The Weight of Blood (The Half-Orcs, #1)(9)

“This time there will be a slight difference,” Qurrah said.

“What’s that?”

The half-orc shook his head.

“Not now. Another time I will explain.”

The two grew quiet, and they stared at the fire as the time passed. At last, when Harruq was sure Qurrah would not bring up the subject, he spoke.

“About the guards,” he said. “You think they’re telling the truth?”

Qurrah glanced up.

“About the elven blood in us?”

“Yeah.”

Qurrah chuckled, but it was mirthless.

“I do, and it does not surprise me as much as it should. I’m not sure who would mate with our mother, but some elf man did. We are smarter than most realize, you know that. Our features are sharper, and we only resemble the orcs that attacked Veldaren. It is a part of us. Unwanted, perhaps, but I shall not cower and hide a part of who I am.”

“Just strange, is all,” Harruq said.

“Life is strange.”

They both lay down to rest, a new life awaiting them in Woodhaven.





3





In silence, Harruq Tun stared at the body. Seven, he guessed. No older than seven. He didn’t know the boy’s name or why he had wandered into the forest. The bloodied corpse was sprawled across the knotted roots of a tree, its innards spilled through a massive gash from shoulder to waist. The eyes remained open, their young innocence spoiled by a lingering look of horror.

You’re an orc, aren’t you?

Harruq snarled and shook his head. He shouldn’t have spoken to him. Shouldn’t have let him ask questions. The last of his adrenaline faded as images of the child’s quivering lips and trembling hands haunted his vision.

“Half,” Harruq whispered as he wiped blood from his swords onto the grass. “Only half.”

The kill had been quick, just a single cut through the shoulder blade, the heart, and then the lung. No suffering, little pain. It was all he could offer.

“He’s dead, Qurrah,” the half-orc shouted. His deep voice, like a bear’s growl, seemed right at home in the forest. “Come on over.”

Qurrah approached through the trees, clutching a worn bag in his long fingers. His brown eyes glanced over the dead boy. He nodded in approval.

“Well done,” Qurrah said.

“Killing kids is hardly worth a well done.”

Qurrah frowned as he glanced from his prize to his brother, who sat against a tree, arms on his knees. “Take pride in all you do,” Qurrah said. “Only then will you improve.”

Harruq shrugged. “You need me?”

The smaller half-orc opened the bag he carried. Inside were ashes, roots, herbs, and a sharpened knife: all Qurrah needed to work his art.

“No. You may go.”

Harruq rose, glanced at the body, and then departed.



“What are they looking at?” Harruq later asked as the two brothers walked down the winding streets of Woodhaven.

“Let us see,” said Qurrah.

Harruq muscled his way past two men, his brother following in his wake. They found a proclamation nailed to a post.

“What’s it say?” Harruq asked.

“All children are to be kept outside the boundary of the forest,” Qurrah said, his eyes narrowing. “Six have been killed by the…”

Qurrah laughed, a hideous sound.

“By the what?” Harruq asked.

“The Forest Butcher,” said an aged woman next to him, her voice creaking as if she had tiny pebbles lodged in her throat. She glanced back to the worn brown paper. “Hope they find him. Been a long time since we had an execution, but whoever that sick bastard is deserves a gruesome one.”

“Such hatred in a meager body,” Qurrah said, and his smile earned him a sneer.

“Come on, Qurrah. I’m getting hungry,” Harruq said as he trudged off, his hands at his sides grabbing the air where his swords no longer were.



The two brothers lived in the poorest part of town, sheltered in an old building long abandoned. When they had first arrived, several homeless men claimed it as their own. Harruq had slit their throats when they slept and then Qurrah worked his art. The few vagabonds left in the city quickly learned to avoid the worn building marked by holes in its roof and long shadows that lingered no matter where the sun shone.

Harruq shoved open the door and then halted as he breathed in the stuffy air.

“Nothing like home, eh?” he said.

“Move, before the meat spoils,” Qurrah said.

The big half-orc stepped out of the way. Qurrah came through, carrying a slab of meat in his hands. He weaved across the missing planks in the floor and sat next to a small circle of stones. Above him was a hole in the ceiling for the smoke to escape.

“Since when has spoiling meat stopped me from eating it?” Harruq asked.

Qurrah laughed. “Which explains so much.”

Murmuring a few words, he smashed his hands together. Fire burst to life in the center of the stones. Harruq grabbed a small pot and brought it to the fire, but Qurrah stopped him.

“There is no need,” he said.

“How come?” Harruq asked.

Qurrah narrowed his eyes and stared at the meat in his hands.