David Dalglish - The Cost of Betrayal

“Do not forget the private stash,” Haern whispered. He pointed down below the bar, where a few small bottles were hidden. Harruq marched over as the barkeep’s eyes bulged in horror. He took one, popped the cork, and drank.

“Woooweee, that is good,” he said. He tossed another to Haern, who flicked it open with his thumb and drank a bit. He poured the rest onto the barkeep’s head.

“I don’t know how much they paid you,” Haern whispered, “but I doubt it was even half the price of that bottle. Or that blue one there. Toss me that, Harruq. Thank you.” He smashed the bottle and smeared the barkeep’s face in it. “Go ahead and lick it up. Someone might as well drink. My patience is ended, barkeep. Where are they hiding? Who paid you?”

“Thren and his boys,” the barkeep muttered. “They gave good gold to lock you in. They said they would return tomorrow morning. I swear, I don’t know where they are now!”

Haern let him up. Harruq downed half of another expensive bottle, then dropped it to the soaked floor. The barkeep glared.

“Nothing personal,” the half-orc said. The two exited into the night.

W here to next?” Harruq asked. The two stood outside the bar, still trying to clean off spider fluids from their clothes and armor. “We only have a few more hours until morning.”

“We will finish before the stars fade,” Haern whispered, pulling his hood down tighter. “And I have no idea.”

“Aren’t you the best of leaders,” the half-orc grumbled. “Why am I following you, anyway? Aurry’s hurt, and you can’t find the one who did it.”

“Aurelia may very well be dead, Harruq.”

“She’s not!” he shouted. They halted in the dark alley, Harruq grabbing Haern’s shoulders and shoving him against a wall. “How can you be so heartless? Never say that. Never!”

Haern smiled when he saw tears forming in the half-orc’s eyes.

“No, she is not dead, but it is good to see your rage and sorrow. Remember why we fight this night. Now come. I may not know where to go, but I will find someone who does.”

A small, unshaven man stood outside the expansive mansion, glancing up and down the barren streets. The gray cloak of the Spider Guild was tied around his neck.

“Who is that?” Harruq asked, staring around the corner of a nearby building.

“I don’t know, but he wears the correct colors. Stay here.”

Haern looked up, judging the height. After a few seconds, he nodded, seeming pleased. Then, to the half-orc’s amazement, he leapt into the air without even a running start, vaulting all the way onto the roof.

“How the abyss did you do that?” Harruq asked. Haern placed a finger over his lips and pointed to the thief. The half-orc threw up his arms in surrender, figuring some sort of magic involved. He leaned back and enjoyed the show. Haern stalked across the roof, his eyes locked on his prey. The man most likely waited for word that the Watcher was dead and theft could begin without fear of reprisal. The mansion certainly had its treasures, but he would get no chance at them.

With the grace of a cat, Haern leapt again, his cloaks trailing behind him. He kept his sabers out and ready. His slender body descended, his cloaks somehow not making a sound despite the air whipping through them. Haern landed directly behind the thief, standing back to back. The assassin spun, the butts of his sabers smacking skull. The thief dropped like a stone.

Harruq helped drag the body into the alley. Haern propped him up, and then reached into a pocket beneath his cloaks. He pulled out a small green vial barely larger than his pinkie. He popped the cork and splashed a little inside the man’s mouth. Coughing and sputtering, he jolted back to life.

“Welcome back,” Haern whispered, pocketing the vial. “Stay silent, or things will have to turn brutal.”

The thief realized who it was and paled. “You!” he exclaimed. “I haven’t done nothing, I swear.”

“Quiet.” Haern glanced to Harruq. “Do you wish to torture him, or should I?”

“I doubt I’m as neat as you,” Harruq said. “Think we got the time?”

“No, please, what do you want, I’ll help you,” the thief cried.

Haern yanked him close. His eyes, looming out from a deep shadow that surrounded them, pierced into the thief’s soul. “Where is Thren hiding?”

“Oh come on, you can’t go asking me that. It’ll be my head.”

“It’ll be your tongue, your fingers, and your manhood if you don’t,” Haern said. “Now answer me.”

“I can’t!”

Haern placed the edges of his sabers against the man’s neck, and then slowly moved one downward until it pointed directly at his groin.

“Then there will be many other things you can’t do.”

“Wonder what it’d be like peeing through three holes,” Harruq said.

Haern faked a thrust, and that was all the man could take.

“They moved the headquarters!” he shouted. Haern smacked him across the face.

“Quieter, and calmer. Where did they move it to?”

“The Swine’s Pearls,” he said.

“Sounds like a nice place,” Harruq said. “New to me, though.”

“Just opened last month,” Haern whispered. “Your boss plays a dangerous game, little thief. Run home. Tell Thren I’m coming, and by tonight’s end, he will bleed at my feet.”

Haern removed his saber, and the thief fled. When he turned out of sight, the assassin gave chase, leaving the surprised Harruq standing far behind.

“What are you doing?” he shouted, sprinting after. Haern’s glare silenced any further shouts. Rounding about a corner, the half-orc grumbled as he watched Haern leap into air, grab a jagged brick halfway up a building, and then use it to propel himself to the roof.

“How am I supposed to follow you now?” he asked. He ran after, the fleeting image of gray cloak upon the rooftops as his only guide. They crisscrossed southwest, deep into the heart of the city. Harruq caught glimpses of Haern and their thief, who did not appear to realize he was followed. The half-orc ran on until he lost sight of both.

“Forget it,” he said, slowing to a walk. He gasped for air, his many bruises crying out in fresh pain. The gash on his forehead trickled blood atop his eyebrows, and he wiped it with the back of his hand. The hairs on his neck stood. He whirled about, his swords drawn. Haern stood there, grinning.

“You have gotten better,” he whispered.

“Don’t have much choice, do I?” he shot back. “What’s with the running? Where is the Pearl’s Swine place?”

“The Swine’s Pearls, and it is in the northwestern corner of Veldaren.”

Harruq sighed in surrender. “Alright, so why are we here?”

“Because the new headquarters is not the Swine’s Pearls. That fool had the audacity to lie to me. Come. Our friend has just arrived, and we must not let them prepare for our appearance.”

The half-orc smashed his swords together. He felt his adrenaline surge yet again, and he desperately hoped it would be enough. It had been a long night, after all.

“Let’s go make them pay for Aurry and Delysia,” he said.

The assassin drew his own sabers and flashed a wicked smile.

“The Watcher has come to collect.”

O n the outside, the new headquarters for the Spider Guild looked far from extravagant. To the passing eye, it appeared to be a small, poorly lit store offering vague, unsorted items, with only the hanging sign of a barrel and smith hammer offering any idea of what services might be appropriated inside. The two approached the door from either side. With a nod from Haern, Harruq kicked the door open, the half-orc following Haern in.

A few poor quality weapons lined some racks. Smithing and fletchery tools covered the others. Foul smelling barrels of ale filled an entire corner. Behind a rotted counter was a single unguarded door. Haern crossed the room silently. Harruq, on the other hand, stretched and popped his neck and back without worry for the sound. When his part of their impromptu plan arrived, he would do as expected, except he would do it loud and nasty.