing, his useless sword and shield falling.

The blue electricity entered through a second soldier’s body through his right eye. He died instantly. Then the remaining three were upon the elves, and it was Felewen’s turn to kill. The first soldier to swing at her found his sword cut from his body, his hand still clutching it as it flew through the air. He cowered back, pulling his bleeding arm behind his shield. Another leapt forward to defend him. A longsword punched through his throat before he even saw her swing.

Shock and panic took over, and then the wounded soldier turned to flee. The final human soldier smashed his shield forward, preventing Felewen from chasing. The slender fighter flipped backward, clutching her sword in both hands. She landed softly behind the sorceress.

“Take him,” she said. A bolt of lightning hit his shield, numbing his arm and knocking him back. The shield slumped low, but he charged anyway, fully willing to die fighting.