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

Author:Dalglish, David [Dalglish, David]
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Published: 2010-01-30T16:00:00+00:00

If there was any time I needed you Sonowin, it is now,” the elf said as he fled across the grass. His chest ached with every breath. His right arm hung limp, and his other hand clutched his shoulder. He desperately needed to bandage it but he had no time.

A wave of undead moans reached his sensitive ears. Dieredon shuddered.

“How many does he command?” he asked. He crouched as he ran, his right arm dragging against the grass. Under normal circumstances, he might have been able to hold his own against the undead. However, these were not normal circumstances.

Minutes passed, long and painful. The light of Woodhaven beckoned him to his left but he dared not approach. Velixar would expect him to flee there, but he was as home in the wild as he was in any town. He halted his run and fell to one knee. His adrenaline was still high, but deep inside he knew he had to find a place to rest. The real pain was coming.

A glance behind did little to raise his spirits. He saw at least thirty undead shambling as fast as they could in a widening arc. If he remained where he was, he would be seen.

He struggled to his feet and ran.

More minutes passed. The glow of Woodhaven drifted behind him. Breathing was agony. Moving was torment. All his extremities grew cold and his head felt light. The pain in his shoulder was eager to send him into shock. It was just waiting for his body to succumb.

His eyes searched for anything that could grant him cover. The forest was too far, and all about was shin-high grass.

“No choice,” he gasped. His entire right half of his body ached. “Celestia, grant me mercy. I cannot go further.”

He stumbled to the ground. His face and armor were camouflaged with greens and browns, but with just grass to aid him it would be difficult to go unnoticed. Still, he had no choice but to try. He tucked his bow beneath him and then smashed his face into the dirt while sprinkling grass atop his head. He shifted his legs back and forth until as much grass sprang up around them as possible. He covered the rest of his body with his cloak. A few words of magic shifted its colors, better emulating the nearby terrain. He tucked his arms underneath him, closed his eyes, and waited for his fate.

For the longest of time, silence. His shoulder pounded with each heartbeat; his chest screamed with each breath. A soft breeze teased his cloak and hair. Colors swam across his eyes. His ears, incredibly sensitive even compared to other elves, strained for the sound of approaching dead. He heard nothing but a strange ringing inside his skull. It seemed he had put more distance between them than he first thought.

A footstep fell beside his head. His heart and lungs halted. The pain had dwindled his skills. They were atop him. He thought a silent prayer to Celestia as more footfalls clomped all around him.

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