David Dalglish - The Cost of Betrayal

“Make sure he gets my message,” Qurrah said, dropping the head to the floor, quivering bones lodged in his eye sockets. He left, stepping over the dead woman. No more children would fall victim to the Veldaren Reaper. He had been sent to the fire and the darkness, doomed to look up in torment at the Golden Eternity above, where those he had massacred sung in endless glory.

Even if Qurrah had known, he wouldn’t have cared in the slightest. He had his revenge. The hood of his cloak pulled low over his face, he returned to where the most important thing in his life sat in silence and sliced her flesh with her dagger.

T he healthy members of the Eschaton returned at dawn, their arms sagging and their eyes dulled with exhaustion. They were granted a welcoming sight at home, for sitting wrapped in blankets by the fire was Brug, downing a mug of ale.

“Hope you all had a great time,” he grunted, placing the mug on the floor beside him. “It gets lonely here when the only one to talk to is asleep.”

Beside him, Haern chuckled, pulling his own blankets tighter around him. The burns on his face were healing, however slowly. They shone an angry red, with some patches still black and peeling. He could smile with only mild pain, and that he could deal with. Tarlak clapped his hands, pleased with their recovery.

“Welcome back, Brug. Since you’re so healthy, we’ll put you out there tomorrow night. No slack for the short, as I like to say.”

Aurelia and Delysia entered next, each giving him a soft kiss on the cheek. Lathaar came next, casting a grin at Brug. Harruq entered last, his weapons slung over his shoulders and his face sunken.

“We’ll find him in time,” Tarlak said, slapping his back. He pulled his hand away at the glare he received. The group each made their way upstairs to change out of their wet clothes and armor. Tarlak whipped up a quick breakfast. A simple wave of his hand, and honey-soaked rolls and roasted pork slabs covered the table. Brug and Haern joined him. One by one the others arrived, quiet and solemn in the early morning.

As everyone ate in silence, Lathaar decided it was time to speak.

“I must be leaving soon,” he said, drawing many glances his way.

“I thought you wanted to rebuild the Citadel?” Tarlak asked, licking honey off his fingers. “What changed?”

“Nothing has changed,” the paladin said. “But the Sanctuary must be warned. Qurrah knows of the book’s location and might come looking for it. Others might learn from him, as well.”

“You got nothing to fear of Qurrah,” Harruq said. The food he ate did little to satisfy the pang in his gut, especially as his brother was spoken of as a villain. “He’s done nothing to harm us, any of us. Only Aullienna.”

“He cannot heal her,” Tarlak said, trying to keep his voice as calm as possible.

“You don’t know that,” Harruq countered.

“Harruq,” Lathaar said, his voice drawing the half-orc’s gaze into his unflinching own. “I will speak with them. Calan is a brilliant man, but the clerics of the Sanctuary have helped me with wisdom unparalleled. I do not wish to offer false hope, but there is a chance they will know of a way to restore your daughter’s mind.”

“And the book?” the half-orc asked.

“It stays,” Lathaar said. “I am sorry.”

“We are grateful,” Aurelia said, taking her husband’s hand in hers and squeezing hard enough to hurt.

“Aye,” Harruq said. “Grateful.”

L athaar decided to leave without sleeping, wanting to cover as many miles as he could before the setting of the sun.

“Your daughter may not have much time if she is to be healed,” he explained. “I do not claim wisdom in the ways of magic, but I would rather not risk more than I already have.”

Before he left, Lathaar pulled Tarlak aside to talk.

“I will find out more about the girl,” he whispered.

“You said that already.”

“No. Tessanna. She too closely resembles Mira. The first time I talked with Cleric Keziel, I felt he kept things from me. This time, I will hear the whole truth.”

“Godspeed,” Tarlak said, hugging his friend.

“Ashhur be with you,” Lathaar said.

“Do you want a portal?” Aurelia asked him before he left.

“Can you send me directly to the Sanctuary?” he asked. The elf frowned and shook her head.

“Too far. Is there anywhere closer?”

The paladin thought, then nodded.

“Send me to Haven,” he said.

“Very well,” Aurelia said. Where the Rigon River ended its divide through Dezrel, it forked, creating a delta filled with rich and fertile land. Amidst this farming paradise was a small town named Haven. A month’s travel away, but still closer than the Sanctuary, which nestled amidst mountains on the far southwest corner of the continent. She ripped open a blue portal, kissed his cheek, and joined the rest in waving goodbye. The paladin kissed his fingers and then waved back. He stepped in. The portal closed behind him.

“Good riddance,” Harruq said, returning to the tower.

“What’s up his butt,” Brug asked, glancing back.

“Just leave him be,” Tarlak said, sighing.

Aurelia’s hand on Brug’s shoulder showed she agreed.

H arruq entered his room as if a stranger. He opened the door slow and quiet. A quick scan showed his daughter in the corner, a soft smile on her face. She was carving something in the dirt with her fingers. Her joy appeared honest, and that burned him all the worse. She seemed so normal he almost walked over, took her in his arms, and bounced her on his knee. But he didn’t.

“Having fun?” he asked, taking a tentative step forward. Aullienna looked up and smiled, overjoyed to see her father. She stood, scattering her markings with the bottom flap of her dress. She ran across the room, laughing. Harruq knelt, tears already in his eyes. Qurrah’s spell had failed, or perhaps merely run its course like a disease. He scooped Aullienna up into the air, smiling although he cried.

“I missed you, daddy,” she said, kissing his nose.

“I missed you too, cutie,” he said back. Her words melted away his doubts. He returned her kiss on the nose, grinning. His first thought was to hold her forever. His second thought was to call for his wife so she could see. The little girl squirmed in his arms, laughing at something she found hysterical.

“You look funny,” she said, swiping at his cheek.

“How’s that?” he said.

“Do it again,” she cried.

“Hun, do what?”

Her face scrunched, and she pulled back in his arms. “Daddy, I don’t like this.”

“Like what, Aully? I’m not doing anything.”

The girl only squirmed harder, pushing back against his chest. “Stop it daddy, stop it!”

She slapped him, once, the thin nails of her fingers cutting into his gray skin. No blood flowed, but the wound was more severe than a stake to his heart. He set her down, ignoring the marks she made across his hands. Her feet did not support her at first, so she clumped to the grass. With a primal cry, she leapt to one wall. Spinning around, she eyed her father with shaking eyes, bird eyes in the face of the serpent. Her kneels curled to her chest. She hid half her face behind them.

“Stop it,” she whispered into the skin of her arms. “Please, daddy, stop it.”

He collapsed, his heart breaking. He wanted to die. Shuddering sobs straight from the stomach ripped from his lips.

“Damn you, Qurrah,” he said. “Damn you.”

Aurelia found him as such: a crying, pitiful sight. Without a word, she knelt beside him, wrapped her arms about his neck, and kissed him. He latched his hands onto her, a drowning man clutching the sides of a boat. He buried his face into her neck, the tomb of her hair about his head the only comfort he could find.