David Dalglish - The Cost of Betrayal

“Who wants to inform the girl?” Tarlak asked the crowd.

“Twelve years ago,” Haern began, “the noble families in Veldaren declared war on the thief guilds. After five years of mercenaries roaming the streets and nobles bleeding out in the night, they made a truce. The nobles would pay the thief guilds what they were paying the mercenaries. In return, they gained protection, and not just for their homes, but the entire city. Five guilds accepted, and the rest were eradicated. Odd as it sounds, the thief guilds protect their territory, and only the poorest of streets are left to a few vagabond burglars.”

“So you have no crime here?” Aurelia asked. “A miracle.”

“We have crime, my lady elf,” Haern whispered, “just no robbery. Murder and rape are another matter.”

“Many thieves want to return to the days of old,” Tarlak added. “They feel like bodyguards now, bottom rate sentries. The number of members in each guild has doubled and tripled, with each member getting a smaller and smaller cut. Only guildmasters make a luxurious living. This leads me into our wonderful surprise for tonight.”

He cleared his throat and grinned at everyone.

“Guildmaster Thren Felhorn of the Spider Guild is to supposedly be assassinated tonight.”

“Supposedly?” Brug said.

“I say supposedly for I believe it a trap. All of you need to be on your toes. The largest obstacle to returning to the days of old is not the guildmasters. It is our dear friend, Haern. Those who speak out against the current system have a way of not waking up. Isn’t that right, oh wise and all-knowing Watcher?”

“Get on with it,” Haern said.

“Right. My informant claimed that Thren is meeting a higher up of the Shadow Guild, about what is irrelevant, inside an old warehouse owned by the Spider Guild. I want half of you inside that building, the other half out and around. We’ll hide best we can. If it is a trap, leave one or two of them alive. It’s hard to make dead people talk.”

“But not impossible,” Qurrah said. All eyes went to him. He had seemed mentally absent the whole meeting, and had not previously spoken.

“I take it conversing with dead is a hobby of yours?” Tarlak asked.

“I consider it a profession. The dead talk same as the living, and the dead can’t lie.”

Brug made a show of throwing up his hands and rolling his eyes. “Wonderful people you brought into our fold, Tar.”

“Shut up, Brug. I’ll leave it up to you all, then. Kill if you want, but let’s not be sloppy or stupid.” Tarlak started packing his maps. “Meet in this room by nightfall. And come prepared. Tonight, we’re going to have some fun!”

Q urrah spent the day meeting with Tessanna. He brought food wrapped in another small blanket for her to use during the chilly nights. She was sitting outside when he arrived, staring at the sky.

“I almost took a quick trip to the fountain,” she said, her voice distant and emotionless. “But I figured I am too popular with certain men right now.”

“Are you hungry?” he asked. He unwrapped the pieces of bread, bacon, and hard cheese. She blinked at it and shook her head.

“I don’t need to eat, at least, not often,” she said. “Bring me something three mornings from now.” She held up her right hand, showing him a simple wooden band around her ring finger. “It looks plain,” she said, her voice almost bored. “My family handed it down for generations. It helped them survive famine. I only have to eat once every six days.”

Qurrah sat down opposite her. He awkwardly fumbled for words, for he had many questions, and he wished to ask them all at once.

“Where is your family?” he finally asked.

Her black eyes grew darker, the white at the edges deepening to gray.

“I have no family,” she said. The apathy slowly faded into anger. An animalistic being controlled the girl’s voice. “My mother died giving birth to me. My father died later, along with my stepmother. I have no family.”

His body shivered at the sound of her voice, but he pressed on. She had pried into his mind. It was his turn to do the same.

“Tell me, Tessanna. What happened to them?”

She brought her gaze down from the sky. “You want to know? Fine. I didn’t kill my stepmother, but he thought so. He drank a lot because of it. I can’t blame him though, considering what he came home to.” As she talked, Qurrah watched as the angry girl seamlessly turned shy and quiet. “We lived in the King’s forest. Daddy owed lots of people money, so we hid out there in our tiny cabin. Daddy gambled. He came back here, though, said he was going to make lots of money. Lots and lots of money!”

“Well,” she continued, clutching her hands together and batting her eyelashes at him. “Daddy didn’t make enough, so bad people took him, made him work real hard. He couldn’t come home and see me and mommy! He needed to, because mommy got sick. I was still young, and she was too sick to leave and buy food for us. So she gave me this ring. She starved to death after a few weeks.”

She giggled.

“I didn’t have to eat often because of the ring, but when I did, I was famished. But we had nothing! So-” another giggle, “-I ate what I had to.”

The vision Tessanna had shown him, of a female arm in his lap, and the taste of blood on his lips, darted across Qurrah’s mind. He shuddered. It seemed he was not the only one who had been forced to eat the scraps of the dead.

“Daddy came home and saw me eating,” she said. “He thought I killed mommy. He was finally free, and he came home wanting mommy, but mommy was gone. He told me there was stuff I could do for him, though, stuff mommy used to do.”

Another image, the rough man tearing at his clothes, sank Qurrah’s stomach. Hatred burned in his heart.

“What happened to him?” he asked.

Tessanna crawled closer and whispered as if telling a great secret.

“He liked humping me. He drank all the time, probably because if he wasn’t drinking he’d realize how bad it was to take your thirteen-year-old daughter to bed. I did it, though. Maybe I liked it. It feels awfully good inside you.” She laughed at Qurrah’s blush. “He never even bothered to tell me he loved me. He hated me. I knew it, so he never lied. I think sometime over those two years he broke my mind.”

Again that insane laugh. Qurrah’s heart tore at the sound. Part of it was adorable. The other part was pure madness, and it frightened him beyond words. She continued, her voice dropping into an even quieter whisper.

“One night I had a plan. I made it seem like I wanted it, even liked it. Aren’t I such a horrible liar? He got really, really drunk that night. When he was done with me, he drank even more, and fell asleep in a chair. I took some rope and I tied his hands and feet. He couldn’t get out. I tied his neck, too. I didn’t want him moving, because that would ruin the fun.”

“Fun?” Qurrah asked. “Torture is what that man deserved.”

“Torture is fun,” she said. She didn’t smile that time. Qurrah considered fleeing then, but he didn’t. He wanted to hear the end of the story.

“I crushed some glass into tiny pieces and shoved them in his mouth. He woke up choking, but I didn’t stop. I sewed his mouth shut. I had practiced, but with flesh you have to be forceful. Once he couldn’t spit out the glass, the real fun started. Lots of fun. Two years worth of fun.”

She looked to the ground, her face suddenly blushing.

“I kissed his neck just before he tried swallowing the glass. I’m not sure why.”

“He died choking on his own blood,” Qurrah said more than asked. The final image took its turn before his eyes, that of the rough man vomiting intestines filled with shards of glass.