David Dalglish - The Cost of Betrayal

“No. I am fine. Go your own way.”

The half-orc ignored her again. He shifted next to the window and placed his hands against the wall. His body turned translucent, and like a ghost he slipped through. Grunting in pain, he absorbed the landing on his shoulder. When he stood, he wiped dirt from his robes and glared at her.

“Do not play games with me,” he said. “I should let you rot.”

Tessanna’s eyes remained cast to the floor, her long black hair hiding her face.

“Yes,” she said. “I should rot down here, so leave me be. You don’t know why you came, so why should I feel glad you did?”

In answer, Qurrah slapped her across the face. The sharp sound stirred the lone occupant in an adjacent cell.

“Whatcha doin’ over there girl? Found yourself a buddy?” A tanned man with dirty hair pressed against the bars.

“Hold your tongue, or I will kill you,” Qurrah said. The other man laughed.

“You can’t even touch me. How about you let me free, or I start screaming for guards?”

Qurrah started to cast a spell, but stopped when hands grabbed his robes. He startled when he glanced back at Tessanna. Her face had changed. Life burned in her eyes. Angry life. Before he could respond, she released his robes, pointed her shackled hands at the nuisance, and whispered a word of magic in a dark tongue of old.

“ Relnka, ” Qurrah heard. The prisoner gargled and coughed. Blood spilled out his lips, as well as his nose, his eyes, his ears, and every other orifice. He collapsed. Dark liquid pooled underneath his body as he silently died.

“I should bleed you as well,” she snarled at Qurrah.

“Try and you will die,” he shot back, wishing he felt as confident as he sounded. “I come as your savior. I will leave as your murderer.”

Tessanna held up her constricted hands.

“Release me.”

He touched the metal shackles and pondered. Unsure, he tried the same spell he had used to enter the cell. The metal swarmed with shadow, nearly glowing with its darkness, and then slipped to the ground, the flesh like air to it. When he started to cast the spell on her legs, she waved him off.

“Open,” she commanded, hooking her fingers in strange, fluid formations. The locks around her feet clicked and fell. She stood, tossing her hair off her face.

“How do we get out?” she asked. Not a bit of gratitude revealed its presence in her voice.

“You did not need me to free yourself. Why do you need me now?” Already he felt foolish. He was no savior to this girl. At any time, she could have cast aside the chains that held her.

“I cannot walk through walls,” she replied. “Locks are a different matter. We can leave through the front entrance, but people will die.”

“They will hunt you if we do,” Qurrah said. “Give me your hand.”

“No.”

He took it anyway. She glared at him, her eyes bulging with anger, but the anger melted away. He held her hand so gently. Qurrah closed his eyes to think, and when he opened them again, Tessanna was blushing. He raised an eyebrow.

“Your hand is soft,” she said in a quiet, shy voice. Qurrah pretended not to notice.

“Follow me. My former master taught me this spell, but I have never used it before.”

“You’ll do fine,” she said. “I know it.”

He cast the spell. A black door formed against the wall, constructed of shadows and magic. They stepped inside, the door vanished, and then they were far away.

T he shadow door reopened inside a tiny, decrepit building. The two stepped out, the entrance scattering into nothingness behind them. Tessanna looked around, her arms wrapped across her chest. There was barely room for them to stand side by side.

“Where are we?” she asked.

“Still in Veldaren,” Qurrah said. “This is where my brother and I used to live, before we were evicted and forced to travel to Woodhaven. It has long been abandoned.”

She looked away, her arms still wrapped tight about her body. “Why did you come? Good does not come from me, Qurrah Tun. It never has.”

“That does not mean it never will.”

Before going to the prison, he had stashed blankets and a pillow in the corner. He picked them up and offered them to her.

“Thank you,” she said, gripping the cloth as if her life were at stake. “Please, how can I repay you?”

He shook his head. “We are kindred, Tessanna. We both sense it.”

“But I want to thank you,” she said. She put the blankets down and stepped closer. “Don’t you want me to thank you?”

She reached for the sash around his waist. He grabbed her arm. “What are you doing?” he asked.

“Thanking you,” she said. Her voice was so soft, so child-like, it hurt him. “Please. It’ll be okay.”

Her other hand slid through the tight cloth. She felt his knee, caressed it with the back of her fingers, and then slid her hand higher.

“Enough!” he shouted, shoving her away. She fell, and the look of pain on her face would haunt his dreams for nights to come. Curled up on her knees, she looked at him, tears in her eyes. His breath was heavy, and he did his best to calm as he spoke.

“I desire your company, Tessanna, but not in that way. I do not even know you. Tomorrow morning, I will come with food. Please, sleep well this night.”

She nodded. A hand wiped away her tears. When they were gone, so too was her emotion. The girl of apathy had returned.

“I will await you here,” she said. She took the blankets and spread them out in the corner. Without another word, she nestled in, pressed her head against the pillow, and tried to sleep. Qurrah stared at her, his skin hot and his mind blurred.

“Tessanna,” he said, his voice full of fear.

“Go home,” she interrupted. “My dreams are dark. I do not want you hurt. Go home.”

He did, cursing himself every step of the way.

Q urrah,” Harruq grumbled in a drowsy voice. “That you?”

“I had trouble sleeping,” his brother said, sliding into bed.

“You sure nothing-”

“I am fine,” he said, sharper than he meant. His throat throbbed, his head ached, and his heart thumped as if it were to explode.

“Brother?” Harruq asked, rising from his bed. “What’s wrong?”

“Go to bed, Harruq,” Qurrah said. “I will explain in time.”

The big half-orc shrugged. “If you say so.”

Qurrah put his back to him and stared at the wall. His thoughts never left Tessanna, even when he slipped into the world of dreams.

M y dear Eschaton, we have ourselves a beauty of a task,” Tarlak said to the collected mercenaries of the tower. They grouped together on the first floor, the two females sprawled across the couches, the men sitting unhappily on the floor, except for Haern, who haunted the stairs leading upward.

“How’s the pay?” asked Brug.

“No pay for this one. Charity stuff here.” Tarlak scratched his goatee, his eyes glancing over to Haern. “We do this one for the Watcher.”

“Not to sound dumb, but who is this Watcher?” Aurelia asked. The yellow wizard turned to her and beamed.

“I would gladly tell you, my dear-”

“I am,” Haern whispered, interrupting him. “I keep the thief guilds in line.”

Both half-orcs glanced at him with shocked faces.

“You’re the Watcher?” Harruq said. “Holy orcbutt, no wonder you beat me so bad.”

“Holy orcbutt?” Delysia asked, raising an eyebrow at him. Harruq shrugged.

“Got the point across.”

“So now I know who the Watcher is,” Aurelia said. “But how exactly do you keep the thief guilds in line?”

“Lovely Aurelia, do you have no knowledge of how the guilds operate in Veldaren?” Tarlak asked.

She shook her head.