David Dalglish - The Cost of Betrayal

“They won’t show,” the man said, his voice sounding like a rat squeaking. “I knew they wouldn’t. They drank themselves dumber than mules, and now I’m stuck.”

A knock on his door ended his whining. He looked through a peephole to see a mammoth muscled chest covered with blue and black armor.

“About time,” the spindly man said, throwing open his door. “You’re late.”

The floor creaked under the giant weight as the highest paid killer in all of Neldar stepped inside.

“Shut up, Melhed. I’m here, and that is all that matters.”

“Where’s your men,” Melhed asked. The giant man chuckled. It was a deep, dangerous sound, and he knew he was treading on very thin ice.

“They are warriors of Karnryk!” the giant man shouted. “They will be here.”

Melhed disappeared to get drinks ready. Karnryk picked at his teeth. He was a half-orc, his human mother raped by an orc. Karnryk had grown up an outcast, his large ears and chubby face earning him names like Dogface and the Pig. His enormous size and strength, however, had granted him a few perks. He had been educated. He had been trained. Nearly every guild in Neldar had seen his enormous potential, and the half-orc had milked training from every single one before abandoning them when their usefulness was at an end. Now he worked for himself. The pay was better, and his reputation had spread far and wide.

“You heard about the spider guild?” Karnryk shouted to Melhed, who was two rooms away.

“Someone told me it was no more. I assumed they were joking.”

“It’s no joke,” the half-orc said. “The Watcher killed most of them, and the rest begged themselves into the other guilds. Sickening, really.”

“How so?” Melhed asked, returning with huge pitchers full of ale. Karnryk downed one in two huge gulps.

“They quiver at the name of the Watcher,” he roared. “They act as if he were a demon or a god. It is my name they should fear, not his!”

“To be fair, you approve of what the thief guilds do, while the Watcher, well, doesn’t.” Melhed sipped at his own, much smaller cup. “If you called a bounty on the heads of all thieves, people would cower at the thought of your approach.”

The giant man leaned back in his chair, which creaked loudly in protest. He wore little armor, feeling no need for it. A sword the length of an average man hung from his back, notched and chipped from many battles. Scars ran down his face. His eyes were an ugly yellow. Still, he was stronger and meaner than a raging bull, and such attributes lent him many friends.

“Knock-knock,” a voice shouted at the door. A group of men barged in, all carrying drinks. They were armed to the teeth, and beneath their ragged street clothes shone glimpses of old chainmail.

“Put your ale away,” the half-orc said to Melhed. “They’ve already had enough.”

“Of course, Karnryk.”

The pitchers of ale vanished, to the groans of the small rabble.

“Hey, I’m thirsty,” one in particular said, starting after the scrawny man. The half-orc grabbed him, wrenched his arm, and slammed his body to the ground. The man cried in pain, his hand pinned underneath him at an awkward angle.

“Shut up all of you,” the half-orc roared. “This ain’t the usual crap we go after, so I need all of you sharp. Now spill the beer and listen up. We finally get to do what I’ve always wanted to do.”

“What’s that?” asked one, sneering at the pinned man.

“The Eschaton tower. We’re going to make it ours.”

A cheer rose throughout the men crammed into Melhed’s home.

“Don’t the Watcher live there,” one man dared ask. Karnryk grinned at him, his eyes filled with anticipation.

“Yeah, he does, and get ready to collect the hidden bounty. By tonight, every one of us is going to be stinking rich.”

Another cheer. Karnryk didn’t bother to say he would claim the bulk of the secret reward offered by the heads of the thief guilds. The others would be well off, but nothing six months of binging on ale and women wouldn’t whittle away to nothing.

“Melhed, did you figure out a plan?” the half-orc asked.

“It’s simple, but I think it will work,” Melhed replied.

“Shut up, all of you!” Karnryk shouted. The room immediately quieted. After a gesture to start, Melhed explained the plan.

T hey covered themselves with the morning dew and crunched fallen leaves underneath their bodies, while the birds of the forest listened to their moans. When their flame burned out, Tessanna once again bathed in the chilly stream. Qurrah remained in the grass, dabbing a hand in the water.

“Qurrah?” Tessanna asked, the water up to her neck.

“Yes?”

The girl swam away, her eyes never leaving him. “How did you know I could heal the elf?”

The half-orc shrugged, not wanting to spoil the pleasant morning by thinking. “I didn’t. And I did. I’m not sure I can explain.”

“That won’t do,” the girl said. “You knew somehow, didn’t you? Now tell me.”

Qurrah glared. “I’m not lying. I don’t know how I knew. You’re different than me, though. I’ve practiced necromancy all my life. Have you?”

Tessanna lowered her face below the water so that only her eyes peered out. The half-orc sighed.

“Fine. You’ve been inside my mind. You know what I have done, what I have learned. Where did you first gain access to magic?”

The girl dove all the way under, turned, and then lunged to the surface, her long black hair flailing behind her, the scattered drops raining down all about.

“I don’t remember,” she said, her back to Qurrah. “I’ve always known.”

“Nonsense,” the half-orc said. “What was the first spell you cast?”

“I don’t know,” she lied. Under Qurrah’s glare, she finally swore and told the truth. “I was four. A kitten died when my father stepped on it. He said it was an accident. I put my hands on it and I healed it.”

“You brought it back as undead,” Qurrah corrected.

“No, I healed it,” she insisted. “My first spell was not necromancy. I didn’t delve into that until…” A playful look overtook her face. “Until I had fun with daddy. People starting dying around me after that. After daddy. I hope you aren’t one of them.”

Qurrah joined her in the water then, taking her thin body into his arms. The girl nuzzled her face into his neck.

“I could stay with you all day,” he told her.

“Then what’s stopping you?”

The half-orc grinned at her, realizing she had asked an excellent question. What was stopping him?

“Nothing,” he said. Tessanna bit into his neck, hard, yet he only felt pleasure. “Nothing at all.”

W e’re walking a long way to go a short trip,” one of Karnryk’s thugs grumbled. “You think this necessary?”

“From the forest we’ll have free run of the tower’s backside,” their leader grumbled. “If we’re taking on the Watcher, we give him as little time to prepare as possible. You don’t think our rabble would get within half a mile if we stuck to the roads, do you?”

The same thug rubbed his arm, cut from passing through a line of thick brush, and spat.

“I don’t know. Just hate this stupid forest is all.”

“We’ll be out soon. All of you stay sharp and close. Won’t be too long, now.”

The rest, numbering ten plus Karnryk and Melhed, shouted their approval. That communal roar woke the two lovers from their sleep.

“Are you awake?” Qurrah asked, his eyes snapping open.

“I hear it,” the girl whispered into his neck. “They’re close, and they’re many.”

They stood, Qurrah throwing on his robes, Tessanna watching him.

“Aren’t you going to dress?” he asked her. She smirked in response.