David Dalglish - The Cost of Betrayal

“Too easy,” Qurrah said. “If this was a trap, it was a poor one.”

The two casters floated down, Tarlak eyeing the corpse of Thren in particular.

“He fell to a single lightning bolt,” Tarlak said, stroking his beard. “Something smells fishy, and it’s not Brug. Aurry, do you know any dispel magic?”

Harruq felt a pang of jealousy.

“Yes,” she said. “And don’t call me Aurry.”

The jealousy quickly faded.

Aurelia swung her hands about and cast her spell. A wave of white magic washed over the entire building. Harruq felt his armor and weapons sizzle in protest.

“Your equipment should be fine,” the elf told him when she noticed Harruq’s puzzled expression. “If I focused the spell entirely on your weapons, I might manage to destroy their magic, but I doubt it.”

“It wasn’t Thren,” Haern said, pointing to the body. “Illusions. A trap, for sure.” The guildmaster’s body had changed, now no different from any other common thief who lay dead around them.

“You three leave any alive?” Tarlak asked Brug and the half-orcs.

“Not thinking so,” Harruq said. “Did you?”

Tarlak shook his head.

“I like fire and lightning. It appears they didn’t. Haern?”

“One still breathes, yes,” Haern whispered. “Shall we have a talk?”

“Oh yes,” Tarlak beamed, cracking his knuckles. “Most definitely, yes.”

T he rogue was a young man, with not even a scrap of hair on his chin. He lay on his back, wheezing with each breath. His hands clutched a bleeding wound in his side.

“Will he be alive for much longer?” Tarlak asked, peering down at him.

“No,” Haern said. “Call in Delysia.”

“Will do.”

Tarlak reached into his shirt and pulled out a gold medallion shaped like a tower.

“Come on over, sis,” he whispered to it. The gold flared a brilliant white before returning to its soft shine. Standing in front of Tarlak, her hands on her hips, appeared Delysia.

“I wish I didn’t have to stay behind so often,” she complained.

“We’ve gone over this,” Tarlak said. “I would be an awful brother to risk you being hurt in a melee.”

Delysia rolled her eyes. When she caught sight of the wounded rogue, she winced. “Oh, you poor dear. What’d you do to him?”

“I might have stabbed him,” Haern whispered.

“Might?” the rogue gasped before falling unconscious. Delysia knelt beside him, her hands on his chest and her eyes closed in prayer. Qurrah slid beside Tarlak and said softly to him, “He would talk easier if he was dead.”

“All men have a chance to be redeemed,” Tarlak said back. “Killing in combat is one thing, but I will not finish off a helpless man I can save. Delysia would furious, otherwise.”

White light surrounded Delysia’s hands and then poured into the dying man. The wound closed, ending the flow of blood. Strength poured into him, stirring him back to consciousness.

“Wakey-wakey,” Brug greeted. “Care to answer a few questions?”

“I’d rather die,” the rogue said.

“You almost did,” Delysia said, frowning at him. “Glad to know my aid is appreciated.”

He sneered at her but said nothing.

“Haern, we need an attitude adjustment,” Tarlak said. He snapped his fingers. The assassin walked over, knelt down, and then buried a saber into the thief’s right wrist. He screamed and struggled, but the location of the saber was perfect, in between the bones so the blade could not tear free. Finally, the man calmed, wincing against the pain. Delysia pointedly turned away, her face disgusted.

“You do not approve?” Qurrah asked her.

“There are always better ways,” she said. “Violence is rarely the best.”

The half-orc laughed. Aurelia glared at him.

“Silence, Qurrah, or I will quiet you myself.”

He grinned at her but obeyed.

“Care to talk now?” Tarlak asked once the thief regained his composure. The man nodded. “Good, tell me your name.”

“Terrence.”

“Alright Terrence, who orchestrated this whole farce? All I want is a name and I will let you live.”

“They will kill me if I talk,” Terrence said.

“You will die if you don’t,” Haern whispered. “Besides, all will think you dead. Now give us a name.”

Tarlak stood watching and stroking his goatee. The man appeared to be greatly troubled, and when Haern yanked his blade free, it did not help his confused mind.

“I will tell,” Terrance said at last. “But I want you to promise.”

Tarlak clapped the man on the shoulder, ignoring the wince of pain on his face. “I speak for the Eschaton. You will not be harmed, nor persecuted for any crimes you might have committed in your guild.”

Terrence glanced about before his eyes settled on a vacant area of the floor.

“What they’ve told us,” he said, “is that all of the guildmasters wish the Watcher dead. The guilds are united. They prepare for war.”

Haern’s face darkened. He pulled his hood lower. “Who initiated it?” he asked.

“I don’t know,” Terrence said. “The Spider Guild seems the most eager. Thren has spoken with our representatives every night. Now may I go?”

The mercenaries let him stand. He winced, clutching his tender chest. Delysia turned back around and grabbed his hand in hers.

“Go with the peace of Ashhur,” she told him, light swirling about her hands. When she released, there was no trace of the wound. He nodded to each of them, pilfered coins from his dead comrades, and then ran.

“Why did you let that one live?” Tarlak asked, watching him go.

“He was the least bloodthirsty, and had some measure of skill. I thought he might be the most tempted by a new life.”

The wizard shrugged. “Makes sense to-”

“Look out!” Aurelia shouted. She dove in front of Haern and then screamed as an arrow pierced through the flesh of her breast. Haern spun, seeing just the trace of a gray cloak at the door Qurrah had shattered. Tarlak caught Aurelia in his arms and helped her to the floor. Haern knelt beside her, eyeing the wound.

“Poison,” he whispered. “Lady Thyne, please forgive me.”

He yanked the arrow out.

Harruq rushed to the door, his swords drawn and ready. He ran out into the street, spun one way, then the other. No one was in sight.

“Move Haern, I must help her,” Delysia said. She knelt down, her hands upon the wound. She prayed for healing, and white light shone about her. Suddenly, her face contorted in pain, and a black light poured out of the wound and into her fingers.

“Sis, stop it!” Tarlak screamed, trying to pull her away.

“I have to…I have to…” she said before shrieking. More and more darkness poured into her, pushing away the white. As the rest stood helpless, Qurrah walked over, knelt beside Delysia, and put his hands atop of hers.

“ Delrn rel thun yaer, ” he hissed. The black magic poured into his hands, but did no harm to him. Instead, it swirled above his palms, held captive by the necromancer.

“Let your death go elsewhere,” he said. He flung his hand as if throwing a spear straight into the ground. A dark, ethereal arrow flew through the dirt and vanished. For a brief moment, healing light flowed into the pale and dying Aurelia. Then Delysia fell back, unable to keep her balance. Tarlak caught her gently in his arms.

“I think I helped her,” Delysia said, her voice barely a whisper. “I don’t think it’ll kill her. I don’t think…”

She slipped into sleep in her brother’s arms. Harruq returned then, and looked down at his precious Aurelia.

“Will she be all right?” he asked.

“The arrow was cursed,” Qurrah said, his eyes looking not to his brother but to Haern. “They wished you to die of poison, and they wished death upon any that tried healing you. Aurelia saved your life.”