The Cost of Betrayal (Half-Orcs Book 2)

by David Dalglish

  “Perhaps,” he said, rising from the bed to seek fresh air. “But I intend to find out.”

  For weeks, Qurrah poured over Pelarak’s diary, learning all he could. His brief encounter with Tessanna’s inner…well, whatever it was, had certainly proven Pelarak true. This strange Center did indeed exist, and apparently disapproved of his efforts. A part of him was afraid, but a larger part ached with curiosity. He thought he knew much about the mind, but this girl mocked him with her complexity.

  “When will you try to change me?” she asked him one day. A small squirrel sat in her hand, amazingly docile in her presence.

  “In time, Tessanna,” he said. “But I have found a new obstacle, and must find a way to overcome it.”

  Nothing from a book helped him to his next revelation. One night, as he sat in his chair with his head aching, he watched Tessanna carve runes into her arm. Her precise, intricate movements entranced him. She scrawled seven runes before stopping. While she watched the blood flow, she licked her wrists.

  “What is it you write?” he asked her, standing from his seat.

  “I don’t know,” she said. “Whatever feels good.”

  “There is too much detail for that to be random,” he said, crossing the room to grab her elbow. “Do you know what these say?”

  “Does it have to say anything?” she asked, attempting to yank her arm away. Qurrah latched on, his knuckles white. His eyes scanned over the blood-soaked runes, attempting to discern any form or meaning.

  “Let go,” Tessanna said. A new cold had entered her voice. “Let go of me, now.”

  “Spell runes,” he said, releasing her. “By Karak, they are spell runes!”

  “You don’t know that,” she said.

  “What else could they be?” Qurrah asked.

  “Others have tried to speak them aloud. Nothing ever happened.”

  “Those that tried, did they die?” Qurrah asked. Tessanna shrugged. The half-orc tossed her a rag. “Clean off the blood. We will see if I am wrong.”

  A fire raged beside them as they stood underneath the stars. Already, the cuts on her arm had faded to angry red scars, the rate of her healing remarkable. Qurrah had studied them carefully, perusing his spellbooks and finding runes matching the ones Tessanna carved. Some were identical, while others had slight deviations that he hoped were insignificant.

  “Give me your arm,” he asked her. She obeyed, seeming indifferent about the whole situation. She expected little to happen. As much as she loved Qurrah, she did not think him correct.

  He, however, was certain he had stumbled onto something significant. What that significance was, well, he hadn’t a clue. He put away such worrisome thoughts and held her hand. One after another, read the names of the runes.

  “Delk Mord-thun, Vaeln Nelaquir, Tirug, Nolfwud, Xeudayascar!”

  He spoke them as he would a spell from a scroll, feeling the power reeling out his body. Wind swirled around him, blowing leaves and sending their clothes and hair dancing. The runes glowed as if the cut skin were embers of a lingering fire. All about, the night grew dead. When the final word was spoken, Qurrah looked to his beloved, taking pride in the lack of fear in her eyes. He held her hand and prepared for the storm.

  “Qurrah, stay with me,” she said, moments before lightning struck her from a cloudless sky. The bolt lifted her into the air, her lithe frame hovering a foot above the ground. Her hand clutched his, her nails piercing his flesh. He felt no pain.

  “Let all those who endanger the balance wither away as dust,” the girl said. Her tone was flat, all emotion gone. It was the voice of the Center. She pointed a finger at him. “Be gone from her.”

  “Qurrah!” he heard her cry, a second voice from one mouth. Black power collected at the end of her accusing finger. Walls of wind ripped from the ground, sealing the two in a gray prison. The half-orc did not think, only react. He flung his arms around her, holding her tight. As a small ball of emptiness shot from her finger, he kissed her lips and awaited death.

  The magic hit him. He wished for death. When he opened his mouth to scream, no sound came forth. His soul shrieked in agony immeasurable. The two hovered higher and higher as his vision blurred. A song rose over the roar of the wind, one of longing and desire, sung by an unseen choir of thousands. The magic ripping through him intensified, adding a physical component to his torture. The pain crawled up his arm and into his lungs. All breath ended, and his lungs filled with fluid. His arm were aflame with the pain of a thousand burns.

  “What have you done?” Tessanna asked. The Center was gone, yet still she felt no fear, only wonder at the chaos surrounding her. Qurrah tried to respond, but his jaw locked as his neck muscles pulled tight. A black fog poured from his throat, which she breathed in like smoke. Her dark eyes flared with color, and then all he knew turned white. Continuous the choir sang, a chorus whose line he did not understand, but knew within it there was reason.

  On and on, the ebb and flow of time. Balance, the balance, it will come eternal.

  Ghastly was the pain, shredded was his soul, and all else a pure, numbing shade of white. So white, all thought, all breath, all heartbeat, halted. Arm in arm, the two swirled ever higher, stretching into a vast space beyond the sky, beyond the stars, and beyond time itself.

  Part Two

  19

  How long you think they’ll be like that?” asked the ruffian. His leader grunted an unintelligible response. The man drew his dagger and thrust it into the ground, accompanying it with a grunt of his own. “Come on, we’ve been here for weeks. Why don’t we just gut them and get out of here?”

  They were camped deep in the King’s forest, living off hunted game and growing fouler of mood with every passing day. There were nine of them, plus their leader. The generous coin each of them had accepted eased their complaints a bit, but not their boredom. More than a few would have considered abandoning their job, but they knew Karnryk the Slayer would have their heads if they left. So they stayed, grumbled, and pushed for a quicker ending to their task.

  The complaining man was Marv, a bucktoothed scoundrel who bragged often of the many women he had taken at knifepoint. He pulled that same knife out from the dirt and pointed to the strange sight that dominated their clearing. A man and woman hovered in the air, their arms entwined. Their eyes were open, but they did not move. Their mouths hung low, as if in the middle of a scream, but they drew no breath. The air around them was calm, yet still their clothes and hair blew about as if in a great windstorm. They were Qurrah Tun and Tessanna Delone, imprisoned in time by a force unknown.

  “What’s so important about them?” Marv dared asked.

  Karnryk stood to his full height, the half-orc towering over the scrawny man.

  “They dared cross me,” he said, shifting the greatsword on his back so his right arm casually rest upon the hilt. “And they dared hurt me. But go ahead, try and kill them. You’ll end up just like Stokham.”

  “Stokham was an idiot,” Marv said. He glanced around, seeking approval from the rest. “Ain’t that right?”

  “I know caves less hollow than his head was,” one man said.

  “Two turds short of a pigsty,” said another.

  A couple more nodded.

  “Then by all means,” the huge man said, gesturing to the floating couple. “Kill them.”

  “With pleasure,” Marv said, licking the edge of his knife. After an exaggerated time spent aiming, he hurled his weapon. Its aim was true, and had it gone undeterred, it would have pierced through Qurrah’s back and into his heart.

  Instead, the knife froze in mid-air. An ethereal shield swirling around the couple flared to life. White magic crackled around the spherical defense. The sound of thunder boomed throughout the clearing. Wind blew. Dust scattered. A bolt of lightning tore through the air. Into the forest flew Marv’s body, charred and smoking. As his henchman landed with a cracking of brush and leaves, Karnryk cackled with laughter.

  “What he gets for think
ing,” he said to the rest. The swirling sphere vanished, and all was quiet once more in that dead clearing with the gray grass, withered trees, and mysterious floating couple.

  While the others slept, Karnryk stayed awake, glaring at the two frozen forms. The very sight of them sickened his stomach and awakened old pains where the foul demoness had cast her spell. Their embrace was one of fear and love, and while he had no idea the reason for their imprisonment, it did not appear willing. In truth, he didn’t care why. All that mattered was that their freedom was met with his bloody, painful welcome.

  The spherical shield was clearly visible in the moonlight, the pale glow reflecting off like flowing water. Tiny circles of light wafted like smoke from a doused fire, glowing a dull blue. Directly underneath lay the ash and bones of what had been Stokham. Karnryk removed his greatsword and scraped a whetstone across it, knowing he needed to keep his blade, and his mind, sharp.

  “Don’t sleep too long,” he said. “It’s only making me crankier.”

  As if in answer, a slow rumble shook the clearing. A second, louder rumble sent his eight minions scrambling out of the cottage. Some had weapons drawn; most did not. The half-orc swore. His original men, the ones he had personally trained and kept until the two crazed lovers had butchered them, would have made dog meat out of his current crew. No matter. Those he liked he would train. The others… whatever happened to them happened.

  “Knock the sleep out of your eyes, something’s wrong!” he roared. A rainbow of colors poured out the magical shield, flooding the clearing with an unnatural hue. Karnryk held his sword high above his head.

  “About damn time,” he shouted. Cracks appeared in the rainbow, akin to broken ice atop a frozen lake. Clean light shone from inside, as if it were daylight within the sphere. Larger and larger the cracks grew, until every man there had to look away. Thunder shook them all. Air blew in every direction. The light vanished. The tempest faded. The two lovers landed hard, both looking as if awakened from a dream.

  “Grab their hands, now!” Karnryk shouted, leading the way. Qurrah staggered to his feet, his reactions slow and drunken. Tessanna remained still, her eyes distant and her mouth open.

  “Tessanna!” Qurrah shouted. “Stand, thieves seek our lives!”

  Out came his whip, wrapping around the closest man’s neck. Fire roared. He screamed and clawed at his charred flesh as the whip closed tighter and tighter. With his other hand, Qurrah cast a spell. Blood shot out another’s forehead, as if an invisible arrow had struck him. Qurrah reeled, overcome with waves of dizziness. When Karnryk rammed his hilt into Qurrah’s gut, he vomited all over the blade. His hands flailed for something to grab. He felt a huge fist yank his robe and hold him steady.

  “You dirtied my sword,” Karnryk snarled into his ear. His breath stank of rot, and again Qurrah felt his insides churn. A shove sent him to the ground. The huge blade hovered before him, glistening red and pink from bits of food and vomit.

  “Lick it clean,” Karnryk ordered. “Lick it, or I’ll cut your damn head off.”

  Qurrah spat on it instead. His reward was a monstrous fist to his face, coupled with a welcome return to unconsciousness.

  When he awoke, his hands were bound behind his back and tied to a rope that looped around his neck. Even a twitch of his hands tightened them, choking his weak throat. All around, he heard the mutterings and jokes of petty lowlifes. The heat of a fire warmed his face and chest. Summoning the courage, he opened his eyes.

  Karnryk’s minions surrounded him. A bonfire roared several feet away. Beside him lay Tessanna, bound in a similar manner. Her eyes were open, but she seemed sleepy and incoherent. On the opposite side of the fire stood Karnryk, his sword heating in the flame.

  “Good, you’re both awake,” he said. “Now we can start the fun. I want to see the fear in your eyes as I cut you to pieces.”

  “Then you will never have your chance,” Qurrah said. “You cannot scare me. A bully with a sword is all you are. The things I fear are beyond your abilities.”

  “Really?” the giant half-orc said. “That so? Well, you don’t have to be afraid for me to have my fun. Pain’s my true specialty.”

  He reached over and grabbed Tessanna. His giant fingers dwarfed her small neck. She made no struggle as he lifted her into the air, her body dangling.

  “Strange to see you with clothes on,” he said, lewdly examining her body. “Last time you didn’t seem to mind being naked.” He took her dress in hand and ripped it, exposing her chest. His henchmen murmured in approval. “Want some fun?” he asked her. She said nothing. With a shrug, he tossed her to the ground.

  “Well you’re getting some, anyway,” he said. With a nod, the first of many came forward, undoing the button to his trousers. When Qurrah looked away, Karnryk knelt beside him, yanked his head by his hair.

  “No, you look,” he growled. “You watch. You killed my men. She nearly killed me, so you better enjoy your fucking reward.”

  Tessanna showed no emotion as the first pushed up her skirt and pulled down his trousers. Qurrah watched, a burning anger growing in his gut. His lover gave no sign of pleasure, or displeasure, instead remaining perfectly still, her eyes far, far away. Without any struggle or signs of life, the man raping her beat her face, then her chest, furious. She did not scream. She did not fight back. She did nothing. When he finished, the man was furious.

  “You have fun with her,” he told the next in line. The second lowered his pants, knelt down, and howled like a wolf as he entered her. Qurrah marked him for death first.

  One after another, they took her like she was their slave, their property, their conquest. One after another, Qurrah had to watch. Bruises covered Tessanna’s face and body. Blood trickled from her nose and ears. Only Karnryk refused to touch her, hating the agonizing throb in his pants. It was not until the very last one had finished that she moved. Her elbows flexed, her neck tilted, and her black eyes shimmered in a way that sent cold fear creeping through all who had touched her.

  “You took me,” she said, looking around without any sign of anger. No, it seemed to be curiosity, and that chilled the men even more. “You took me while I was away…all of you?”

  The ropes that bound her neck and wrists blackened and smoked as if a fire burned them from within. A sharp edge entered her voice.

  “Did you enjoy it?” she asked. The ropes fell to the ground, nothing but ash. She stood. None moved against her. An unseen wind blew her hair. “Because I am about to enjoy this.”

  Black lightning arced to the nearest man, into his crotch, and then throughout his body. He died instantly. Still none moved. Her eyes held them still.

  “Did you watch, Qurrah?” she asked, bringing her gaze to him. The half-orc nodded.

  “Seven have had their way,” he said.

  “Then in seven ways I will have mine,” she said, smiling to those around her. “Your deaths will be painful, I promise.”

  Karnryk lifted his sword and screamed for them to attack. What happened next was a blur of blade and black magic, a chaotic mess in which only Tessanna thrived. Waves of power washed out from her, sticking to the eyes of those that did not look away. They stumbled around, blind. One thug launched himself at Tessanna, wild with fear. The girl laughed at his terror, then multiplied it tenfold. Poisonous magic leapt from her fingers and into his mind. He sailed past Tessanna, rolling onto his back. He scratched and clawed at his chest, finally flaying at it with his knife. The whole time he shrieked, “The maggots! The maggots!”

  Karnryk lunged with his greatsword, determined to take his vengeance. Tessanna saw him coming. The corners of her mouth curled into a brief smile. A single step back and the sword cut the air where she had been. Before he could strike again, she lunged forward and touched his chest.

  “Kelakkao,” she said, almost seductively.

  The half-orc staggered, his entire insides seething like a pit of snakes. He fell to his knees as wave after wave of vomit poured from his mouth, co
ntinuing until blood and acid scorched his throat and splattered the ground below.

  Tessanna watched him until the furious cries of those she had blinded changed in sound. Her spell had worn off. They could see again, and they sought death. She twirled, her arms swaying like an elegant dancer. With each finger, she beckoned them closer.

  Amid the death cries, Qurrah struggled against the ropes that held his hands tight. Each movement sent horrible pain throughout his throat, until he gave up squirming free. He glanced about, searching for another way. A dagger lay nearby, but the rope was far too thick. Then he saw his whip, for whatever reason untouched from when he had dropped it. The half-orc crawled on his belly like a worm until he reached it. He put his back to it so that his hands could close around the handle. Instantly it sprang to life.

  “Not yet,” he said to it. “First, my freedom.”

  The leather wrapped around his wrists, and at his command, burst into flame. The initial fire did not harm his flesh, but when the rope itself started to burn, so did his skin. Qurrah closed his eyes and endured the pain, hoping something remained of his hands by the time the rope broke.

  Rise, pale moon, for I am alone,” she sang, a haunting melody accompanied by an orchestra of wind, eruptions of blood, and the screams of men. “Hide, burning sun, day waits anon.” Black flame roared out of her hands, scattering back any who approached. Only four remained alive, three terrified men and Karnryk. To each one she turned, singing a lyric.

  “Sing, night birds, night needs beauty.” An ethereal arrow struck the back of one man’s head as he fled. Blood shot from his ears, and then he fell.

  “Dig, grave man, then leave me be.” The second one hurled his dagger. It struck her side, drawing blood. She dipped a hand in her own wound and let it soak red.

  “Goodbye, pale moon, for I am alone,” she sang, removing her hand and grinning at it. Magic poured out of her. The blood stiffened, took shape, and flew. Seven hardened balls shredded the dagger thrower’s face and punched out the back of his skull. Only one left before she faced Karnryk.