The Weight of Blood (The Half-Orcs, #1)(54)

“You monster,” she shouted. “What meaning does this battle hold to you?”

“Everything,” Velixar shouted, hurling a flaming ball of fire from each hand. “I desire panic and bloodshed all across the east!”

Aurelia summoned a magical shield about her body. The fireballs thudded three feet from her body and detonated. The two nearest buildings crumpled, their walls and roofs blown back by the power. The elf winced, nearly knocked to her knees by the force.

“What madness gives you such a desire?” she asked, sending forth the strongest spells she knew. Several lances of ice flew down the street, followed by a ball of magma. The ball rolled behind the lances, covering the ground in flame. Velixar laughed.

A wave of his hand created a similar shield as Aurelia’s, but instead of keeping it close to his body, he shoved it forward. The lances shattered into shards when slammed against it. The ball of magma halted when touching the barrier and then reversed direction. The elf glared, detonating the attack with a thought. Molten rock covered the street, splattering across both Velixar’s and Aurelia’s shields before sliding to the dirt.

“How long can you keep this up?” the necromancer asked. He took out a bag of bones and scattered more than thirty pieces. “How long before you break?”

One by one, the bone pieces shot straight at Aurelia.

The elf dropped to one knee, words of magic streaming out her mouth as fast as she could speak them. Her magical shield could halt attacks of pure magical essence, such as the conjured fire, but animated objects were a different matter. The magic projecting them would die at her shield but the pieces would retain their momentum.

The dirt before her rumbled, cracked, and then ascended in a great physical wall. On the other side, pieces of bone thumped against it, one after another.

“Cute,” Velixar said, “but pointless.”

An invisible blast of pure force shattered the wall. Aurelia crossed her arms before her face as chunks of earth slammed into her slender form. She rolled with the blows, her mouth casting before she halted. Ice spread from house to house, walling Velixar off on the other side.

“From dirt to ice?” Velixar asked. “The end is just the same!”

The center of the wall exploded inward, but this time Aurelia was prepared. A rolling thunder of sound shoved all the broken shards forward, sending even the remaining chunks of the wall down the street in a chaotic assault. Velixar grinned. Clever girl.

The wave of sound and ice slammed his body. He flew backward, ice tearing his skin, but no blood came forth from those wounds. The larger pieces smashed his body from side to side, which turned limply with each blow. When the wave passed, Aurelia leaned on one knee, gasping for air as she stared at the man in black, now a crumpled mess of robes in the center of the street. The body suddenly convulsed, the chest heaving in quick, jerky spasms. When the sound reached her, Aurelia knew her doom. Velixar was laughing.

He stood, brushed off pieces of ice clinging to his robes, and then glared at her from afar.

“Not good enough,” he said.

Wild anger contorted his face. Black lightning thicker than a man’s arm tore down the street. Aurelia gasped as all her power flowed into her shield. The collision sent her flying, her magical barrier shattered into nothingness. The lightning continued, swirling about her body. Every nerve in her body shrieked with pain. She landed hard, unable to brace for the fall. The air blasted out of her lungs, and for one agonizing second they refused to draw in another breath. Slowly the black magic seeped out of her, the pain faded, and then she sucked the dusty air into her lungs.

“You are a powerful sorceress,” Velixar said, his anger gone as quickly as it had arrived. “But I have fought the founders of the Council of Mages. I have killed men who thought themselves gods. I have died but once, to Ashhur himself. There is no shame in your defeat.”

Aurelia struggled to her feet. The well of magic inside her was dry. In time, her strength would return, but she doubted the necromancer would give her a day to rest. She used a bit of the magic she did have left to summon her staff. If she were to die, she would die fighting any way she knew how.

The man in black paused, extended his hands, and began to cast. He would give her no chance to strike.

A blade stabbed his side. Velixar whirled, his speed far beyond any mortal. He stepped past Felewen’s slash and slammed a hand against her chest. Dark magic poured in. Her arms and legs arched backward, her sword fell from her hand, and her mouth opened in a single, aching shriek. Bits of darkness flared from her mouth, her eyes, and her nostrils.

Done, Velixar shoved her smoking body back into the alley and left her to die. When he turned, he snarled. Aurelia was gone.

“You have delayed me my kill,” he said to Felewen’s body. “Pray you are dead before I return.”

He placed his hood back over his head, pulled it down to cover his features, and then began his search for the sorceress.





15





One after another the deft strokes came in, and one after another Antonil batted them away using the methodical style that had helped him rise to his place at the top of the Neldaren army. His opponent, a young elf whose swordplay was raw compared to most of his brethren, tried to give him no reprieve. The guard captain didn’t falter in the slightest.

“You sacrifice planning and thought for sheer speed and reflexes,” he said, his breathing steady and practiced. He assumed the elf spoke the human tongue, and the sudden killing lunge proved him correct.