David Dalglish - The Cost of Betrayal

Harruq shrugged. “Did you send Haern after Qurrah and Tess?” he asked. Tarlak sat down at the table, sighing.

“Never been one to beat about the bush, eh, Harruq?” the wizard asked.

“Harruq, perhaps this is better to wait for another time,” Aurelia said, sliding in beside her husband. Harruq kissed her cheek but disagreed.

“What happened when I was out,” he asked.

“I sent Haern to retrieve your brother. He went into the King’s Forest and returned hours later looking like a burnt log. End of story.”

The half-orc groaned, fighting through his hundred initial reactions. “You had no right to do that,” he finally decided on.

“No right?” Tarlak stood, marching over to the wounded half-orc. “No right? Last I remember, he was a wanted fugitive for the city of Veldaren. Last I remember, he has the blood of innocent children on his hands. Last I remember, he had struck down a member of my mercenaries. He may be your brother, Harruq, but you are my family, and I do not take kindly to anyone who hurts my kin. Now he has hurt Haern. What did you expect me to do?”

“Just let me deal with him.”

“No!” Tarlak knelt down, his face inches from Harruq’s. “This is no private matter, not anymore. He is a threat and must be dealt with accordingly. He is too dangerous to leave in the wild.”

“He won’t hurt any of us,” Harruq pleaded. “I didn’t mean to hit him. I started our fight, and you sent Haern after him, not the opposite. Just let him be. He will leave us alone.”

“You don’t know that,” Aurelia said.

“Yes, I do. Trust me. I just need to talk to him.”

The wizard threw up his hands. He stood and paced with curses on his lips.

“Am I missing all the fun?” Lathaar asked as he came down the stairs still dressed in his bedclothes.

“What do you think we should do?” Tarlak asked him. “Should we hunt for Qurrah, or let him be?”

The paladin shrugged. “We leave him be until he does more harm.”

The wizard nearly fell over. Despite the seriousness of the situation, Delysia could not suppress a smile.

“We do what?” he asked.

“Aurelia,” Lathaar asked. “Is it alright if I tell them? Good. Qurrah and Tessanna have some sort of magic protecting them from being located. I had Aurelia scry for their location, only to see darkness. Even if we can find them, we’d be marching on their home with them on the defensive. If Tessanna’s power is anything like Mira’s, it is best to leave them be.”

“You’re joking,” Tarlak fumed. “You have to be joking. Are you telling me you’re afraid of that crazy black-eyed little girl?”

“Not afraid,” Lathaar said. “But you haven’t seen what I’ve seen.”

“And what is that?” The wizard crossed his arms, challenging his friend. “What have you seen that shakes the knees of our most holy defender?”

“Do not confuse fear with wisdom,” Lathaar said. “I’ve seen an ancient demon brought low by the magical barrage of a goddess. I’ve seen the greatest fire wizard of our time brought to shame by the raging inferno leaving her fingertips. If Tessanna is akin to Mira, her power is awoken by anger. I suggest we not risk unleashing that unless we must. Until they harm again, I would leave them be.”

Tarlak frowned in silence. For a brief moment, Lathaar saw the young kid he had first met. Brash, reckless, and with red fuzz in place of a mustache and beard. Even now that recklessness wished out, to demand its way. But Tarlak was a wiser man now. Most of the time.

“This Mira girl really outdid Roand the Flame?” he asked.

“Her fireball was twice the size of his,” the paladin said.

“So we’ll leave him be?” Harruq asked, daring to hope.

“Yes, for now,” Tarlak said, not leaving Lathaar’s gaze. “If he’s wise, he’ll stay gone for a long, long time.”

“And if he’s not?”

It was Aurelia who asked this. Other than worry for her husband, she had revealed little of her opinion on the matter.

“If he’s not wise, then Lathaar might need to fetch that Mira girl to protect us,” the wizard said with a chuckle.

No one laughed.

Q urrah awoke with the dawn, rising from the warm bed with a ferocious cough. The stolen life had healed much of the sword wound, but the pain and blood remained, clogging his throat. The cold air did little to help. Tessanna stirred, but he kissed her eyes back to sleep. He slipped into Velixar’s robes and pulled tight the sash. Xelrak’s words haunted the morning air.

It may take time, but he will return. Karak has sworn this to me.

Qurrah cinched the robe tighter. Bracing himself, he opened the door to outside. The chilly air swept around his robe, danced about his legs, and crept its way to his arms and chest. He met it head on, not wishing to disturb Tessanna’s slumber. He closed the door behind him.

The earth remained dead all about the home, a gray scar on the orange and red canvas of the forest. Qurrah found comfort in its death.

“I sought you to help my wounded lover,” he whispered to a phantom image of his brother he imagined floating along the wind. Frost punctuated his every word. “And now I return, wounded by you.”

At least one thing had not changed. He attuned his mind to the darker things in life. He could sense death, and the soul he sought was so strong its pull was like a noose around his neck.

“Karnryk.” He whispered the half-orc’s name, having never been told it before. The spirit was so desperate to return to life that it was flooding his mind with memories, the way ghosts haunt old homes, dark caves, and the gallows where souls had died. Karnryk should have known better. He had forgotten Qurrah’s promise to him.

Karnryk’s body was a mess. Something about the cabin scared most animals away, but the carrion eaters were unafraid. Coyotes had consumed his innards. Worms and insects feasted on the remains. His face was puffy, his eyes long gone. To his mild amusement, the corpse’s right arm was gone, most likely as a late meal for a scavenger mutt.

He heard a ghostly wail, and the soft touch of fingers pressed against his neck, chilling his blood.

“You are too late to be brought to life,” Qurrah whispered to the ghost. “At least, not how you wish. My way, however, does not require freshness of the body.”

He spent the next hour carving runes into the dirt surrounding the fetid corpse. Tessanna did not join him. The trials of the past few days had taken their toll, and she slept deep into the morning. That was fine with him. Qurrah preferred torturing in seclusion.

“ Drak thun, drak thaye, kaer vrek thal luen, ” he chanted. “ Kala mar, yund cthular.” They were the words of his teacher, Velixar, and the unnamed Master. The words made him shiver with memory. The runes glowed, the body shrieked, and Karnryk lived once more, if life was the correct word.

“Stand up,” Qurrah ordered. Karnryk growled. The first tug-of-war match had already begun, mere seconds after being granted life. Inside his head, Qurrah saw a silver thread linking the two. One end wrapped about Qurrah’s skull, the other, Karnryk’s throat. The more the warrior pulled, the deeper the ache, but the stronger Qurrah pulled, the less and less will the undead monster kept. In physical strength, Karnryk may have been the greater, but when matched in willpower, he was by far the inferior.

“I said stand,” the necromancer shouted. The giant, rotting half-orc lurched to attention. Bits and pieces sloshed off him. Qurrah grabbed his head and forced it downward, placing his other hand over the empty sockets. He cast a spell so the undead thing could see, even though the eyes were long gone. This done, he made sure Karnryk watched the rotting pieces of himself fall.