“How did you get in here?” the warrior asked.
“Listen to me,” Velixar said, ignoring the question. “I have little time. The elves have erected barricades near their homes. Surely you have seen them. Slip past their defenses and wait. When the battle comes, slaughter the elves from behind. You must weaken them enough so that Vaelor’s army has a chance at victory.”
“We will not fail,” Qurrah promised. “Where will we meet you?”
“Listen for where the screams are at their worst,” Velixar said as his shadow began to fade. “There shall I be.”
A pale hand reached inside his robes and pulled out five glass vials. Qurrah knelt and accepted the gifts.
“The vials contain powerful healing elixirs. If either of you are injured tomorrow, drink from them and resume the slaughter anew.”
“Thank you master,” Harruq said, accepting three from his brother before kneeling as well.
“We will await you in the chaos,” Qurrah said.
Then the man was gone, vanishing into the shadows of the room. The two glanced at each other. Harruq shrugged.
“That was easy. Bed time?”
“Sleep if you must,” Qurrah said. “I will join you in a bit.”
Harruq removed his armor, lay down on the bed of straw, and slept. The necromancer stepped outside his home, walked to the side, and stared at the flickering lights in the distance. Campfires and torches. An army, the same that had removed him and his brother from their home, slept so close. Every one of them contemplated their death.
Qurrah closed his eyes and inhaled the cold night air. Yes, the tension was delectable. The quiet moments before battle were a rare thing that so very few were lucky enough to experience. Fear, worry, hope, prayer, regret, and sorrow all floated to the stars.
The half-orc let his attuned mind drink it all in. Beautiful, he thought. Absolutely beautiful.
T he next morning Harruq did not put on his armor or prepare his blades.
“I have to see Aurelia,” he told his brother, who nodded in understanding.
“I will wait for you,” Qurrah said. “Return before the battle starts.”
“I will,” Harruq said. Then he was gone, rushing down the streets of Woodhaven toward the calm forest that nestled about it.
A urry, are you there?” he shouted. He had hoped the elf would be waiting for him, but as he neared their usual clearing there was no sign of her. His heart skipped, and he feared she had already gone off to prepare for battle.
“Aurelia, come on out now,” he shouted again. His eyes searched the forest.
“I’m here,” Aurelia said. Her voice was quiet, subdued. Harruq turned and tried to smile.
“There you are. Are you doing alright?”
The elf shrugged. Her hands hugged her sides, her walnut eyes filled with worry.
“The elves are going to fight today, Harruq. I’m sure you’ve heard why.”
“Are you going to join them?” he asked.
The elf nodded.
“They are my family. This is my home. I cannot abandon them.”
Harruq’s heart skipped, and the words of his brother echoed in his head. He had to make her understand.
“Aurry, I’m asking you, please don’t fight. You aren’t needed. The elves will win, right? Right?”
Aurelia shrugged. “We’re outnumbered four to one. We might win, but we’ll still suffer many deaths. If I am needed, I will fight.”
“No,” Harruq said, running up and grabbing her arms. “No, you must understand, you can’t fight. You can’t!”
“Why?” she asked as tears formed in her eyes.
“I can’t lose you, Aurelia. I don’t want to. Please don’t fight. For me, will you not?”
It seemed all the forest paused, listening for the answer.
“Harruq, I love you. But I also love my home. I love my brethren.”
She stood on her toes and gave him a quick, soft kiss on his lips. A tear ran down Harruq’s cheek as he stood shocked still. His mind relished the soft feel of her lips on his, the scent of flowers, and the subtle fire that had escaped onto his tongue.
“I’ll see you tomorrow,” she said, taking a hesitant step toward the trees.
“Sure thing,” Harruq said, rubbing the tear off his cheek and pretending it had not been there. Aurelia smiled. Tears were on her cheeks as well, but she left them alone.
“Bye-bye, Harruq.”
“Bye-bye, Aurelia.”
Then she was gone. He stood there, not moving, his mind a chaos of fear, swords, Velixar, his brother, and that lingering kiss. Then he screamed to the sky, one long, primal roar of hopeless confusion.
He stormed back to Qurrah, his chest a boiling pot of rage. She had not listened. He had begged, he had opened his heart, and she had not listened. So fine then. If he saw her, well then…then…
Even in his anger, he could not voice the words in his mind, but the feeling was there. Death. If he met her, there would be death, and that death would be preferable to the torment of pain he felt in his heart. Qurrah did not have to ask what her answer was when he returned to their home.
“I am sorry,” was all he said before handing Harruq his weapons. “Get ready. When the fighting begins you will forget all about her.”
“Unless I see her,” he said. Qurrah chose not to respond. Suited and ready for battle, the Tun brothers left their home in Woodhaven for the last time.
14
The men are ready, milord,” Sergan said. “Do we march?”
Antonil stared at the small town, seeing very little motion within. No people wandered the streets. No traveling merchants hawked their wares. He sighed and turned to Sergan, his trusted advisor in war. The man was old, scarred, and had dirty hair falling down to his shoulders. He had seen many wars, and more than a few lives he had claimed with the axe that hung from his shoulder.
“Yes, let us end this, one way or the other,” Antonil said. “Order them to march. I’ll lead us in.”
“Yes, milord.”
Sergan turned and started barking orders, all his calm and politeness vanishing. The guard captain glanced down at the edict from the king he carried in his hand. A rash impulse filled him, an insane desire to tear the paper to shreds and return to his liege with a lie on his lips. Under normal circumstances the king would know no difference. His advisors, however, were many, and every one of them would betray Antonil for the chance to gain esteem in the eyes of the king.
No, he would have to deliver the message, regardless of his desires. He sighed one final time, turned toward his army, and began the march.
W here Celed and Singhelm met there was a small clearing. No buildings or monuments marked it, just a single circle of grass upon which no house would ever be built. On that spot, Singhelm the Strong and Ceredon Sinistel, leaders of Neldar’s troops and the Erzen elves, respectively, had made a pact that a city could exist between the two races without the need of bloodshed. Singhelm had long since passed away, while Ceredon remained, two hundred years older, as the leader of the elven elite ekreissar.
It was in that clearing Antonil halted his army. The men shuffled around nervously, their eyes searching for enemies that always seemed to be hiding beyond their vision. The guard captain unrolled the edict, his gut sinking as he realized where he stood. Long ago, man and elf had agreed to live together in peace. Now, on that very same spot, he would rescind that agreement.
Beyond the clearing loomed several palisades. All nearby windows were closed, and several boarded. A few
