The Cost of Betrayal

12

I hope your brother and that girl of his return soon,” Tarlak said, pacing back and forth in the main floor of the tower. “If Dieredon decides to grab Aurelia and run, things could get nasty.”

“Qurrah will show if he wants, not much else we can do,” Harruq said.

“I could scry for his location,” Aurelia said, sitting on the stairs, her staff on her lap. “But I’d rather save my strength for more important things, like making sure you all stay alive.”

“Your concern for our safety is touching,” the wizard said. “Especially since we’re doing this for you.”

“Oh, please. You’d hate not seeing my cute butt again, and you know it.”

Tarlak shrugged. “So?”

“You all are idiots,” Brug mumbled, munching on a thick chicken leg smeared with sauce. “He comes in, Aurelia wiggles her ass, and then he leaves, everyone happy. Since when are things gonna get crazy?”

Aurelia winked at him. “It’s me. Things tend to go that way when I’m around.”

“I’ll agree to that,” Harruq said.

“Just try to keep the damage to a minimum,” Delysia said, coming down the stairs in her spotless white robes. “I’m still a little weak, so if you can do with some bandages, then you will.”

The door to the tower swung open, revealing Haern, his face hidden by his hood. “Dieredon circles above,” he whispered.

“Fun time,” Harruq said, drawing his swords.

“Put those away,” Aurelia ordered, glaring at the dark blades. “Wait until you absolutely must.”

The half-orc frowned but obeyed. Tarlak slapped his back before taking command.

“Look sharp and smart, everybody. You’re Eschatons. You have a reputation to uphold here, mainly mine. Don’t blow it.”

“Oh yes, great and wise leader,” Brug said, dropping his chicken and grabbing his punch daggers. “Your speech of inspiration reveals a silver tongue, indeed.”

“Shut up, shorty.”

The two were still bickering when they exited the tower.

D ieredon remained high in the air as he looped around the tower, his bow still slung across his back. There was no reason to expect trouble, but he kept it loose just in case. With a couple soft commands, he landed his winged horse, Sonowin, a safe distance away.

“Stay safe,” he whispered, patting her side. “Things get interesting, take off. Understand?” The white horse snorted, showing her opinion of fleeing.

“Fine,” Dieredon laughed. “Then trample whoever you wish.”

He slapped her rump before approaching the tower.

An interesting crowd awaited him. A yellow-robed wizard stood at the front, beaming at the elf. Beside him was a priestess of Ashhur, her hair the same shade of red as the wizard’s. To the side lurked a short warrior, his beard covered with red sauce. A man garbed in cloaks guarded the other flank. The subtle placement of the man’s feet and his sheer intensity in watching Dieredon’s every move identified him as the Watcher, rumored to live at the Eschaton tower. Dieredon marked him as the primary threat. Behind them, he saw the bounty he had come to collect, Aurelia Thyne. Standing next to her…

He halted, the grip on his bow tightening.

“Hail Dieredon, Scoutmaster of the Quellan elves,” the wizard said. “I am Tarlak Eschaton, leader of the Eschaton mercenaries. I welcome you to my tower.”

“You have puzzled us all, Lady Thyne,” Dieredon said in elvish, ignoring the wizard. “You train with a murderer, flee with him from battle, and now accompany this wretch into the city of the humans?”

“And who would this murderer be?” Tarlak asked in fluent elvish. The scoutmaster glanced over, his opinion of the man rising.

“Harruq Tun, traitor to the city of Woodhaven.”

The half-orc heard his name. His hands tightened on the hilts of his blades. Things were not going smoothly. He didn’t need to understand elvish to understand that.

“Murderer or not, he is none of your concern,” Tarlak said, glancing at the half-orc. “No bounty is upon his head, at least, none I am aware of.”

“Answer my question, Lady Thyne,” Dieredon asked, switching to the human tongue. “Why did you betray us? He killed elves, Aurelia. How do you stay by his side?”

Aurelia slipped to the front of the group, ignoring Tarlak’s attempts to hold her back.

“He is a good man,” she said, staring down Dieredon. “The one who ordered him is dead. He is free of his oath. Besides, the actions he committed were in battle. We all killed men that day.”

“I know his puppet master is dead. I killed him myself. Come with me, Aurelia. You will be tried for treason in Quellassar for aiding the escape of a murderer.”

“Nonsense,” Aurelia said. “Even if he was a traitor to Woodhaven, the town does not fall under elven rule. I am staying. I ask you, as a friend, to rescind this pointless bounty.”

Dieredon glanced about the mercenaries. “That half-orc is a murderer,” he said to them, daring each to meet his gaze. “But he didn’t just kill elves. He killed children. You have invited the Forest Butcher into your home.” He glared at Harruq when he spoke, nearly spitting out the words.

“You don’t know that!” Aurelia insisted.

“Enough of this,” Harruq said, drawing his blades. He shoved past Tarlak, pulled Aurelia back, and stood between her and the scoutmaster. “She’s not going with you, elf, and that’s final. So hop on your flying horsie and get out of here, and call off this dumb bounty after you do.”

The bow was off his back before any could move. Blades shot out the front, top and bottom as a cold expression fell over Dieredon’s face.

“Twelve children,” he said, his voice almost a whisper. “Twelve.”

Harruq remembered the last words a child had spoken to him, just before he had ended his life.

You’re an orc, aren’t you?

The guilt sent him charging, his blades lashing out. Dieredon ducked into a crouch. The two swords cut air. He flipped backward, one foot cracking the bottom of Harruq’s chin. As he staggered, the elf lunged, the bottom blade of his bow leading.

Harruq jerked his head at the last second, the bow slicing a gash across his cheek instead of ramming out the back of his head. Blood poured down the side of his face, further igniting his rage. He batted the bow to one side, thrusting with his other sword, only to have the bow swing around and parry the attack away. Twice Dieredon slapped Harruq’s face with the flat ends of his blades, stinging his pride.

The half-orc lunged, every nerve in his body on edge. He had seen the speed of Haern. The assassin had trained him rigorously, yet still he felt as he had that very first day, clearly outmatched. His next few attacks, the elf blocked with ease, and then he found himself on the receiving end of a brutal series of thrusts. He dodged side to side, his desperate blocks barely connecting.

“He’s going to kill him,” Tarlak said, preparing a spell. Haern shoved his hand over the wizard’s mouth, halting any casting. Tarlak glanced at the assassin and raised an eyebrow.

“Dieredon does not aim to kill,” Haern whispered. “Something more is at stake. It is not for us to intervene.”

“If he is too wounded, you must stop them,” Delysia said.

“I will surrender before it comes to that,” Aurelia said, her staff clutched tightly between her fingers as she watched Harruq hammered repeatedly in the face by kicks.

“I thought you were a warrior,” Dieredon shouted, countering a thrust with a stab that cut through Harruq’s enchanted leather and into skin. He pulled back, drawing only a small amount of blood, and then blocked a dual chop by the half-orc. “I thought you skilled. How many elves fell to you? Did you stab them in the back?”

“I killed them in combat,” Harruq snarled, shoving hard against the elf’s bladed bow. “They fought me face to face and lost. How many have you killed?”

“Thousands,” the elf said, matching the half-orc’s strength. “Orcs, goblins, humans, hyena-men, even elves.” He tilted the bow, hooking the two swords on the razors along the front, and then shoved to one side. Harruq’s blades and arms went with it, exposing his entire left side to a series of kicks.

“Why does Aurelia stay with you?” he asked, spinning back and away. “What spell has convinced her good is in your heart?”

“You would never understand,” Harruq said, clutching his side as best he could without dropping his sword. “And neither will I.”

The blades snapped in, and a bowstring materialized from thin air. Dieredon readied an arrow before the half-orc could move.

“Then why is it you stay with her?” he asked. “Why do you fight for her?”

“I don’t know!” he shouted. He stayed where he stood, knowing the slightest movement would send the arrow flying.

“Then why should I not kill you?” Dieredon shouted back. “Why should I not bury this arrow in your eye!”

“Enough of this!” Aurelia yelled. “Please, I will go.”

“No!” Harruq roared, charging the elf. The arrow flew through the air, its aim true.

Aurelia screamed as the arrow pierced into the half-orc’s flesh. Harruq bellowed out his pain, the arrow deep in his shoulder. He neared Dieredon, who remained completely still. When Harruq swung, the elf darted inward, grabbed his wrist, and flung him over his shoulder. The blades snapped out of his bow, and down came the spike, halting just above the half-orc’s throat.

“Why is it you should live?” Dieredon shouted.

“Because I love her!” Harruq screamed, his voice echoing across the land. All was silent as Dieredon kept the blade hovering.

“How can you love her?” he whispered. “Do you even know what love is?”

“She was kind to me,” he said, gasping from the pain of his many wounds. “When I didn’t deserve it, she was still kind to me.” His voice dropped quieter. “And I hurt her, and still I was forgiven. I owe her everything.”

Dieredon pulled back the blades, which vanished into his bow. He knelt down and whispered to the half-orc.

“If you ever, ever hurt her again, you will answer to me, and I will kill you.”

“I know,” Harruq whispered back.

Dieredon left him laying there and approached Aurelia. He slung the bow over his back and opened his arms. The two embraced, Aurelia staring past him at the beaten, bleeding Harruq.

“I still don’t trust him,” he said to her in elvish.

“I do,” she said. “Is that not enough?”

Dieredon pulled back and smiled. “I guess it is, for now,” he said. “I’ll tell Felewen you are well. She might even visit, she misses you so.”

Aurelia smiled. “Tell her that would be nice.”

The elf looked to Tarlak and gave him a nod.

“I will rescind the bounty. Will you release them from your capture?”

“Release?” Tarlak laughed. “They’ve become part of the family. You’re more than welcome to join. I know a few dragons we could slay with your help.”

“I must decline,” the elf said, cracking a smile. “Dragons scare me.”

Dieredon hugged Aurelia once more, and then trotted back to Sonowin, halting beside Harruq on the way.

“She loves you as well,” he said. “Only Celestia knows why, but she does.”

The half-orc offered no response. The rest of the Eschaton mercenaries watched until he mounted Sonowin and took flight.

“Dang that guy’s good,” Brug muttered once he was gone. Aurelia rushed to Harruq, who started to apologize. She ignored him, wrapped her arms around his bruised neck, and kissed him. The stunned half-orc dropped his swords and held her close. When the kiss ended, she smiled at him.

“You stupid half-orc,” she said. “Got yourself beat up for silly little me.”

“Anytime,” he said, blushing through the bruises.

Brug rolled his eyes at the display and returned to his meal. Tarlak followed, pretending to throw up. Delysia and Haern moved to Harruq’s side, both their expressions somber.

“Go to my room, Harruq,” Delysia said. “Looks like my healing magic is going to be needed after all.”

“Yeah,” he said, glancing down at the arrow. “That’s gonna hurt when you remove it, isn’t it?”

“Of course. I’ll be waiting.”

With a flip of her red hair, she returned to the tower. Harruq grinned at Haern, unsure of what his teacher would say.

“You need a lot more practice,” the assassin whispered. “Not even a single hit. When I fought him my first time, I scored two cuts.”

“You’ve fought him before?” Harruq asked, trying to imagine the two in battle. Haern only shook his head and left.

“Come on, big lug,” Aurelia said, smacking him playfully. “Let’s get you healed so I can snuggle you without getting blood all over me.”

“As you wish,” he said, seeing no reason to argue.

I f Karnryk lay perfectly still, the pain only throbbed. If he kept his breaths shallow enough, the throbs weakened to dull aching. If he moved, the dull ache exploded into a thousand piercing daggers.

“Melhed,” he groaned, no louder than a whisper. “Melhed!” The wave of pain this caused nearly rendered him unconsciousness, but he was Karnryk the Slayer. Never before had pain bested him, and he would not let it do so now.

He stared at the light streaming through the forest canopy, wondering how much time had passed. The girl and the necromancer were gone. The only sound he heard was a constant sobbing to his right, broken by the occasional shriek. A third time he called out, and still he received no answer.

That whore, he thought, trying not to visualize the damage to his lower half. Hits me like a coward and leaves me for dead. I’ll kill her. I’ll eat her beating heart!

Anger gave him strength to move. He lifted his head, ignoring the cry of protest from the waist down. The pain was so great, his mind could not focus where it came from. His legs felt broken, his thighs throbbed as if stabbed, and his feet were all but numb. Where she struck him, however, was beyond pain.

“Melhed, what’d she do to you?” he asked, propping himself up on his elbows. He could see his friend lying there, rolling back and forth as he sobbed. The half-orc waited, gathering strength for the agony he knew to come. Taking a deep breath, he lifted to a crouch. The movement was salt on an open wound. Agony assaulted his mind. Stubbornness alone kept his legs moving. He roared, throwing away rational thought and pushing upward, slowly, horrifically, until he stood screaming at the top of his lungs.

When his mind was back under control, he inspected his injured self. It looked as if he had wet himself, except with blood instead of urine. He sensed, in a way, that was exactly what had happened.

“You’ll pay,” he muttered, taking one small, painful step toward Melhed. Dead bodies littered the forest floor. His friends, his pride, and even his manhood, were now reduced to a single ally sobbing incoherently in the leaves. He often dealt in retribution, but never before had he felt hatred as stark and naked as when he took another step. His stomach churned as he felt a bit more blood slide down his leg, warm and fresh.

“Long and brutal,” he said. “Very long, and very brutal.”

As he neared Melhed, he knew something was wrong. His skin was pale, his arms and legs bound, and blood covered his mouth. His sobbing turned to a strange sucking sound, one that turned Karnryk’s already weak stomach.

“It’s me, Karn,” he said, hoping against hope. “Look at me. I said look at me!”

The sucking sound grew louder, louder, and then Melhed began choking. Karnryk watched, his entire heart and soul numbed. The wiry man gasped and rolled to his side, gagging and retching silently. After thirty seconds of this, he managed to spit out something wet and red. It was a large portion of Melhed’s tongue.

“I’m sorry, Mel,” the half-orc said, kneeling beside the man, who gasped in air. He took a throwing dagger from his belt, gripped it in his fist, and said goodbye to his friend. Down went the dagger, through his eye and into the shattered remnants of what had been a mind. Karnryk screamed out his rage. Another reason for vengeance.

He started heading south, step by agonizing step. If he reached the end of the forest, Veldaren would only be a mile or so east. The distance, while not far, felt like a thousand leagues to Karnryk. The first few hours he took childlike steps, using a ricocheting path from tree to tree to give him support. Eventually he collapsed against a sturdy trunk and slept.

When he awoke, stars filled the sky. He took to his feet, with no greater ease than the first time. The hours crawled by, broken only by brief moments of sleep or unconsciousness. His heart cried out for him to fall, to succumb to the pain, hunger, weakness, thirst, but mostly the pain. His desire for vengeance was stronger than all of them. He pushed on.

It was well into midday before he reached the city gates. He said only one word to the gate guards before he fell.

“Healer.”

S uch horrible taste,” Tessanna said, frowning at the ornate furniture designed to look worth far more than the craftsmanship warranted. Her grimace grew when she saw the curtains, the worst shade of orange she had ever seen. Without a word, she yanked them down and tossed them to the floor.

“There are many houses nearby,” Qurrah said, glancing out a tiny window. “Each one a potential for a prying eye.”

“Why would you fear prying eyes?” the girl asked, sneering at him. “Because you drove the former owner insane and left him for dead in the forest, screaming like a mad little puppy?”

The half-orc frowned.

“There is that, as well. Any screams shall be heard, possibly by many. We cannot live here.”

Tessanna crossed the room, giving him a flirty look.

“I’m sure some screams can be heard from inside without causing too much alarm,” she said. “What is it that you plan on doing in here?”

“Just casting a few spells,” Qurrah said. “Nothing to concern yourself about.”

“Nothing you do could concern me,” said Tessanna, curling her arms around his neck and looking at him with the wild eyes of an animal. The half-orc pulled her down onto the couch, locking her in a violent kiss.

Later, as they lay silent in each other’s arms, Tessanna whispered into her lover’s ear.

“There is a home where there are no neighbors. No one for miles.”

“Where?” Qurrah asked, tracing a finger from her belly button to her chin.

“In the King’s Forest. Not too far from the tower.”

The half-orc sat up on the cushion and looked down at her.

“You speak of your home as a child.”

“Few know it is there,” she said, her voice shy. “Any we bring will be miles from help. The screaming will not bother anyone. I can cut myself again, too. There is a stream nearby. I used to watch the blood drip into the water. I miss it.”

“You ask me to leave my brother,” Qurrah said, staring at the wall.

“He can come if he wishes.”

“No. Not for this.”

Tessanna sat up and leaned against the opposite side of the couch. All sense of warmth fled from her.

“You fear he will not agree.”

“I fear he will overreact, nothing more,” the half-orc said. “Besides, I could not separate him now.”

“From who?”

“From her.”

Tessanna nodded, her eyes cold and lifeless. “The elf.”

“Yes. The elf. He is happy with her. I would give anything for him, so now I must give him this. We’ve never been separate, not since we were seven.”

She bit her lip and huddled against the cushion.

“You’re doing this for me, aren’t you?”

Qurrah brought his eyes from the wall to her. He nodded. “Yes. I think I am.”

Tessanna just nodded back.

“Our home will not be far. If you wish to see him, you can. We will find men and bring them there. There are ways. I know how. Do you wish to take me again?”

The half-orc looked at her thin, pale body, curled into a tight ball of arms and legs.

“Yes,” he said. “Yes, I do.”

He pulled her over to him, and again they made cold, determined love.

Y ou can’t leave,” Harruq said, blocking Qurrah’s way to the door. “You just got here. Pay is good, beds are warm, and you’ve seen the food!”

“This is something I must do,” Qurrah said, his arms crossed. At his feet were all his belongings in the world; a few spare coins, the spellbook and scrolls from the priests of Karak, some bed sheets, and his enchanted whip, all packed in one large rucksack.

“Why? What must you do? And why the abyss is she going?”

Tessanna cowered behind the necromancer, currently in one of her shy, fearful moods. Qurrah saw her so, and his heart was instantly angry.

“She is going because I wish her to go,” he said. “We do not belong here. Our magic, our ways, are limited by these walls. Freely we entered, and now freely we leave. Move aside.”

Harruq shook his head, shoving his arms harder against the doorframe so that his knuckles turned white. “No. No. And, um, NO!”

“Harruq!” Qurrah shouted, loud enough to send pain spiking down his throat. “Listen to me. We are brothers, and long you have looked out for me, but I do not need your guardianship. Not anymore. You are a fine warrior, and I am proud of you. Now let me go. Please.”

Harruq’s eyes danced back and forth from Tessanna to Qurrah, trying to make sense of the conflicting emotions of his heart.

“I don’t want you to,” he said at last. “Do you have to? Really have to?”

Qurrah pulled the rucksack over his shoulder. “I must. I will return, as often as I can.”

The half-orc moved aside. Qurrah took up his things, nodded to Tessanna, and then moved for the door.

“Where will you live?” Harruq asked.

“Not far. Please, honor this wish, brother. Do not look for us. I will be fine, I assure you. If I am ever gone longer than two months, you may have the elf scry for our location.”

Nodding, the burly half-orc motioned for the door. Qurrah patted him on the shoulder. He opened his mouth to speak, but found no words, only a soft trickle of blood down the back of his throat. He turned and hurried down the stairs, subtly pressing the sides of his hood against his face on the way. Tessanna paused before poor confused Harruq, pitying his turmoil. She was still a stranger to him, and in a few fleeting days, she had come and stolen away his only brother.

“Harruq,” she said, her eyes locked on his toes. “I just…I want to thank you.” She kissed his cheek, blushed, and then fled down the stairs. The half-orc stood there long after they left, hating and loving his brother and his girl with the deep black eyes.

T arlak waited for them at the bottom, his arms crossed and his foot steadily tapping the floor.

“Going somewhere?” he asked.

“We are leaving the Eschaton,” Qurrah said. “We have a new home, and wish to move on.”

The wizard nodded, his expression dire. “Good. Then I have just one thing to say to you.” He strode over to Qurrah, reached into his pocket, and then pulled out a small, silver scorpion. It was exquisitely carved and dangled from a chain of gold. He handed it to Qurrah, who held it close to his face and opened his mouth in wonder.

“You will always be an Eschaton, and so I give you a parting gift. It is a token, representing your ties to us. Brug spent many hours working on that one, and I’m not sure what all it does. Tell it to awake.”

Qurrah glanced at the wizard, his confusion apparent. “Awake?”

“Not ask, order it.”

The half-orc shrugged. He held the medallion higher, impressed with the life-like detail and size. The pinchers were sharp, and the tail curled and ready to strike. “Awake,” he told it, his voice firm. At once, color flooded the silver. It crawled about to face its master, snapping its claws repeatedly.

“Many wizards have a familiar,” Tarlak said, smiling at the scorpion. “Brug decided you should have one as well. You won’t have many of the same connections that most mages do, but I do know you won’t end up in a coma for a week if this little guy gets squashed.”

Qurrah brought his hand back and clicked with his tongue. The scorpion crawled onto his shoulder and nestled down into the black cloth.

“It is a fine gift,” the half-orc said. “Far better than I deserve.”

“You saved my sister,” Tarlak said. “It is far less than what you deserve, but take it as an effort to thank you, just the same.”

Qurrah shifted the rucksack to his other shoulder. “We will return occasionally. Make sure my brother is well each time I do.”

“Other than a few bruises and broken bones from Haern, he should be just fine.”

Tarlak bowed, and Qurrah returned it. Tessanna joined his side, stroking the scorpion.

“Pretty,” she said. “And creepy. I love it.”

Her laughter still echoed when they shut the door and left the tower.

H arruq was miserable the rest of the day, not brightening up even when presented with another bountiful feast for dinner. He picked at the food, and then pushed the plate away. He left without a word.

“Someone needs to cheer that guy up,” Tarlak said, shoving pieces of chicken into his mouth.

“He will be alright,” Aurelia said. “Give him time.”

“I’ll set him straight tomorrow if he isn’t,” Haern said, smiling. His hood was nowhere in sight, and his smile a bright sun to the somber table.

T he stars shine well this night,” Aurelia said, approaching the lone half-orc. They were a mile south of the tower. The Eschaton tower and its surrounding forest were far away. Only hills and stars blessed their eyes. “They do so to light your way, and the way of your brother.”

“Don’t feel like talking, Aurry,” Harruq said. His back was to her, hunched over and his head low. His eyes looked to the ground as much as they looked to the sky.

“I know,” she said, sitting beside him in the grass. “Do you know why he left? It’s because he must, Harruq. You two are brothers, closer than most humans and elves ever become to their kin, but you are not the same. You cannot walk the same path forever.”

Harruq remained silent, absently picking at the grass.

“It’s normal to miss him,” she continued. “Please don’t dwell upon it, though. You have friends here, and your brother is not alone.”

“He has her,” he said.

“And you have me,” Aurelia said. Her fingers touched his chin, turning his face to hers. “Did you mean what you said earlier?”

Harruq met her gaze, a bit of anger flaring into his eyes, but then he pulled away and looked to his feet. “Yeah. I did.”

The elf slid closer and wrapped her arms around him. Her head rested on his shoulder. She felt his muscles stiffen, and she sensed the instinctive discomfort it caused him.

“Don’t look at your feet, dummy. The stars are far prettier.”

He chuckled, mumbling some sort of protest. He looked to the stars. Long moments passed, quiet and warm, as they gazed at the beacons of white locked into the black painting above. Finally, Aurelia stood, brushing off grass from her dress. She pulled a silver ring off her right hand and held it out to him.

“Take this.”

“What’s it for?” he asked, accepting it. The silver twinkled in the starlight. Such a beautiful token seemed out of place on his rough, dirty hands.

“One day you’ll understand,” she said. She knelt and kissed his forehead. “All you give me I will return,” she whispered. “Anything, and everything.”

With those words, she left him to his thoughts. He twirled the silver ring, mesmerized by the reflection. When he returned to the tower, he placed the ring underneath his pillow and did his best not to look at the vacant bed beside him.