David Dalglish - The Cost of Betrayal

The sound of rustling grass alerted him to someone’s arrival.

“Aurry?” he asked, squinting against the light.

“Have they evicted you on your final night of freedom?” asked a quiet, raspy voice. Harruq beamed as his adjusting eyes spotted a frail form dressed in black robes.

“Brother!”

He staggered to his feet and wrapped him in a hug. Qurrah chuckled, offering a meager squeeze back. “I didn’t think you were coming,” Harruq said, grinning at him. “Why’d you take so long?”

“The elf’s spell told us to arrive by this morning. As far as I know, I am not late.”

“Did you bring the girl?”

Qurrah chuckled. “She did not wish to attend.”

Harruq was unsure of what to say that would not offend his brother, so he let the subject drop.

“Ah well. Come on, let’s get something to eat.”

Qurrah’s eyes glinted at the thought of food.

“That sounds wonderful,” he said.

Q urrah’s entrance to the tower was a mixed thing. The members of the Eschaton smiled and welcomed him, including Tarlak, but Felewen and Dieredon both lurched to their feet.

“I killed you,” Dieredon said, an arrow already drawn and ready. Qurrah pulled back his hood to reveal his face, and with his steeled eyes, he stared Dieredon down.

“I know, for I was there,” the half-orc said.

A deathly silence filled the room as the two faced off, the arrow not wavering even though the string was pulled fully taut.

“I will not have bloodshed in my tower,” Tarlak said.

“It is strange company you keep,” Dieredon said to the wizard, his body not moving. “Why should this one be left to live?”

“Do you wish me dead?” Qurrah asked, a sneer spread across his face. “I have seen my master murdered at your hands. I know my doom. The question is not whether I wish to live, but whether you wish me to die. You have released my brother from your condemnation. What have I done that he has not?”

“His eyes held regret when I was ready to take his life,” Dieredon said. “Yours openly invite it.”

“Regret is naught but fear in a different dress,” Qurrah said. “I do not know fear.”

“Enough!” Tarlak shouted. “Dieredon, put down your bow. Qurrah, outside, now. We have to talk.”

“No,” Qurrah said. “This elf thinks he can threaten any without worry. The supreme executioner, but he is wrong. There are those better than you, Dieredon. Faster. Wiser. Smarter. You are known only because you have murdered more than they. What have I done that you have not?”

Dieredon’s eyes narrowed. Tarlak grabbed his bag of spell components, expecting an arrow to let fly at any moment.

“You seek glory in death,” Dieredon said.

“Do not lie to me,” Qurrah said. “I am not alone in feeling the thrill of the kill. I fight with fire and darkness, you with steel and arrow. How are we different?”

“I value life!”

The whip slipped down Qurrah’s shoulder into his hand. Dieredon’s look was simple: try it and die.

Before he could, Aurelia stepped between them, her face calm as stone.

“Put down the bow,” she said. “If you harm him, I will kill you. Fail or not, I doubt you will sleep well with my death on your hands.”

The string relaxed, and the arrow slipped back into its quiver. Dieredon slung the bow across his back and gestured to the door.

“I wish to leave. Please do not block my way.”

Qurrah and Harruq stepped aside, giving him more than a wide berth. The elf glared at both as he left the tower. The door slammed shut, vicious enough that wood splintered.

“My apologies,” Tarlak said, greeting the half-orc with a handshake. “It seems you have a way with people.”

“I am used to that,” Qurrah said. “I will do my best to not agitate him further.”

“The fewer headaches the better,” the wizard agreed. “Besides, this is a happy day. A wedding day! Speaking of such, it is time I started preparing. Forgive me.”

He dashed up the stairs, a mischievous grin on his face.

Delysia gave Harruq a kiss on the cheek.

“We’ll start getting you prepared after lunch,” she told him before following Tarlak. Haern, who had remained calm and seated throughout the whole affair, clapped. When the two brothers glanced over, he grinned at them.

“You must be insane,” he said. “Few have stared down Dieredon and lived.”

“Not many have an elf named Aurelia to bail them out,” Aurelia said, kissing Harruq. “Time to put on my dress. You all behave.”

She turned to Felewen. “Will you help me with my dress?”

“With pleasure,” Felewen said. Arm and arm, they hurried up the stairs. When they were gone, Haern stood and crossed his arms.

“Awhile ago, we made a wager,” he said. “He who killed the most thieves would take her hand in marriage.”

“If I remember correctly, I had thirty-three,” Harruq said, bumping the number up by a couple from what he honestly remembered.

“And I had thirty-seven,” Haern said. “It appears we have a problem. You would not go back against your vow, would you?”

“You are such an idiot, brother,” Qurrah said, fighting back a smile.

“Wait a minute, you can’t marry her just because you got more kills than me!”

Tarlak came back down the stairs, two different over-extravagant hats in his hands.

“More kills when?” he asked.

“On the night Aurelia and your sister were injured,” Haern explained.

“What did you two finish at?”

“Haern says he got thirty-seven, while I only have thirty-three,” Harruq said.

“Really? I finished with thirty-nine. Who do I get to marry?”

Qurrah laughed at the look on his brother’s face.

“Delysia,” Haern said, not batting an eye. “Congratulations. When will the wedding be?”

Tarlak shook his head, taking the two hats back upstairs with him. “You all have problems.”

Qurrah laughed all the harder. Haern joined him, slapping Harruq across the back.

“The elf is all yours, half-orc. My sincerest congratulations.”

Haern left to speak with Dieredon. With Brug still upstairs snoring, that left just the two brothers standing in the entranceway. The mood fell silent, but it was not an awkward silence. The two shared it as brothers do, glad with their company, and knowing much of what the other thought.

“Never thought it’d come to this, eh?” Harruq finally asked.

“Never dared hope for it,” Qurrah said. He smiled at his brother. “Your mother would be so disappointed by you, Karak rest her orcish soul.”

“Amen to that,” he laughed, the tension of the past moments melting away into joy.

O utside, the chairs were set up, a simple but elegant carpet unrolled between the rows, and all was ready to begin. Only Aurelia, Harruq, and Delysia remained in the tower. The others mingled, ate a bit of food, and shared their stories. Qurrah and Dieredon did their best to remain at opposite sides of the gathering at all times. Tarlak was grateful for small favors.

Harruq was the first to arrive. His armor was polished, his clothes were clean and crisp, and his cloak flapped behind him in the chill wind. He joined his brother’s side and quietly accepted the compliments on his attire. Delysia followed, gushing about how beautiful Aurelia looked.

“You remember, this was all my doing,” she told the groom, winking at him. She stood at the end of the carpet, beaming at everyone. She wore her white robes of Ashhur. Her braided hair hung down her back, shimmering with gold lace. She had a youthful beauty, and many eyes lingered on her, including Harruq’s. Then Aurelia made her debut, and his eyes were only for her.