The Cost of Betrayal

8

W here to next?” Harruq asked. The two stood outside the bar, still trying to clean off spider fluids from their clothes and armor. “We only have a few more hours until morning.”

“We will finish before the stars fade,” Haern whispered, pulling his hood down tighter. “And I have no idea.”

“Aren’t you the best of leaders,” the half-orc grumbled. “Why am I following you, anyway? Aurry’s hurt, and you can’t find the one who did it.”

“Aurelia may very well be dead, Harruq.”

“She’s not!” he shouted. They halted in the dark alley, Harruq grabbing Haern’s shoulders and shoving him against a wall. “How can you be so heartless? Never say that. Never!”

Haern smiled when he saw tears forming in the half-orc’s eyes.

“No, she is not dead, but it is good to see your rage and sorrow. Remember why we fight this night. Now come. I may not know where to go, but I will find someone who does.”

A small, unshaven man stood outside the expansive mansion, glancing up and down the barren streets. The gray cloak of the Spider Guild was tied around his neck.

“Who is that?” Harruq asked, staring around the corner of a nearby building.

“I don’t know, but he wears the correct colors. Stay here.”

Haern looked up, judging the height. After a few seconds, he nodded, seeming pleased. Then, to the half-orc’s amazement, he leapt into the air without even a running start, vaulting all the way onto the roof.

“How the abyss did you do that?” Harruq asked. Haern placed a finger over his lips and pointed to the thief. The half-orc threw up his arms in surrender, figuring some sort of magic involved. He leaned back and enjoyed the show. Haern stalked across the roof, his eyes locked on his prey. The man most likely waited for word that the Watcher was dead and theft could begin without fear of reprisal. The mansion certainly had its treasures, but he would get no chance at them.

With the grace of a cat, Haern leapt again, his cloaks trailing behind him. He kept his sabers out and ready. His slender body descended, his cloaks somehow not making a sound despite the air whipping through them. Haern landed directly behind the thief, standing back to back. The assassin spun, the butts of his sabers smacking skull. The thief dropped like a stone.

Harruq helped drag the body into the alley. Haern propped him up, and then reached into a pocket beneath his cloaks. He pulled out a small green vial barely larger than his pinkie. He popped the cork and splashed a little inside the man’s mouth. Coughing and sputtering, he jolted back to life.

“Welcome back,” Haern whispered, pocketing the vial. “Stay silent, or things will have to turn brutal.”

The thief realized who it was and paled. “You!” he exclaimed. “I haven’t done nothing, I swear.”

“Quiet.” Haern glanced to Harruq. “Do you wish to torture him, or should I?”

“I doubt I’m as neat as you,” Harruq said. “Think we got the time?”

“No, please, what do you want, I’ll help you,” the thief cried.

Haern yanked him close. His eyes, looming out from a deep shadow that surrounded them, pierced into the thief’s soul. “Where is Thren hiding?”

“Oh come on, you can’t go asking me that. It’ll be my head.”

“It’ll be your tongue, your fingers, and your manhood if you don’t,” Haern said. “Now answer me.”

“I can’t!”

Haern placed the edges of his sabers against the man’s neck, and then slowly moved one downward until it pointed directly at his groin.

“Then there will be many other things you can’t do.”

“Wonder what it’d be like peeing through three holes,” Harruq said.

Haern faked a thrust, and that was all the man could take.

“They moved the headquarters!” he shouted. Haern smacked him across the face.

“Quieter, and calmer. Where did they move it to?”

“The Swine’s Pearls,” he said.

“Sounds like a nice place,” Harruq said. “New to me, though.”

“Just opened last month,” Haern whispered. “Your boss plays a dangerous game, little thief. Run home. Tell Thren I’m coming, and by tonight’s end, he will bleed at my feet.”

Haern removed his saber, and the thief fled. When he turned out of sight, the assassin gave chase, leaving the surprised Harruq standing far behind.

“What are you doing?” he shouted, sprinting after. Haern’s glare silenced any further shouts. Rounding about a corner, the half-orc grumbled as he watched Haern leap into air, grab a jagged brick halfway up a building, and then use it to propel himself to the roof.

“How am I supposed to follow you now?” he asked. He ran after, the fleeting image of gray cloak upon the rooftops as his only guide. They crisscrossed southwest, deep into the heart of the city. Harruq caught glimpses of Haern and their thief, who did not appear to realize he was followed. The half-orc ran on until he lost sight of both.

“Forget it,” he said, slowing to a walk. He gasped for air, his many bruises crying out in fresh pain. The gash on his forehead trickled blood atop his eyebrows, and he wiped it with the back of his hand. The hairs on his neck stood. He whirled about, his swords drawn. Haern stood there, grinning.

“You have gotten better,” he whispered.

“Don’t have much choice, do I?” he shot back. “What’s with the running? Where is the Pearl’s Swine place?”

“The Swine’s Pearls, and it is in the northwestern corner of Veldaren.”

Harruq sighed in surrender. “Alright, so why are we here?”

“Because the new headquarters is not the Swine’s Pearls. That fool had the audacity to lie to me. Come. Our friend has just arrived, and we must not let them prepare for our appearance.”

The half-orc smashed his swords together. He felt his adrenaline surge yet again, and he desperately hoped it would be enough. It had been a long night, after all.

“Let’s go make them pay for Aurry and Delysia,” he said.

The assassin drew his own sabers and flashed a wicked smile.

“The Watcher has come to collect.”

O n the outside, the new headquarters for the Spider Guild looked far from extravagant. To the passing eye, it appeared to be a small, poorly lit store offering vague, unsorted items, with only the hanging sign of a barrel and smith hammer offering any idea of what services might be appropriated inside. The two approached the door from either side. With a nod from Haern, Harruq kicked the door open, the half-orc following Haern in.

A few poor quality weapons lined some racks. Smithing and fletchery tools covered the others. Foul smelling barrels of ale filled an entire corner. Behind a rotted counter was a single unguarded door. Haern crossed the room silently. Harruq, on the other hand, stretched and popped his neck and back without worry for the sound. When his part of their impromptu plan arrived, he would do as expected, except he would do it loud and nasty.

Haern pushed the door open with the side of a saber. He put an ear to the crack and listened. He heard voices, one in particular loud and panicked. Perfect. Their thief friend had just arrived. The assassin nodded to Harruq, who cracked his knuckles.

“Disgusting habit,” Haern whispered across the room.

The half-orc chuckled.

“Let’s go already,” he said, spurring the man into action. Haern kicked the door all the way open and entered as a whirlwind of cutting steel. The room was a small, well-decorated entryway leading to a larger door. Their thief was in conversation with two guards blocking the way. They never had a chance to move. Haern buried one saber in the left guard’s eye, the other slicing the right guard’s stomach, spilling intestines to the floor.

The thief drew his dagger as the two guards fell dead to either side of him.

“You lied to me,” Haern whispered. He hit the dagger with a savage combination of chops. It flew to the floor. “You could have lived.” The thief turned to flee. Haern felled him before he took a single step. He twisted the blades when he pulled them free. Voices shouted from the other side of the door, their quick exchange having alerted those within.

“Ready, Harruq?” Haern shouted.

Before Harruq could answer, the door swung open, and armed guards rushed out. They wore little armor, and wielded shortswords and clubs. Outnumbering Haern six to one, they had little chance. The assassin dashed to the left, parrying away everything that came near him. The guards formed a semicircle, blocking any chance to retreat. Undaunted, Haern spun, whipping his multiple cloaks into a frenzy. The gray cloth twirled about, hiding the actions of the assassin’s blades. The first guard who tried a thrust watched his severed hand fly to the floor in a great spurt of blood.

The guards stared, unsure of what to do, and then Harruq barreled into the fight, his swords held high. The closest two died without a fight. Another tried to block Harruq’s double-chop, only to have his blade, and bones, shatter under the magical power of the twin blades. Haern leapt out of his cloak dance, running between two fleeing guards making for the larger door leading further into the complex. His curved blades sliced soft flesh. When he reached the far side of the room, he somersaulted off a wall and landed atop the guard whose hand he had severed. A vicious stab ended his life.

The remaining two, wounded by Haern’s pass, threw down their weapons and fled for the street. Harruq snarled at their cowardice.

“Let them go,” Haern shouted. “Thren is the one who must pay.”

The half-orc ignored him, charging after the fleeing guards. He flung Condemnation through the air. The sword blasted the nearest guard off his feet, the blade piercing through his back. Harruq yanked his sword free as he ran past. The final guard grabbed a sword from a rack and faced his attacker.

Haern shook his head. Such foolish anger had no place in battle. Focused anger, perhaps, but never uncontrolled idiocy. The half-orc still had much to learn. The killing was far from done.

Beyond the entryway was a much grander lounge. Red and blue pillows covered the floor. Thick red curtains sectioned off parts of the room for privacy. On the far side stood guildmaster Thren, a near perfect image of Haern, barring the aged look of his hands and his bulkier stature. Twenty members of the spider guild formed a shield between them.

“It is time to die, Watcher,” Thren said, his voice calm, unwavering. “The honor of thieves must be restored.”

He snapped his fingers. In one single mass, the twenty charged. Haern saluted their deaths with one saber, and then stunned them all by pulling his hood from his face.

“Halt!” Thren shouted. “By the gods, put down your weapons!”

Haern chuckled, shaking his gold hair loose.

“I have kept my face hidden for a long time,” he said, his voice no longer a whisper but strong and firm. “I feel it right you know the truth before you die.”

The members of the spider guild halted and glared. Many more spat and gestured obscenely, especially those that had grown up training with the guildmaster’s long lost son.

“You were to be our savior,” Thren said, pulling back his own hood. His hair was gold, and his eyes an ocean blue. “Every man and woman would have quaked at the sound of your name.”

“I am Haern, Watcher of the King. Men do quake at my name, but only those who deal in shadows and death.” He bowed to his father. “You have hurt those I love and I will not risk their harm for my sake again. Look upon my face, all of you. Those who see my face must die. May Ashhur take pity on your souls before casting you to Karak’s abyss.”

Thren sighed. “You have been dead to me for seven years. Nothing has changed. Those loyal to my name, slay this man, and receive the highest honor I may bestow. I will call you son, and my heir, to replace he whom you slay.”

Haern let his cloaks fall forward, hiding his arms and blades. The twenty resumed their charge, a wave of dagger and muscle. The assassin spun, a whirling disarray of cloth, blade, arm, and foot. Those that neared, died. Still they came.

Haern ducked his arm underneath a thrust, rotated a hundred and eighty degrees, and then slammed his foot into his attacker’s neck. His foot looped around, connecting with the chin of another. Two thieves attempted to flank him, timing their strikes in near perfect precision. Near perfect, however, was still not enough to draw blood. Haern halted the spinning of his body and leapt straight up. Stabs struck his cloaks trailing beneath him. As he fell, he sliced open one thief’s neck. His foot kicked backward after landing, crushing the other’s windpipe. Gasping for air, the man staggered away. Haern descend upon him, his twin sabers ending his suffering.

Seven lay dead at Haern’s feet, but more remained ready to strike. The thieves swarmed, surrounding him in a ring of biting daggers. Haern resumed his cloak dance, for no other purpose than to buy time. A few seconds later, Harruq arrived, having finished with the thief above.

“Which one of you shot Aurry?” he roared, decking the closest thief before trampling over his body to reach the others. “Was it you?” he asked, lopping off a thief’s arm. “Or was it you?” Condemnation took another man’s dagger, Salvation, his throat. “Or were you the coward?” That particular thief offered no resistance, instead turning tail and fleeing. Harruq was the faster. He cut him down, picked up his body, and threw it at two more. Haern needed no better distraction. He pulled out of his cloak dance and lunged, batting away several daggers to slip his sabers in between ribs.

The remaining guards backed away, their numbers advantage gone.

“Such a shame, my son,” Thren said from the far side of the room. He pulled out a small metal object from his pocket. “You are a beauty to behold, a beauty that must be broken beneath my heel.” He blew on the metal object, which emitted a high-pitched whistle. Curtains fell from the sides of the rooms, and in came the entire Spider Guild, more than a hundred men dressed in gray cloaks and armor.

“Crush them,” Thren shouted to his minions. “Bring forth the time of the thief once more!”

“That all you got?” Harruq roared, smashing his swords together so sparks flew for several feet in all directions. “Bring ‘em on!”

“To me,” Haern shouted. Harruq obeyed, joining his teacher. The two put their backs to a corner and faced their attackers.

“Any ideas?” Harruq asked, just before the multitude hit.

“Yes. Whoever kills more marries Aurelia.”

“What?”

The first wave hit, and freely the blood flowed.

“To the other side!” Haern screamed, charging into the throng. He spun and whirled with the grace of a dancer, his sabers blurry whirls about his body, with red specks flicking in all directions. He weaved his way through ten, leaving a bloody swath in his wake. Harruq bellowed, choosing a strategy more suitable to him. He used his greater reach and swung side to side, his strength and power massacring any who attempted to block. Daggers bit into his arms and chest, and the blood of him and his foes soaked his armor. As the pain of his cuts grew deeper, he lowered his head and charged right through a group of twelve. Bodies flew, bones broke, and Condemnation and Salvation drank in the death of others.

Harruq and Haern linked up on the other side of the room, corpses strewn in their wake. Still, a great many remained, although their tactic had changed. Instead of charging forward, they pulled back. To the front came several men, each armed with throwing daggers.

“How many you got?” Harruq asked.

“Nine.”

“Eleven.”

“I have plenty of time.”

They prepared another charge. Before they could, a blue portal ripped open in front of them, and out stepped a wizard in yellow robes. Daggers whirled toward his throat and chest only to ricochet off, unable to penetrate the magic enchantment surrounding his skin.

“How rude,” Tarlak said, glaring at the crowd. “Those could have hurt.” Electricity crackled across his hands. “Just like you hurt my sister.”

A great bolt of lightning sundered the opposite wall, charring the luckless souls caught in its way. The thieves rushed the wizard, but twin blades halted their attack. The two fighters, teacher and student, formed a shield before Tarlak, shredding the life from any who neared. Slowly a wall of the dead built before them. Tarlak shouted the words of a spell. His hands lunged, his fingers hooked in dual circles. A small ball of flame shot between Harruq and Haern, under the legs of a thief, and then hit the ground. A great rush of expanding fire filled the room, followed by screams.

The curtains on one wall caught fire, billowing red smoke. Haern swore when he saw it, knowing that it would not be long before the entire room was at a loss for air.

“No more fire!” he shouted to the wizard.

“Sure thing! Where’s your hat?”

“They deserve to see the face of their executioner.”

Tarlak shrugged, the words of another spell on his lips. A bolt of lightning leapt from his hands, struck a nearby thief, and then bounced to the next closest target. It continued until seven thieves lay dead on the ground, smoke wafting from their mouths and noses.

Haern looked about the room. His eyes narrowed as he spotted Thren still on the far side. A great bow was in his arms.

“Look out,” the assassin shouted, lunging for Tarlak. An arrow flew across the room, its aim straight for the wizard’s heart. Haern lashed out with his sword, but he knew his timing would be too slow. The arrow sank deep into flesh, but not that of the wizard. Harruq stood between Tarlak and Thren, his hand clutching the arrow embedded deep in his chest. With a shriek of pain, he tore it free.

“The poison…” Haern said.

“Won’t be able to take me down,” Harruq said. “You humans. Either cut off my head or rip out my heart.” He tossed the arrow to the ground, his eyes glaring into Thren’s. “And I’m guessing that you’re the one who shot Aurry.”

Biting cold air swirled out from Tarlak’s hands, freezing several men into stiff corpses. Some of the rogues fled, while those remaining readied their daggers and tensed in preparation for the onslaught.

“He is mine, Harruq,” Haern shouted. The half-orc ignored him. He charged the wall of daggers, regardless of any wounds he might take. Their thrusts came in, fast and deadly, but compared to the speed of his teacher, they were nothing. Harruq parried them away, shoved aside one thief, butchered another, and then continued on to Thren, who stood alone. The guildmaster drew two shortswords from his belt.

“Come, orc,” he said. “I yearn to kill this night.”

“Then yearn for this!” Harruq shouted, slamming down with both his swords.

O ut of my way,” Haern yelled, scattering the remaining few thieves with brutal cuts of his sabers.

The fire cast a red hue across the room, and smoke covered the roof. Sweat and blood clung to them like honey in the rapidly heating area. Tarlak slaughtered a few more with a bouncing ball of lightning.

“Help him!” he shouted, his back to Harruq and Thren. “I’ll guard your back.”

Haern nodded his appreciation, and then raced to his pupil. Harruq and Thren were deep in combat, slashing and parrying in a dance only the most skilled of blade wielders could create. Blood ran down the half-orc’s face and arms. Fresh blood. He was losing.

Thren lashed out twice with his sword, pulled back, and then feinted with the other. Harruq fell for the feint, Salvation swinging wide to block. The guildmaster stepped forward, his foot snapping out. His heel crushed cartilage as it connected with Harruq’s nose. He gasped in pain as blood exploded across his face and neck. He collapsed to his knees, his vision blurry and his arms limp.

“Miserable,” Thren muttered. He thrust his sword for Harruq’s eye.

Haern parried away the fatal thrust, giving his father a brutal kick. His foot smashed against the left side of his neck. The wise old fighter rolled with the blow, fell to one knee, and then slashed blind. Haern was already in the air before the swing. He landed with both knees on Thren’s shoulders, blasting the air from his lungs. Both sabers curled around his throat.

“You abandoned us,” Thren gasped, feeling the sharp edge cutting into his skin. “Now you come to murder us, murder your own father. I would not have tried killing the Watcher if I had known it was you.”

“You were a wretched father,” Haern whispered into Thren’s ear. “And I was not your son. I was your assassin, nothing more. Now, I am your better.”

He yanked both blades viciously to either side. Blood flowed. Thren died. The assassin stood, his cloaks wrapping about his body in the red haze. He pulled his hood back over his head, letting the comforting shadow hide all but the blue of his eyes…the eyes that shed tears despite the words he had spoken.

“Time to go,” Tarlak said, putting a hand on Haern’s shoulder. “Come on. I need help with the big guy.”

“I’ll be fine,” Harruq said, staggering to his feet. The movements jostled his face, and he clutched his shattered nose. “Damn it, always my nose.”

Tarlak hurried through a spell. A blue portal ripped open before him. Without another word, Harruq took two shaky steps and vanished through.

“He lied to me,” Haern whispered, staring at the body of his father.

“What are you talking about?” Tarlak asked. He put his arm around his good friend, trying to sound calm as he watched the spreading fire he had created.

“He knew I was his son. Perhaps for all these years, he knew. Yet he still tried to kill me.”

“It’s all over now,” Tarlak said, stepping toward his portal. “You have a better family now. You have us. Let’s go home. This smoke is killing me.”

Haern nodded. He gave one last look at his father, face down in a pool of his own drying blood, and then followed Tarlak home.

B rug greeted them at the door, his face sullen.

“Good to see you three alive,” he said, his normally boisterous voice subdued.

“How is Aurry,” Harruq asked, one hand still clutching his face.

“We’ll get that fixed up, and then you can go and see the elf,” Brug replied. Harruq nodded, stepped past him, and then collapsed. Brug caught his chest and held him steady.

“I’ll be alright,” Harruq mumbled. “I just need to…” His words trailed off as his body went limp.

“Just follow me,” Brug said. “Bedtime for you. You can say hi to your girl tomorrow.” He nodded to Tarlak and Haern before helping the half-orc up the stairs.

“Any wounds on yourself?” Tarlak asked, glancing over the assassin.

“None that will not heal in a few days. But I could greatly use a drink.”

Tarlak beamed.

“That, my friend, is something I can help you with.”