David Dalglish - The Cost of Betrayal

They were camped deep in the King’s forest, living off hunted game and growing fouler of mood with every passing day. There were nine of them, plus their leader. The generous coin each of them had accepted eased their complaints a bit, but not their boredom. More than a few would have considered abandoning their job, but they knew Karnryk the Slayer would have their heads if they left. So they stayed, grumbled, and pushed for a quicker ending to their task.

The complaining man was Marv, a bucktoothed scoundrel who bragged often of the many women he had taken at knifepoint. He pulled that same knife out from the dirt and pointed to the strange sight that dominated their clearing. A man and woman hovered in the air, their arms entwined. Their eyes were open, but they did not move. Their mouths hung low, as if in the middle of a scream, but they drew no breath. The air around them was calm, yet still their clothes and hair blew about as if in a great windstorm. They were Qurrah Tun and Tessanna Delone, imprisoned in time by a force unknown.

“What’s so important about them?” Marv dared asked.

Karnryk stood to his full height, the half-orc towering over the scrawny man.

“They dared cross me,” he said, shifting the greatsword on his back so his right arm casually rest upon the hilt. “And they dared hurt me. But go ahead, try and kill them. You’ll end up just like Stokham.”

“Stokham was an idiot,” Marv said. He glanced around, seeking approval from the rest. “Ain’t that right?”

“I know caves less hollow than his head was,” one man said.

“Two turds short of a pigsty,” said another.

A couple more nodded.

“Then by all means,” the huge man said, gesturing to the floating couple. “Kill them.”

“With pleasure,” Marv said, licking the edge of his knife. After an exaggerated time spent aiming, he hurled his weapon. Its aim was true, and had it gone undeterred, it would have pierced through Qurrah’s back and into his heart.

Instead, the knife froze in mid-air. An ethereal shield swirling around the couple flared to life. White magic crackled around the spherical defense. The sound of thunder boomed throughout the clearing. Wind blew. Dust scattered. A bolt of lightning tore through the air. Into the forest flew Marv’s body, charred and smoking. As his henchman landed with a cracking of brush and leaves, Karnryk cackled with laughter.

“What he gets for thinking,” he said to the rest. The swirling sphere vanished, and all was quiet once more in that dead clearing with the gray grass, withered trees, and mysterious floating couple.

W hile the others slept, Karnryk stayed awake, glaring at the two frozen forms. The very sight of them sickened his stomach and awakened old pains where the foul demoness had cast her spell. Their embrace was one of fear and love, and while he had no idea the reason for their imprisonment, it did not appear willing. In truth, he didn’t care why. All that mattered was that their freedom was met with his bloody, painful welcome.

The spherical shield was clearly visible in the moonlight, the pale glow reflecting off like flowing water. Tiny circles of light wafted like smoke from a doused fire, glowing a dull blue. Directly underneath lay the ash and bones of what had been Stokham. Karnryk removed his greatsword and scraped a whetstone across it, knowing he needed to keep his blade, and his mind, sharp.

“Don’t sleep too long,” he said. “It’s only making me crankier.”

As if in answer, a slow rumble shook the clearing. A second, louder rumble sent his eight minions scrambling out of the cottage. Some had weapons drawn; most did not. The half-orc swore. His original men, the ones he had personally trained and kept until the two crazed lovers had butchered them, would have made dog meat out of his current crew. No matter. Those he liked he would train. The others… whatever happened to them happened.

“Knock the sleep out of your eyes, something’s wrong!” he roared. A rainbow of colors poured out the magical shield, flooding the clearing with an unnatural hue. Karnryk held his sword high above his head.

“About damn time,” he shouted. Cracks appeared in the rainbow, akin to broken ice atop a frozen lake. Clean light shone from inside, as if it were daylight within the sphere. Larger and larger the cracks grew, until every man there had to look away. Thunder shook them all. Air blew in every direction. The light vanished. The tempest faded. The two lovers landed hard, both looking as if awakened from a dream.

“Grab their hands, now!” Karnryk shouted, leading the way. Qurrah staggered to his feet, his reactions slow and drunken. Tessanna remained still, her eyes distant and her mouth open.

“Tessanna!” Qurrah shouted. “Stand, thieves seek our lives!”

Out came his whip, wrapping around the closest man’s neck. Fire roared. He screamed and clawed at his charred flesh as the whip closed tighter and tighter. With his other hand, Qurrah cast a spell. Blood shot out another’s forehead, as if an invisible arrow had struck him. Qurrah reeled, overcome with waves of dizziness. When Karnryk rammed his hilt into Qurrah’s gut, he vomited all over the blade. His hands flailed for something to grab. He felt a huge fist yank his robe and hold him steady.

“You dirtied my sword,” Karnryk snarled into his ear. His breath stank of rot, and again Qurrah felt his insides churn. A shove sent him to the ground. The huge blade hovered before him, glistening red and pink from bits of food and vomit.

“Lick it clean,” Karnryk ordered. “Lick it, or I’ll cut your damn head off.”

Qurrah spat on it instead. His reward was a monstrous fist to his face, coupled with a welcome return to unconsciousness.

W hen he awoke, his hands were bound behind his back and tied to a rope that looped around his neck. Even a twitch of his hands tightened them, choking his weak throat. All around, he heard the mutterings and jokes of petty lowlifes. The heat of a fire warmed his face and chest. Summoning the courage, he opened his eyes.

Karnryk’s minions surrounded him. A bonfire roared several feet away. Beside him lay Tessanna, bound in a similar manner. Her eyes were open, but she seemed sleepy and incoherent. On the opposite side of the fire stood Karnryk, his sword heating in the flame.

“Good, you’re both awake,” he said. “Now we can start the fun. I want to see the fear in your eyes as I cut you to pieces.”

“Then you will never have your chance,” Qurrah said. “You cannot scare me. A bully with a sword is all you are. The things I fear are beyond your abilities.”

“Really?” the giant half-orc said. “That so? Well, you don’t have to be afraid for me to have my fun. Pain’s my true specialty.”

He reached over and grabbed Tessanna. His giant fingers dwarfed her small neck. She made no struggle as he lifted her into the air, her body dangling.

“Strange to see you with clothes on,” he said, lewdly examining her body. “Last time you didn’t seem to mind being naked.” He took her dress in hand and ripped it, exposing her chest. His henchmen murmured in approval. “Want some fun?” he asked her. She said nothing. With a shrug, he tossed her to the ground.

“Well you’re getting some, anyway,” he said. With a nod, the first of many came forward, undoing the button to his trousers. When Qurrah looked away, Karnryk knelt beside him, yanked his head by his hair.

“No, you look,” he growled. “You watch. You killed my men. She nearly killed me, so you better enjoy your fucking reward.”

Tessanna showed no emotion as the first pushed up her skirt and pulled down his trousers. Qurrah watched, a burning anger growing in his gut. His lover gave no sign of pleasure, or displeasure, instead remaining perfectly still, her eyes far, far away. Without any struggle or signs of life, the man raping her beat her face, then her chest, furious. She did not scream. She did not fight back. She did nothing. When he finished, the man was furious.