Free The Weight of Blood (Half-Orcs Book 1) by David Dalglish

darkness, and the despair.”
    Velixar lurched backward as the memory rammed into his mind. Qurrah was unpracticed, and his delivery brutal. Still, the vision did come, clouded and chaotic.
    A gang of children slept on a stack of hay. They were filthy, scrawny, and diseased. A small rat crept near, its mouth covered with flecks of white foam. When close enough, it latched onto the hand of the biggest child, who awoke screaming. Time distorted so that days passed as that scream lingered. His face paled, his mouth foamed, and then he died, screaming, still screaming.
    The vision ended. Velixar opened his eyes.
    “What is it that I saw?” he asked.
    “The second time I ever killed,” Qurrah said. “I watched that wretched bully succumb to madness from the disease carried by an undead rat. He took something I made for my brother, and I made him pay dearly for it.”
    The man in black nodded, going over the memory in his mind.
    “Could be darker, though,” he said. “You need not use memories, but they are easier to project. Any thought can be sent to those who slumber. After you have practiced, we will try with images you created on your own.”
    The half-orc pulled his robes around him and looked back to the city. “When will we assault Woodhaven?” he asked.
    Velixar’s face was an unmoving stone. “When did I say we would?”
    “When we first met,” Qurrah said. “You said the cooperation between the races needs to end. If we are to destroy our home, I must know when.”
    Then Velixar did something completely unexpected. He laughed.
    “It will not be our hands that destroy Woodhaven,” Velixar said. “King Vaelor will do so for us by starting a war that will give us the dead we need.”
    “How?” Qurrah asked.
    The fire burned in Velixar’s eyes, deep with anticipation.
    “I will darken his dreams, just as I have shown you. He is a cowardly man, and fears the elves already. I played a large part in his decision to banish the elves from the city. After I’m done, he will want them gone from all his lands, including here.”
    The man in black gestured to the city nestled against the forest.
    “This city has long been treated neutral, even though it resides within Neldar’s border. The elves will not take kindly to removal from a home many have lived in since before our dear king’s grandparents were alive.”
    “I eagerly await the bloodshed,” Qurrah said. He bowed to his master.
    “Go. The night is young. Taint the dreams of the slumbering.”
    Qurrah left Velixar to sit alone before the fire. The dark night sang a song of crickets and wind. In the quiet, Dieredon entered the light of the fire.
    “Greetings, traveler,” the elf said, bowing. “The town is not far, and all are welcome. Would you not sleep in safety rather than in the wild?”
    Velixar looked at the elf, dressed in camouflaged armor and holding his wicked bow.
    “You are a scoutmaster for the Quellan elves, are you not?” he asked.
    “I am. And you have remained outside our village for several days yet vanish with the morning sun.”
    “Have I done something wrong?” Velixar asked.
    Dieredon frowned, noticing the subtle yet constant changes to the man’s facial features. His instincts cried out in warning. This man was dangerous.
    “Children have been dying in our forest, all found horribly butchered,” Dieredon said.
    “As you can plainly see, I am nowhere near the forest,” Velixar said. His voice was calm, disarming. Dieredon did not buy it.
    “Give me your name,” he said.
    “Earn the privilege,” Velixar countered. The elf’s arms blurred, and then the bow was in his hands. He pulled no arrow, though, for he held the weapon much like one would hold a staff.
    “Leave this place,” Dieredon ordered as two long blades snapped out of either side of the bow and many spikes punched out the front. The man in black rose to his feet, an aura of death and despair rolling out around him.
    “You should not threaten those