David Dalglish - The Cost of Betrayal

“Who did this to her,” Harruq said, the whole world turning red in his eyes. “Was it the Spider Guild?”

“Don’t do anything foolish,” Haern whispered. “They are many and powerful.”

“And they’ll soon be many and dead.”

Qurrah put his hand on his brother’s shoulder.

“I will await you at the tower. I will be of no use to you now. I have not the strength. If you wish any to speak, however, I will be ready.”

Harruq turned to Tarlak. “Can you get her to the tower?”

The wizard nodded. “I’ll open a portal. Haern and Brug’ll help me carry Aurelia and Delysia. What is it you plan on doing?”

Harruq’s grip tightened on his swords, and the rage in his eyes was visible fire.

“Killing everyone responsible,” he growled.

Tarlak glanced to his sister, weak and sleeping in his arms.

“Kill them twice for me,” he said.

With a nod, Harruq stormed out of the warehouse and into the dark streets of Veldaren.

H e did not get far before Haern fell from the top of a building and blocked his path.

“Out of my way, Haern. This is something I have to do.”

Haern’s cold voice showed no sign of backing down. “I will aid you. The Spider Guild is strong. You cannot do this alone.”

“I can, and I will.”

He tried to shove his way past. Haern hooked his foot behind Harruq’s ankle and kicked. The half-orc fell, Haern holding an arm so that his landing was not too painful.

“Do not be foolish,” Haern whispered into his ear. “They meant to kill me. Aurelia saved my life. I will repay such a debt.”

Harruq snorted, blowing dirt away from his face. “Fine. Do you know where we should start?”

Haern released his hold on the half-orc. Harruq brushed himself off, got to his feet, and glared at his teacher. Haern’s glare back showed he cared little for his pupil’s attitude.

“Follow me,” the Watcher said.

T he Black Mug Bar was a dank, crowded building made of old plaster and uneven walls. Its drinks were often watered down and always overpriced, but despite this, it remained fully stocked with customers. Most were not there for the ale. In the back of the building was its real purpose. A guarded door led to an expansive and well-lit basement filled with the finest luxuries available. To enter, one needed a password, which changed every month, and to show a sigil proving membership. Harruq and Haern needed neither.

“What you say?” a burly man asked as they approached.

“Pissed off half-orc,” Harruq said. The guard shook his head.

“You two should leave. Nothing down there you want.”

“Oh yeah, there is,” the half-orc said, grabbing the man’s head and slamming it against the door. The guard slumped to the floor. The few patrons jumped to their feet, drawing weapons. Most were members of the Spider Guild, and donned gray cloaks similar to Haern’s.

The assassin whirled upon them, drawing his sabers.

“I have killed more men than all of you have combined,” he said, his blue eyes blazing. “Those wishing to live, leave now. Those who dare face the wrath of the Watcher, come now, and die.”

Uncertain glances were followed by disappearing cloaks. Soon only the barkeep remained. Harruq kicked the door, splintering the meager lock.

“There was a key on the guy you just clobbered,” the barkeep said, pouring himself a drink.

“Keys. Bah.”

Haern tossed the barkeep a silver coin.

“To cover your losses,” he whispered before following Harruq down into the depths of the Spider Guild.

A s they descended the stairs, two thieves ambushed from either side. Harruq jumped, landing hard at the bottom. Haern smashed his feet into his attacker’s face. The man staggered back, blood pouring from his nose. Haern took his feet out from underneath with a sweeping kick. Twin sabers buried into his heart as he fell.

Harruq drew his blades, relishing the surge of power they offered. His attacker rushed him, his dagger thrusting. The half-orc smacked it aside like a toy. The longer reach of his swords was too much an advantage. The thief fell before him, several gaping wounds in his chest.

“You ever been down here?” Harruq asked, glancing around. They were in a tiny room filled with dusty barrels and crates.

“Yes, a long time ago.”

The assassin approached what appeared to be a bare stone wall. He traced the subtle indents of the bricks with his fingers.

“Here,” he whispered. He stepped back and pointed at a particular section. “We need a new door.”

“With pleasure,” Harruq said. He tucked his shoulder and ran right through the false wall, showering rock and stone everywhere. Haern dashed in as dust clouded the air, his swords drawn and his eyes searching. All about were plush cushions, silver platters of food, exquisite dining tables lined with black and scarlet patterns, and several private rooms adjacent the main floor. There should have been lords and nobles, scantily clad women and wealthy merchants, trading, dealing, and bribing one another with pleasures of flesh, powder, and coin. Instead, the room was dark and empty.

“Everyone go home for the night?” Harruq asked.

Haern shook his head, his eyes still darting. “The pleasures are partaken here night and day. I fear we made a great error, Harruq.”

“I’d say so,” called the barkeep from the top of the stairs. “Thanks for the coin, by the way.”

Haern flew back through the busted wall and up the stairs, only to find a wall of magical origin blocking his way. Harruq came rushing after, his swords still in hand.

“What the abyss is going on?” he asked.

“The meeting wasn’t the trap,” Haern whispered, turning back around to face the half-orc. “This is.”

The deep grinding of stone rolling against stone came from the far room.

“I’m scared to ask what that was,” Harruq said.

“They are called the Spider Guild for a reason,” the assassin said. He knelt in front of Harruq, pulled out a golden medallion shaped like a mountain, and then, as the half-orc stared incredulously, whispered a quick prayer. When finished, he slipped the medallion back underneath his tunic and stood.

“Come,” Haern whispered. “I have no intentions of dying this night.”

“You got that right,” Harruq said. The two re-entered the plush room. On the far side, surrounded by rubble, was a newly created hole. From within came loud skittering sounds that made the half-orc’s skin crawl.

“Oh, that better not be what I think that is,” Harruq said.

“Go for the soft underbelly,” Haern whispered. “And don’t get bitten.”

Loud thumping sounds joined the skittering. After a few quick motions by Haern, they ran to either side of the entrance in hope of an ambush. The sounds grew louder, and then out crawled a giant tarantula, enlarged to the size of small house. Of all the things Harruq had seen in his life, nothing prepared him for legs the size of pine trees, giant mandibles beneath eight huge eyes, and that loud, constant shriek.

“Don’t get bitten,” he mumbled, staring at the fangs protruding out from the bottom of its head, each one bigger than his hand. “No kidding.”

When it was halfway out, Harruq used every bit of his courage to swing at one of the legs. His sword thudded as if hitting a tree, and clear blue ichor spewed across his hand. The spider shrieked in fury. Harruq hacked two more times as it spun about, focusing all eight eyes squarely on him.

“Hello!” he said, then flung Condemnation end over end. The blade pierced one of the eyes, embedding up to the hilt in green and black gunk. The spider rushed forward, horrifying Harruq with its speed. It slammed him backward with the top of its head. He flung across the room, thankfully landing on a pile of pillows. He struggled to his feet, throwing a couple as he did. Then Haern came diving in.