David Dalglish - The Cost of Betrayal

“Never forget the power of prayer,” the priest whispered, extending his hand. “Come, tell us how we may help.”

Qurrah took his hand and stood.

“Her name is Tessanna,” he began.

H e finished his tale in the priest’s private quarters. It was a small room, simply furnished with a cot, a desk, and a small window. Qurrah sat on the cot, facing the priest, who leaned back in his chair behind the desk.

“Our study into madness is extensive,” the priest said. “We feel it a result of the chaos that has engulfed this world. To bring about a cure, one must study the disease.”

“I wish to end the chaos in her mind,” Qurrah said. “Many have failed, but they did not seek to understand, only bandage it like a wound.”

“How will you study such a mind?” the priest asked, leaning his elbows on his desk. “She will resent all but the most casual observance. Anything deeper will risk permanent harm.”

“I know,” Qurrah said. “That is why I wish to study others with such madness.”

The priest cradled his head on his palm.

“Where will you find so many with madness akin to hers?”

The half-orc’s eyes hardened. “I will make them.”

For a long time, the priest was quiet. He only stared, studying Qurrah with his gaze. It was the second time Qurrah had felt that type of stare, and it troubled him still.

“Few of our brotherhood ever hear this truth,” the priest said. “Only in absolute emptiness is there order. To cleanse chaos, much must be sacrificed. You seek to kill others. Do you understand this?”

“I do,” Qurrah said.

“Then know this: life is, by its definition, chaotic. Karak fought against all that represents this mortal life. We still do. Ashhur preaches against the nature of man, not the nature of life itself. His goal is smaller, his resolve, weaker. He seeks to end this chaos by instilling common beliefs inside every mind, with hopes of a world of puppets. We are above such nonsense. Let every breath halt in this realm. Let us end all that Celestia has coddled. Karak led you to Tessanna, and now to us. All is as it was meant to be, and now I shall aid you.”

He reached into a cubby and pulled out a frayed collection of paper. He flipped through it, touching its pages like they were precious things, and then pulled out several he deemed useful. The priest handed the pages to Qurrah as he asked him if he could read.

“I can,” the half-orc said, his eyes flicking over the words. “And these are spells.”

“Not spells. These incantations represent perfect order. The chaotic mind tries to adhere to them and cannot, and so it shatters. There are many kinds of madness; with those words, you can create them all. Just make sure you do not hear them yourself. Do not memorize them, for there is risk in even that.”

The priest took out a book bound with black leather, archaic runes inscribed with gold across the front.

“In this book are the spells from the most ancient of necromancers. Its knowledge is inferior only to Darakken’s spellbook. Take it. Know we will do all we can to aid you in the path you walk.”

“Thank you,” Qurrah said, accepting the book. He bowed, his gifts wrapped tightly in his arms. “Before I go, may I know your name?”

“I forfeited my name to Karak. If you must, you may know me as Pelarak.”

“Very well, Pelarak,” he said. “I offer my gratitude. One day I may return.”

“We will await you every dusk.”

Qurrah went to the door, stopping only when Pelarak called out to him.

“Yes?” he asked, glancing back. A sly smile was on the priest’s face.

“Do not forget to pray,” he said. Qurrah nodded.

“I will consider it.”

B ack at the Eschaton tower, Qurrah knelt by Tessanna’s bed and took her cold hand into his.

“Your salvation is now a matter of time,” he whispered to her, the love in his voice sounding dangerous and foreign. “Even if a thousand must die, you will find peace.”

He slept beside her, willing to suffer the hard floor to ensure he was there when she awoke. In the other bed, Aurelia stirred uneasily. She had awakened seconds after Qurrah’s return, and with a chilled heart, listened to those heartfelt words and wondered.

W hen Harruq forced himself awake to spar with Haern, he found his teacher standing over him, lightly waving a saber above his neck.

“You’re dead,” he said, his face cold and dark. Then it brightened. “And Aurelia is awake. She wishes to see you.”

The half-orc hurried down the stairs and barged into the girls’ room. Sure enough, Aurelia was awake. She was also in the process of changing into cleaner clothes. Her back was to him, her dress spread out across the bed. A pair of brown pants lay at her feet, and in her arms she held a simple green shirt Delysia had loaned to her.

Aurelia heard his entrance, glanced over her shoulder, and glared. “You really should learn to knock.”

Harruq stammered, his face flushed. His eyes traced down her long hair, her arched back, and all the way to her rear. When he realized she still glared at him, he turned around and faced the door.

“Um, I thought, um, sorry.”

“It’s fine,” he heard Aurelia say. The half-orc shifted his weight uncomfortably as he heard the sound of fabric sliding across skin. Finally, he felt Aurelia’s hand on his shoulder, and he turned around. She smiled at him, life returning to those twinkling eyes.

“You didn’t worry about me, did you?” she asked, tossing her hair back with her hand.

“We all were. If it weren’t for Tessanna, you might have, well…”

The elf gave him a funny look. “Tessanna?”

Harruq gestured to the bed next to hers, and then realized the girl was no longer there.

“Huh. She slept there next to you. Big black eyes, black hair, kind of creepy. Was she there when you woke up?”

The elf nodded. Her face grew troubled for a moment, drawing a frown from the half-orc.

“You alright?” he asked.

“Yes, I’m fine,” she said. “Just a little weak, is all. And yes, I saw her. She left with your brother about an hour ago. Is she a priestess?”

Harruq shrugged. He stole a glance down the elf’s shirt, which was too big for her and left quite a bit exposed.

“No. She’s just, forget it, I don’t know what she is. Qurrah found her somewhere, brought her here, and then she took that poison out of you and put it into herself.”

Aurelia smiled. “Nice of her. Now come downstairs with me. Tarlak wants to talk to us.”

“Yay. Everyone seems to want to see me today. You. Tarlak. Haern, but he doesn’t count. He just wanted to pretend he killed me.”

The elf slipped her arm in between Harruq’s and looked up at him. “I’m still a little weak, so help me down the stairs, please.”

His heart skipped at least two beats before time resumed normally.

“Sure. Yeah.”

They walked down the stairs, Aurelia holding his arm and a goofy smile on his face. When Tarlak saw them, the half-orc immediately blushed.

“Aren’t you two a cute couple,” the wizard laughed. He took a bite from his plate of eggs and sausage. “So when can I expect to be a godfather?”

“I may be weak, but I think I can still muster a polymorph spell,” Aurelia warned. Tarlak threw his hands up in a gesture of peace.

“Of course. Take a seat. Let me whip up some breakfast.”

By whip up, he meant twirl his fingers so that two plates magically appeared, steaming with bacon, ham, potatoes, and eggs. Harruq’s mouth watered at the sight. Aurelia released her grip on his arm when they reached the bottom floor, kissed his cheek, and took a seat next to Tarlak. Harruq sat opposite the two and started wolfing down his meal.