David Dalglish - The Cost of Betrayal

“Don’t you think I’m more intimidating as is?”

The half-orc looked up and down her body. She was thin, she was pale, but by the gods, she was beautiful.

“You’ll steal their hearts, but only to draw them closer, not send them running.”

She laughed. “I know. I’ll put on clothes if you insist, though.”

She donned her short, weathered dress, tracing her fingers across the stains of blood. Finished, the two slipped through the trees toward the source of the noise.

I count twelve,” Qurrah said, hidden behind a collection of brush. Farther ahead marched the mercenaries, cutting and cursing their way through the forest toward the Eschaton tower.

“Who’s the big one?” Tessanna asked, licking her lips. When she caught Qurrah watching, she laughed. “I’m not interested in that, at least, not while he’s alive.” She laughed again. Qurrah wasn’t sure if she was joking or not, and that alone disturbed him.

“They move for our tower,” the half-orc said. “For what reason, though?”

Tessanna shrugged. “You need subjects for your scrolls, right? Well, I see plenty. I’ll leave you one breathing.”

With that, she stripped off her dress and left their cover. Fully exposed, she shouted to the group.

“What’s the hurry?”

The men turned, their eyes bulging at the sight of Tessanna approaching, her black hair falling down either side of her face, covering her shoulders and the sides of her breasts. The morning was cold, and her body showed it. Her face held no expression, for the being of apathy had come over her.

“What in Karak’s name is going on?” Karnryk growled. All around him, his thugs glanced at each other, each one looking for the courage to go to her, despite what their half-orc boss might say.

“A nymph of the forest, perhaps?” Melhed offered. “I have heard rumors of such beauty, but I’ve never seen one.”

“We can share her, can’t we, Karnryk?” asked one. Several others echoed similar sentiments.

“Hold it!” he shouted, putting his arms out to stop them. “Something ain’t right, boys, can’t you feel it?”

They could feel something, but it felt right to them.

“Look upon me,” Tessanna called, caressing her body with her hands as she walked. “Enjoy my beauty. Many already have.”

Karnryk felt a tug to go to her, but the warrior in him shrieked in protest. A cool wind blew from her direction, even though the air had been still all morning. The forest darkened with her steps, as if clouds formed a permanent cover above her head. And her eyes… When she looked upon him with those huge black orbs, he felt naked, helpless, and doomed to die.

“Get your weapons ready, boys, this girl’s no prize.”

“Are you mad?” said one thug. “You want us to hurt a thing like that?”

“I want you to-”

He stopped, for Tessanna had begun to change. The shadows around her darkened. Cold air tossed her hair in all directions. A creeping mist seeped out from her, hiding her features. Step after step, the transformation continued, until she appeared a dark goddess walking the land of Dezrel. Her eyes were the darkest of all, tunnels to the abyss leering out at the living.

“I am alive,” she said, her voice the shriek of a banshee, beautiful and deadly. “I am the angel. I am the nightmare. I have come.”

Black tentacles shot from her outstretched fingers, curling around trees, slicing through bushes and low branches, and then piercing into the flesh of the nearest thug. He screamed until two tentacles ripped out his tongue. Black lightning swirled around his body. The tentacles finally drew back, leaving a bloody pile of flesh.

Karnryk drew his sword, fear palpable on his face.

“If you value your lives, she needs to die,” he ordered. The others drew their daggers and swords, doing their best to ignore the carnage that had been their comrade.

“Come to the angel,” Tessanna beckoned. Tentacles flared out her shoulders and swirled into great black wings that stretched higher than the trees. Power flared through her, and the courage of all men who looked upon her melted like ice before the sun.

If the display had lasted a bit longer, they would have fled, never to return. Tessanna’s power, however, was not as absolute as she made it seem. The black wings dissipated, the tentacles faded as if they never were, and in one great silent implosion the darkness returned to her body. Now only a beautiful, naked girl, Tessanna fell to her knees, gasping for breath.

“Damn poison,” she whispered, sensing traces still lingering in her veins.

“Kill her,” Karnryk ordered. They charged, bolstered by her collapse. Then Qurrah stepped out from behind the brush let loose a crack of his fiery whip.

“I will drive mad any who dare touch her,” he shouted, ignoring the horrid pain in his throat.

“Too late!” Karnryk bellowed, not slowing in the least. The rest of his thugs were not far behind. He saw Qurrah cast a spell, so he raised his sword in defense. The bones of the dead body animated and assaulted the group from behind. Men screamed and fell, bones cracking their spines, necks, and heads. A pelvic bone smacked Karnryk hard in the back. He stumbled to the ground in a great explosion of leaves and dirt.

“Kill him,” he shouted, struggling back to his feet. “Kill him, quickly!” The first to approach tripped, his feet tangled and his pants aflame. Two more lunged, but Qurrah knelt beside Tessanna and cast a spell. A single, impenetrable wave of darkness rolled forth, rising higher than their heads. They flew back, pushed on by the wave. Karnryk jammed his sword into the dirt and braced himself. The magic slammed into his body like raging floodwaters. He felt his flesh peel away, yet he held his ground. When the wave passed, only he remained standing.

“Impressive,” he said, spitting blood. “But it will take more than a few spells to kill me.”

“I do not seek to kill you,” Qurrah said, snapping his whip. “As I said, I will drive you mad.”

“He is mine,” Tessanna said, rising from her knees. “The others you can do with as you wish, but I want him alive.”

Qurrah nodded, trusting her. Many of the thugs were getting to their feet, only dazed by his spell.

“Very well.” He turned to Karnryk. “My pity to you.”

The necromancer walked around the powerful warrior, giving him a safe distance considering the length of his two-handed sword. Karnryk let him go, only concerned with the dark angel.

“Do you want me?” she asked, displaying her body. The half-orc spat in response.

“Too skinny. A man like me would crush you.”

Tessanna giggled. “I’m tougher than I look. Really, I am.”

The half-orc roared, yanking his blade out of the dirt and charging. He swung with all his might, attempting to behead Tessanna where she stood. In response, she whispered words of magic and raised her hand. The sword smashed against her fingers and stopped as if striking a mountain. The impact nearly shattered Karnryk’s hands and elbows. She reached out and ran a hand across his chest. Karnryk pulled back his sword and struck, this time at her scrawny waist. Again he smacked against stone.

“My sword is enchanted,” he said, the pain in his arms unbearable. “Why do you not die?”

In response, Tessanna flattened her hand against his skin and lowered it to his groin. He tensed, exhilarated and terrified.

“There’s only one sword I want,” she cooed. “I’ll tell you if you want to know.”

She groped and pressed. He held her with one hand and pressed his sword against her neck with the other.

“Stop it,” he snarled.

“Don’t you want to know?” she asked. “I’ll whisper it to you.” She leaned forward, unafraid of the blade at her exposed throat. The half-orc felt his heart skip as her hair and lips brushed the side of his face.