David Dalglish - The Cost of Betrayal

“Shall I assume there is a certain elf you wish to propose to?”

Harruq shrugged. “Maybe. Any ideas?”

Haern rubbed his chin, amused.

“First, set up the scene. Flowers. Stars. Make sure you’re alone. Oh yes, and make sure you bathed recently.”

“Ha, ha. Be serious.”

Haern laughed. “I am serious. No one wants to marry a smelly half-orc. Besides, there are other reasons, if you know what I mean.”

The half-orc’s reaction showed that he did. “Just shut up and go on,” he said.

“Not sure how I can do both, but very well. Tell her how much you love her, want to be with her, and then present her with the ring. This is after you get down on one knee, of course.”

“Why one knee?”

The assassin gave him an incredulous look. “You really don’t know anything, do you?”

Harruq crossed his arms. “Now when would I have been taught all this? Tutors? My parents? We street urchins aren’t known for playing dress up.”

“My apologies. You get down on one knee, like this, and then take her hand when you tell her all the mushy stuff.”

Tarlak came around the corner, a scroll in his hand, just as Haern was illustrating the proposal maneuver. He stopped, blinked twice, and then burst into laughter.

“Am I interrupting anything important?” he asked. Haern leapt to his feet, and for the first time ever, Harruq saw him blush.

“Helping out my dear half-orc friend, here,” he said, trying, and failing, to act nonchalant. “What is it you need?”

Tarlak gestured with the scroll. “Got a message for the King’s Watcher.”

Haern took the scroll, unfurled it, and read. A smile grew on his face as he did.

“Excellent,” he said, handing the scroll back to the wizard. “I’ll retrieve it tomorrow morning.”

“Retrieve what?” Harruq asked.

“The King doesn’t pay Haern just in gold for his services,” Tarlak explained. “He pays in magical items. This one is for five more years of loyalty.”

“You didn’t answer my question,” the half-orc said.

“You’ll see tomorrow,” Haern said, winking. “By the way, do you have a ring to give Aurelia?”

“Aye.”

“Where did you get it?” Haern asked.

“Ring?” Tarlak interrupted. “So you finally found the guts, eh?”

“Aurry gave it to me,” Harruq said. “So she’s not going to be too surprised.”

“Proposing with the girl’s own ring? Nonsense!” Tarlak wrapped an arm around the giant man. “Listen here, we have one of the finest metalworkers in all the realms right in this tower, and he’s not too bad with jewelry, either. Find some way to pay him, and I’m sure Brug can make you a ring that’ll knock the eyes out of Aurelia’s head.”

“Brug? He’d feed my manhood to a dog if I gave him a fork.”

“All show. I’ll come with you. Trust me, that guy is a softie at heart, and when he hears it’s for love, he’ll melt like a tub of lard.”

“Alright,” Harruq said, shooting Haern a worried glance as Tarlak led them into the tower.

N ot no bloody-abyssy-way!”

“Like lard?” Harruq muttered, jabbing Tarlak with his elbow.

“I know you have plenty of precious gems for all your little toys,” the wizard said. “Are you telling me you can’t spare one?”

“Not just my gems you want,” he said, storming to the other side of his room, not bothering to step over the pieces of armor. Metal clanged and banged as they flew this way and that. “You want me to take the time to carve a ring, decorate it, and why not, even throw on a magical effect or two. No problem! I’ll drop everything just for that.”

“Harruq needs a ring to propose to Aurelia with, and you’re the best for the job,” Tarlak argued.

“Propose!” Brug’s eyes bugged out of his head. “This lame-wit porridge-skin muscle-brained dog is going to marry HER? Go find a clump of dirt for your ring and propose to a pig somewhere, that’d be a more appropriate coupling.”

Tarlak winced and waited for the half-orc to detonate. He didn’t. Instead, Harruq said, “I’ll make sure Aurry knows. I’m sure she’ll be thankful, if she believes you made it.”

“What do you mean by that?” Brug asked. He kicked his grinding wheel. “I can make any damn thing in all Dezrel. You telling me she won’t believe I could craft a gorgeous ring?”

“Well, not unless your name was on it or something,” he said with a shrug. “Come on, a pudgy-fingered roundbelly like you making rings? I’m surprised Tarlak thought you could.”

“My fingers are not pudgy!” he shouted. “And I know what you’re doing, making me all upset and proud so I’ll prove you wrong. Well, what if I make a ring, give it to her, and you don’t ever get to see it at all?”

“Brug,” Tarlak said, his patience clearly ended. “Just shut up, do a good job, and accept my thanks, his thanks, and Aurelia’s thanks. Understood?”

“Fine. I’ll do it, but it won’t be my best work or anything. And I’m only doing it for Aurelia. If she’s going to be married to that idiot, at least she’ll have something pretty to help endure her wedding day.”

“Very funny,” Harruq said, and then, quieter, “I’m gonna kill him, Tar, I swear, I’m gonna kill him.”

“Thank you, Brug,” Tarlak said, shoving Harruq out as fast as he could.

The next day, Harruq waited for Haern, running his hand across the dew-covered grass and dozing off. He awoke at the sound of approaching footsteps.

“Please forgive my tardiness,” Haern said, pulling back his hood. Youthful joy sparkled in his eyes. “Ready to begin?”

Harruq drew his swords. “So what’s your new toy?”

“It will be more fun just showing you,” he said. He drew his sabers and tapped them together, a sign to begin. Harruq approached, lacking the reckless hurry he had shown in his earlier sessions. The two circled each other, each waiting for the first move. An obvious feint by the assassin sent Harruq in motion, one sword slashing high, his other kept back to block. Haern rushed forward, his swords high.

And then he was not there.

The half-orc slashed air, staggering forward as the expected block did not come. He whirled about to see Haern directly behind him, sporting a huge grin on his face.

“How in the abyss did you do that?” he asked.

“You mean this?” Haern asked. His entire body grew fuzzy and then he was gone. A finger tapped his shoulder. Harruq jumped. Haern stood behind him once more.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” he muttered.

“Short range magic,” Haern explained, showing him a simple silver band on his right hand. “It places me seven feet directly ahead. It is but a parlor trick, one that you will grow accustomed to. Those who have not fought me before, however-” his grin was dark and mischievous, “-I only need to fool them once.”

“Craziness,” Harruq said. “Pure craziness. But just straight ahead?”

“Yes. Not up or down or backwards.”

“Good. Ready to go?”

The assassin tapped his blades. Harruq charged, and even though he still batted his swords away with ease, Haern was pleased by the increased speed and skill his apprentice showed. A quick parry sent Salvation out of position, and a saber stabbed in to take advantage. Harruq, having purposefully given the opening, twisted to the side, the thrusting cutting wide. He slashed with both swords at the over-extended assassin.

When he struck air, the half-orc turned and swung, expecting his foe to be lunging from behind. Instead, he saw no one.

“Clever,” Haern said, poking a saber into his back. “But predictable.”

The half-orc turned around, his face the epitome of annoyance.

“You said you could only go forward,” he said.