Weight of Blood

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The two brothers were almost to the wall when the skulls flew overhead.

“Make them stop!” cried Harruq Tun, hands pressed against his ears. Beside him, Qurrah Tun stood mesmerized by the sight. Hundreds of skulls bathed in purple fire sailed over the walls of Veldaren like dark comets. They shrieked mindless wails from gaping mouths, voices cold and resonant. A few soldiers fired arrows, but most hid behind their shields.

“Why do you cower?” Qurrah asked, striking his brother on the shoulder. “The skulls are nuisances, nothing more.”

“Sorry,” said Harruq. He shivered as a skull dipped down above them, its shriek turning to chaotic laughter. The sound ran up and down his spine, triggering fear no matter how irrational.

Qurrah watched as if immune to their sound. He was so much smaller than Harruq, his slender body wrapped in rags, flesh thin meat clinging to bone; yet he was unafraid. Shame and embarrassment burned in Harruq’s cheeks. He towered over his brother, his hands beefy and arms muscular. Nothing should scare him. He was supposed to be Qurrah’s protector, not the other way around.

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