The two met at the edge of town. Not far in the distance, they saw the scattered groups of families.
“Get them, my brother,” Qurrah ordered. “None may live or they will tell of the half-orcs that destroyed their town.”
“Then they’re dead,” Harruq said, clanging his swords together. Power crackled through them. He took up the chase.
A n elderly man and woman, propping each other up with their arms as they ran side by side, refused to turn when Harruq barreled down atop of them. Salvation took the woman’s life, Condemnation the man’s. The two bodies collapsed, their lifeless limbs entangled. Not far ahead of them, a woman ran in only her shift, a child clutched to her breast.
“Why do you flee,” Harruq roared at her when she glanced back with crying eyes. “This life is pain, is suffering! I’m here to end it, end it all!”
The woman ran faster and her child cried louder. It didn’t matter. Harruq rammed her with his shoulder. The woman rolled so that her side took the brunt of the fall and not her child. As the half-orc’s blades twirled in the air, the mother kissed her child one last time before curling up around the joy of her life. Then the blades fell.
On the half-orc ran. Innocent blood stained his sword as life after life ended. Harruq felt no remorse and saw no pain. The blood haze of rage and dark magic blocked all. Man, woman, child, it didn’t matter. They all died. Only seven managed to keep ahead of his berserking madness: a mother, her two children, a few farmers, and their daughters. They dared to hope.
As they ran, a strange sight met their eyes. In the distance were hundreds of bodies lined in perfect formation. They held no torches or lanterns. The wind shifted, and upon its gentle flow the stench of death came to them. The villagers slowed, eyeing the line with fear. The stars were bright, and with their light they could see something was amiss. They were no soldiers. Only a scattered few wore armor. Still, they stood in the straight lines of a disciplined army.
A roar from Harruq at their heels spurned them on. They charged the line, crying out for aid.
“A creature attacked our town,” shouted the mother. “Please, my daughter is still there. They might hurt her, please, help us!”
“There’s two,” shouted one of the farmers. “They killed my wife! You have to…”
Their words trailed off once they were close enough to see clearly. Their saviors were men, orc, and elf, and they were dead. Flesh hung from their bones, pale and rotting. Wounds spotted nearly every one, although no blood poured from them. Their eyes were open, but they saw little.
“Ashhur help us,” a farmer murmured before the line advanced upon them. Exhausted, and with the Forest Butcher at their heels, they could not run. Velixar’s army of undead tore the seven apart and cast their remains to the dirt. So ended the last life of Cornrows.
H arruq halted before the mess that had been his prey. The line of undead stood motionless, their dead eyes looking nowhere. The wind blew through them, shifting their hair and whistling through the holes in their bodies. The half-orc said nothing, just stared at the carnage and the servants of his master as he waited for Qurrah. The mindless rage that had consumed him slowly faded. By the time his brother arrived, it was all but a memory.
“The undead took them,” Qurrah said, his breath quick and shallow. “Velixar did not trust us.”
“I trust little,” Velixar said, stepping through the line of his servants. “The truth is I do not take risks. If any survived you would have been identified and my plans ruined.”
Both brothers bowed to their master.
“What are the plans you speak of?” Harruq asked.
“In time, my dear bone general, I will tell you both. For now, though, I must deal with your brother.” Velixar brought his gaze to the young necromancer.
“Let us return to the village. It is time we test your power.”
T he three stood in the center of the town, corpses scattered in all directions. There was an eerie silence creeping about, tickling Harruq’s spine with its soft touch. He held the hilts of his twin blades in his hands, drawing comfort from them. At that dark moment, it was his only comfort.
“You know what I ask of you,” Velixar said.
“I do,” Qurrah said. “I pray I do not disappoint.”
He closed his eyes, his hands stretched to either side. His fingers hooked and curled in strange ways, many times so twisted and odd that Harruq could not bear to watch them dance. Words spilled from the frail half-orc’s lips. Some were strong, demanding, while others came limping out, twisted in form and barely existing as they were meant to exist. The words, however, did not matter as much as the dark power rolling forth from Qurrah. His sheer will would determine the full strength of the spell.
A cold wind came blasting in, seemingly from all directions. Faster and faster, the words poured from Qurrah’s pale lips. Harruq braced himself as his hair fluttered before his eyes. The spell neared completion, and Velixar hissed in sheer pleasure at the power flaring from his apprentice. Qurrah shrieked out one final word, the signal, the climax of the spell.
“ Rise! ”
All around corpses staggered to their feet.
“Qurrah,” Harruq stammered but could say no more.
“Eight,” Qurrah gasped, dropping to his knees. “It is…I am sorry, master.”
Velixar walked about, examining each of the undead farmers. He remained quiet, hiding all emotion from his apprentice and even refusing to look at him.
“This is the first time you have ever brought the dead back to life,” Velixar said. “Correct?”
“Of this size, yes,” Qurrah answered. His entire body rose and fell with his unsteady gasps of breath.
The man in black turned to him.
“When I was first taught that same spell I managed only four. Rise from your feet, Qurrah Tun.” He turned to the undead. “Kneel!” he shouted to them. At once, the eight bowed to Qurrah. Velixar placed a hand on the half- orc’s shoulder.
“It is your servants that should bow to you,” he said. “And one could not ask for a more gifted disciple.”
Qurrah stood but kept his head bowed. Harruq shifted on his feet, scared and confused. The eyes of his brother…tears?
“Thank you, my master,” whispered the half-orc. “I have never felt more honored.”
Velixar placed a hand atop Qurrah’s head and accepted the tears he knew the half-orc tried to hide. He had long thought the weaker emotions burned from his soul but that night he felt an overwhelming sense of pride.
“Harruq,” Velixar said, his normally unshakable voice faltering. “Escort your brother home. Protect him, even unto death. He will usher in a new age to this world. Of this I have no doubt.” He shouted an order to Qurrah’s undead. The eight obeyed, marching out of town to join the rest of Velixar’s army.
“I will take control now,” he said to his disciple. “In time, the burden of sustaining life in them will seem weightless. Until then, let me bear it. Look at me.”
Qurrah did, his eyes red and his face wet. “Yes master?” he asked. No weakness tainted his voice. The man in black put a hand on either side of Qurrah’s face and drew him close.
“Become a god among men,” he whispered. “Remain faithful to me, and to Karak, and I shall see it come to pass.”
Qurrah nodded but said nothing. Instead, he turned and joined his brother.
“Let’s go home,” he said.
“I’m thinking that’s a great idea,” Harruq said. The two stepped around the bodies of the slain as they headed east, leaving Velixar alone in the emptiness of Cornrows.
“Incredible,” Velixar said when they were gone. “Never would I have guessed they had such power.” He paused, listening to the words of his master. The man in black smiled.
“If you didn’t know then I do not feel as blind,” he said. “He will surpass me. Surpass us all. Should I bring him to your dark paladins?”
Karak’s answer was swift.
Let him learn at your side. He loves you, and this love will drive him to power not seen since I walked Dezrel. Use it. Give me a sacrifice worthy of my name. Burn the east to the ground.
Velixar closed his eyes and bowed his head in acknowledgement.
“Only in absolute emptiness is there order,” he said, the goal of all those who worshiped Karak and knew the
