The Cost of Betrayal

11

I n the back of the crowded bar sat a man with three empty tankards in front of him. He smoked in the shadows, only his eyes and the smoke of his pipe visible. A young boy entered the bar, glanced around, spotted him in the corner, and then approached.

“I have a message from Melhed, sir,” he said.

“Out with it.”

“He says the best purse is held in yellow clothes, to be bought by tomorrow’s eve.”

The man blew a ring of smoke and tossed the kid a dull coin through it. “Get on out of here.”

The boy bowed and left.

“So Aurelia’s in the hands of the Eschaton?” he muttered, filling the end of the pipe with more blackweed. “Puppets like them shouldn’t be allowed such a fine catch.”

If the message was true, someone from the elves would come to take Aurelia by tomorrow night. That left little time to plan an ambush, but he was confident his boys could get it done.

“Another mug,” he shouted. A serving wench heard his demand and rushed a glass to him, fast enough that froth drifted down its sides.

“Good girl,” he said, offering her a wink. She smiled, holding in her shudder until her back was to him. The man laughed, having seen that same reaction a hundred times before. Luckily for the wench, he was in a good mood. He might have killed her otherwise, if only to cheer himself up.

An hour later, he paid for his drinks and left.

C ome in,” Aurelia said as she heard a knock on her door. She expected Harruq, but instead Brug entered, his face already in full blush.

“I have something for ya,” he said, one of his hands hidden behind the door.

“Well let’s see it,” she said, leaning up against the pillows of her bed.

Brug stammered a bit, sighed, and then brought his hand out. The elf gasped when she saw what he held. It was her staff, bearing little resemblance to the original plain stick of wood. The whole of it had been tarnished and darkened so it resembled a long, thin branch. Beautifully painted leaves spiraled down the length. Carved along the sides were spiders, frozen in the process of making a web that spanned from leaf to leaf. The webs thickened near the top, crisscrossing into a dizzying display. In Brug’s hand, the staff radiated a soft green, highlighting only the leaves and bits of web that touched them.

“Brug,” she gasped. “It’s beautiful! Please, let me see it closer.”

He handed the staff to her, his blushing reaching ripe tomato color.

“I try to make something for every member we get,” he stammered. “I’ll get ya that pendant, but for now, will the staff do?”

At first, Aurelia said nothing, too busy running a finger across the smooth webs and sensing the slight aura of magic.

“Yes,” she said. “Yes, this will most definitely do.” She pulled him close and kissed his forehead.

“None of that mushy stuff,” he said, jerking away. The red of his face spread to his ears. “Anyway, Tarlak said to tell ya Dieredon is coming sometime tomorrow to claim your beauty…uh, bounty.”

“I’ll be ready,” she said, grinning. “Thank you for the staff.”

“Was nothing,” he mumbled, beating a hasty retreat from her room.

W hen Qurrah and Tessanna returned, the half-orc went to find Tarlak.

“What’s the matter?” Tarlak asked, shutting the door to his room behind Qurrah.

“I wish Tessanna to stay here,” the half-orc said. “Not as a member of the Eschaton, but merely as a guest.”

The wizard plopped into his chair and leaned back, his fingertips drumming the desk. “A guest? We usually don’t do that type of thing here. But, who cares about what we normally do, eh?”

“Can she stay with Aurelia and Delysia?”

Tarlak shrugged. “I have no objection. You will need to ask them. Oh yeah, I finally got that portable hole. Harruq’s been working upstairs the whole day. You have a room now, instead of a cubbyhole among boxes.”

“Much appreciated,” said Qurrah. “And I will ask the girls if they mind her staying. If you wish, you may take her rent out of my pay.”

“Nonsense,” the wizard said, emphasizing this with his hand. He stood and walked Qurrah to the door. “You’re family now. You don’t charge family rent. Not the members you like, anyway.”

Qurrah chuckled. “Very well. I will speak to the girls.”

“Don’t go too far tomorrow,” Tarlak said. “We might need you when Dieredon comes.”

“I understand.”

The half-orc told Tessanna the news. Aurelia and Delysia readily agreed to let her stay, albeit on a few bedrolls piled between their beds. The tower was getting crowded, but no one seemed to mind.

M elhed paced inside his small but luxurious home. His frame was scrawny and triangular, matching the shape from the top of his head down to his laboriously trimmed black goatee. Throwing daggers lined his belt, oiled and well cared for.

“They won’t show,” the man said, his voice sounding like a rat squeaking. “I knew they wouldn’t. They drank themselves dumber than mules, and now I’m stuck.”

A knock on his door ended his whining. He looked through a peephole to see a mammoth muscled chest covered with blue and black armor.

“About time,” the spindly man said, throwing open his door. “You’re late.”

The floor creaked under the giant weight as the highest paid killer in all of Neldar stepped inside.

“Shut up, Melhed. I’m here, and that is all that matters.”

“Where’s your men,” Melhed asked. The giant man chuckled. It was a deep, dangerous sound, and he knew he was treading on very thin ice.

“They are warriors of Karnryk!” the giant man shouted. “They will be here.”

Melhed disappeared to get drinks ready. Karnryk picked at his teeth. He was a half-orc, his human mother raped by an orc. Karnryk had grown up an outcast, his large ears and chubby face earning him names like Dogface and the Pig. His enormous size and strength, however, had granted him a few perks. He had been educated. He had been trained. Nearly every guild in Neldar had seen his enormous potential, and the half-orc had milked training from every single one before abandoning them when their usefulness was at an end. Now he worked for himself. The pay was better, and his reputation had spread far and wide.

“You heard about the spider guild?” Karnryk shouted to Melhed, who was two rooms away.

“Someone told me it was no more. I assumed they were joking.”

“It’s no joke,” the half-orc said. “The Watcher killed most of them, and the rest begged themselves into the other guilds. Sickening, really.”

“How so?” Melhed asked, returning with huge pitchers full of ale. Karnryk downed one in two huge gulps.

“They quiver at the name of the Watcher,” he roared. “They act as if he were a demon or a god. It is my name they should fear, not his!”

“To be fair, you approve of what the thief guilds do, while the Watcher, well, doesn’t.” Melhed sipped at his own, much smaller cup. “If you called a bounty on the heads of all thieves, people would cower at the thought of your approach.”

The giant man leaned back in his chair, which creaked loudly in protest. He wore little armor, feeling no need for it. A sword the length of an average man hung from his back, notched and chipped from many battles. Scars ran down his face. His eyes were an ugly yellow. Still, he was stronger and meaner than a raging bull, and such attributes lent him many friends.

“Knock-knock,” a voice shouted at the door. A group of men barged in, all carrying drinks. They were armed to the teeth, and beneath their ragged street clothes shone glimpses of old chainmail.

“Put your ale away,” the half-orc said to Melhed. “They’ve already had enough.”

“Of course, Karnryk.”

The pitchers of ale vanished, to the groans of the small rabble.

“Hey, I’m thirsty,” one in particular said, starting after the scrawny man. The half-orc grabbed him, wrenched his arm, and slammed his body to the ground. The man cried in pain, his hand pinned underneath him at an awkward angle.

“Shut up all of you,” the half-orc roared. “This ain’t the usual crap we go after, so I need all of you sharp. Now spill the beer and listen up. We finally get to do what I’ve always wanted to do.”

“What’s that?” asked one, sneering at the pinned man.

“The Eschaton tower. We’re going to make it ours.”

A cheer rose throughout the men crammed into Melhed’s home.

“Don’t the Watcher live there,” one man dared ask. Karnryk grinned at him, his eyes filled with anticipation.

“Yeah, he does, and get ready to collect the hidden bounty. By tonight, every one of us is going to be stinking rich.”

Another cheer. Karnryk didn’t bother to say he would claim the bulk of the secret reward offered by the heads of the thief guilds. The others would be well off, but nothing six months of binging on ale and women wouldn’t whittle away to nothing.

“Melhed, did you figure out a plan?” the half-orc asked.

“It’s simple, but I think it will work,” Melhed replied.

“Shut up, all of you!” Karnryk shouted. The room immediately quieted. After a gesture to start, Melhed explained the plan.

T hey covered themselves with the morning dew and crunched fallen leaves underneath their bodies, while the birds of the forest listened to their moans. When their flame burned out, Tessanna once again bathed in the chilly stream. Qurrah remained in the grass, dabbing a hand in the water.

“Qurrah?” Tessanna asked, the water up to her neck.

“Yes?”

The girl swam away, her eyes never leaving him. “How did you know I could heal the elf?”

The half-orc shrugged, not wanting to spoil the pleasant morning by thinking. “I didn’t. And I did. I’m not sure I can explain.”

“That won’t do,” the girl said. “You knew somehow, didn’t you? Now tell me.”

Qurrah glared. “I’m not lying. I don’t know how I knew. You’re different than me, though. I’ve practiced necromancy all my life. Have you?”

Tessanna lowered her face below the water so that only her eyes peered out. The half-orc sighed.

“Fine. You’ve been inside my mind. You know what I have done, what I have learned. Where did you first gain access to magic?”

The girl dove all the way under, turned, and then lunged to the surface, her long black hair flailing behind her, the scattered drops raining down all about.

“I don’t remember,” she said, her back to Qurrah. “I’ve always known.”

“Nonsense,” the half-orc said. “What was the first spell you cast?”

“I don’t know,” she lied. Under Qurrah’s glare, she finally swore and told the truth. “I was four. A kitten died when my father stepped on it. He said it was an accident. I put my hands on it and I healed it.”

“You brought it back as undead,” Qurrah corrected.

“No, I healed it,” she insisted. “My first spell was not necromancy. I didn’t delve into that until…” A playful look overtook her face. “Until I had fun with daddy. People starting dying around me after that. After daddy. I hope you aren’t one of them.”

Qurrah joined her in the water then, taking her thin body into his arms. The girl nuzzled her face into his neck.

“I could stay with you all day,” he told her.

“Then what’s stopping you?”

The half-orc grinned at her, realizing she had asked an excellent question. What was stopping him?

“Nothing,” he said. Tessanna bit into his neck, hard, yet he only felt pleasure. “Nothing at all.”

W e’re walking a long way to go a short trip,” one of Karnryk’s thugs grumbled. “You think this necessary?”

“From the forest we’ll have free run of the tower’s backside,” their leader grumbled. “If we’re taking on the Watcher, we give him as little time to prepare as possible. You don’t think our rabble would get within half a mile if we stuck to the roads, do you?”

The same thug rubbed his arm, cut from passing through a line of thick brush, and spat.

“I don’t know. Just hate this stupid forest is all.”

“We’ll be out soon. All of you stay sharp and close. Won’t be too long, now.”

The rest, numbering ten plus Karnryk and Melhed, shouted their approval. That communal roar woke the two lovers from their sleep.

“Are you awake?” Qurrah asked, his eyes snapping open.

“I hear it,” the girl whispered into his neck. “They’re close, and they’re many.”

They stood, Qurrah throwing on his robes, Tessanna watching him.

“Aren’t you going to dress?” he asked her. She smirked in response.

“Don’t you think I’m more intimidating as is?”

The half-orc looked up and down her body. She was thin, she was pale, but by the gods, she was beautiful.

“You’ll steal their hearts, but only to draw them closer, not send them running.”

She laughed. “I know. I’ll put on clothes if you insist, though.”

She donned her short, weathered dress, tracing her fingers across the stains of blood. Finished, the two slipped through the trees toward the source of the noise.

I count twelve,” Qurrah said, hidden behind a collection of brush. Farther ahead marched the mercenaries, cutting and cursing their way through the forest toward the Eschaton tower.

“Who’s the big one?” Tessanna asked, licking her lips. When she caught Qurrah watching, she laughed. “I’m not interested in that, at least, not while he’s alive.” She laughed again. Qurrah wasn’t sure if she was joking or not, and that alone disturbed him.

“They move for our tower,” the half-orc said. “For what reason, though?”

Tessanna shrugged. “You need subjects for your scrolls, right? Well, I see plenty. I’ll leave you one breathing.”

With that, she stripped off her dress and left their cover. Fully exposed, she shouted to the group.

“What’s the hurry?”

The men turned, their eyes bulging at the sight of Tessanna approaching, her black hair falling down either side of her face, covering her shoulders and the sides of her breasts. The morning was cold, and her body showed it. Her face held no expression, for the being of apathy had come over her.

“What in Karak’s name is going on?” Karnryk growled. All around him, his thugs glanced at each other, each one looking for the courage to go to her, despite what their half-orc boss might say.

“A nymph of the forest, perhaps?” Melhed offered. “I have heard rumors of such beauty, but I’ve never seen one.”

“We can share her, can’t we, Karnryk?” asked one. Several others echoed similar sentiments.

“Hold it!” he shouted, putting his arms out to stop them. “Something ain’t right, boys, can’t you feel it?”

They could feel something, but it felt right to them.

“Look upon me,” Tessanna called, caressing her body with her hands as she walked. “Enjoy my beauty. Many already have.”

Karnryk felt a tug to go to her, but the warrior in him shrieked in protest. A cool wind blew from her direction, even though the air had been still all morning. The forest darkened with her steps, as if clouds formed a permanent cover above her head. And her eyes… When she looked upon him with those huge black orbs, he felt naked, helpless, and doomed to die.

“Get your weapons ready, boys, this girl’s no prize.”

“Are you mad?” said one thug. “You want us to hurt a thing like that?”

“I want you to-”

He stopped, for Tessanna had begun to change. The shadows around her darkened. Cold air tossed her hair in all directions. A creeping mist seeped out from her, hiding her features. Step after step, the transformation continued, until she appeared a dark goddess walking the land of Dezrel. Her eyes were the darkest of all, tunnels to the abyss leering out at the living.

“I am alive,” she said, her voice the shriek of a banshee, beautiful and deadly. “I am the angel. I am the nightmare. I have come.”

Black tentacles shot from her outstretched fingers, curling around trees, slicing through bushes and low branches, and then piercing into the flesh of the nearest thug. He screamed until two tentacles ripped out his tongue. Black lightning swirled around his body. The tentacles finally drew back, leaving a bloody pile of flesh.

Karnryk drew his sword, fear palpable on his face.

“If you value your lives, she needs to die,” he ordered. The others drew their daggers and swords, doing their best to ignore the carnage that had been their comrade.

“Come to the angel,” Tessanna beckoned. Tentacles flared out her shoulders and swirled into great black wings that stretched higher than the trees. Power flared through her, and the courage of all men who looked upon her melted like ice before the sun.

If the display had lasted a bit longer, they would have fled, never to return. Tessanna’s power, however, was not as absolute as she made it seem. The black wings dissipated, the tentacles faded as if they never were, and in one great silent implosion the darkness returned to her body. Now only a beautiful, naked girl, Tessanna fell to her knees, gasping for breath.

“Damn poison,” she whispered, sensing traces still lingering in her veins.

“Kill her,” Karnryk ordered. They charged, bolstered by her collapse. Then Qurrah stepped out from behind the brush let loose a crack of his fiery whip.

“I will drive mad any who dare touch her,” he shouted, ignoring the horrid pain in his throat.

“Too late!” Karnryk bellowed, not slowing in the least. The rest of his thugs were not far behind. He saw Qurrah cast a spell, so he raised his sword in defense. The bones of the dead body animated and assaulted the group from behind. Men screamed and fell, bones cracking their spines, necks, and heads. A pelvic bone smacked Karnryk hard in the back. He stumbled to the ground in a great explosion of leaves and dirt.

“Kill him,” he shouted, struggling back to his feet. “Kill him, quickly!” The first to approach tripped, his feet tangled and his pants aflame. Two more lunged, but Qurrah knelt beside Tessanna and cast a spell. A single, impenetrable wave of darkness rolled forth, rising higher than their heads. They flew back, pushed on by the wave. Karnryk jammed his sword into the dirt and braced himself. The magic slammed into his body like raging floodwaters. He felt his flesh peel away, yet he held his ground. When the wave passed, only he remained standing.

“Impressive,” he said, spitting blood. “But it will take more than a few spells to kill me.”

“I do not seek to kill you,” Qurrah said, snapping his whip. “As I said, I will drive you mad.”

“He is mine,” Tessanna said, rising from her knees. “The others you can do with as you wish, but I want him alive.”

Qurrah nodded, trusting her. Many of the thugs were getting to their feet, only dazed by his spell.

“Very well.” He turned to Karnryk. “My pity to you.”

The necromancer walked around the powerful warrior, giving him a safe distance considering the length of his two-handed sword. Karnryk let him go, only concerned with the dark angel.

“Do you want me?” she asked, displaying her body. The half-orc spat in response.

“Too skinny. A man like me would crush you.”

Tessanna giggled. “I’m tougher than I look. Really, I am.”

The half-orc roared, yanking his blade out of the dirt and charging. He swung with all his might, attempting to behead Tessanna where she stood. In response, she whispered words of magic and raised her hand. The sword smashed against her fingers and stopped as if striking a mountain. The impact nearly shattered Karnryk’s hands and elbows. She reached out and ran a hand across his chest. Karnryk pulled back his sword and struck, this time at her scrawny waist. Again he smacked against stone.

“My sword is enchanted,” he said, the pain in his arms unbearable. “Why do you not die?”

In response, Tessanna flattened her hand against his skin and lowered it to his groin. He tensed, exhilarated and terrified.

“There’s only one sword I want,” she cooed. “I’ll tell you if you want to know.”

She groped and pressed. He held her with one hand and pressed his sword against her neck with the other.

“Stop it,” he snarled.

“Don’t you want to know?” she asked. “I’ll whisper it to you.” She leaned forward, unafraid of the blade at her exposed throat. The half-orc felt his heart skip as her hair and lips brushed the side of his face.

“Are you sure you want to know?” she whispered into his ear.

“Yes,” he gasped as she resumed the motions of her hand.

“ Bleed, ” she whispered.

The black magic poured into him. The pain he felt was indescribable, an overwhelming sensation so great his mind immediately shut down in defense. He fell, unconscious, a giant red smear across the crotch of his pants.

“I hope you’ll keep my secret,” she giggled, licking the blood off her fingers.

L et go!” screamed the man as Qurrah’s flaming leather whip wrapped around his ankle. He hacked at it with his sword, showering sparks and ash, but causing no damage. The smell of burning flesh filled his nostrils, and his screams grew all the louder.

“You will die like the others,” Qurrah said, releasing the leg. The thug charged, howling like a mad beast. Eager to test out a new spell, the half-orc whispered words of power and outstretched his hand. A gray, swirling funnel, like a tornado turned on its side, shrieked out from his palm. Flesh cracked and died as the rolling magic swarmed over him. The man inhaled to scream but the tornado swirled down his throat, shriveling his lungs and denying him his final death cry. The body fell, looking like a freshly unearthed corpse.

A dagger sliced through the air, only its clear whistle giving Qurrah warning. He cried out in anger as the blade cut across his cheek. He dropped to the ground as two more flew above his head. He sought out and found his attacker: Melhed, hiding behind a tree.

“If blood is what you want,” the half-orc said, “then I will gladly grant it.”

He wiped his face, smearing blood across his palm. Dark magic hardened it into a small stone. It vibrated in his hand, filled with power. The next time Melhed threw a dagger, Qurrah released his own projectile.

A blink of his eyes, and then Melhed felt the impact. The ball shattered, swarming him in a tremendous explosion of blood. Its stickiness wrapped around his face, his arms, and his legs. He collapsed, gasping for air. The blood thickened, pulsing as if still encapsulated in veins. Struggle as he might, the rope-like substance held firm.

Comparatively, Melhed’s dagger had far less effect. It bit into Qurrah’s shoulder, a deep wound that would take time to heal.

Qurrah had time. Melhed did not.

“You struck me twice,” the half-orc said. “I shall save you for last.”

Last would not be long, for only three men remained facing the necromancer, and all three were wounded.

“Do any of you dare strike against me?” he asked, snapping his whip to the ground. The men formed a triangle, eyeing him fearfully.

“Get him,” one shouted, his dagger thrusting at the half-orc’s back. The other two remained, cowardly at heart, and did not charge with him. Qurrah spun, shoving his hand forward with his fingers hooked in a bizarre way.

“ Nightmare, ” he hissed in the tongue of magic. The thrust faltered, all strength pulled out of it. Qurrah batted it aside with his free hand and then gripped the man’s face with an open palm. The man stared with wide, unblinking eyes as Qurrah forced him to his knees. From his mouth came screams of sheer terror.

“Do you wish this man’s fate?” Qurrah asked the other two, shoving the shrieking man to the dirt as if he were a pitiful child. “The things he sees are beyond description. Stay, and you may share them.”

“You’ll kill us if we turn to run,” one said, glancing to his partner for support.

“That’s right,” Qurrah laughed, wrapping his whip about his arm. Beside him, the shrieking man gagged and shivered as his heart gave out. “Still, if I were you, I’d be running.”

All light surrounding his fingers sucked in and vanished, leaving two voids where his hands should have been. Black lightning crackled between them, its thunder that of a wailing eagle. Where Qurrah’s eyes had been were now doorways to the abyss, seething with the cold promise of death. The men dropped their swords and ran. They died like cowards, lightning bursting their hearts in their chests.

Qurrah turned to see Tessanna approach. She remained nude, her dress in hand.

“They are all dead,” she said, a wonderful smile on her face. The smile did not flinch even when she yanked the dagger out of Qurrah’s shoulder.

“I left one alive,” Qurrah said, grunting as pain flooded him. Tessanna kissed his cheek, her pale hands gently pressed against the wound. Healing magic sank into him, ceasing the blood flow. Satisfied, Qurrah pulled out a few pieces of parchment from a large pocket within his robes.

“Stay back,” he said. “You must not hear the words I say.”

“But I want to see,” she pouted.

“When I am done, you may see the results,” he offered. She sighed but consented. He ran a hand through her hair, admiring the perfection of her body. Then went to Melhed, who was still bound by the blood curse.

“What do you want with me?” the scrawny man asked, his voice just below hysteria. “I have money. Lots of it! It’s in my house. Let me get it for you.”

“Where is your house, cretin?” Qurrah asked, yanking the man’s hair so that they stared eye to eye.

“It’s in southwestern Veldaren,” he said. “Fourth down Copper lane.”

“What does it look like?”

Qurrah took out his whip and draped it across the man’s neck, chest, and abdomen.

“Small, brown, thick cedar. My name is etched above the door. Please, I have gold in there, you can take it, all of it, just let me live.” The half-orc pulled back his whip. It vanished underneath the arm of his cloak.

“Thank you, kind sir,” Melhed said, thinking his life spared. “I have no quarrel with you, I was paid by Karnryk. Yes, paid, that’s all.”

“I never said you could live,” Qurrah said, his voice vile. He unrolled the parchment, to the horror of the bound man.

“No! No spells, please no, anything, please, use my daggers!”

“These are not spells,” he said. He pulled out two globs of wax and shoved them into his ears. “They are far worse.” His voice was distant and muffled. He hoped it would be enough.

The man screamed when he recited the first line of words written across the page. He thought Qurrah was about to explode his head or turn him into some pitiful creature. The words, however, had a hypnotic affect. He quieted, listening intently.

Qurrah continued. To him, he had read only seven lines, but to Melhed, nearly a lifetime seemed to have passed. His eyes grew distant, his mouth slackened, but still he listened, deep in concentration. When Qurrah reached the end of the passage, he stopped, feeling dizzy and weak. Melhed’s reaction was far worse.

“Nooo!” he shrieked, writhing against his bonds. “Noooo! Speak! Speak!”

Qurrah did not know, but to Melhed, the silence was more than deafening. His entire mind had ridden the magical words like a man caught in a stream. With the end of the water, though, he found passage upstream impossible.

Tessanna arrived as he pulled the wax from his ears.

“It looks as if he yearns for something,” she said, staring at Melhed’s fanatical eyes.

“I do not know what,” Qurrah admitted. “But this is nothing like you. He has no control. His entire mind is shattered.”

The girl nodded, laughing at the way the man flopped around.

“Are you going to leave him here?” she asked.

“There are more than two-hundred passages I must test. He, and the passage he represents, is incorrect. I have no use for him.”

“You poor baby,” Tessanna cooed, kneeling down beside the shrieking man. She put a hand across his head, holding him steady. She put the rest of her weight on his chest. She kissed him, plunging her tongue deep down his throat. She purred as the stink of madness filled her nostrils. Before she ended her kiss, she grabbed his tongue in her teeth and bit down. The tender flesh tore, and the man’s screams down her throat were waves of pleasure. The taste of blood filled her, and she reveled in pure, sexual delight. She stood, flashing Qurrah a smile.

“He will choke soon,” she told the stunned half-orc. “That, or he will swallow his own tongue. Want to stay and watch?”

“No,” Qurrah said, holding in his shudder.

“Aww,” she said, her lower lip pouting. She put her dress back on, flipped her hair over one shoulder, and then slowly licked the blood from her lips.

“No fun,” she told him. “No fun at all.”