The Half-Orcs: Books 1-5

by David Dalglish

  Harruq sighed and shook his head.

  “He still won’t sleep inside the walls?” he asked.

  “It’s almost been a month. Tarlak’s been joking that Qurrah will soon own the land he sleeps on. I wonder just how close to truth he is.”

  Harruq took another drink, then tossed the bucket and rope back into the well.

  “Azariah told me he had an idea to help cheer Qurrah up,” he said. “No clue what. Just hope it’s soon. Never seen him like this.”

  “It’s still an improvement,” she said, rubbing her arms. “At least, over what he could be.”

  “I’ll go talk to him,” he said. “Almost makes me wish Tess was here to cheer him up.”

  “Don’t say that name,” Aurelia whispered.

  Harruq kissed her forehead.

  “No problem. Keep the bed warm for me tonight.”

  He trudged out of the castle walls and toward the hill overlooking the city.

  Qurrah gathered the ashes together in his fists and concentrated. The words were the same, the well of power within him the same, but the spell was not working. Nothing was.

  “I said burn!” he shouted, ignoring the pain in his throat. Flames licked around his fingers, the ash flared into orange embers, but the heat vanished. Qurrah cursed and hurled them back into the fire pit.

  “Having fun?” Harruq asked as he approached.

  “Don’t be glib,” Qurrah said, wiping the ash onto his black robes.

  “Not sure what that means.”

  Qurrah rolled his eyes as his brother shifted uncomfortably. As if afraid to meet his eyes, he instead glanced about the meager camp.

  “You staying warm at night?” he asked.

  “I doubt you’re here just to see if I need another blanket,” Qurrah said. He knelt before the fire and closed his eyes. He felt the workings of a spell, but interlocked with them were traces of Karak, his thoughts, his desires. How much of his power had come from the dark god? Always there, always tempting…

  “I’m just worried about you,” Harruq said. He crossed his arms and shifted his weight from foot to foot. “You never come into the city. You never train with us. I’m scared to ask what you’ve even been eating these past few weeks.”

  “Squirrels and mud,” Qurrah said, his eyes still closed.

  “Stop joking. You’re worrying all of us.”

  Qurrah stood, opening his eyes and glaring. He held up a fistful of ash.

  “This used to be my life,” he said. “Fire and destruction obeyed my whims like slaves. But it’s gone. Every day I feel weaker, helpless. My mind is naked. My sword is made of wood, my armor cloth. Don’t you understand? No matter what those angels say, I must atone for what I have done. I will face Velixar. I must face him, and if he wins, he might not just defeat me. He might…he…”

  He flung the ash down. Every part of him shrieked for it to burn, to erupt in a flame equal to the fear and frustration in his heart. But instead it only flared a soft orange before scattering across the grass.

  Harruq put a hand on his brother’s shoulder.

  “You won’t lose,” he said. “And even if you do, there’s nothing he can do. There’s no spell, no words, he can say to change who you are.”

  “Tell that to Jerico,” Qurrah muttered.

  “What?”

  “Forget it.”

  Harruq pointed to the ash.

  “What’s the problem, anyway?” he asked. “I thought your spells were, well, spells. I didn’t think turning against Karak would change anything.”

  Qurrah sighed. “Neither did I.”

  The two looked about, as if neither were sure what to say. During this brief reprieve, Harruq glanced skyward, and then his eyes widened.

  “What?” asked Qurrah.

  In answer, Harruq pointed.

  Flying low in the sky, her white wings spread wide with each rhythmic flap, came Sonowin.

  “Looks like the horse’s wing has healed just fine,” Harruq said.

  “I should go,” Qurrah said, putting the city to his back.

  “Wait, where are you…ooooh.”

  Qurrah chuckled. “That’s right. Last time I saw Dieredon, I was at Velixar’s side. I’d rather not be the one to explain to him everything that’s happened.”

  “Yeah,” Harruq said, scratching his chin. “Remember back at the Eschaton tower? Elf nearly put an arrow through my throat. Aurelia’s the only reason he didn’t. Hmm. Maybe we should just let him land at the castle without seeing either one of us…”

  Tarlak stretched out atop his luxurious bed, his hat resting over his face to block the light from his eyes. He’d been given the room once they moved in. He found bittersweet amusement in knowing it had once belonged to an advisor named Penwick, who had put off seeing them, then lied to keep the death of his king a secret so he might hold onto power. Sweet because the room was now his; bitter because, well, the whole city had been executed along with Penwick. Tarlak found that only a little depressing, but he tried not to think about it.

  A knock on the door stirred him from his daydreaming.

  “You know how much beauty sleep it takes to look like this?” he asked through his hat. To his surprise, the door opened, and no joke accompanied Aurelia’s entrance.

  “Tar?” she asked, something about her tone setting the wizard on edge.

  “Hey, Aurelia. Something wrong?” He set aside his hat and sat up.

  “Dieredon’s here,” she said. She bit her lip as she paused a moment.

  “That’s great!” Tarlak said, forcing a smile. His heart was in his throat. It couldn’t be. He pleaded with Ashhur that it couldn’t be. Aurelia’s hesitation. Dieredon’s arrival.

  She stepped aside so Dieredon could enter. Tarlak moved closer so they could embrace, then smacked him across the shoulder.

  “It’s good to see you again,” the wizard said, grinning. “I hope you weren’t too bored. Things haven’t gone so well for us, but I think we’ve got a…”

  “Tarlak,” Dieredon said. His voice chilled the room. The smile left Tarlak’s face. Aurelia stood at the door. There were tears in her eyes.

  “Karak’s forces took the city,” Dieredon said. “Their numbers were greater than we could withstand. Haern died saving my life. I’m so sorry.”

  For a moment, Tarlak only stared. His mouth dropped open.

  “No,” he said. He felt his hands shaking, and he couldn’t stop them. “No. He can’t. He’s the last. Brug, Delysia, now…but now…”

  He stumbled back to the bed and buried his face in his hands. Aurelia was there, her arms around him, her own wet face pressed against his neck.

  “It’ll be all right,” she whispered as she held him. “We’re here for you. We’re here.”

  Tarlak tried to get it together. He tried to remember his friends, his newcomers, Harruq and Aurelia and the paladins. He tried to pretend the Eschaton mercenaries weren’t dead and gone. He tried to stop his tears.

  He failed.

  “How is he?” Dieredon asked once Aurelia stepped out.

  “As well as could be expected,” Aurelia said, tucking strands of her hair behind an ear. She blushed a little, realizing how terrible she must look with her eyes puffy from her own tears. At her blush, Dieredon gently wiped below her eyes with his thumb and smiled.

  “I need to tell Harruq,” she said. “I don’t know how he’ll take it. They spent so much time training. Haern was always hard on Harruq, but only because he expected so much out of him. Seemed a little unnecessary at times, though. But those were happier days.”

  “It seems all the times of happiness are long lost to the past,” Dieredon said.

  “There is still happiness in each other,” she said, accepting his embrace.

  “He still loves you, and treats you well?” Dieredon asked.

  “As best a half-orc can.”

  “Better than an elf?”

  Aurelia elbowed him hard in the chest.

  “Keep comments
like that to yourself. He doesn’t know about all that.”

  Dieredon chuckled.

  “Secrets between husband and wife? As if your marriage wasn’t shameful enough.”

  “Nothing shameful,” she said. “You’ve thrashed him with that bow of yours. If Harruq thought he had to compete with you in anything else, especially that, he’d never have enough confidence to make it through the day.”

  “So does he compete?”

  She elbowed him a second time, then pulled him close so their heads could touch.

  “I missed you,” she said, the momentary playfulness unable to last with the grief lurking behind the door to Tarlak’s room. Her chest felt hollow and numb. Too much grief, even for her, who had lived through the exodus of her entire race from fire and swords.

  “I have much to do,” Dieredon said, gently pushing her away. “I need to talk with this new king here, as well as Antonil, so they know that no help remains for them from the west. I must also make haste for Quellassar. If Neyvar Sinistel won’t give me the Ekreissar to fly against Karak’s forces now, nothing will ever convince him to.”

  “Will it be enough?” Aurelia asked.

  Dieredon kissed her forehead.

  “Pray to Celestia it is,” he told her. “Because without her help…No, I don’t think it will be enough.”

  He left for an audience with the two kings. Aurelia leaned on the wall opposite Tarlak’s door, her arms crossed. She chewed her lip as she thought of what to do. Harruq was outside the castle with Qurrah. She wondered if he’d seen Dieredon’s approach, as well as how he would react. Poor Haern. He’d always been so kind to her, treated her like a beautiful princess. Dead and gone, and by Dieredon’s own arrow. That part Aurelia had insisted Dieredon leave out of his tale to the wizard. The last thing they needed was Tarlak blaming yet another friend for the death of a loved one.

  Time slipped away. She almost returned to their bedroom, but something kept her still. She wanted to be there in case Tarlak needed her. Her feet ached, so she sat, her arms across her knees, her forehead resting against her wrists. Eyes closed, she quietly cried.

  “Aurelia?”

  She looked up.

  “Oh, Harruq,” she said. She didn’t bother faking a smile.

  “What’s wrong?” he asked, sitting down beside her.

  “It’s Haern,” she said.

  That was enough. He wrapped his arm around her and leaned her weight against him. Her hair spread across his chest. The weight of his body comforted her, along with the gentle touch of his fingers rubbing her temples. She kept her eyes closed as they talked.

  “Who was it?” he asked after awhile.

  “A priest of Karak. A powerful one, like Velixar.”

  “Did he suffer?”

  Aurelia shook her head.

  “No.”

  The half-orc sighed.

  “At least we have that. I hope he killed a hundred of them before he died. No, a thousand. No one could beat him, not when he was lost in the dance, the cloak dance…”

  He ran out of words. She took one of his hands and kissed his palm.

  “Why do we do this?” he asked.

  “What do you mean?”

  “This. All of this. What do we have left? What are all of us dying for? This world is Karak’s. We’re the last tiny sliver of hope. Sometimes I just wish it was over, Aurry. I wish I could put away my swords and run away, just you and me.”

  “Live in hiding while the world burns?”

  She heard him chuckle.

  “You can’t blame me. We’ve bled for this. We’ve given them everything. But Velixar’s still out there, lurking, plotting. He’s the last remnant of my old self, and until he’s dead and gone I’ll keep fighting. I just…I love you, Aurry. I’m terrified it’ll be me next. That you’ll be somewhere and Dieredon or Tarlak will show up to tell you…”

  Aurelia kissed him to shut him up.

  “Stop it,” she whispered when their lips parted. “Just stop it. We do as we must. We helped create this war, and we’ll help end it. And so you know, I’ll kill you if you die without me somewhere.”

  He kissed her again.

  “Sure thing,” he said. He nodded toward Tarlak’s door. “He going to make it?”

  The elf frowned. “I hope so.”

  “No sense sitting here. Floor’s freezing my butt numb. Let’s go.”

  Just before they left, Aurelia knocked on the door, then slowly pushed it open. When she poked her head inside, Tarlak lay on the bed, his arms behind his head, his eyes absently staring at the ceiling.

  “Get some rest,” she said. “If you need anything…”

  He didn’t respond, didn’t look at her. She left.

  Despite his exhaustion, Harruq slept little that night. Memories of better times haunted his tired mind, and horrible nightmares plagued his sleep. Before the sun had even crept above the horizon he was up and about. He dressed in full armor, anticipating yet another long day of practice. He made his way to the courtyard, stopping only to grab a chunk of bread and wedge of butter from the mess hall. Once he finished eating, he swung his swords in lazy arcs.

  After ten minutes, a commotion alerted him to the arrival of several men, all of them leading horses from the stable. One of them was King Theo, the others his private guard. Upon seeing Harruq, the king said a few words and then approached alone.

  “We go to hunt,” Theo said.

  “I’m not much for hunting,” Harruq said, halting his practice. “Hunting is for bows and spears. As you can see, I’m more of a sword man.”

  “You sound modest. Shame it is false. The people tell stories of you, did you know that? I’m not sure who started them, though many say your wizard friend told them first. I must say, I am a little jealous.”

  Harruq raised an eyebrow. “Jealous? Of what?”

  Theo chuckled and leaned against his horse.

  “You helped bring down an abomination that killed a hundred city soldiers. You stood alone at Veldaren, holding off a legion of undead so the people could escape. Others have said you spilled the blood of a thousand demons to keep a portal open from the hills of Neldar to the elves’ forest. Some even claim you frightened away Karak’s forces at Mordeina, and that your very prayers summoned the angels of Ashhur.”

  The half-orc sheathed his swords and did his best to look anywhere but Theo’s face.

  “I’m no hero,” he said. “You hear trumped up stories, or people forgetting how many friends stood at my side.”

  “That doesn’t matter. You stood against the many, and by your sheer will you endured. A last stand, giving no ground. What I would give to have been there, or to have guarded these walls when the demons first assaulted our nation. To kill protecting your land, your nation, your countrymen. To fall knowing you died for something, and that a hopeless cause can still be a noble cause. You have earned your status in these campfire stories, Harruq. In these dark times, I hope I have a chance to do the same.”

  Theo mounted his horse and then whistled for his guard.

  “Are you sure you don’t want to come?” the king asked. “If we’re lucky, we may find a boar, and they give more than enough fight. Perhaps not for one such as you, but plenty for the rest of us.”

  “I’ll stay,” Harruq insisted. “I have your men to train, after all.”

  Theo frowned, as if deciding how upset he should be at the refusal.

  “So be it,” he said at last. “Train them well. Our nation of Omn may soon depend on the skill of those blades.”

  He joined his guard. As they rode out the gate. Harruq watched them go, thinking of what Ahaesarus had said about the king’s fatalistic views. Theo didn’t just expect to die; he wanted to. But not any death. A hero’s death. A noble death. One worthy of legends.

  “What do you plan, you crazy noble you?” the half-orc asked the courtyard. Wind blew through the air, but it carried no answers with it, only a chill that sent him back inside to warm himself before
a fire until the sun rose and the training began.

  When he returned, the peaceful calm had been replaced by a gathering of soldiers. At first he thought they were sparring in practice, but then he saw the stranger surrounded at the gate. Harruq muscled his way closer, curious to hear what was going on.

  “I must speak with your lord,” the newcomer was saying. “I bring a message from King Henley of Ker!”

  “Ker’s sided with Karak,” shouted one chubby soldier Harruq recognized from their training. The guy couldn’t block to save his life.

  “What you hoping for, surrender?” asked another. That guy blocked well, but his attacks were painfully obvious.

  “My name is Sir Ian Millar, and I bring a message of hope!” the knight shouted, repeating this again and again while Harruq watched. “I must speak with your lord!”

  “He’s out hunting,” the half-orc shouted, tiring of the annoying spectacle. “I’m not of Ker, but I can assure you the hospitality has so far been much better than what these asses have shown.”

  Several turned on him, furious, but others quieted or even backed away in embarrassment. Harruq put his hands on the hilts of his swords, his glare daring anyone to challenge him.

  “He’s your problem then,” said one of the soldiers. “Keep an eye on him, and keep him here in the open until our king returns.”

  “I’m already training your troops,” Harruq said. “Might as well carry even more of your weight, eh?”

  He grinned, but his hands closed tight on his hilts, ready to draw. The man backed down, though, and the others disbanded into pairs to spar. Only the knight remained, Ian was his name if Harruq remembered correctly, and each gave the other a funny look.

  “You look strange for a knight,” Ian said.

  “I’ve got orc-blood, not noble-blood. You pick a strange time to arrive in a nation at war.”

  “I’ve nearly ridden my horse into its grave to arrive here, and I carry what is surely the first ray of hope to this war-torn country in months, yet my welcome is a band of thugs accusing me of being a spy, or worse.”