“Your name,” she asked.
“Fuck you.”
Mira pressed her palm flat against the bridge and let her magic flow into it. The entire bridge rumbled on its foundations. The shaved man stumbled, and then she cast her second spell. Two cylindrical streams of water rose from either side of the bridge, spinning in the air. One hit his upper body while the other took out his legs. He hit the ground, cracking his head hard on the stone. The remaining two cried out the name of their god and charged, wanting Karak to think them brave and not cowards when they met him in his abyss.
You know any way to get across?” Lathaar asked as the two paladins stood dismounted before the ice wall.
“Your girl has problems,” Jerico said as he pressed his shield against the ice. “You do know that, right?”
“She’s never like this,” he said. “She’s shy, and lonely…what are you doing?”
“Knocking down the wall.”
He shifted his arms and pushed with all his might. The light around his shield flared brighter and brighter. Lathaar stepped back and crossed his arms.
“You’re doing what?”
“Oh you of little faith…” They heard the sound of a thunderclap. “Sounds like your girl got another one.”
He clamped his teeth together and grunted. The muscles in his entire body tightened. The light surrounding his shield grew even brighter. A long crack split the wall. Another joined it, arcing inward from the left corner. Lathaar felt his jaw drop as third crack appeared, spiking from the Jerico’s shield to the lower right corner.
“Not right,” he muttered as Jerico burst through, the ice wall crumbling to pieces around him. Jerico raised his shield above his head as the pieces fell. Several hefty chunks hit atop it, but he weathered them with ease. When the commotion was done the two saw Mira standing over a lone dark paladin. His face and hands were charred red, and his right eye looked like a blackened piece of fruit.
“Where is Krieger?” they heard her ask. Magic swirled around her hands. “Tell me.”
“You think I’ll tell?” he said with a pained laugh. She struck his other eye with a blast of lightning. The man screamed, and his back bent upward in a wicked jerk. He gasped for air as smoke escaped his open mouth.
“Tell me,” she said. “Where is Krieger?”
“Mira, stop it!” Lathaar shouted, sheathing his blades and running to her. He grabbed her wrists and spun her around. Her entire body tensed like a cat before a pounce. Lightning crackled in her eyes, but then she saw him and stopped. Her hands unclenched. The magic left her fingers.
“I’m sorry,” she said as Lathaar let go of her wrists. She wrapped her arms around his neck and pressed her face against his chest. Her tears ran down his armor. “I’m sorry.”
Jerico stood over the dying, blind paladin. He hooked his mace onto his belt, slung his shield over his back, and then hoisted the bald man onto his feet. The man had no strength to resist as Jerico pushed him to the edge of the bridge, where the Rigon river roared beneath them.
“Why do you aid Qurrah?” he asked him. “What has that half-orc offered you?”
“Who is Qurrah?” the dark paladin asked. Jerico narrowed his eyes. All paladins of Ashhur could innately sense a lie, and he knew the man spoke truth. He didn’t know who Qurrah was.
“Karak’s army marches for Veldaren,” he said. “Now give me an honorable death.”
“Sure thing.” He pushed him off the bridge. In his heavy armor, the man sank straight to the bottom.
“Don’t do that again,” Jerico said to Mira. “Revenge is too hard for a heart as soft as yours.”
He left to retrieve his horse. Lathaar wrapped his arms around her as she continued to cry.
I tortured him, he heard her say in his mind. Celestia help me, I tortured him, just like he…he…
“You’ll be okay,” he said.
I’ve never…I have all this power and I lost control…
“You’ve fought before. Killed before.”
But never this. Please forgive me, Michael. Never this.
Lathaar kissed her forehead and held her tight. She had called him by his original name before he had passed the Trials and become a paladin. It reminded him of just how young she still was, and how young she had been when he first met her, alone in a dark forest with only a demon to keep her company.
“I forgive you,” he said, pulling her back and taking her hand. “Now let’s get away from this place. Go back to my horse.”
She sniffed, smiled a little, and then did as she was told. Lathaar pushed the remaining three bodies into the river, feeling grim satisfaction with each one.
“Five less servants of Karak in this world,” he said. “Five less drops in a river.”
“But even rivers one day run dry,” Jerico said from atop his horse. He held Lathaar’s reigns in his right hand. Mira rode atop the horse.
“Amen,” Lathaar said, taking his seat on the saddle behind Mira.
9
Entrances into the Vile Wedge were few. The Citadel had guarded the lower portions of the rivers when it had still stood, preventing the dangerous inhabitants within from crossing by boats. No bridges remained across the bone ditch, the orcs name for the great chasm lining the eastern side. Scouts for Mordan sailed down the Rigon river on the west, reporting to the wall of towers than stretched for miles and miles. But to one skilled with dark magic, even the challenge of the giant rivers proved surmountable.
“Have you even been inside the wedge?” Velixar asked as they stared at the slowly flowing river, whose surface reflected back the stars in a beautiful display. Qurrah and Tessanna both shook their heads as they stood beside him.
“Marvelous place,” the man in black said, smiling. “The orcs rule the majority, but it is a tenuous hold. Hyena-men, wolf-men, goblins, even the bird-men have their places, all castaways from the great war. They were made by the gods, then forgotten when their usefulness ended. But it is time to end their chaos.”
He turned to Tessanna. “My lady, would you be so kind as to grant us passage across?”
“But, I’m not...” She stared at the opposite shore over two hundred feet away. “I don’t know if I can.”
Qurrah felt a spike of jealousy as Velixar put a hand on her shoulder her and gently nudged her closer to the water.
“You are as powerful as you are beautiful,” he said. “And if you do not know if you can, then it is time you learned. You are the daughter of a goddess. Your limits are your own to discover…and then exceed.”
Tessanna looked back to Qurrah, who only nodded.
“Very well,” she said. “I could float us across, but you know that. This is a test. I don’t like tests.”
“My apologies, but I do,” Velixar said.
Tessanna laughed.
“Aren’t you so polite.” Wisps of white ether floated like smoke from her hands. Velixar stepped beside Qurrah and whispered to him as a sudden wind screamed in from the south.
“How much have you seen of her power?” he asked him.
“More than enough,” Qurrah replied.
“No,” Velixar said. “There is never enough. There is always more.”
Tessanna’s black hair danced in the wind. Her hands spread wide, the white mist growing thicker and swirling around her fingers. She let out a tiny moan as her body lifted a foot off the ground, and her head arched back as she let loose her power. With a savage cry, she slammed her hands together. A white beam sliced through the river, accompanied by a great roar of moving water. She spread her hands. The ground shook. The river growled and tossed. And then a pathway opened, dry and barren.
“She could do more,” Velixar whispered as both stood in awe. “And I will push her to it, whether she wants me to or not.”
The blocked river tried to overflow its banks, but Tessanna curled her fingers and enclosed it. A white wall blocked both sides, stretching to the sky. The magical dam captured the water and pressed it ever higher. Desp
ite the enormous power of the river, the girl walked through the pathway she had made with little sign of exhaustion.
“Don’t hurt her,” Qurrah said before walking through. “Just don’t hurt her.”
“I promise.” Velixar pulled his hood low and followed. “And I keep my promises.”
When they reached the other side, Tessanna turned and smiled.
“Wave bye-bye to the river,” she said. Before either could react, she relaxed her body. The white wall vanished. The roar of the water was deafening as it collapsed downstream, overloading the banks and crushing trees that grew along its edge. The girl giggled at the destruction she caused.
“I may not like tests,” she said, “but that was fun.”
Velixar once again placed his hand on her shoulder and led her on. “Truly magnificent,” he said.
It was Velixar’s decision that they travel by day. Secrecy was no longer necessary. For two days they followed the river north. At the start of the third day, Velixar revealed a portion of his plan.
“There are three main orc tribes,” he explained as they walked. “The Mug tribe is the biggest, followed by the Dun and the Glush tribes. A fourth tribe, however, has sworn off worshiping animals. Somehow they learned of their elven heritage and now worship Celestia, hoping the goddess will remove the curse that poisons their blood. They are a blasphemy against Karak and must be dealt with accordingly.”
They came upon a crude banner made of two sharpened sticks thrust together in the dirt. Draped over the front was what appeared to be the skin of a wolf.
“We’ve entered their territory,” Velixar said. “It won’t be long before we find one of their camps.”
“Why a wolf skin?” Qurrah asked as they passed by the banner.
“The wolf-men to the north often raid their homes for food. The orcs here use their skin to make their banners, blankets, and huts.”
Tessanna started laughing.
“Bad doggie,” she said as they passed by a similar banner. When both men gave her a funny look, she only laughed louder, the sound hollow among the quiet, dangerous land.
They traveled over the dry, yellow grass, until the encampment was within sight.
“There,” Velixar said, pointing. “Karak has whispered of them for many years, but at last I see them with my own eyes.”
Hundreds of tents covered the nearby hills. On each and every one was a triangle. Two lines stretched outward from the bottom. A tree, Qurrah realized. Drawn in the blood of animals was a tree, the old symbol the elves used for Celestia. For the first time Qurrah saw orc females, their sex no longer hidden behind heavy war armor. Their breasts were flat, and more muscle than milk. Children ran about, wrestling and playing games with rocks and toys carved from wood. In the center of the camp was a tent far larger than the others, with red trees on each side of the entryway.
“How have they not been conquered by the other tribes?” Qurrah asked.
“That is the mystery,” Velixar said. He licked his lips. “Somehow they have held off any and all attacks. The other tribes talk of how a goddess protects them. This sort of blasphemy is dangerous, my disciple. It changes the order of things and renders the land even more chaotic. Follow me. We will show them their place.”
Velixar walked down the hill, his arms held at his sides in an apparent gesture of peace. Guards lined the exterior of the camp, and when they spotted him they raised a ruckus in their native tongue. Orcs flocked together. Qurrah and Tessanna approached, hand in hand. The half-orc had never felt more conscious of his gray skin. He could feel his tainted blood coursing within him, and for the first time he saw their civilization.
“I could have been their god,” he whispered. “Their deity.”
“And I could be a goddess in any place I choose,” Tessanna whispered. “But that is not my place in this world, and these huts are not yours.”
A wall of spears surrounded them. Velixar halted, his hands still held high and wide. His hood had fallen low to cover his eyes, but beneath lingered his smile. Beyond the ring of orcs Qurrah saw women holding their young, watching. He was shocked when he realized many of them were praying.
A particularly large orc broke through the ring and shouted at Velixar in the orcish tongue. The man in black laughed and then spoke back in the same guttural language. The orc seemed surprised at this, and began questioning those around him.
“What is going on,” Qurrah asked.
Before Velixar could answer, the big one turned toward the giant tent and shouted the same word three times.
“Darnela! Darnela! Darnela!”
“Darnela?” Tessanna asked.
“At last I understand,” Velixar said, his grin growing. “An elf priestess of Celestia came and tamed them. She’s filled their head with dogma of forgiveness and pathetic begging in hopes of revoking of their orcish blood. Keep ready, both of you. I find it unlikely we will get along.”
In the distance they saw a sleek feminine form exit the main tent. She wore a cloak made of wolf skin. Her tunic and breeches were made of leather. She carried a scepter in one hand and a jeweled sphere in the other. She seemed a strange cross of elf and orc, elegance and roughness. All throughout the camp, orcs parted to grant her passage, bowing their heads as she passed.
“She’s beautiful,” Tessanna said.
“Yes,” Velixar said. “And as dangerous as she is beautiful. I know this one. She has changed her name since we last met.”
Qurrah felt his whip curling on his arm, bits of flame flickering from it even though he gave it no such order. Tessanna chewed on her fingernails as the girl approached. She had long hair, so long that it floated past the small of her back and beyond the length of her wolf head cloak. It was a dark brown, the same color as her eyes. When she saw Velixar, a frown marred her beautiful face. The last of the orcs parted, and she stood before the trespassers to her camp.
“Greetings, Fionn,” Velixar said, bowing low. “It has been too long since we last met.”
The scepter shook in the elven priestess’s hand.
“I am Darnela now,” she said. “Do you bring your war and hatred to my orcs? They seek peace, dark prophet, and forgiveness from the goddess. We are not interested in whatever sins you bring.”
“Your name used to be beautiful and pure,” Velixar said, ignoring her question. “Yet you now claim a name meaning war and anger, all while preaching peace to the orcs, Celestia’s cursed and abandoned?”
Qurrah winced as the whip tightened so much that his fingers tingled from the pressure. He dared not remove it, though, not with so many orcs with spears and swords desperate to attack.
“Be gone,” she said. “Karak’s taint is leaving their blood. We all see it plain as day.”
“Indeed,” Velixar said. Still grinning. “The…taint…is leaving.”
Darnela took a step closer, glaring at the visage beneath the black hood.
“I swore to kill you, and I did,” she said. “Celestia forgive me for thinking you would give Dezrel a gift and stay dead. Now leave.”
“Qurrah,” Velixar suddenly shouted. “Show our beautiful hostess here your weapon.”
Slowly the half-orc let the whip uncurl and fall into his hand. The leather pooled upon the grass and then burst into flame. He watched Darnela’s face, and he saw her rage grow. All around, the wall of orcs grew larger as guards from every corner of the camp gathered.
“I also made a promise,” Velixar said. “I would use your husband’s whip to return the favor for what you did to me. But not yet. You think these orcs your pets? You think they believe what you feed their minds? I speak the truth, Darnela, and even these shallow beings can feel and understand that.”
He turned his back to her and gestured to the crowd. His voice boomed impossibly loud, every word he spoke thundering in the ears of those who heard.
“Orcs of the wedge, hear me! I am Velixar, and I speak with the voice of Karak himself!”
“Silence,” Darnela sho
uted. The man in black turned and glared at her. For a moment they stared, their eyes locked. When the priestess did not attack, Velixar continued his shouting. Qurrah noticed he shouted in the common tongue of man, yet the orcs appeared to understand.
“What you have been told is true. You were once elves. You were cursed by the elven goddess, but that curse did not make you what you are today! Karak gave you the strength that saved you from extinction. Karak bound you together for war, and through him you crushed your enemies and fought for a place in this world. You feel that strength fading now, don’t you? It is Celestia who cursed you, Celestia who abandoned you, and now you cry out to her like a dog licking the boot that just kicked it?”
All around orcs began shouting, some in defiance of what he said, others in response to their old bloodlust stirring. As Qurrah looked around, he could see Velixar spoke truth. Few orcs were as muscled as the orcs he had watched assault Veldaren years ago.
“Do not listen,” Darnela shouted, magically strengthening her own voice as well. “He is a speaker of lies, a preacher of death. He would make you kill for his own gains, and when you died he would bring back your bones to fight again. He is chaos, he is slaughter, and he is the reason your kind was first cursed by the goddess!”
More shouting, more posturing with crude weapons. Tessanna clutched tightly to Qurrah’s waist as she glanced about.
“I’m scared,” she said, her face buried into his shoulder.
“Just stupid beasts with sticks,” Qurrah told her. “You can defeat every one of them with a lift of your finger.”
“But they’re all scared,” she said. “They’re hurt, they’re confused, and they don’t know what to believe. The goddess weeps for them, Qurrah, can’t you hear it?”
“I come offering what your kind has always embraced,” Velixar continued. “I offer you war against those who drove you to this wretched land. You act as if your blood is a curse, but I call it a boon. Embrace your strength! Embrace your bloodlust! Darnela seeks only to pacify you and make you weak!”
The Death of Promises (Half-Orcs Book 3) Page 13