“Follow me,” Qurrah said. The two rushed past the elaborate elven homes toward the sound of combat. They kept to the back alleys, and because of this, they met their first target: three elves fleeing toward them, hoping to use the lesser-known pathways to avoid the overwhelming numbers of their opponent.
“Bring them down,” the necromancer said.
“With pleasure,” Harruq said. He raised his blades and charged.
The closest elf realized the half-orc was an enemy and cried warning before rushing ahead, his longsword ready.
“Come on, pansy-boy,” the half-orc warrior roared. The two collided in a brutal exchange of steel. The elf shoved his sword upward, using his forward momentum to slam the point straight at Harruq’s throat. Harruq swung Condemnation left, deflecting the incoming thrust past his head. His other blade stabbed, tearing away the soft flesh beneath his attacker’s ribcage.
The elf leapt back, landed shakily, and then lunged once more. His speed was not what it should have been, though, and Harruq needed little opening. He swung both swords, the entirety of his might behind them. The elf blocked. His sword was elven-make, and had been wielded in his hands for two hundred years. Never would he have guessed Harruq’s were older by three centuries. Never would he have guessed that those two blades would shatter his own, pass through the explosion of steel, sever his spine, and cleave his body in two.
The half-orc continued his charge, engaging the two elves behind. They struck as one, their swords aiming for vitals high and low. Harruq knew he could not block both, so he accepted a thrust curving to the side of his armor, grinning darkly. As the sword punched through the enchanted leather, the half-orc cut his throat, using that same swing to parry the other attack harmlessly away.
The remaining elf swore as his eyes grew red and watery. He backed away from the half-orc, his sword held defensively before him.
“What demon magic is this?” he asked.
“Mine,” said Qurrah.
And then blood poured out from the face of the lone elf. The eyeballs hit the ground before the dead body did.
“Hurry,” the necromancer said. “This is but a taste of what we must do.”
“Very well,” Harruq said. He tried to follow but the pain in his side stopped him. He clutched his bleeding side and breathed deeply. His armor had saved him, but the elf had managed to penetrate deeper than he thought.
“Are you fine, Harruq?” Qurrah asked, glancing back and halting his walk.
“I’m coming,” he said, marching after his brother. He hid his pain well.
The alley opened up to the main street running south from the center of town into the forest beyond. It was there that the bulk of combat had spread. Elves battled in the street, horribly outnumbered. They were skilled, though, and a steady stream of arrows from homes continued to weaken the human forces.
“Halt here,” Qurrah said. To their right was a large elven home with two stories. Three bowmen fired from the windows at a party of fifteen soldiers. The men of Neldar had their shields raised high, but the strategy between the elves in the home and the elves on the street was superb. The Tun brothers watched the sword wielders on the ground dance in, make a few precise swings to change the positioning of the shields, and then dart away. Arrows quickly followed these maneuvers, biting into exposed flesh.
Qurrah motioned to the building housing the archers.
“Go inside. I will distract them.”
“You sure?”
“Yes, now go!”
Harruq smashed open the barricaded door with a single kick and then barged up the stairs.
Qurrah drew out a few pieces of bone from a pouch. He tightened his grip about them, whispering a few words of magic as he did. Then he looked up to the window. He could barely see a bow and part of a hand. Qurrah waited. The Neldaren warriors charged, hoping to overwhelm their opponents before arrows took them all. The elf in the window leaned out to unleash a killing strike, but it was Qurrah who did the killing. Four pieces of bone leapt from his hand. They hit the elf’s neck and temple with a loud crack.
The archer slumped out the window and landed with a clattering thud.
“The rest are yours, brother,” he whispered.
I nside felt like a modest rendition of Ahrqur’s home. Stairs in the center led to the upper floor. Harruq charged up them, making no attempt at silence. Either they would hear him through the chaos of battle or they would not.
It turned out they did. An arrow flew across the room and into his shoulder when he reached the second floor. He bellowed, letting the pain spark his rage. One archer continued to fire out the window, believing his companion capable of finishing a single warrior. He believed wrong.
The elf fired only one more shot before Harruq crossed the room. The arrow lodged into Harruq’s side, and then Salvation shredded through his bow and into flesh. A kick sent the remains tumbling out the window. The other archer pulled back and fired at point blank range. Harruq roared as he felt a sharp pain bite into his neck. His mind blanked. He dropped his swords. His hands closed about something soft. By the time his rage calmed, blood was on his hands and the remains of an elf lay in the dirt below the window.
“Stupid elfie,” he said, gingerly touching the arrow in his neck. Not knowing what else to do, he closed his hand about the shaft and pulled.
A minute later, still lying in agonizing pain, the half-orc managed to pry open one of his healing potions. He gulped the swirling blue-silver contents down and then tossed the vial. He ripped the other arrow out of his side as a warm, soothing sensation filled his body.
“Are you alright?” he heard a raspy voice ask up the stairs.
“Yeah, I’m fine. Just had to take care of something up here.”
He trudged down the stairs to where Qurrah waited.
“How many did you kill?” the necromancer asked.
“Just two,” he replied. His brother looked him up and down and then raised an eyebrow.
“That is a lot of blood for just two.”
Harruq ignored him. “Where to?” he asked instead.
Qurrah glanced outside the door. “The battle is moving on. Follow me.”
“Lead on,” he said, trudging after his brother into the daylight chaos.
O ut the window Aurelia stared, watching the battle with a solemn frown.
“Aurelia,” said a voice from behind. She turned to see a female elf, a friend of hers from many years before she moved to Woodhaven.
“Yes, Felewen?”
Felewen stood beside her and faced the window. Her hair was tied in a long, black ponytail, her slender figure covered by rare chainmail crafted of the hardest metals known to the intelligent races. She had come from deep within Nellassar, the thriving capital of the Dezren elves, as just one of many that had arrived to protect the town.
“Many are dying,” Felewen said. “The humans have a spellcaster of their own that repelled our ambush.”
Aurelia nodded. She knew something had gone wrong; otherwise, the battle would have been over in seconds.
“Very well,” Aurelia said. “Will you accompany me?”
Felewen smiled at her. She drew her longsword and saluted with it.
“But of course, Lady Thyne,” she said with none-too-subtle sarcasm. Aurelia tried to smile back. She failed.
“Come. Let’s end this now.”
The two left the building and joined the fighting on the streets. It did not take long before a group of soldiers spotted them.
“Show them no mercy, Aurelia,” Felewen said, her warm voice turning cold.
“They will die with little suffering,” the sorceress responded. “It’s the most I can give.”
Electricity arced between her hands. Blue fire surrounded her eyes. The five human soldiers raised their shields and charged as a single unit. Felewen stood next to Aurelia, her sword high and her armor gleaming. She
