The Cost of Betrayal

15

H is face decorated with thin cuts, he sulked for the next two days, ignoring all pleas from Delysia to prepare for the wedding, caving only after Aurelia threatened to polymorph him into a caterpillar.

“So what do you plan on wearing?” Delysia asked him. They sat in Harruq’s room, speaking for the first time since the shaving incident. The half-orc shrugged and gestured to his armor with a careless wave of his hand.

“That’s the best I got, really.”

The girl frowned at the black armor.

“Hardly elegant. What will you wear underneath?”

“What I’m wearing now.”

Delysia’s frown sank to a new level of disagreement. He wore brown pants and a weathered white shirt stained a wide variety of colors. The sleeves were frayed around the edges, and in many places the fabric had begun separating.

“Under no circumstances are you wearing that,” she declared. “I’ll see what we can do about getting you clothes. Put your armor on, and let me see how it looks. Perhaps if we polished it up a bit…”

He strapped on the various pieces of stained leather, muttering to himself. His appearance was one thing, but he spent hours each day making sure his swords sang when swung through the air, and that his armor shone clean and bright whenever worn.

“Look good?” he asked. He flexed his muscles and posed.

“It’ll do,” she said, pinching her lower lip with her fingers. “Maybe some red underneath, your shirt for instance, and then get you some nice pants. Something is missing, though.”

“What?” he asked. Far as he could tell, he had every piece of armor strapped on. Delysia continued staring, deep in thought.

“Of course! Take off your pauldrons.”

Harruq shrugged, unlaced his armor and handed them to her.

“Here,” he said. “Ruin them and I’ll kill you.”

“So melodramatic,” Delysia said, tucking them underneath her arm. “I’m heading to Veldaren to buy you some clothes.” She pulled out a long strand of rope with markings all along the side. “Stand up straight so I can measure you.”

The half-orc endured the seemingly hundreds of measurements with calm, quiet grumbling. Finished, Delysia mentally rehearsed numbers, eyeing him with a growing smile.

“What?” he asked.

“You’re so cute. You’re being domesticated.”

She fled down the stairs, a barrage of pillows, bed sheets, and other non-lethal objects hurling after her.

T wo days later, Delysia barged into Harruq’s room with an armful of clothes.

“I need a door,” he said.

“Don’t worry, I won’t peek,” she said, tossing him pants and a shirt. She put a bundle of black cloth on his bed, not yet unfurling it. “Now put those on.”

He did as commanded after the priestess turned around. She knew when to look by the half-orc’s complaints.

“You must be pulling jokes, missy.”

She beamed when she saw him. The black pants were a bit too loose, but she could fix that, and she was still proud of the exquisite stitching along their sides, so small and tight as to be invisible. The shirt was a bright red, with the sleeves and chest lined with tiny silver buttons.

“I look like an idiot,” he said.

“You haven’t finished yet,” she said, rushing over to him. She buttoned his wrists and then his chest, all the while telling him how dashing he looked.

“You’ve lost your mind,” was his response. “This is not me. What are these pants made of? They itch like a whore’s…”

He wisely didn’t finish the rest.

“Sorry,” he said instead.

“Just put your armor on,” she said, a bit of her good mood dampened. Harruq felt bad, so he buckled his armor without complaint. It gleamed brighter than usual, the result of extra attention by a half-orc determined to show Delysia he was trying.

“Where’s my shoulders?” Harruq asked when he was almost done.

“Right here,” she said, grabbing the wad of black cloth and unfurling it. The half-orc coughed at the sight. Attached by silver clasps to his shoulder guards was a long, flowing black cloak. She turned it back and forth for him to see. Across the back of the cape was a giant red scorpion, identical to the one across the chest of his armor.

“I’m wearing a cape?” he asked, staring as if it were dangerous. “Surely you’re joking.”

“I’m hurt,” she said, her lower lip pouting. “I attached it myself, and stitched on the scorpion. Trust me, you’ll love it. Now put these on.”

She handed them to him, which he took without a word. He slid the shoulders on. The cloak billowed down his back and teased his elbows. He slid his arms across the fabric, pondering. Suddenly, he had a desperate urge to see himself.

“One sec, going to go look at myself in a stream,” he said, marching to the door, a childlike thrill in his heart at the feel of his cloak trailing behind him.

“No need, I have a mirror right here.” She pulled a small square object from her pocket and gave it to him. Harruq took it and held it as far back as he could.

“Can’t really see too much,” he said.

“Grow and show,” Delysia said to the object. It squirmed in his hand. Startled, he let go. Instead of falling, it floated, grew many times its original size, and then hung suspended in air. Harruq grinned at the sight of himself in the floating mirror. His well-oiled armor perfectly matched the red and black clothes peeking out underneath, and as much as he hated to admit it, the cloak made him look a tiny bit dashing, like some noble rogue from fireside stories. Coupled with his long, well-cut hair, he had to admit. He looked good.

“You look like a prince,” Delysia said, smiling.

“Prince of orcs, maybe,” he said, twisting side to side. “Not sure who around here would follow a half-blood like me.”

“Oh please. You look spectacular. I’ll tell Aurelia to come up and see you.”

“No!” he said. “Let her wait until the wedding.”

The priestess laughed.

“Very well, then. That’s not too far away. I can wait to see her reaction until then.” She hugged him and gave him a quick peck on the cheek. “You’re too fun, Har. Too bad the elf got you first.”

A snap of her fingers returned the mirror to its original size. She caught it on its fall, slipped it into her pocket, and hugged him once more.

“Don’t worry about the clothes,” she said. “I’ll have Tarlak pay for them from your wages.”

“Out of my, hey, I thought these were gifts?”

Delysia stopped at the top of the stairs and glanced back. “That was silly. We’re not that nice around here.”

“Should have known,” he grumbled. His grumpiness could not last, though, not when he could glance down at his enchanted armor, ancient swords, and swirling cloak, and know he was a truly awesome sight.

E ven though winter neared, the weather was warm enough that a few blankets and each other’s warmth kept the outside bearable. Together, the soon-to-be wed couple nuzzled and held each other close.

“I’ve solved our dilemma,” Aurelia told him underneath the blanket of stars.

“What’s that?”

“Your brother. Instead of scrying for him, I’ll send him a message.”

“How’s that?”

She wiggled her fingers in loopy and exaggerated movements.

“There’s power in these here fingers. Tarlak taught me a spell that sends my voice to anyone in Dezrel. Whatever I say, he will hear, given a few seconds or so.”

Harruq grinned.

“Some neat stuff you mages know. All I do is swing a sword.”

Aurelia nestled her head against his chest and purred.

“Yes, but you do it well.”

“I guess that’s all that matters, eh?”

“You bet. Now hug me.”

He did as he was told.

I t was during lunch that Harruq thought to ask Aurelia who she invited to their wedding.

“Just Dieredon and Felewen.”

He hacked, and he did his best not to choke on his food.

“You want Dieredon to come? Are you insane?”

The elf tossed her hair over one shoulder.

“Possibly. I am marrying you, after all. Why, do you not want him here?”

“I don’t know, wouldn’t him wanting to kill me make things a little tense?”

She took her fork into her hand and pretended it was a bow. Imaginary arrows flew one after another across the table, each one accompanied by the joyful sound of her laughter.

“Har har har,” he said. “Not funny.”

“Of course it is,” Tarlak said, plopping down in a seat next to Aurelia. “What are we laughing at?”

“Harruq’s being a baby,” Aurelia explained, popping a cherry tomato in her mouth.

“Am not!”

“Are too!” the wizard shouted. He turned back to the elf. “About what, anyway?”

“I invited Dieredon to our wedding. Turns out he disapproves.”

The half-orc threw his hands up in surrender.

“Could make the part where we ask if anyone has objections interesting,” Tarlak mused.

“What?” the half-orc asked, very much worried.

“Nothing, dear,” Aurelia said, elbowing Tarlak in the side. “I’ll tell him to behave, and besides, seeing you do something civil for once might do him good.”

“Yes, the domesticated orc,” the wizard chipped in. Harruq’s glare was full of death promises.

“I’ll have to remember that,” she said, smiling at her fiance. “You’re my domesticated little orciepoo.”

“Why do I put up with all of you?” he asked, pushing away his plate and standing.

“Because you love us,” Tarlak said. “Well, you love me, anyway. Not sure about the lovely lady here.”

“Now now, Tar, I don’t need any competition for my Harruq’s love.”

“You guys are so…wrong,” the half-orc said, storming out the door. When he left, their laughter followed him down the hall.

“Should I worry about you stealing my love from me?” she asked him.

“Not really,” Tarlak replied, his grin spreading ear to ear. “His butt’s cute, but not that cute.”

They both lost control, laughing only harder when Haern came down the stairs with a most perplexed look on his face.

T hey would hold the wedding outside, cradled against the forest. Tarlak purchased a few extra chairs for seating, all at Harruq’s expense, of course. What Aurelia would wear they kept hidden from Harruq, just as his cape and clothing were hidden from her. No word had come from Qurrah and Tessanna, something that gnawed at Harruq even more with his wedding so close.

Felewen arrived three days before the ceremony. Her reception of Harruq was quiet but warm. The two elves talked for hours in Aurelia’s room. Many times Harruq stopped by the door, wishing to enter. Common decency held him at bay. Dieredon’s arrival the day after was just as quiet, but far less warm.

“Greetings, orc,” was all he said to Harruq. To the rest of the tower, he was charming, witty, and graceful. Time found ways to crawl ever slower, and come the eve of his wedding, Qurrah was yet to show.

“Think he’ll be here?” he asked his fiance, who was wrapped inside his arms, their backs pressed against a tree whose bark was smooth as pressed grass.

“You know him better than I. What do you think?”

He wrapped a blanket around them both, shivering in the cool air.

“I don’t know anymore. I think that is why I worry.”

Leaves rustled in the nearby forest as a soft wind blew through them. Aurelia kissed his cheek, and then settled right back down against his chest.

“He’ll come. There’s good in him somewhere, and I think he’s fond of me.”

“Hope you’re right.”

“So do I,” she whispered.

T he cold sensation of air against his legs pulled Harruq from his slumber. He groaned, tucking his knees to his chest for warmth. He lay there, halfway between sleep and consciousness, until the gnawing sensation of something missing forced his mind awake. The slender form in his arms was gone. Harruq sat up and looked around. Dew soaked his hands, back, and wetted the blanket that covered his waist. The sun was low on the horizon.

The sound of rustling grass alerted him to someone’s arrival.

“Aurry?” he asked, squinting against the light.

“Have they evicted you on your final night of freedom?” asked a quiet, raspy voice. Harruq beamed as his adjusting eyes spotted a frail form dressed in black robes.

“Brother!”

He staggered to his feet and wrapped him in a hug. Qurrah chuckled, offering a meager squeeze back. “I didn’t think you were coming,” Harruq said, grinning at him. “Why’d you take so long?”

“The elf’s spell told us to arrive by this morning. As far as I know, I am not late.”

“Did you bring the girl?”

Qurrah chuckled. “She did not wish to attend.”

Harruq was unsure of what to say that would not offend his brother, so he let the subject drop.

“Ah well. Come on, let’s get something to eat.”

Qurrah’s eyes glinted at the thought of food.

“That sounds wonderful,” he said.

Q urrah’s entrance to the tower was a mixed thing. The members of the Eschaton smiled and welcomed him, including Tarlak, but Felewen and Dieredon both lurched to their feet.

“I killed you,” Dieredon said, an arrow already drawn and ready. Qurrah pulled back his hood to reveal his face, and with his steeled eyes, he stared Dieredon down.

“I know, for I was there,” the half-orc said.

A deathly silence filled the room as the two faced off, the arrow not wavering even though the string was pulled fully taut.

“I will not have bloodshed in my tower,” Tarlak said.

“It is strange company you keep,” Dieredon said to the wizard, his body not moving. “Why should this one be left to live?”

“Do you wish me dead?” Qurrah asked, a sneer spread across his face. “I have seen my master murdered at your hands. I know my doom. The question is not whether I wish to live, but whether you wish me to die. You have released my brother from your condemnation. What have I done that he has not?”

“His eyes held regret when I was ready to take his life,” Dieredon said. “Yours openly invite it.”

“Regret is naught but fear in a different dress,” Qurrah said. “I do not know fear.”

“Enough!” Tarlak shouted. “Dieredon, put down your bow. Qurrah, outside, now. We have to talk.”

“No,” Qurrah said. “This elf thinks he can threaten any without worry. The supreme executioner, but he is wrong. There are those better than you, Dieredon. Faster. Wiser. Smarter. You are known only because you have murdered more than they. What have I done that you have not?”

Dieredon’s eyes narrowed. Tarlak grabbed his bag of spell components, expecting an arrow to let fly at any moment.

“You seek glory in death,” Dieredon said.

“Do not lie to me,” Qurrah said. “I am not alone in feeling the thrill of the kill. I fight with fire and darkness, you with steel and arrow. How are we different?”

“I value life!”

The whip slipped down Qurrah’s shoulder into his hand. Dieredon’s look was simple: try it and die.

Before he could, Aurelia stepped between them, her face calm as stone.

“Put down the bow,” she said. “If you harm him, I will kill you. Fail or not, I doubt you will sleep well with my death on your hands.”

The string relaxed, and the arrow slipped back into its quiver. Dieredon slung the bow across his back and gestured to the door.

“I wish to leave. Please do not block my way.”

Qurrah and Harruq stepped aside, giving him more than a wide berth. The elf glared at both as he left the tower. The door slammed shut, vicious enough that wood splintered.

“My apologies,” Tarlak said, greeting the half-orc with a handshake. “It seems you have a way with people.”

“I am used to that,” Qurrah said. “I will do my best to not agitate him further.”

“The fewer headaches the better,” the wizard agreed. “Besides, this is a happy day. A wedding day! Speaking of such, it is time I started preparing. Forgive me.”

He dashed up the stairs, a mischievous grin on his face.

Delysia gave Harruq a kiss on the cheek.

“We’ll start getting you prepared after lunch,” she told him before following Tarlak. Haern, who had remained calm and seated throughout the whole affair, clapped. When the two brothers glanced over, he grinned at them.

“You must be insane,” he said. “Few have stared down Dieredon and lived.”

“Not many have an elf named Aurelia to bail them out,” Aurelia said, kissing Harruq. “Time to put on my dress. You all behave.”

She turned to Felewen. “Will you help me with my dress?”

“With pleasure,” Felewen said. Arm and arm, they hurried up the stairs. When they were gone, Haern stood and crossed his arms.

“Awhile ago, we made a wager,” he said. “He who killed the most thieves would take her hand in marriage.”

“If I remember correctly, I had thirty-three,” Harruq said, bumping the number up by a couple from what he honestly remembered.

“And I had thirty-seven,” Haern said. “It appears we have a problem. You would not go back against your vow, would you?”

“You are such an idiot, brother,” Qurrah said, fighting back a smile.

“Wait a minute, you can’t marry her just because you got more kills than me!”

Tarlak came back down the stairs, two different over-extravagant hats in his hands.

“More kills when?” he asked.

“On the night Aurelia and your sister were injured,” Haern explained.

“What did you two finish at?”

“Haern says he got thirty-seven, while I only have thirty-three,” Harruq said.

“Really? I finished with thirty-nine. Who do I get to marry?”

Qurrah laughed at the look on his brother’s face.

“Delysia,” Haern said, not batting an eye. “Congratulations. When will the wedding be?”

Tarlak shook his head, taking the two hats back upstairs with him. “You all have problems.”

Qurrah laughed all the harder. Haern joined him, slapping Harruq across the back.

“The elf is all yours, half-orc. My sincerest congratulations.”

Haern left to speak with Dieredon. With Brug still upstairs snoring, that left just the two brothers standing in the entranceway. The mood fell silent, but it was not an awkward silence. The two shared it as brothers do, glad with their company, and knowing much of what the other thought.

“Never thought it’d come to this, eh?” Harruq finally asked.

“Never dared hope for it,” Qurrah said. He smiled at his brother. “Your mother would be so disappointed by you, Karak rest her orcish soul.”

“Amen to that,” he laughed, the tension of the past moments melting away into joy.