David Dalglish - The Cost of Betrayal

At that time, Lathaar was deep in a haunted forest, battling against an ancient demon composed of pure darkness. If asked, the paladin would have shaken his head and refused to switch places. There are worse things in life than demons.

H ey, Qurrah?” Harruq asked that night.

“Are these late-night conversations going to become common?” his brother muttered into his pillow. They finally slept in beds, although crates and supplies still surrounded them. Tarlak had said the portable hole would be longer acquiring than he thought, given his underestimation of their rarity. The beds, however, he had carted up the stairs with a few tricks of shrink and enlarge magic. The sheets, pillows, and blankets were all white, courtesy of Delysia. Stitched across their lengths was a golden mountain.

“What’s that?” Harruq had asked her.

“The symbol for Ashhur. It’ll help you sleep better, I promise.”

The symbol didn’t seem to be working, so instead he stared at the ceiling and talked to his brother.

“Do you…do you like it here?” Harruq asked.

Qurrah sighed, and his weak voice grew greater in volume and tone.

“Let’s address this right now, shall we?” he said. Harruq squirmed uncomfortably. “You are happy, and enjoy this place, but since happiness is a rarity for us, you worry something is wrong, and if it is not you, then it must be me. I don’t fit in well, brother, but the people are mostly kind, the food is grand, and our beds are padded and warm. What better accommodations have we ever had? None. So stop worrying about my happiness. And that goes for Aurelia as well.”

“Not sure if Aurry is worrying too much about you,” he said, trying to lighten the mood.

“Don’t be stupid. You know what I mean, or will, given time.”

Again Harruq squirmed. Yes, he knew what his brother meant.

“I love her, Qurrah,” he whispered into the quiet. It seemed an eternity before Qurrah responded.

“I know. Go to sleep.”

He did. Qurrah followed him into slumber, but only after kicking the blanket with the golden mountain to the floor. Only then could he sleep peacefully, the black-haired girl returning to his dreams.

B oth were awake before the dawn. They spoke little. Qurrah assumed, correctly, that his brother prepared for practice. Harruq assumed, incorrectly, that his brother did the same. They parted, the warrior circling north around the tower, the necromancer heading southeast.

The center of Veldaren was blessedly empty. Qurrah sat on the edge of the fountain, dabbing a hand in the water. Nervousness gnawed at his heart. She had power, how much he didn’t know, but for her to dive into his mind and twist his own defenses against him showed a mind sharper than the blades his brother carried. Time passed, and the sun crawled its way above the walls of the town.

“Why do you delay?” Qurrah muttered. “Surely by no fear of me.”

More and more people passed by, giving him curious glances as they did. Still no Tessanna.

After an hour, he felt a very familiar thorn enter his mind.

You wait for me, he heard inside his skull, the voice delicate and shy.

I wish to speak with you, he replied silently.

It is more than that. You border on obsession.

His anger flared. Do not say what you know is untrue.

A resolve hard as iron overtook the delicate voice in his head, banishing any trace of weakness.

I have drunk from your mind, Qurrah Tun. I know what you are, but I will come. I, too, am curious.

Tessanna stepped into view, walking slowly up the southern road. She had cut her ragged dress even higher than before, exposing much of her thighs. For the first time, she and Qurrah met face to face, and the chill running up his back gave credence to the words of the baker. Only a shred of white encircled the outer edges of her eyes. The rest was completely black, both her irises and pupils. Her stare was blatant and powerful. She could see through him, and he knew it.

She approached, her dagger in her right hand. Qurrah could not move, could not even speak, as she stopped less than a foot in front of him. He felt like an old, lumbering giant compared to her. Her forehead only came up to his chin.

“Hello. I am Tessanna Delone,” she said, her voice cruel and hard. “You wished to speak with me?”

Qurrah wondered where the soft, giggling girl of the day before had gone.

“My thoughts refuse to waiver,” he said. “I had to see your face, lest I lose my mind forever.”

“You should let it go then,” she said. “I did years ago. The freedom is a thrill.”

She outstretched her left arm over the fountain. The dagger pressed the underside, just above her elbow.

“Why do you bleed yourself?” he asked her. “Why the runes? Why the pain?”

“You ever ask people why they fuck?” she shot back. “Feels good. Feels normal. Anyone ever ask you why the scent of the dead riles your blood?”

Red anger filled his pale face. “How dare you…”

“You want to speak to me? Fine. Let’s see how obsessed you really are.”

The dagger slashed, quick and vicious. This was not like her previous days of carving, instead she cut one long, open wound that poured blood like a crimson rain into the fountain. Tessanna closed her eyes and inhaled deeply. She clenched her muscles, and then the flow grew in power. Qurrah stared, his mouth agape. When she reopened her eyes, her entire countenance had changed. She giggled.

“I’m sorry. I’m having too much fun. Here come the guards.”

Several armored men bullied themselves past Qurrah, the necromancer unaware of their approach. They surrounded the girl, their swords drawn.

“Enough’s enough,” the lead guard said. “You won’t make a fuss, right?”

“Of course not,” he heard her say. “But you might have to grab me. I won’t fight too much.” She giggled again. Something carnal underneath the sound made Qurrah tremble. Unlike the cold shiver when he had seen her eyes, this one was one of fire.

The guards, ignoring Qurrah completely, marched Tessanna toward the castle. He watched them depart, slowly realizing what it was the girl had just done.

“I do not take kindly to being tested,” he said. The whip tightened around his arm, sensing bloodshed to come.

I n the northwestern corner of Veldaren, tucked against the giant beauty of the stone castle like a swollen, mutated foot, was the prison. The construction was simple and practical. It looked like a giant box, with barred windows, half below ground, half above. Inside, however, was far more twisted and complicated than any rational mind could devise. Qurrah wasn’t known for his rational mind. He arrived at nightfall.

The moon was a thin sliver of light in the darkness. For this, Qurrah was grateful, for his mixed blood would grant him sight in the darkness. Two bored soldiers guarded the locked iron doors leading into the prison. Another guard looped around the compound, his gait slow and his eyes dull. A single spell put him to the ground. A second put out his torch. Qurrah made no pretense of hiding the body. In a minute or two, the front guards would notice. Still, he did not hurry.

Qurrah felt her presence as a physical pull on his chest, one he could see when he closed his eyes. He approached her window and pressed his face against the cold bars. Tessanna sat on an aged bench, her wrists bound together by rusted metal and chained to shackles around her ankles. A second chain ran up her chest, around her neck, and then attached to a metal plate bolted into the stone.

“Tessanna,” he whispered.

“Why are you here?” she asked. Her voice was devoid of all emotion, the sound of perfect apathy.

“Do you wish to be freed?” he asked, ignoring her question. She never moved her head to look at him.