David Dalglish - The Cost of Betrayal

Qurrah knelt and grabbed her hand. Anger flared, and her black eyes widened.

“I am different,” he said. “I have suffered as you have. If I could undo my childhood I would, but no cure exists but death. I am beyond salvation. You…” He released her hand. “You deserve better than I. You are beautiful. You have life burning inside you. It is the least I can do.”

The girl absently touched the black of his robes, rubbing the cloth in her fingers.

“You think I’m beautiful?”

“Yes. I do.”

She stood, a visible change sweeping over her. Her eyes looked into his with strength and fire. “Take me. Now.”

Qurrah felt his heart skip, and his nerves flare with fear and lust. “What? Why?”

She grabbed the front of his robes and pulled him to her. Their lips met, and for one long moment, they kissed. It ended when she bit down on his lip, tasting his blood across her tongue. He forced her back, gasping for air.

“You wish to cure me,” Tessanna said, a wildness swirling within her eyes. “You love me. I know it. But if you love me, you must love me as I am now. Then you may change me. But love me now. Prove it.”

“I can’t,” Qurrah said, rubbing his lip with his fingers and then staring at the blood upon them. “I don’t know, I’ve never…”

He stopped, but he had already said too much. Tessanna laughed as she finished what it was he meant to say.

“Never done it before?” she asked. Her eyes burned with lust. “Take me. Or I will take you.”

She pulled him closer once more, locking their lips together in a salty, bloody kiss. Qurrah felt his resistance drain away. The passion swirled across his tongue. Throughout his body kindled a virgin flame. When she removed the sash of his robe, he did not stop her. At the foot of that tree, he made love to her. She was fire underneath him, wild roaring fire, and never could he have imagined the pleasure of being burned.

When they finished, Tessanna cried.

“Please help me,” she whispered into his ear. “You’ll kill people, won’t you? For me?”

“If I must,” Qurrah whispered back. She pulled him close so that her tears wet his hair.

“Do it. I’ll help you, if you want. Just promise you’ll never leave me.”

“Never,” the half-orc said.

Tessanna stood, her bare skin shivering in the autumn air. She went to bathe in the stream.

“I’ve slept with many men,” she said, turning back to him. Her tears were gone. Apathy had stolen over her. “But you were the first I’ve ever made love to.” With that, she slipped into the water. As she bathed, Qurrah slept, the doubts and whispers in his own mind alleviated for one glorious moment.

Fallen angels rejoiced in black song as they watched. The promise of death had brought the two peace. Never before had Karak’s truth shone so pure and so lovely.

I n the back of the crowded bar sat a man with three empty tankards in front of him. He smoked in the shadows, only his eyes and the smoke of his pipe visible. A young boy entered the bar, glanced around, spotted him in the corner, and then approached.

“I have a message from Melhed, sir,” he said.

“Out with it.”

“He says the best purse is held in yellow clothes, to be bought by tomorrow’s eve.”

The man blew a ring of smoke and tossed the kid a dull coin through it. “Get on out of here.”

The boy bowed and left.

“So Aurelia’s in the hands of the Eschaton?” he muttered, filling the end of the pipe with more blackweed. “Puppets like them shouldn’t be allowed such a fine catch.”

If the message was true, someone from the elves would come to take Aurelia by tomorrow night. That left little time to plan an ambush, but he was confident his boys could get it done.

“Another mug,” he shouted. A serving wench heard his demand and rushed a glass to him, fast enough that froth drifted down its sides.

“Good girl,” he said, offering her a wink. She smiled, holding in her shudder until her back was to him. The man laughed, having seen that same reaction a hundred times before. Luckily for the wench, he was in a good mood. He might have killed her otherwise, if only to cheer himself up.

An hour later, he paid for his drinks and left.

C ome in,” Aurelia said as she heard a knock on her door. She expected Harruq, but instead Brug entered, his face already in full blush.

“I have something for ya,” he said, one of his hands hidden behind the door.

“Well let’s see it,” she said, leaning up against the pillows of her bed.

Brug stammered a bit, sighed, and then brought his hand out. The elf gasped when she saw what he held. It was her staff, bearing little resemblance to the original plain stick of wood. The whole of it had been tarnished and darkened so it resembled a long, thin branch. Beautifully painted leaves spiraled down the length. Carved along the sides were spiders, frozen in the process of making a web that spanned from leaf to leaf. The webs thickened near the top, crisscrossing into a dizzying display. In Brug’s hand, the staff radiated a soft green, highlighting only the leaves and bits of web that touched them.

“Brug,” she gasped. “It’s beautiful! Please, let me see it closer.”

He handed the staff to her, his blushing reaching ripe tomato color.

“I try to make something for every member we get,” he stammered. “I’ll get ya that pendant, but for now, will the staff do?”

At first, Aurelia said nothing, too busy running a finger across the smooth webs and sensing the slight aura of magic.

“Yes,” she said. “Yes, this will most definitely do.” She pulled him close and kissed his forehead.

“None of that mushy stuff,” he said, jerking away. The red of his face spread to his ears. “Anyway, Tarlak said to tell ya Dieredon is coming sometime tomorrow to claim your beauty…uh, bounty.”

“I’ll be ready,” she said, grinning. “Thank you for the staff.”

“Was nothing,” he mumbled, beating a hasty retreat from her room.

W hen Qurrah and Tessanna returned, the half-orc went to find Tarlak.

“What’s the matter?” Tarlak asked, shutting the door to his room behind Qurrah.

“I wish Tessanna to stay here,” the half-orc said. “Not as a member of the Eschaton, but merely as a guest.”

The wizard plopped into his chair and leaned back, his fingertips drumming the desk. “A guest? We usually don’t do that type of thing here. But, who cares about what we normally do, eh?”

“Can she stay with Aurelia and Delysia?”

Tarlak shrugged. “I have no objection. You will need to ask them. Oh yeah, I finally got that portable hole. Harruq’s been working upstairs the whole day. You have a room now, instead of a cubbyhole among boxes.”

“Much appreciated,” said Qurrah. “And I will ask the girls if they mind her staying. If you wish, you may take her rent out of my pay.”

“Nonsense,” the wizard said, emphasizing this with his hand. He stood and walked Qurrah to the door. “You’re family now. You don’t charge family rent. Not the members you like, anyway.”

Qurrah chuckled. “Very well. I will speak to the girls.”

“Don’t go too far tomorrow,” Tarlak said. “We might need you when Dieredon comes.”

“I understand.”

The half-orc told Tessanna the news. Aurelia and Delysia readily agreed to let her stay, albeit on a few bedrolls piled between their beds. The tower was getting crowded, but no one seemed to mind.

M elhed paced inside his small but luxurious home. His frame was scrawny and triangular, matching the shape from the top of his head down to his laboriously trimmed black goatee. Throwing daggers lined his belt, oiled and well cared for.