The Cost of Betrayal

14

H arruq’s days began with Haern’s training, and they ended with Aurelia and the stars. The half-orc tested the waters by holding her hand one night, and he found the lightness of his heart and the fierce tingling of his fingers quite addictive. Soon, they relegated the stars to only occasional viewing, as they found each other far more interesting.

Qurrah had been gone for a month when Harruq popped the question… to Haern.

“If I wanted to propose to someone, what should I say?” he asked after a rigorous morning of sparring. Haern removed his hood, shook his blond hair, and then raised an eyebrow.

“Shall I assume there is a certain elf you wish to propose to?”

Harruq shrugged. “Maybe. Any ideas?”

Haern rubbed his chin, amused.

“First, set up the scene. Flowers. Stars. Make sure you’re alone. Oh yes, and make sure you bathed recently.”

“Ha, ha. Be serious.”

Haern laughed. “I am serious. No one wants to marry a smelly half-orc. Besides, there are other reasons, if you know what I mean.”

The half-orc’s reaction showed that he did. “Just shut up and go on,” he said.

“Not sure how I can do both, but very well. Tell her how much you love her, want to be with her, and then present her with the ring. This is after you get down on one knee, of course.”

“Why one knee?”

The assassin gave him an incredulous look. “You really don’t know anything, do you?”

Harruq crossed his arms. “Now when would I have been taught all this? Tutors? My parents? We street urchins aren’t known for playing dress up.”

“My apologies. You get down on one knee, like this, and then take her hand when you tell her all the mushy stuff.”

Tarlak came around the corner, a scroll in his hand, just as Haern was illustrating the proposal maneuver. He stopped, blinked twice, and then burst into laughter.

“Am I interrupting anything important?” he asked. Haern leapt to his feet, and for the first time ever, Harruq saw him blush.

“Helping out my dear half-orc friend, here,” he said, trying, and failing, to act nonchalant. “What is it you need?”

Tarlak gestured with the scroll. “Got a message for the King’s Watcher.”

Haern took the scroll, unfurled it, and read. A smile grew on his face as he did.

“Excellent,” he said, handing the scroll back to the wizard. “I’ll retrieve it tomorrow morning.”

“Retrieve what?” Harruq asked.

“The King doesn’t pay Haern just in gold for his services,” Tarlak explained. “He pays in magical items. This one is for five more years of loyalty.”

“You didn’t answer my question,” the half-orc said.

“You’ll see tomorrow,” Haern said, winking. “By the way, do you have a ring to give Aurelia?”

“Aye.”

“Where did you get it?” Haern asked.

“Ring?” Tarlak interrupted. “So you finally found the guts, eh?”

“Aurry gave it to me,” Harruq said. “So she’s not going to be too surprised.”

“Proposing with the girl’s own ring? Nonsense!” Tarlak wrapped an arm around the giant man. “Listen here, we have one of the finest metalworkers in all the realms right in this tower, and he’s not too bad with jewelry, either. Find some way to pay him, and I’m sure Brug can make you a ring that’ll knock the eyes out of Aurelia’s head.”

“Brug? He’d feed my manhood to a dog if I gave him a fork.”

“All show. I’ll come with you. Trust me, that guy is a softie at heart, and when he hears it’s for love, he’ll melt like a tub of lard.”

“Alright,” Harruq said, shooting Haern a worried glance as Tarlak led them into the tower.

N ot no bloody-abyssy-way!”

“Like lard?” Harruq muttered, jabbing Tarlak with his elbow.

“I know you have plenty of precious gems for all your little toys,” the wizard said. “Are you telling me you can’t spare one?”

“Not just my gems you want,” he said, storming to the other side of his room, not bothering to step over the pieces of armor. Metal clanged and banged as they flew this way and that. “You want me to take the time to carve a ring, decorate it, and why not, even throw on a magical effect or two. No problem! I’ll drop everything just for that.”

“Harruq needs a ring to propose to Aurelia with, and you’re the best for the job,” Tarlak argued.

“Propose!” Brug’s eyes bugged out of his head. “This lame-wit porridge-skin muscle-brained dog is going to marry HER? Go find a clump of dirt for your ring and propose to a pig somewhere, that’d be a more appropriate coupling.”

Tarlak winced and waited for the half-orc to detonate. He didn’t. Instead, Harruq said, “I’ll make sure Aurry knows. I’m sure she’ll be thankful, if she believes you made it.”

“What do you mean by that?” Brug asked. He kicked his grinding wheel. “I can make any damn thing in all Dezrel. You telling me she won’t believe I could craft a gorgeous ring?”

“Well, not unless your name was on it or something,” he said with a shrug. “Come on, a pudgy-fingered roundbelly like you making rings? I’m surprised Tarlak thought you could.”

“My fingers are not pudgy!” he shouted. “And I know what you’re doing, making me all upset and proud so I’ll prove you wrong. Well, what if I make a ring, give it to her, and you don’t ever get to see it at all?”

“Brug,” Tarlak said, his patience clearly ended. “Just shut up, do a good job, and accept my thanks, his thanks, and Aurelia’s thanks. Understood?”

“Fine. I’ll do it, but it won’t be my best work or anything. And I’m only doing it for Aurelia. If she’s going to be married to that idiot, at least she’ll have something pretty to help endure her wedding day.”

“Very funny,” Harruq said, and then, quieter, “I’m gonna kill him, Tar, I swear, I’m gonna kill him.”

“Thank you, Brug,” Tarlak said, shoving Harruq out as fast as he could.

The next day, Harruq waited for Haern, running his hand across the dew-covered grass and dozing off. He awoke at the sound of approaching footsteps.

“Please forgive my tardiness,” Haern said, pulling back his hood. Youthful joy sparkled in his eyes. “Ready to begin?”

Harruq drew his swords. “So what’s your new toy?”

“It will be more fun just showing you,” he said. He drew his sabers and tapped them together, a sign to begin. Harruq approached, lacking the reckless hurry he had shown in his earlier sessions. The two circled each other, each waiting for the first move. An obvious feint by the assassin sent Harruq in motion, one sword slashing high, his other kept back to block. Haern rushed forward, his swords high.

And then he was not there.

The half-orc slashed air, staggering forward as the expected block did not come. He whirled about to see Haern directly behind him, sporting a huge grin on his face.

“How in the abyss did you do that?” he asked.

“You mean this?” Haern asked. His entire body grew fuzzy and then he was gone. A finger tapped his shoulder. Harruq jumped. Haern stood behind him once more.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” he muttered.

“Short range magic,” Haern explained, showing him a simple silver band on his right hand. “It places me seven feet directly ahead. It is but a parlor trick, one that you will grow accustomed to. Those who have not fought me before, however-” his grin was dark and mischievous, “-I only need to fool them once.”

“Craziness,” Harruq said. “Pure craziness. But just straight ahead?”

“Yes. Not up or down or backwards.”

“Good. Ready to go?”

The assassin tapped his blades. Harruq charged, and even though he still batted his swords away with ease, Haern was pleased by the increased speed and skill his apprentice showed. A quick parry sent Salvation out of position, and a saber stabbed in to take advantage. Harruq, having purposefully given the opening, twisted to the side, the thrusting cutting wide. He slashed with both swords at the over-extended assassin.

When he struck air, the half-orc turned and swung, expecting his foe to be lunging from behind. Instead, he saw no one.

“Clever,” Haern said, poking a saber into his back. “But predictable.”

The half-orc turned around, his face the epitome of annoyance.

“You said you could only go forward,” he said.

“I did,” Haern said, his grin wide. “I never said I couldn’t turn around and activate it immediately after.”

“That’s it. I’m not sparring you anymore.”

“Alright, alright. I won’t use it for the rest of the day. Happy?”

“Yup.” Harruq clanged his blades together, their ring matched by another from Haern’s. “Let’s rumble.”

And rumble they did, and for the first time Harruq scored four kills to Haern’s ten. His previous best in a day was two.

A week later, Harruq heard loud grumbling coming up the stairs. He lay on his bed, recuperating after a rough assignment from Tarlak to show a coldhearted merchant that his wealth didn’t make him immune to retribution and justice. The half-orc’s ribs still hurt from a tumble with the merchant’s guards.

“That you, cheerful?” he shouted to the stairs.

“Nah, it’s the ogre patrol, here to take you back to your swamp.” Brug was in a surlier mood than usual, and he stomped into the room wearing a scrunched frown.

“Ogre’s out back on a chain,” Harruq said, doing his best not to wince when he sat up.

“Shaddup you. Now take it and be grateful.” He thrust out his hand, which held a tiny wooden jewelry box. The half-orc took it, popped open the top, and then felt his jaw drop and his eyes nearly fall from his head. Hand shaking, he took out the ring and held it for a closer look.

Brug had carved the ring from two pieces of interlocking silver, twirling them together in an eternal braid. Three inset diamonds shone across the top. Welded across the braids were the shapes of a scorpion and a spider, each facing the diamonds. Faint writing covered both sides.

“What’s it mean?” he asked, turning it around in his hands.

“Mean? What does what mean?” Brug had his arms crossed and his back to the half-orc, although he kept peeking to see his reaction.

“The writing, I can’t read it.”

“Scorpion side is orcish. Other’s is elvish. Aurry’s got this thing with spiders, and you got that scorpion on your armor, so it made sense. Both say love. Well, the elvish side says love. Orcs don’t really have a word for love, so I had to make it up. Eternal friend was the best I could do. Not too worried. I don’t expect any orc to correct my butchering of their guttural pig squealings.”

Harruq returned the ring to its box, his chest aflutter. He had a ring. He had everyone waiting for him. The gods help him, he was actually going to propose.

“Make sure you treat her good,” Brug said, interrupting his thoughts. “Something like that’s sturdy, but if she breaks, good luck ever fixing it.”

“Didn’t know you cared so much for Aurry,” he said. Brug’s face flushed.

“I meant the ring,” he lied.

“Of course you did. Thank you. I’ll never be able to repay you.”

“Don’t I know it.”

He stormed out of the room and down the stairs, mumbling the whole way. Once he was gone, Harruq took out the ring and held it, mesmerized.

“So,” he said, twisting the ring in the light. “Now I need stars, flowers.” He sighed. “A bath.”

N ight came too slow for the half-orc. He found a hill close to the tower that still had a patch of late-blooming flowers. He placed a blanket atop it, covered it with petals, and then topped it off with a bottle of strange, bubbly stuff that Tarlak had promised the elf would love. When finished, he paced his bedroom, working over how he would propose.

“How’s it going, loverboy?” Tarlak asked, entering his room without knocking. “Been pacing for two hours, I’m guessing. My poor floor.”

“Can’t figure out what to say,” he said. “No clue. I got no clue.”

“You’ll be fine,” Tarlak assured him. “Try to say something romantic, and if you bumble out nonsense, she’ll just find it cute. Now come down. Dinnertime.”

A fter dinner, Harruq did his best to nonchalantly invite Aurelia out to stargaze.

“Wanna go outside?” he asked.

“Outside?” she asked back.

“You know. Outside.”

“Oh. Outside. Sure thing, cutie.”

As the two left the tower, Tarlak shot him a wink. You’ll be fine, he mouthed. Harruq rolled his eyes briefly to show his opinion of that assessment.

O oooh, someone was prepared tonight,” Aurelia said when she spotted the blanket. “Is the grass too scratchy for my poor half-orcie’s skin?”

“Just, you know, thought it’d be nice.” He wrung his hands, his nervousness nearly immobilizing him. He had fought skilled elves in combat. He had witnessed the dead walk. He had spent countless nights in the presence of the dark prophet Velixar. Cake, all cake compared to this.

“It is nice,” she said, sitting in the middle of the blanket. She picked up one of the flowers and inhaled.

“Fall roses,” she said. “You’re up to something.”

“No, I’m not,” he said, far too quickly.

“Then what is this for?” she asked, picking up the bottle he had left and tilting it side to side. “Did you think it would be nice, too?”

“Yes, I did. That a crime?”

“I’ll have to check. Sit, before I get cold and lonely.”

He sat down, wrapped an arm around her shoulder, and stared at the star-filled sky while she nestled her head against his neck.

Ask her now, he thought. Just get up, ask her, and get this whole thing over with. No, that’s too fast. Got to be all romantic, like Haern said. Or was it Tar? Besides, I can’t kneel like this. Ah, screw kneeling. Just pop the question, give her the ring, let her say no, and then be done with.

“You alright?” Aurelia asked, glancing at him. “You look rather troubled.”

“Nothing,” he said. “Just thinking.”

Thinking. Yeah. She knows. She has to know. She’s smart, you’re dumb, and now there’s no point. Do it later. Next week. Next year.

A stubborn part of him reared to life.

You will not do it later, you spineless chicken. Now get up on one knee and propose you sissy!

“I am not a sissy,” he grumbled without realizing he spoke aloud.

“Course not,” Aurelia said, jabbing him. “But what are you being a sissy about?”

Just do it now! a part of him shrieked.

Forget it! Time’s wrong! You’re not ready! Don’t do it! shrieked another.

“Aurry…” He hesitated. She looked at him, her hair fallen to one side of her face. Moonlight bathed her soft cheeks and brown eyes. He brushed her hair behind her pointed ear, his eyes lingering on her full lips. His heart, and resistance, melted away. “Aurry, I got something I want to ask you.”

“What is it, Harruq?” She tilted her head to one side. Harruq broke from her grasp and stood.

“Aurry, I think you know, but…do you know how much I love you?”

“Yes,” she said. “I do.”

He fumbled for the small box in his pocket, his fingers shaking.

“Then, will you do me the honor of, um, being…will you marry me?”

Off came the lid. The ring sparkled silver and white, tiny circles glowing and fading like an open field filled with fireflies. The three diamonds shone a smoky blue, powered by the light of the moon. When Harruq removed the ring and held it out to her, the color trailed behind it, an afterimage of the deep ocean in the night. Her slender fingers accepted the ring.

“Of course I will, Harruq,” she said, tears streaming down her cheeks. “Of course I will.”

His relief was indescribable, as was the joy that replaced all the fear, doubt, and worry he had built up the past few weeks. She slipped the ring on as Harruq wrapped her in his arms.

Forever, he thought. I’ll remember this forever.

They announced the news as the Eschaton broke their fast. Everyone cheered, including Brug, although his was limited to a few quick claps before diving into his meal with ferocious intensity.

“About time,” Tarlak said. “I think I speak for everyone when I say the wait was driving us insane.”

“Are you going to have a wedding?” Delysia asked, staring at the ring in awe.

“Are we, Harruq?” the elf asked, jabbing her fiance with her elbow.

“Um, uh, yes?”

Aurelia smiled. “Good boy.”

“You’re a lucky man,” Haern said, rising from his seat so he could shake both of their hands. “Did he kneel correctly?” he asked Aurelia as he kissed her wrist.

“He didn’t kneel at all,” she said.

“No kneeling? Egad, you’re marrying a dimwit,” Brug said. When all eyes turned to him, he pretended to have said nothing. Aurelia, though, did not let him off so easily.

“It was a lovely ring you made me,” she said, gliding over to where he sat. “I don’t think I can ever thank you enough for helping my dimwit.”

“Was nothing,” he mumbled.

“It was everything,” she corrected. She kissed him on the forehead, drawing forth the red cheeks and ears that sent everyone into laughter.

“You’re evil,” he said.

“I know. I love it.”

“You are one to be envied,” Tarlak said to Harruq. He stood and grabbed his glass. “A toast for the groom and bride-to-be?”

Everyone joined in a toast for a long, healthy marriage. Except for Brug. His toast was for a decent meal after the wedding.

T hey set a date for two weeks later, neither seeing reason for drawing out the engagement. Harruq had no clue what to do, about the wedding, preparation, dress, or even why they were not already married.

“She’s got my ring, and she’s wearing it,” he argued. “Why aren’t we married?”

“Because someone other than you two needs to say you are,” Delysia explained. “Ashhur needs to accept the union of your souls.”

“Ashhur? When did I start caring what he thought?”

The priestess winked. “Since now. I’ll get you ready while Haern helps Aurelia with the wedding.”

“Wait, if Haern’s doing wedding stuff, what are you helping me with?”

Her evil, mocking laugh was far from comforting.

Minutes later, Harruq sat outside with a towel wrapped around his neck. His hair was dripping wet. Delysia sat behind him, a gleaming pair of scissors in her hand.

“When was the last time you had your hair cut?” she asked.

“Couple months at least. You’d have to ask Aurry.”

“No need,” she said, snipping away. “We need you dashing for your wedding. Long, homeless half-orc hair is not going to cut it.”

“Me? Dashing?” he tried to glance back but she held his head in place. “How the abyss are you going to do that?”

“My life is devoted to miracles,” she said.

“Ha, ha, ha,” he said.

“Keep still, unless you want to lose an ear,” she said.

“Wouldn’t that ruin the whole dashing thing?”

A loud snip made him jump. “I’d heal them afterward.”

The way she said it, without a hint of jest, terrified him. He sat still as a stone until she removed the towel. Unfinished, though, she examined his face, tapping her lips as she did.

“Do you shave?” she asked.

“Shave? Not really. I don’t think elves are known for their facial hair.”

She ran a slender finger across the brown stubble covering his jaw line.

“Obviously, it is time you learn.” She pulled out a thin razor, which gleamed in the morning light.

“Is this going to hurt?” he asked.

“You’ve never shaved before, correct?” Delysia asked.

“Nope.”

“Then no, it won’t hurt,” she said as she pressed the razor to the side of his face.