David Dalglish - The Cost of Betrayal

“How long will you be staying here?” Tarlak asked as the meal neared an end.

“We will be gone by tomorrow’s eve,” Qurrah said. “We would hate to be a bother.”

“Nonsense,” Harruq said. “You’re more than welcome here. Can you at least stay another week?”

“You ask the wrong person,” Qurrah said with a chuckle. “It is Delysia’s room that we occupy.”

“I don’t mind at all,” Delysia said, feeling multiple sets of eyes on her. “Stay as long as you wish. My brother is not as great a nuisance as he seems.”

Brug let out a satisfied belch, leaned back in his chair, and looked at Qurrah.

“So, your scorpion working right?” he asked. In response, the half-orc reached into his cloak and retrieved the token. It immediately sprang to life and crawled up Qurrah’s arm, snuggling into the cloth on his shoulder.

“I believe it is quite fond of me, if such emotion is possible for it,” he said.

“It might be. Tried to make the thing lifelike as possible. Glad to know it ain’t keeled off.”

Harruq watched the scorpion, a slight grin on his face.

“So that was your pendant?” he asked. Qurrah nodded. Harruq pulled out a similar looking scorpion on a chain.

“You ever see mine?” he asked. He held it out for his brother, who briefly examined it. Like everything else of Brug’s workmanship, the piece was perfectly and intricately carved. Just by touching it, Qurrah could sense the magic flowing within.

“What does it do?” he asked.

“Makes his swords stronger,” Brug answered, obviously pleased. “He can cut through stone if he swings hard enough. Considering the magic inside those swords already, shoddy blades just shatter against his.”

“Quite a gift,” Qurrah said.

“Yeah, I thought you might…”

“Someone is coming,” Tessanna interrupted, saying her first words of the day. She glanced about, her face ashen and her voice emotionless. “He won’t like me. I know it. He kills people like me.”

“Who?” Tarlak asked, rising from his chair. The rest of the mercenaries stood as well, preparing their weapons.

“He’s here,” she whispered. Two loud thumps came from the door, the sound of a fist smashing the wood.

“Aullienna, come here,” Aurelia said. The girl sensed the urgency in her mother’s voice and frowned. She dropped her toy and rushed over, taking her mother’s hand into hers.

“Haern?” Tarlak asked.

“I will see,” the assassin said, pulling his hood low. He drew his sabers and approached the door. Again, the stranger knocked twice. As the second knock ended, Haern flung open the doors. The stranger staggered back as the curve of Haern’s blade pressed against his neck.

“Your name,” Haern whispered.

“Lathaar of the Citadel,” the man answered, bowing even though the sword remained against the soft skin of his throat. “May Ashhur grant you peace.”

All the worry rapidly melted away from Tarlak’s face, replaced with joy.

“Lathaar!” he exclaimed, rushing past Haern to embrace the man. Delysia was right behind him with a chaste kiss on each cheek. Tessanna slunk to the back of the room, even as the others warmly welcomed him. Brug pumped his arm, and Haern exchanged a bow.

“Everyone, I want you to meet my best friend,” he said, letting the man into the tower. “May I present Lathaar, paladin of Ashhur.”

The man bowed, deeply and gracefully. Long brown hair was carefully trimmed. His eyes twinkled, also a soft brown. His nose was a bit too large, and his cheeks, too thin, but his smile lit up his face as well as the room.

Qurrah felt his whip seethe and curl, itching for his hand to take its hilt. He fought it down with effort.

The paladin took Aurelia’s free hand, extended his right leg, and then bowed deeply, kissing her hand at his lowest point. Aurelia blushed, immediately smitten. Harruq, seeing her swooning, had to resist his temptation to punch the man in the face.

“May I have your name, precious gem of the elves?” he asked.

“Aurelia Tun,” she said.

“And the child?” he asked. Aullienna hid behind her mother’s leg. She had a round face, and rounder cheeks. Her sharp nose was reminiscent of her father, while her tiny ears were clearly Aurelia’s. Lathaar knelt down and reached into his pocket. With a disarming smile, he pulled out a small object wrapped in paper and offered it to the girl. When she did not take it, he removed the paper, revealing a hard piece of candy.

“Her name is Aullienna,” Aurelia answered, gently urging her daughter forward. The shy girl reached out, took the gift, and then retreated, sucking noisily.

“Adorable child,” Lathaar said, rising to his feet. “And the father?”

“That would be me,” Harruq said, crossing his arms. The paladin did not miss a beat. Instead, he grinned, gesturing once more to Aullienna.

“Her shyness certainly did not come from you. Greetings, half-orc.” He outstretched his hand. Harruq stared at it, then yielded after a fierce jab from Aurelia’s elbow.

“I’m Harruq Tun,” he said, using all his strength when they shook hands. To his surprise, the man’s grip was just as strong, and his smile never wavered. He glanced about the entry room with a look of nostalgia. When his eyes swept across Qurrah and Tessanna, however, his smile faltered for the first time.

“By Ashhur,” he whispered.

“Lathaar, meet the two newest additions to our little family,” Tarlak said, sensing the atmosphere tighten. “The half-orc is Qurrah Tun, and the lovely lady, Tessanna Delone.”

Lathaar did his best to recover. He extended his hand, but neither accepted it. He brought it back down with no sign of insult.

“You say you are of the Citadel,” Qurrah said. “Yet I hear the Citadel has fallen.”

“I am still of the Citadel,” Lathaar said, his grin faltering. “Whether it has fallen or not.”

“Anyway,” Tarlak said, trying to change the subject. “Come on upstairs. We’ll find a room for you, with Haern, perhaps. I haven’t seen you in…well, how long has it been?”

“Three years,” the paladin replied. The two approached the stairs, followed by a rather large procession. Only Qurrah, Tessanna, and Harruq stayed on the bottom floor.

“He won’t hurt you, Tess” Harruq said to the girl, who remained at the corner of the room.

“His kind is the bane of what we are,” Qurrah said. “You are quick to side with your friends, Harruq.”

The warrior snorted. “You’re just paranoid.”

He joined his wife upstairs, feeling the cold stare of his brother as he went. When they were alone, Tessanna pulled her robe tight and peered at her lover with childlike eyes.

“I’ll try to be good,” she said, her voice just above a whisper. “While we’re here. While he’s here. I’ll try to be good. Is that good, Qurrah? Is that what I should do?”

The necromancer sighed, feeling the whip slacken on his arm.

“Yes, Tessanna. For now, that is what must be done.”

T hat night, Lathaar sat with Tarlak by the fire, a glass of wine in Tarlak’s hand, flavored water in Lathaar’s. He looked much more relaxed without all his armor. With his hair brushed and his face cleaned, he looked all the more handsome. The rest of the Eschaton were in bed, at least, as far as they knew.

“So where have you been the past few years?” asked the wizard. “I was worried sick, especially with all those dark paladins crawling around. Vultures, they are.”

“I never meant to be gone so long,” Lathaar said, rolling the water across his tongue to guess the flavor. He had tasted grapes once, and intermixed with them in the water, he swore he detected a hint of peach. “I crossed the river into Mordan, seeking refuge in the Sanctuary. The priests there were kind, and I learned much from them, but their way is not mine. They focus on healing and prayer. The edge of my sword needs neither.”