himself that meant nothing. He had to believe his brother was still alive. He had to help him.
Qurrah took out his last healing potion, popped the cork, and then held it before him. Blood was beginning to fill his throat once more. His stolen energy was quickly fading. He had no time to waste. He tilted his head as high as the arrow in his neck allowed, positioned the mouth of the vial against his lower lip, and then closed his hand around the arrow shaft. One last hissing breath. One tremble of his fingers. He yanked the arrow out.
Sheer reflex kept him alive. His head shot backward and his arm went limp. The potion tilted enough so that half spilled down his throat. With the pain so unbearable, he dared not cough against the liquid that came burning down. Some of it went into his lungs, but he kept them still.
Qurrah lay back down, closed his eyes, and let the potion do its work. He could feel the magic flowing through his body, concentrating about his ruined throat. Part of him hoped the liquid would heal the damage done so many years ago, but he knew better. A scar that old was beyond repair. He would have to settle for surviving. That was just fine with him.
When he finally dared a loud, gasping breath of air, the pain was not so bad. Qurrah stood, picked up his whip, and then went to help his brother. He expected to see his body dead in the street, for why else had he still not returned? He held hope that Harruq still fought against his enemies, or that more had come beyond the three the elf had claimed.
What he was not prepared for was the sight of Harruq hunched over the dying body of Aurelia Thyne.
“Harruq,” he tried to call out. The flesh in the back of his throat tore. Blood poured down his throat, slick and hot. Qurrah cursed. Such a wound would kill him if he did not seek help. He needed to steal more life, and for that, he needed another body. He glanced behind. The dead elf was dry, but far down the street were two more he and his brother had killed.
He glanced once more to Harruq. Three elves lay dead about him. He could use them, knew he should use them, but something turned him away. It was the look on his brother’s face. He could not bear to see it.
Qurrah hobbled to where two bodies full of life energy awaited his coming.
H arruq barreled around the curve, determined to catch the foul elf that had dared injure his brother. As he turned the corner, the twang of bowstrings filled the air. Three arrows hit his chest, barely puncturing his armor. He bellowed, furious. All three elves were in the center of the street, away from cover or protection. They would die, all of them.
The archers fired another volley as if not surprised the first three had done little but anger him. One zipped by his head as he ran, two others thudding into his chest and arm. Blood soaked the inside of his armor, but the wounds were superficial, halted by the magical leather before penetrating deep enough to be a bother.
“For the head,” the closest elf shouted in his native tongue. He managed one last shot before Harruq closed the distance. The half-orc batted the arrow away without thinking.
“You bastard!” he shouted, slamming into the elf without pausing. He buried his swords deep into the elf’s chest as he plowed forward. “You hurt my brother! You spineless cowards!” The other two abandoned their bows and drew their blades.
“Your brother is dead,” one elf said. “Gaelwren waited for your departure. He will not find it difficult killing a wounded dog.”
The anger inside Harruq more exploded than grew. He charged the elf that had spoken, ignoring any pretense at defense. He slammed his blades down with all his might. The elf held his own sword with both hands and blocked once, twice, then three times, wincing each time he did. Then the other was behind Harruq, stabbing at his back. While mad with rage, Harruq still knew very well where his opponents were.
He spun, avoiding the thrust, and then crunched in his elbow to trap his assailant’s arm. A flex of his muscles cracked bone, and the sword fell from a limp hand. Harruq let him go, bellowed at the first elf, and then hurled both his blades. They turned end over end through the air, one missing, one not. The one that missed sailed until it hit ground and bounced. The one that did not smacked him hard in the forehead with the hilt.
The elf staggered back, swiping at Harruq as the half-orc charged into melee. A thin line of blood appeared on the half-orc’s forehead, but he knew it not. His hands were around his enemy’s throat and his strength at its greatest. Pain was an inconceivable notion. The crunching flesh underneath his fingers was all that mattered. The elf behind him retrieved his sword and charged, his right arm hanging useless, his left stabbing with his blade. Harruq flung the dying body around by the neck. The sword buried up to the hilt in the makeshift shield.
Harruq dropped the dead elf and lashed out. His backhand broke the elf’s jaw. Pain overwhelmed the elf, limiting his defenses to a meager arm raised above his head. Harruq smashed an elbow into his chest, followed by knuckled fists atop his skull.
“Stay down,” Harruq said. He retrieved Salvation and Condemnation from the dirt, and then stomped over to the beaten, bloody elf warrior.
“Mercy, I am beaten,” the elf gasped as Harruq lifted his head by the hair.
“No such thing,” he said. Salvation tore out his throat. Condemnation hacked off his head. He sheathed his blades, breathed in deeply, and then let it all out in an ecstatic cry of primal things. As the last of it left his lips, he saw an elf staring at him with shocked walnut eyes from a nearby alley. His gut lurched. The fire in his veins sputtered.
“Why so surprised?” he asked Aurelia, shame fighting down the thrill of his kill.
“How could you?” she asked him. “What harm have we done to you?”
Harruq shrugged. “You think you know me, but you don’t. I kill, Aurry. It’s what I do. It’s what I do best.” He drew out his swords, still dripping with blood. “Perhaps you didn’t believe it, but this is me.”
“Don’t do this,” Aurelia said softly. “It doesn’t have to be this way. Please, Harruq. I don’t want to fight you.”
“I didn’t want you to fight either,” Harruq said, his eyes leaving hers for an instant. He took a step toward her and raised his swords, just as when they sparred.
“Stop this,” Aurelia said. Her staff remained at her side. “Will you kill me, too?”
“I asked you not to fight, but here you are. Qurrah made it simple, Aurry. Either I love you or I kill you.”
Sparks rained down as he clanged his swords together.
“Is that how you feel?” she asked. The tears in her eyes ran down her cheeks, not to be replaced by any more. “So be it.” She took up her staff and held it defensively. “You are a fool, Harruq. May you die as one.”
Harruq charged, his black blades gleaming. All his madness he poured into his swords. Every nagging doubt, every tiny part screaming for him to sheath his blades, he channeled into his mindless rage. His swords hacked chunks out of the staff, which held together only by Aurelia’s powerful enchantments. She blocked several attack routines but one finally slipped past. A black blade cut across her cheek, her dodge too slow. She paused, rubbing her cheek with her hand as Harruq smirked.
Blood. It was as she feared. Harruq’s weapons were enchanted.
“Your spells won’t save you,” he shouted. “No elf will save you. No one!”
“Why this hatred?” she asked, smacking away a dual thrust. “When have I shown you anything but kindness?”
Harruq gave her no answer. Instead, he stabbed with Salvation, a higher thrust of Condemnation trailing behind it. Aurelia turned her staff horizontal and pushed upward. Both swords stabbed high above her head. A quick turn and one end of her staff rammed the half-orc in the gut. The blow knocked out Harruq’s air.
“For what reason do we fight?” she asked. “For what reason do you harbor this hatred?”
He glared. “I told you. I’m fighting elves. You’re one of them. No simpler than that.”
“Liar.”
Harruq snarled, the elf inside him all but impossible to tell. He charged, hacking at Aurelia with wild abandon.
“Why do we fight?” she asked again, desperately trying to block every swing. Blood covered her arms, and another swing cut through her dress, slicing into the beautiful flesh of her leg. “Why, Harruq? Why!”
“I don’t know!” he cried. Strength surged into him, dark and unholy. In the blink of an eye, he twirled both swords, knocked Aurelia’s staff from her hand, and then looped his right arm all the way around to bury Condemnation deep into her stomach.
Everything, all fighting, all arguing, all bleeding, living and dying halted at that moment. For Harruq, there was only the sight of Aurelia doubled over, her eyes filled with sadness. His arm yanked the blade out of her, without any thought on his part.
