David Dalglish - The Cost of Betrayal

At least, he hoped.

The door cracked open, and a haggard, wild-haired Calan opened the door.

“Yes, children?” he asked. Harruq grunted and looked down at his daughter.

“She’s been poisoned,” he said. “We need you to cure her, now.”

“Demands are unnecessary,” the man said, brushing his hand across Aullienna’s forehead. The half-orc caught a frown, so quick it was as if Calan tried to hide it. His stomach sank. “Bring her inside,” Calan said. “Place her on my bed so I may take a look.”

He stepped aside so the three could enter. The room was a cramped study filled with tomes, expertly bound and illustrated in archaic lettering. Harruq gently placed his daughter on the bed, his hands lingering on hers. Calan slid between them and knelt. He touched the girl’s forehead, closed his eyes in prayer, and began.

For a long while, the three waited, Harruq and Aurelia seeking comfort in each other’s arms. Delysia stayed out of the way, her arms crossed, her teeth chattering. Finally, the prayers ended, without any action taken on Calan’s part.

“Where’s the spell?” Harruq asked. Aurelia tried to shush him but he pushed away her hand. “Don’t get up, heal her! Where’s the light, the chanting?”

“I can’t,” Calan said. The ache was evident in his voice, but Harruq pressed on.

“Bullshit, you can, now get on your damn knees and heal her!”

“Harruq,” Aurelia shouted.

“She has no poison,” Calan said, overpowering her shout with his simple words. “No poison, no curse, no hex, and no spell.”

“Then what is wrong with her?” Aurelia asked. “She acted terrified to see me, and other times, she cried like a wild animal.”

“I have seen it only once,” the high priest said, his left arm searching behind him for his desk to lean upon. When he found it, he slumped back, his face exhausted. “Only once, but I know it well.”

“What is it,” Harruq asked.

“The girl you brought to me,” Calan said. “Tessanna. Their minds are now similar. And just like I cannot heal her, I cannot heal your daughter.”

The words pierced them worse than any arrow could.

“But Qurrah said there’s a cure,” Harruq whispered. “He said he had a cure.”

“Then he lied to you,” the high priest said. “There is no cure. I do not know how, but her mind has been reshaped. A curse or a hex merely binds and forces a change. A poison is evil in her blood. But this…” He sighed and collapsed into his old rickety chair. “This is beyond me. Beyond anyone.”

“What are we to do,” Aurelia asked. She felt her husband’s arms wrap around her and she clung tightly to him.

“Pray,” he said. “Watch her. Hope that in time, she will gain a semblance of her old self. This might be temporary, but I say this only out of hope, not out of reason or wisdom. She is still your daughter, broken mind or not. There will be times she remembers you, and times she loves you. It is your task to love her even when she does not.”

“I can’t believe this,” Harruq said.

“You will in time, my son,” Calan said. “It is not the end. Your daughter is alive. Hold to hope.”

“Hope,” he said. He scooped his daughter into his arms, smiling down at her sleeping face. He didn’t know what to think, what to do. He could feel others watching him, and he wanted to appear strong, stronger than the nightmare he was trapped in. Instead, he felt tears run down his face as he spoke in honest anguish.

“At least she’s normal when she’s sleeping,” he said.

They returned to the tower.

T hey found everyone gathered in the main floor. Haern was propped on pillows beside the fire. Lying on blankets next to him was Brug. His eyes were closed, and he appeared to slumber, a decided improvement over the comatose stare he had possessed earlier. Tarlak sat next to them, chin on his knuckles and lost in thought. Lathaar did his best to comfort the three, bringing drinks, food, and assuring words. When the others arrived, he didn’t let any rise from their places.

“Moving is a bad idea,” Lathaar warned, crossing his arms. Most of his platemail was gone, but even without it he was an imposing figure. None had the heart to argue with him. Harruq walked through the front door, still carrying Aullienna. He moved like a man drained of life. Aurelia followed, her expression similar. Delysia hurried past, wanting to explain the situation before the two parents had to, but she did not make it in time.

“What happened?” Tarlak asked, sitting up.

“They…” Harruq found a lump in his throat, and no words would come. Aurelia stroked his cheek, looked them in the eye, and said the bare truth.

“Qurrah made her like Tessanna,” she said. “He broke her mind and made it like hers.”

Despite the burns, despite the pain, despite his near delirium, Haern managed to cough and speak.

“I’ll kill him,” he said. “I’ll kill the bloody bastard.”

“Why would he do this?” Tarlak asked, feeling his own hatred growing. “Why would he do such a thing to a beautiful little girl?”

Harruq looked about, wanting a place to put Aullienna down but seeing none. So instead, he placed her in the crack between the blacksmith and the assassin, covering her in both their blankets.

“He wants some spellbook,” he said. “Darken or something.”

“Darakken,” Aurelia said, looking to the paladin. “He said you knew where it was. If we wanted a way to cure Aullienna, you must give it to him.”

All waited for Lathaar to speak. When he did, his voice was calm, firm, and unshakable.

“I would give all to make her well, but I will die before I see such a thing in the hands of your brother. I’m sorry, Harruq. The knowledge in that tome is best forgotten.”

“It’s just a book,” the half-orc said. He pointed to his daughter, pleading. “Just a stupid old book. This is my daughter. My daughter. How can you say such things?”

“That book has the spells of Karak himself,” Tarlak said, holding his head in his hands. “It has incantations that can poison oceans, shake mountains, and summon demons of unimaginable power. With such a book, Qurrah could place Veldaren under siege, assuming he could read it without going mad. Lathaar is right. Qurrah has come close to killing many of us as he is. With the spells of a god at his disposal…”

“I can’t believe this,” Harruq shouted. “I can’t!”

He stormed up the stairs, feeling angry and broken. Aurelia looked around, her beauty marred by her sadness.

“I understand,” she whispered. “I do understand.”

She went to comfort her husband. Silence followed. There were many things to be said, but none important. Not compared to what had just transpired. It was Haern that ended the horrible quiet, even though his lips cracked and bled.

“I still know where he lives,” he whispered.

“Not yet,” Tarlak said, plopping down beside the fire. “Not with so many of us beaten and broken.”

Haern closed his eyes and sighed, knowing the mage was right.

Q urrah tossed and turned, a single sight dominating his dreams. It was of a child laying face down in a pool of his own vomit. Xelrak stood over the child, his hands soaked crimson. He looked like a warrior standing with pride over his victory. When Qurrah awoke, sunlight streaked through the window of the cabin. Tessanna sat next to him, wide-awake.

“You dreamt it too, didn’t you?” she asked. The half-orc nodded.

“For his sins I am blamed,” he said. “For his conniving I am punished. He has ruined my brother against me.”

The half-orc donned his robes and took his whip.

“Don’t go,” she said. It seemed a meager protest, said as if she thought she were supposed to say it.