David Dalglish - The Cost of Betrayal

Black tendrils snaked out his palms like spearheaded tentacles. There were nine, and each one aimed for Xelrak’s heart. With a visage of perfect calm, the man accepted the blows. They tore into his chest, covered the alley with his blood, and mutilated his inner organs in a splay of gore.

Then the smiling visage was gone. The man himself was gone. Instead, the massacred remains of a twelve-year-old boy lay before Qurrah, torn apart by the tendrils. The boy’s head was mostly intact, and his eyes peered to the night sky with a lifeless gaze. Several runes marked his forehead.

Laughter filled the alley as Qurrah seethed. He had been made a fool.

Fear not my child, said a voice in the half-orc’s mind. Its sound was the coldest chill on a winter morning and the strongest thunder in a raging storm. Do not despair my ways. My servant has done as he was ordered. Walk with courage. The true test approaches.

“Qurrah,” said a voice, quivering with rage and horror. It was deep, and nearly a growl.

“Yes,” the half-orc said. He turned and faced his brother.

H arruq stood at the entranceway, his eyes locked on the butchered remains of the boy. Tears ran down his face, even as anger overwhelmed his sorrow.

“This was not my doing,” Qurrah said. “Listen to me brother, it is all a ruse, a ploy…”

“Don’t lie to me!” Harruq shouted. “You think I’m stupid? It’s all for your magic, your sick, damned magic.”

“Not so long ago you helped me, or have you forgotten?”

“Those days are gone. I will not let you guilt me forever. I’ve moved on. You haven’t.”

As they talked, Harruq slowly approached, his hands clutching the hilts of his blades. His fingers twitched, seeming eager to draw. Qurrah watched, remembering all the times those swords had taken lives with brutal efficiency. Killing was what he was. He remembered this. His brother did not.

“You have not moved on,” Qurrah said, the grip on his whip tightening. “You have merely forgotten. Delusional fool. Killing is what defines you. It is your greatest ability. Now you threaten me for doing what you are the better at?”

“I’m going to stop it,” Harruq said, drawing Condemnation and Salvation. “Now. Swear it. Swear you‘ll never kill again, and maybe we can make this out alright.”

Qurrah chuckled as his world shattered. Rage clouded his mind, coupled with a sweeping sadness covering his rage like snow on a volcano.

“I cannot promise this,” he said. “Because I will forever hold my promise, and a killer is what I am. We are murderers, Harruq.”

“Not anymore.”

“Forever,” Qurrah shouted, ignoring the rupture in his throat.

“I said not anymore!” Their faces were inches apart, their wills locked in a desperate struggle.

“I will kill again,” Qurrah yelled. “I will kill children, women, elders, elves, Tarlak, Brug, I’ll kill any I wish, whenever I wish. Aurelia, Aullienna, their lives are nothing to me, nothing to you, have you grown too blind to see it?”

Harruq smashed Qurrah’s face with the back of his fist. There was no thought involved. No decision. He just struck. Qurrah reeled back, clutching his face. His complicated tangle of emotions cleared into one heated moment of fury.

“You would strike your brother,” he said. “For all we have done, all we have survived, you would betray me?”

“You’ll not lay a finger on them,” Harruq said, shaking. “Their lives over yours. That’s how it must be.”

“So be it,” Qurrah said. A black tendril shot from his hand, streaking for an exposed part of Harruq’s armor. Condemnation smacked it aside as he charged, his bloodrage taking hold. Bones ripped out of the dead child’s body and pelted his hands and face. He felt a burn on his ankle and knew it was the whip. He halted, tensed his legs, and then leapt backward.

Qurrah released the handle, knowing he could not match his brother’s strength. The fire died when the handle left his touch. Harruq kicked it off, the sting of it driving his anger. He rushed again, his arms up to protect his face.

“See only darkness,” Qurrah said, a curse leaving his hands. “May you be as blind as your heart has become.”

All light vanished from Harruq’s eyes. It was as if he were in a dark cave far from the grace of the sun. He kept his charge, hoping his orientation had not changed. When he heard spellcasting to his left, he ducked. Wet objects splattered onto the wall beside him.

Knowing he had little time, Harruq leapt toward the sound of his brother’s voice, still deep in casting. He felt his shoulder connect, followed by a faint gasp. His momentum continued forward, and when he heard the sickening sound of bone smacking against wood, his heart stopped.

“Qurrah,” he said, taking a step back.

Then the hemorrhage spell hit his arm. His right bicep tensed, tighter and tighter, until muscle broke. Blood exploded out, pouring down his arm, his leg, and across his brother’s robes and face. His mind white with pain, he lashed out with his other arm.

The sound was faint, but he knew it for what it was. In his pain, he had forgotten he still held his swords, and that single lash had cut deep into flesh.

“Qurrah?” he asked again, dropping both his blades. “Get rid of this damn dark and let me see you!”

The sound of gurgling blood was his answer. The image filling his head mortified him. He had slit his brother’s throat, his scarred, torn throat.

“Please, Delysia can help you,” he said. He staggered forward, his good arm searching. He felt a hand wrap about his wrist.

“I didn’t mean to,” Harruq said. “I didn’t…”

Dizziness flooded his head. His entire left arm went numb. The pain followed. Agonizing, shrieking, stealing pain. His life poured out his flesh, stolen into Qurrah’s grasp. Harruq collapsed, colors of violet and red swarming across the darkness that was his vision.

“You cut me,” he heard his brother gasp. “You dared cut me.”

“Please,” Harruq said. “Please, don’t go.”

“You fear me leaving you,” said the hissing voice just above his head. “But you have left me long ago.”

“Qurrah!”

The raspy breathing trailed down the alley and faded away. Harruq struggled to stand, but one arm was numb and weak and the other torn and bleeding. He managed a sitting position. Next, he slid his legs underneath, grimaced, and rose to his feet.

“Qurrah!” he shouted again. “Where are you!” No answer. “Aurelia!”

He staggered out of the alleyway. He brushed the shoulder of his numb arm against the wall to keep his orientation. His ankle smashed against a crate, sending him sprawling.

“Aurelia! Tarlak!”

“Who has done this to you?” asked a sudden whisper, startling the half-orc.

“Haern?” he asked.

“Who, Harruq?” the whisper asked again.

“I can’t see,” the half-orc said. “Help me, I can’t see.”

“I have already sent for Delysia. Now tell me who.”

“It was Qurrah,” Harruq said.

“I knew it,” he whispered. “Stay here until you are healed, Harruq. I will find him.”

“No!” Harruq screamed. “Don’t hurt him!”

“Look what he has done to you,” Haern said. The half-orc felt strong hands grab his shoulders and prop him against a wall. “You are blind and bleeding, and he has left you.”

“I hit him first,” he gasped. “Please. I hit him first.”

The assassin’s mind had been set, and he thought no argument would stop him. Still, those words kept him by the half-orc’s side. The pain in his voice was too great. He waited for Delysia and the others to arrive.

“Harruq!” a female voice called out. A soft hand stroked the side of his face. “Are you alright?”