David Dalglish: The Cost of Betrayal

Once he had dressed, Qurrah sought solitude in the forest. Tessanna gave him time before joining him. Despite the cold, she ventured naked from the cabin. Qurrah glanced back, his heart fluttering at the sight. Every curve, every tender touch of her skin, was beyond human. If not for the way her ribs showed when she walked, or how thin her arms sometimes looked, she would have been flawless.

He knelt at the edge of the dead wildlife. When she approached, he kept his eyes low and his words quiet.

“Do you blame me?” he asked her.

“Part of me does,” she said. “But I think it’s more Aurelia’s fault, and your brother’s. I have to. Otherwise, I would kill you, and I don’t want to do that. What do you think they’ll do?”

“Harruq will want blood,” he said, standing. “And the others will seek the same, even if he does not.”

“Can they find us?”

“In time. Even if they must search the entire forest.”

She glanced over at him, a shy look on her face.

“What are, what are we going to do when they show up?” The half-orc turned away, and in his silence, she found the answer. “We can go,” she said, the idea offered reluctantly, almost in embarrassment. “Let’s just go. We don’t have to stay.”

“Yes, we do.” A bird dared sing a happy tone, and he struck it dead with a wave of his hand. Tessanna watched with idle curiosity as the rigid lump of feathers fell.

“But why?” she asked.

“Because I will not run,” he said, so softly that the girl had to strain to hear.

“Why not?”

“Because then Harruq will be right.”

“Right about what?”

He turned on her, a dark anger smoking underneath the brown of his eyes.

“Everything.”

Tessanna’s apathy rose to match his anger. “Fine. What do you want me to do?”

Qurrah walked to where the dead bird lay. A quick mutter of magic syllables and the hollow bones tore out from beneath the soft feathers. They swirled around the half-orc’s hand, so tiny.

“I must face Harruq,” he said, watching their flight. One by one, he flung them against a tree. “The others are yours. Kill them.”

He returned to the cabin for warmth but the fire had died. His frail body shook underneath the blankets of his bed, but still the pleasant feel of heat eluded him. He shivered and shivered. When Tessanna offered to join him, he turned her away. Spurned, she sat before the dead fire. A single slit across the end of her forefinger sent blood dripping down. Her soft breath blew against the drops. When they touched the wood, they flickered with flame, growing hotter and hotter with each successive drop. By the time a great fire roared, Qurrah had fallen into slumber.

Tessanna did not mind. She sucked on her bleeding finger, a look of pure hatred blanketing her face as she watched her lover sleep. She did not move, nor did her look change, until she saw his body stir, and then apathy grabbed the anger and locked it away.

H aern snuck into their room, just as he had so often to awaken Harruq for sparring. But this time he did not seek swordplay.

“Wake up,” he said, nudging the half-orc.

“What is it?” Harruq asked, rolling toward him. His eyes were wide-awake and bloodshot. The assassin felt a pang of guilt as he wondered how little the half-orc had slept that night.

“I know where your brother hides,” he whispered.

“Not now, Haern,” Aurelia pleaded from the other side of the bed.

“How do you know?” Harruq said, propping himself up with an elbow.

“That does not matter. We must not let them have time to slip away. You deserve vengeance, and I will help give it to you.”

The half-orc flung off the blankets and put his feet on the cold floor. He shuffled about, grabbing armor and swords. Aurelia sat up, not caring that only the flimsiest of fabrics protected her skin from Haern’s eyes.

“What are you going to do,” she asked. “Run off on your own?”

“If I have to,” Harruq said, struggling against the buckles of his chestpiece.

“Leave,” she said to Haern. The assassin bowed and did as he was told. When he was gone, the elf left the bed and took her husband’s hands in her own, halting his preparations.

“I have to do this,” he said to her.

“But you don’t have to do it alone,” she said. Harruq pulled against her hands, expecting her to release, but she held on, something in her stronger than he realized. “Not alone,” she said, a quick movement of her hands releasing his grip and unbuckling his armor so that it slid to the ground. “And not yet.”

She pulled him back to the bed and held him close. His hands did not wander, and she did not desire it. Together, they huddled against the coming trials, enjoying the last moments of darkness before the illusionary dawn rose above the ivy walls, matching the rise of the sun outside.

“I don’t know what to do,” Harruq said as morning came.

“What do you mean?”

“How do I prove him wrong? How do I show him I am not the killer he claims, when the only right path I see is him dying by my hands?”

She stroked his face.

“Do what you think is right. Just don’t do it alone.” At last, she let him go. “All of us,” she said, sliding her green dress over her body. “That is how it should be.”

“If you say so.”

When they came down for breakfast, food was ready, and not surprisingly, all were dressed for battle. Brug grumbled from beneath his platemail, sharpening one of his punch daggers. Tarlak had no staff, but a spellbook lay on the table beside his plate. Haern wore his cloaks, his twin sabers hidden beneath their fabric. Even Delysia seemed regal and dangerous, her white dress so clean and bright it hurt the eyes. The golden mountain on her chest shimmered with angry power.

Out of everyone, only Harruq lacked his armor and did not carry his weapons.

“Well, didn’t expect that,” Tarlak said, tearing a strip of bacon in half and shoving it into his mouth. “Grab something to eat, ol’ buddy, and then get ready. We have a job to do.”

“Of course,” he said, flustered by the sight of so many ready to risk their lives for him. His appetite was greater than he expected. He devoured the entire plate put before him, plus some of Aurelia’s. When finished, he dashed up the stairs and returned with his oiled black leather armor strapped tight across his body. Salvation and Condemnation swung from his hips. The others saw him ready and rose from the table.

One by one, they filed out the door. Tarlak pulled the half-orc aside, away from the others, and talked in a quiet tone.

“Are you sure you can do this?” he asked. The half-orc nodded, remembering that tortured moment when he had yanked Aullienna’s body from the cold water.

“Yeah, I think so.”

“Good.” The wizard patted his shoulder. “Then let’s get to it.”

Q urrah dragged himself out of bed, his shoulders hunched as if carrying a greater weight than his frail body could handle. He kissed Tessanna’s forehead, ignoring the way her eyes stared numbly past him. He flipped through his spellbook, glancing over lines he had read hundreds of times.

“They are almost here,” Tessanna said, the words intoned as if she were informing him that the sky was cloudy.

“I know,” the half-orc said. He took his whip and let it wrap around his arm. “Can you cast spells to protect me?”

The girl nodded, her back still to him. “I can make you safe for awhile. His swords are strong. The medallion makes them stronger. Qurrah?”

“Yes, Tessanna?”

“Promise you won’t be mad?”

“What is it?”

“I don’t want to kill them. But I will. I thought you should know that.”

The words were spoken with a calm, dead voice. Ghosts carried more passion, more life. The half-orc gently rocked his head up and down, knowing that the fire lived underneath, ready to burst forth to wreck and burn.