“Like shadows in the night,” he whispered, remembering how Velixar had described a certain spell to him. “Shadows that vanish and reappear at will.”
He spoke the words and poured his power into them. He felt his body shift, and his sight twisted so that he saw many things. A spider, he thought. Velixar should have told him it was like becoming a spider. A mere thought of moving sent him spiraling, reappearing place to place. His stomach churned, and totally disorientated, he ended the spell. His sight returned to normal, and it felt a little like falling from a very tall tree. As he retched on his knees, he looked about, discerning his location. He was beside the building the two elves were in, directly underneath their windows. He could see the tips of their arrows sticking out, glinting in torchlight.
Two adjacent homes were already ablaze, their occupants still inside. Qurrah turned and grabbed the frame of the door.
“Burn!” he shouted, loud enough for the elves to hear. The wood blackened, smoke billowed from his hands, and then the entire building erupted as if bathed in oil. Qurrah laughed, untouched by the heat. He could not say the same for the elves, and as their pained screams reached his ears he only laughed louder.
The half-orc ran as people flooded the streets, calling out for buckets and water. Too many homes were aflame. They could no longer cower within them and hope to be spared. In the commotion, Qurrah vanished, unseen and uncared for. He had spent his whole life disappearing in crowds, and in the dark of night, surrounded by fear and worry, he was just a shadow.
Q urrah was in no hurry as he left the city behind. The grass was soft and tall, and it felt good to his feet after so much sprinting down stone roads. Stars filled the sky, and he smiled to them often. In the distance, he spotted a small fire, and he knew to whom it belonged.
“Where is your brother?” Velixar asked as Qurrah approached.
“He has abandoned me,” Qurrah said, pulling at his robes. He glanced back to the town, hoping to change the topic. Velixar’s gaze followed his, and together they noticed the smell carried their way on unfelt wind.
“There are bodies nearby,” Qurrah said. “Hundreds. I can feel them.”
“Elves do not bury their kin,” Velixar whispered. “The few tombs they do build house nothing but ash. Instead, they pile the bodies of the dead to burn, but not tonight. Tonight they mourn.” He stood erect, stretching out his arms as if relishing the warmth of sunshine. “Such wonderful dead. To die in combat is a glorious fate, Qurrah. Never forget it. The blessings of gods linger in those who fight and fall valiantly.”
Qurrah nodded. He could feel power creeping out of his master, cold and fierce. Soft purple dust flew from his pale hands.
“The trust between man and elf is broken,” Velixar said. “Let the harvest of their distrust begin.”
Arcane words of power flowed from Velixar. Qurrah knew them, knew their purpose. They were the exact same words he had used to raise the eight undead at Cornrows. The only difference, however, was in the power Velixar gave them. Each word rolled forth like some unstoppable wave, deep and resonating. He relished the feel, knowing that one day he would speak the words in such a manner.
Velixar lifted his hands to the sky, shouting out the last of the spell. The final command came shrieking forth from his lips.
“ Rise! ”
In the distance, dark shapes rose from the grass. Four hundred bodies of men and elves marched silently away from town, back toward their master. Qurrah smiled. The macabre sight was beautiful.
“What shall you do with them?” he asked.
“They will join my army. Two thousand I now have. We are close. So close. Soon will have enough to crush Veldaren.”
“Where is this army?”
Velixar flashed an ugly smile. “They are with me always.”
As if this very comment brought forth their existence, thousands of decaying, mindless beings surrounded them.
“How can you command so many?” Qurrah gasped.
“You will learn. Come. We must put as much distance as we can between us and Woodhaven.”
The hundreds from Woodhaven joined the thousands. Flanked in an army of undead, the necromancers made their way north.
C lever,” Dieredon whispered from atop Sonowin, watching the undead army’s departure. They circled back, returning to the Erze forest nestled around Woodhaven. Dieredon had returned too late to find and assault Velixar, so instead he had kept his troops hidden and waiting. The battle ended as he had hoped, and even Antonil had survived, Celestia be praised. The elf glanced back, memorizing the exact direction the undead marched. “Clever, and disgusting,” he added. “Death is nothing but a recruitment tool for you.”
Half an hour later, he and a hundred other elves riding atop pegasi followed the necromancer north. As they flew, they passed over a small campfire dotting the empty green below. Their passage above went unheard and unseen, for the two lone souls sitting on opposite sides of that campfire were deep in conversation.
H arruq, I want you to make me a promise.”
“And what is that?”
Aurelia leaned back and tucked a few strands of hair behind her ear as high above the stars sparkled sadly.
“Promise you will never strike at me, or those close to me, ever again.”
The half-orc shifted uncomfortably in the grass. “You know I’d never do that.”
“No, Harruq, I don’t know. I think I know, I desperately want to believe I know, but I don’t. So promise me.”
“Aurry…”
“Promise me now, or I will drag you back to the elves and let them deal the justice you deserve.”
Harruq glared into the fire. It was such an easy promise, but could he keep it? What if Velixar ordered otherwise, or someone close to Aurelia struck against Qurrah?
He sighed. In his heart, he knew he could never again strike at Aurelia, regardless of what anyone else wanted of him. The look on her face when he had stabbed her, that combination of sadness and shock, would haunt him forever.
“Fine,” he said. “I promise. Happy?”
“Far from it.”
Aurelia crossed her legs, tossed back her hair, and then leaned her head on her hands as she stared into the fire.
“I want you to listen to me, alright Harruq?”
“Sure.”
He glanced down, uncomfortable and saddened that Aurelia refused to look him in the eye.
“Velixar is not who you think he is. He isn’t what you think he is. He tried to kill me, Harruq. He enjoyed every second we fought. I saw many of my friends die at his hand. Do you know why he helps you? Why he claims to train you?”
She gave no pause, no chance for him to answer. This was good, for he didn’t want to. Too much was on his mind for argument. He remained quiet and listened.
“He wants to change you, turn you into what you know he is. A murderer without guilt. Without conscience. A living weapon to be used however he wants you to be used.”
Harruq’s heart sped up a few paces as Aurelia rose and walked over to where he sat. She knelt down and rubbed a soft hand against his face. She finally looked into his eyes.
“You are not a weapon, Harruq. You are a kind, intelligent half-elf. You always have a choice. Never forget that.”
She kissed his cheek. His heart skipped. When she sat back down, he looked down at his brutish hands and muscles. She noticed and crossed her arms.
“Velixar’s gift,” she said. “Do you still desire it?”
Harruq closed his eyes, his fingers shaking. Deep within his chest, he felt a rage steadily growing. When Velixar had first given the strength to him, he’d felt an overwhelming desire to use it. Anger swelled inside, and when he looked to Aurelia he felt an enormous desire to attack. She was questioning his master, his brother, questioning everything that meant to be him.
