The Cost of Betrayal (Half-Orcs Book 2)

by David Dalglish

  “…movements have slowed with your exhaustion,” the assassin was saying as Qurrah neared. “You were not fast enough when we started, what hope have you now?”

  “You should be sucking air yourself, assuming you’re human,” Harruq said. “We’ve been out here since sunrise!”

  “Do you see my movements slowing?” Haern asked. He struck, his sabers a blur. Harruq blocked the first couple before a desperate parry missed its mark. Steel pressed against his throat.

  “Not possible,” the half-orc said. “You can’t be less tired than me. You just can’t!”

  “When was the last time you were fully exhausted?” Haern asked, pulling back his blade. Without warning, he thrust it straight at his chest. Harruq slapped the thrust wide. He countered with his other hand, only to have it brutally blocked, pushed aside, and then ignored. Metal thwacked against Harruq’s chest armor. Haern did not halt, though, instead repeatedly slashing that exact same spot. All the while he spoke.

  “When was the last time you were beaten? The last time you felt no chance of victory? Tell me half-orc, when was the last time you were a coward and surrendered?”

  “Never!” Harruq screamed, slashing with all his remaining strength. Haern rolled, the powerful swords smashing the dirt.

  “Exactly,” Haern whispered, his voice soft yet still heard in the commotion. His foot shot upward, nailing Harruq’s kidney. The follow up kick mashed his already sensitive nose. Qurrah winced as blood ran freely. “I will exhaust you. I will defeat you. I will make you collapse in surrender, convinced you cannot win.”

  The butts of the sabers cracked against Harruq’s thick skull. Condemnation and Salvation remained stiff in the dirt as the half-orc fell onto his side, silent but for his gasps of air. In this silence, Haern’s words were clear and powerful, yet still soft and quiet. Despite his distance, Qurrah heard every word, convincing him there was magic involved with Haern’s constant whisper.

  “You will learn to fight me,” Haern said. “Even after defeat. After exhaustion. After hurt and humiliation. When you can stand against me, to the very limit of your body, then we may truly begin. Your speed, your strength, your mind: they will all grow these coming days, if you are willing. That is the one thing I cannot help you with.”

  He left Harruq lying there, dazed, exhausted, and furious.

  “Tell Delysia your brother needs more healing,” the assassin said as he walked past Qurrah, not at all surprised by his presence.

  “Will he learn, or will you merely increase his scars?” Qurrah asked, his words dripping with sarcasm.

  “You know him better than I,” Haern said, gesturing back to his protégé. “Why ask me?”

  Qurrah glanced at his brother, who was an ugly mess. A grin spread over his face.

  “Because you’re conscious and he’s not,” he said before retrieving the priestess.

  4

  Throughout the rest of the day, Harruq nursed his injuries and sulked in silence. Even Aurelia’s attempts to cheer him up were ineffective.

  “I have never seen him like this,” she said to Qurrah, who, in an uncharacteristically kind act, had asked the elf to cheer him up in the first place.

  “His pride has been broken more than his face,” Qurrah said. “He’s never lost a fight, not that I know of. He will meet this challenge. I trust him.”

  There were no contracts or assignments so the day passed uneventfully. Dinner was quiet. Qurrah expected a fight when Brug made a joke about Harruq’s nose, yet his brother let it pass. They exchanged no words as they settled in their bedrolls, Tarlak promising them beds by the following night.

  Qurrah looked over Harruq, who lay with his back to him. Several bruises lined his bare skin. A few inexperienced words of comfort died in his ruined throat. He rolled the other way, closed his eyes, and dreamt of the girl with the black hair, and of a knife dripping with the lifeblood that flowed through her veins.

  That next morning, Harruq woke Qurrah with his stirrings.

  “It is not yet dawn,” Qurrah said.

  “Yeah, I know. He likes games. I do too.”

  He stormed down the stairs, his armor shining and his swords already drawn. The necromancer watched him go, a smile on his face.

  “Don’t get yourself killed,” he whispered before rising.

  Harruq slowed his breathing as he pressed against Haern’s door. It felt loose against his shoulder. His muscles tensed. Several deep breaths later, he kicked it open and rushed in, weapons drawn.

  The bed was empty, as was the room. The half-orc scanned everywhere, continually turning so his back never faced one direction for too long. Still, no sign of Haern.

  “Already out there waiting for me, aren’t you?” he said. As he shut the door, he felt the sharp point of a blade touch the back of his neck.

  “Did you really think I would sleep with the door unbarred?” Haern whispered into his ear.

  “Will my nose get broken if I say yes?” he asked. He braced for pain, but instead received laughter. The tip left his neck. The half-orc faced his teacher, who grinned at him from underneath his hood.

  “Much better, Harruq. Much better. Perhaps Delysia will not be required for today’s sparring.”

  “Says you. I plan on breaking the first thing I get a hold of.”

  “As I said,” Haern whispered, urging the half-orc down the stairs with a shove. “Delysia will not be required.”

  Qurrah watched them spar before leaving. Much of their combat was similar to the day before. Haern repeatedly batted aside his brother’s best attack combinations, his sabers invariably touching gray flesh. Harruq’s anger grew, but something was different. He no longer aimed his anger at Haern. He aimed it at himself.

  “Very good, brother,” Qurrah said quietly.

  He left for Veldaren.

  The moon still shone dim in the red sky when Qurrah arrived at the center of Veldaren. The place was barren but for an early shopkeeper and two women hurrying down the street. Fear rolled off the women in tangible waves. Qurrah closed his eyes and let his mind touch their fear.

  “The loss of a brother,” he said, opening his eyes. The women, young and dressed in cheap clothes, were gone. “Such cowardly feelings toward death. You two shame your deceased.”

  A thorn pierced his mind. The half-orc reeled backward, smacking his head against hard stone. He was hidden between two buildings. No one should have known he was there. Someone did, though, and someone was curious as to why.

  “You want in?” he asked aloud. “Very well. Come to my dark corners.”

  He grabbed the thorn and pulled it deep inside. He swarmed it with memories of his childhood, sitting hungry and cold as Master’s experiments snarled, gagged, and shrieked in the cages all about him. He altered the memory, replacing it with his nightmares. The unseen cage doors opened. The creatures bellowed their joy in fearful howls. They would feed, and the feast would be bloody, painful, and eternal.

  Qurrah expected this to drive away the intruding mental presence, but instead the image twisted. His unseen nightmare creatures walked into visible light, revealing each one as a large man with belly heavy from a life of drink. Their mouths were sewn shut. The men tore at the thread with their hands. Flesh ripped, and shards of bloody glass spewed from their mouths.

  “You killed mommy,” the men said in unison as lungs and intestines followed, each punctured with glass. Qurrah tried to run, but instead his hands moved of their own accord, for he was hungry, so hungry, and in his lap was food. The taste was phenomenal.

  “So you’ll be quiet,” the men continued. “You’ll be good, and you can replace mommy. Now shut up. I don’t want to hear crying.”

  Qurrah glanced down to see a female arm in his hands, cold and pale. Blood filled his mouth. The thorn seemed to shudder, and from it, infinite sadness and anger poured into his mind. He tried to pull away as rough hands seized his shoulders. The thorn dug deeper, and the half-orc curled into a ball as he felt the hands of
the men tear away his clothes. He was powerless. His past, his choices, his sins, it all seeped into that thorn, now grown into a great root sucking out the wretched parts of his soul.

  Qurrah stirred in the alley, waking from a sleep he never remembered entering. The city was still peaceful, and the sun remained low above the horizon, so it appeared his slumber had been no longer than several minutes. The only change he could see was that Tessanna now sat upon the edge of the fountain. Her right arm, scarred from the day before, traced the dagger along her left, drawing thin lines of blood across her pale white skin.

  “It couldn’t have been you,” he said from within the alley. The girl glanced up and stared straight at him, as if she had heard. Then she laughed. Her smile lit up her face. She looked eighteen, nineteen at the most, and she was beautiful. Beautiful, even as she drew the dagger back down to let the blood flow. Beautiful, even as she watched, mesmerized, at the drops staining the clear water below.

  She carved four runes before the guards appeared.

  “This is the last time, Tessanna,” he heard one of them say. “We’ve warned you enough. Get off.”

  No guard touched her, even though they towered over her small, thin form. Qurrah’s curiosity grew.

  Tessanna stood, licked the back of her hand, and then gave one of the guards a flirty smile. When he made no movement, she flicked her wrist, spraying his armor with her blood. Still no guards moved. She waved and blew each one a kiss. She headed south, blood flecked across her lips and face. The guards shook their heads and murmured amongst themselves. One looked to the water, his disapproval visible. When they left, they were edgy, and in foul moods.

  “Those images are of a madman,” Qurrah said, remembering the man with his mouth sewn shut. “Or madwoman. Was that your childhood?”

  The necromancer had always thought the cruelty and depravity of his early years was unmatched, but it appeared someone else had a tale darker than his own.

  He stood, brushed the dust of his robes, and returned to the tower, fresh determination in his heart. He would speak with the girl the following morning. Part of him could not endure the wait. And part of him would gladly wait forever.

  You look well,” Aurelia said when Harruq poked his head into their room.

  “Better than yesterday?” he asked.

  “Yes, but not by much.”

  The half-orc laughed, and then collapsed onto the elf’s floor.

  “Delysia!” she called, glancing back to where the priestess reclined on a bed reading a book.

  “The big boy needs a spell?” she asked, not looking up.

  “Or three.” Aurelia cast a levitation spell on the passed out half-orc. He floated into the air, traveled across the two beds, and stopped beside the priestess. She reached up and touched the floating half-orc. White light surrounded her hand. Healing magic flowed out from her. Delysia withdrew her hand, having not once stopped her reading. Aurelia gently lowered Harruq next to her. Seconds later, he stirred.

  “Eh? Where, oh, hello Aurry.”

  “Hello, Harruq,” she smiled. “Care to stay awhile?”

  “Sure thing.”

  “Good,” the elf said, backing away and giving an exaggerated wave in front of her nose. “But bathe first, so we may stay together in the same room.”

  Harruq groaned. “Where can I do that?”

  Aurelia glanced back to Delysia, who looked up from her book with an evil smile.

  “Oh this is going to be bad, isn’t it?” he asked as both began shoving him down the stairs.

  “You have no idea,” Aurelia laughed.

  They took him to a tiny stone structure jutting out the eastern side of the tower. Harruq had to duck to get inside. The two girls stayed outside, the smiles on their faces only increasing his worry.

  “What is so funny?” he asked.

  “Nothing,” Aurelia said. “Now take off your armor and clothes.”

  “Excuse me?” His face blushed. “Not sure you two want the whole show, do you?”

  “Of course not,” Aurelia said with fake indignation.

  “Such a pervert,” Delysia added.

  Aurelia reached inside and swung a small, hinged door shut. It was high enough to reach the half-orc’s chest.

  “Now get naked,” Aurelia said. “We won’t peek in, we promise. Just slide your armor over the top of the door.”

  Harruq mumbled a few choice comments but made sure none were loud enough for Aurelia’s sharp ears. He stripped down and tossed his belongings outside.

  “Now what?” he asked.

  “Say the word, ‘water’,” Delysia said.

  The half-orc shrugged.

  “Water.”

  Water fell from the ceiling, as if a tiny rainstorm were trapped inside. Harruq jumped, but the water was warm, and the rain, soft. There was no drain, instead the water faded away without ever pooling higher than his toes.

  “This isn’t too bad,” he said, shaking his hair back and forth and staring at the ceiling. “Kind of soft, though.”

  “Say more,” Delysia ordered.

  “More.”

  The rain increased in intensity.

  “Oh yeah, much better.” Harruq began washing himself under the water.

  “Thought you’d like it,” Aurelia said. “By the way, just don’t say much more.”

  “What happens if I say much more?”

  One might as well have dumped seven buckets of water on him at once. The room roared with a downpour mightier than nature could ever muster.

  “Aaah, make it stop!” the half-orc screamed. Both girls were too busy laughing, however, to tell him how. “Daah, stupid rain! Less, less!” The rain softened back to a tolerable level. He shook water out of his ears while the girls continued laughing.

  “Think you’re soooo funny,” he grumbled.

  “Of course.” Delysia drummed her fingers against the door, smiling at Harruq. “You can say cold and warm to change the temperature.”

  “I’m fine, thanks.”

  Aurelia jabbed Delysia in the ribs, her grin still mischievous. “Think he’s done in there already?”

  “I’d say so,” the priestess replied. “We did soak him pretty good, didn’t we?”

  “What’re you two up to now?” the wary half-orc asked.

  “Say ‘dry’ Harruq,” Aurelia ordered.

  “No. I don’t trust you.”

  “Fine, I will.” The elf hoisted herself up and stuck her neck through the top of the door. Harruq spun around, blushing furiously. The elf laughed and said, “dry very hard.”

  Massive winds slammed Harruq from one side of the room. He struggled against it, but eventually flew back, the impact with the wall taking away his breath.

  “I hate you, Aurry!” he shouted when his senses returned.

  “I love you!” she shouted back. She poked her head in once more, took a good look at the half-orc while Delysia opened her mouth in shock, and then said the word ‘done.’

  The wind stopped. All was quiet in the room. Aurelia stepped back while the priestess mouthed a question.

  “It’ll do,” Aurelia said. Both burst out laughing.

  “Can I have my clothes now?” a humbled and embarrassed Harruq asked from inside.

  “Here you go,” Delysia said, tossing the dirty clothes over the top of the door. “Although you really should keep those in there with you when you wash.”

  Both decided the curses coming from inside were not appropriate for female ears, so they left. Qurrah met them at the door to the tower.

  “What’s so amusing?” he asked.

  “Your brother is just so cute,” Aurelia said.

  “Especially when he’s all wet and grumpy,” Delysia added. Qurrah remained outside as they left. He shook his head, honestly bewildered.

  “Dezrel will rue the day those two met,” he said. Harruq showed up, his armor in his arms. He was completely dry.

  “Have fun with the girls, I guess?” Qurrah asked.


  “Shut up,” Harruq said. “And I’m never bathing again.”

  Still clueless, Qurrah could only laugh at his brother’s anger as Harruq stomped upstairs in a huff.

  Haern slipped inside Tarlak’s room, shutting the door silently. The wizard sat as his desk, pouring over maps of Dezrel.

  “Thanks for coming, Haern,” Tarlak said without looking up.

  “You’ve become more perceptive.”

  Tarlak chuckled. “Nope. Aurelia cast a few spells on my room at my request. Clever girl, really. I’ll know when someone enters, or is listening, watching, or scrying. We’re safe here. You can take that hood off if you want.”

  “Do you trust her?”

  The wizard looked up from his notes. “Of course I do. Don’t you?”

  Haern shrugged. “I don’t know yet.”

  “Then don’t take your hood off yet,” was the wizard’s reply. “Not too complicated.” He gestured to the seat before his desk. “Sit down. We need to talk.”

  The assassin crossed the room and sat. He glanced around, sighed, and then removed the hood. Long, curly gold hair danced with a shake of his head. Tarlak glanced at the face of his friend and sighed. He would die to have Haern’s looks, yet all the assassin did was keep his features hidden underneath his hood, all so he could go unnoticed whenever he wished.

  “You really don’t have your priorities straight,” Tarlak muttered.

  “How so?” Haern asked. His voice was clear and firm, the whisper vanishing along with the hood.

  “Never mind. We have a problem.”

  Haern leaned forward, scanning the documents and maps littering Tarlak’s desk. “What is it?”

  The wizard sighed and collapsed in his chair. “I don’t know what it is, and that’s the problem. Something big is going on. When was the last time any of our contacts gave you information worth a damn?”

  A hand ran through the golden hair as he thought. “Two months at least. Maybe three. Are you worried my network has been compromised?”

  “In a way, yes.”