Xelrak sent waves of bones flying from a bag at his side. Qurrah shattered them to chalk with a thought. Xelrak launched a ball of flame that detonated like a miniature sun. Qurrah wrapped his whip about himself, feeling strangely calm as the fire enveloped but did not burn. As the smoke wafted into the air, Qurrah lashed the whip to the ground. A wave of molten rock filled the alley. Xelrak snarled, his fingers curled, and ice smashed the wave.
“You do not deserve the strength Karak has given you,” Xelrak roared.
“Enough,” Qurrah said. He summoned all his strength into a barrage of seven circular balls of darkness. Fire trailed after them like the tails of comets. Each one sundered the magical shield the other necromancer brought up to block. The protection cracked, splintered, and finally collapsed against the final blow. Xelrak fell to one knee.
“I will tear the balance asunder,” he said, gasping for breath. “I will free Karak from the whore’s prison. I will lead his army to victory, not you.”
“Then lead them,” Qurrah spat. “I care not for some petty squabble between brother gods. I am not his chosen. I am not his avatar!”
“Then what is it you want?” Xelrak asked, curiosity overcoming his anger.
“I want her healed,” he said, nearly a whisper. “I want what I have seen in my brother. But you know nothing of that.”
The man chuckled, and he shook his head as if finally understanding some great riddle.
“You are the stronger,” he said. The black power left his hands. Death and cunning lingered in his eyes. “But your will is not with Karak. That is why we meet. Karak has shown me the path that awaits you. Kill me.”
“Why should I bother?” Qurrah asked.
“I said kill me,” Xelrak said, “or I will kill the girl you call Tessanna.”
Black tendrils encircled the half-orc’s hands.
“You are mad,” Qurrah said. “You seek me here, cannot match my power, and then beg for death so desperately you threaten to harm those close to me? Is this the dream of Karak? A groveling dog that will obey its master without thought, without will?”
“I will tell you the dream of Karak,” Xelrak said. “It is order reigning in this chaos. It is peace replacing murder, death, and villainy. It is you leading this world to the serenity it has long yearned for.”
“A dream it will forever be,” Qurrah said. “And may you go share that dream with him. Never, ever, pretend to control me.”
Black tendrils snaked out his palms like spearheaded tentacles. There were nine, and each one aimed for Xelrak’s heart. With a visage of perfect calm, the man accepted the blows. They tore into his chest, covered the alley with his blood, and mutilated his inner organs in a splay of gore.
Then the smiling visage was gone. The man himself was gone. Instead, the massacred remains of a twelve- year-old boy lay before Qurrah, torn apart by the tendrils. The boy’s head was mostly intact, and his eyes peered to the night sky with a lifeless gaze. Several runes marked his forehead.
Laughter filled the alley as Qurrah seethed. He had been made a fool.
Fear not my child, said a voice in the half-orc’s mind. Its sound was the coldest chill on a winter morning and the strongest thunder in a raging storm. Do not despair my ways. My servant has done as he was ordered. Walk with courage. The true test approaches.
“Qurrah,” said a voice, quivering with rage and horror. It was deep, and nearly a growl.
“Yes,” the half-orc said. He turned and faced his brother.
22
H arruq stood at the entranceway, his eyes locked on the butchered remains of the boy. Tears ran down his face, even as anger overwhelmed his sorrow.
“This was not my doing,” Qurrah said. “Listen to me brother, it is all a ruse, a ploy…”
“Don’t lie to me!” Harruq shouted. “You think I’m stupid? It’s all for your magic, your sick, damned magic.”
“Not so long ago you helped me, or have you forgotten?”
“Those days are gone. I will not let you guilt me forever. I’ve moved on. You haven’t.”
As they talked, Harruq slowly approached, his hands clutching the hilts of his blades. His fingers twitched, seeming eager to draw. Qurrah watched, remembering all the times those swords had taken lives with brutal efficiency. Killing was what he was. He remembered this. His brother did not.
“You have not moved on,” Qurrah said, the grip on his whip tightening. “You have merely forgotten. Delusional fool. Killing is what defines you. It is your greatest ability. Now you threaten me for doing what you are the better at?”
“I’m going to stop it,” Harruq said, drawing Condemnation and Salvation. “Now. Swear it. Swear you‘ll never kill again, and maybe we can make this out alright.”
Qurrah chuckled as his world shattered. Rage clouded his mind, coupled with a sweeping sadness covering his rage like snow on a volcano.
“I cannot promise this,” he said. “Because I will forever hold my promise, and a killer is what I am. We are murderers, Harruq.”
“Not anymore.”
“Forever,” Qurrah shouted, ignoring the rupture in his throat.
“I said not anymore!” Their faces were inches apart, their wills locked in a desperate struggle.
“I will kill again,” Qurrah yelled. “I will kill children, women, elders, elves, Tarlak, Brug, I’ll kill any I wish, whenever I wish. Aurelia, Aullienna, their lives are nothing to me, nothing to you, have you grown too blind to see it?”
Harruq smashed Qurrah’s face with the back of his fist. There was no thought involved. No decision. He just struck. Qurrah reeled back, clutching his face. His complicated tangle of emotions cleared into one heated moment of fury.
“You would strike your brother,” he said. “For all we have done, all we have survived, you would betray me?”
“You’ll not lay a finger on them,” Harruq said, shaking. “Their lives over yours. That’s how it must be.”
“So be it,” Qurrah said. A black tendril shot from his hand, streaking for an exposed part of Harruq’s armor. Condemnation smacked it aside as he charged, his bloodrage taking hold. Bones ripped out of the dead child’s body and pelted his hands and face. He felt a burn on his ankle and knew it was the whip. He halted, tensed his legs, and then leapt backward.
Qurrah released the handle, knowing he could not match his brother’s strength. The fire died when the handle left his touch. Harruq kicked it off, the sting of it driving his anger. He rushed again, his arms up to protect his face.
“See only darkness,” Qurrah said, a curse leaving his hands. “May you be as blind as your heart has become.”
All light vanished from Harruq’s eyes. It was as if he were in a dark cave far from the grace of the sun. He kept his charge, hoping his orientation had not changed. When he heard spellcasting to his left, he ducked. Wet objects splattered onto the wall beside him.
Knowing he had little time, Harruq leapt toward the sound of his brother’s voice, still deep in casting. He felt his shoulder connect, followed by a faint gasp. His momentum continued forward, and when he heard the sickening sound of bone smacking against wood, his heart stopped.
“Qurrah,” he said, taking a step back.
Then the hemorrhage spell hit his arm. His right bicep tensed, tighter and tighter, until muscle broke. Blood exploded out, pouring down his arm, his leg, and across his brother’s robes and face. His mind white with pain, he lashed out with his other arm.
The sound was faint, but he knew it for what it was. In his pain, he had forgotten he still held his swords, and that single lash had cut deep into flesh.
