The Cost of Betrayal (42 page)

“The demon Darakken is supposedly sealed inside,” Tarlak mused. “Please, tell me, where is this mountain?”

“It was Elfspire,” Lathaar said. “Right there, deep in the Stonewood Forest.”

“You jest!”

“There is too much to tell, but two protected the mountain. One was a mimic of a servant of Karak, a rather frightening creature. Mira told me the name of their kind… Doru’al?”

Tarlak nodded. “Creatures of purest dark. They cannot survive in the daylight. Claws like longswords, teeth sharp as knives. You fought one?”

“I did, and it is a battle I would prefer to never fight again.” Lathaar leaned forward, and his voice dropped in volume. “But there was another with the creature, a girl named Mira. The one beside Qurrah, with the black eyes and hair. Does she have a sister?”

“A sister?” Tarlak shook his head. “I hope not. One is enough for Dezrel.”

“But there is more than one,” said the paladin. “Of that I am certain. Mira could be her twin. Even their voices are similar. This girl…”

“Tessanna.”

“Tessanna… does she possess powerful magic?”

The wizard frowned, obviously troubled. “Yes, she does. Very powerful, from what I sense.”

“Mira is the same,” Lathaar said. “Almost like a goddess. I thank Ashhur that I now count her as a friend, for the darkness I sense from Tessanna worries me.”

“Anyway, back to Darakken,” Tarlak said, urging him on with his hand.

“Against my wishes, Malik obtained a small army from the King of Mordan, and they marched upon Elfspire. To fight them, Mira created more of the Doru’al, sacrificing elves to do so. The conflict was brutal. Many men died, most to Mira’s magic. The mountain was spared.”

“I take it Malik did not know what was in the mountain?” the wizard asked.

“None of us did. I learned only after, when Mira showed me. The Council of Mages received word of the battle, and they came, seeking Darakken’s spellbook.”

“It’s a powerful item,” Tarlak said, gulping down the rest of his wine. “Rumored to be the oldest of magical tomes of all Dezrel.”

“The Council released the demon,” Lathaar continued. “A giant thing with charred flesh and ebony claws. It had these enormous wings stretching twenty feet to either side, I swear. The sword it wielded was longer than I am tall. The spells it cast…”

Lathaar stopped, drank some of his water, and pondered for a time.

“We banded together with the surviving Council members. I still am in awe of the spells, ice boulders, streams of fire bigger than houses, magical missiles by the hundreds. You should have seen it, Tarlak. The eldest of magics, it shrugged off.”

“Too bad I wasn’t there,” the wizard chuckled. “A few of my spells and he’d go down like a baby.”

“Sorry, Tar, but a few of your spells might have tickled it. Only Mira could match its power.” His eyes twinkled with wonder. “She looked like a goddess then, Tarlak. When I saw her, that’s what I thought. I was staring at the power of a goddess. Even still, she faltered, and Darakken nearly killed her.”

“What happened then?”

“Ashhur granted me strength to fight it. My blade became an Elholad, and I battled it as best I could.”

“Elholad?” Tarlak asked. “Come now, don’t jest with a wizard. We dish out well, but are terrible on the receiving end.”

Lathaar stood and drew his longsword. Bright light enveloped it, its strength mirroring the faith of its wielder. The paladin closed his eyes, whispered, and then held the blade high, calmly saying the word ‘Elholad’. All traces of metal from the sword vanished in a great flare. The weapon became a perfect creation of light, shimmering with blue and gold. He cut the air twice, displaying its incredible lack of weight. The light vanished when Lathaar sheathed it and returned to his seat.

Tarlak whistled.

“That is a rare gift of Ashhur,” the wizard said. “Few paladins in all history wielded such a blade.”

“Ashhur knew I needed it,” Lathaar said, his grin fading as he sat back and looked to the floor. “Even then, my strength was not enough. I faltered, in both heart and mind. By the grace of Ashhur, we were saved, for he answered my prayers with an angel. I’ve seen so much these past few years, but none surpasses its beauty. I can only remember it vaguely, as if in a dream, but there is no white on this land that matches the hue of its robes, and no armor made like that which adorned its chest and shoulders. It did not kill Darakken. I believe it waited for me. When I stabbed Darakken’s leg, the creature reared back in pain, and then the angel beheaded it. The energy of its death knocked me unconscious for several hours.”

“You killed Darakken?” Tarlak said, thoroughly amazed. “An army of elves could not strike it dead. You don’t look stronger than an elven army.”

“No disagreement here.”

“The spellbook,” Tarlak said, “I must hear of the spellbook. Did it remain upon the demon’s death?”

Lathaar’s face grew dark. “Aye. There is no way to destroy it. We debated what to do. I even considered bringing it to you.”

The wizard visibly sickened. “The words in that tome would cry against my very being, Lathaar. Ashhur keep me from ever looking upon its pages. So what became of it?”

“I took it to the Sanctuary. You’re one of few I have told of its existence. If we are lucky, the book will pass to myth and legend.”

Tarlak poured himself another glass of wine and drained half of it in one gulp. “So why is it you come here? Did you miss me?”

“Actually, I did.” Lathaar let out a hearty laugh. “Here is as much of a home as I have anywhere. I decided it had been too long, I would come here to visit. And propose an idea.”

Tarlak grinned. “Knew there was a reason. Out with it, my friend.”

“I want to rebuild the Citadel,” Lathaar said. “I need money, I need men, and I need a designer up to the task.”

The wizard sighed. “Far beyond me. Money I have, and I do know influential people, but not enough for such a grand undertaking. Can’t the Priests of Ashhur help?”

“I am here to speak with them as well. I cannot let Karak claim victory. I refuse to be the last paladin of Ashhur.”

“We’ll discuss this more tomorrow,” Tarlak said, finishing his glass. “Let me sleep on it, alright?”

“Many thanks,” Lathaar said. The two stood and embraced. As they headed for bed, Qurrah dashed upstairs having heard every word.

21

M
orning came. Tessanna refused to join everyone as they broke their fast. Qurrah said nothing of it, and no one asked. A few jokes were exchanged, mouths were stuffed, and Lathaar told a tale from his travels. Halfway through the meal, Aullienna’s crying cascaded down the stairs.

“You gonna get that, hun?” Harruq asked, his mouth full of food. Her look was icy.

“She’s just throwing a fit because she wants downstairs,” Aurelia said. “And why is it I should go?”

Tarlak and Haern exchanged knowing glances.

“How it works. You’re better at shutting her up.”

Again the icy glare. Brug let out a choked chuckle.

“I’m not finished eating,” she said, gesturing to her plate. Harruq shrugged, and gestured to his plate as well.

“Perhaps it is wrong for me to intrude,” Haern said, jabbing Harruq in his side. “But you should go and get your blades, anyway. We shall be sparring soon.”

The half-orc glanced to his friend, his face full of betrayal. “I can go get them later.”

“You can go get them now,” the assassin whispered, wondering how the half-orc could be so dense. When Harruq continued eating, Aurelia rolled her eyes and gave up.

“I’ll get the swords while I’m up there,” she said, rising from her seat. “But that will be the only thing gotten in there for the next few nights.”

Brug roared with laughter, and Tarlak joined in. Harruq glanced about, looking like a surprised deer.

“What?” he blurted. “What…hey, shut up, all of you!”

Aurelia kissed him on the cheek and glided up the stairs. She rolled her eyes as she reached halfway, for her daughter’s crying had ceased. She certainly did not miss the multiple feedings and the starvation of sleep, but she was starting to understand why so many told her it was the second year to fear. Not to make the trip pointless, she continued on, figuring she could get her thickheaded husband’s swords.

Her skin chilled when she reached the top. Their door was wide open. Sitting on her knees with her back to the door was Tessanna.

“Run kitty-kitty,” said the girl in a sing-song voice. “I see a big dog, yes I do. Climb, kitty-kitty, big dog’s coming and he comes for you!”

Peals of laughter erupted from Aullienna’s mouth as Tessanna tickled her, making funny growling sounds as she did.

“More!” the little elf girl cried.

“I see a kitty-kitty, yes I do. Black and brown and a bit of blue. Meow, kitty-kitty, hungry little lass. Chase the mice, chase the mice, aren’t they fast!”

Aullienna smiled, mimicking gestures Tessanna made with her hands. Her tiny fingers fumbled the movements, but Tessanna would reach out and mold them correctly. She pretended her hand was a cat, and before Aullienna pulled away, the cat pounced.

“Nooo!” she shouted, her eyes wide as her smile. As she leaned forward, giggling, she saw her mother. “Mama, we’re playing!”

Tessanna lurched to her feet and retreated away with downcast eyes.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “She was crying, and I thought she was lonely. I’ll go.”

“No,” Aurelia said, stopping her. “You may stay, if Aullienna wishes. Just promise me you won’t…hurt her.”

The sincerity in her black eyes was impossible to deny. “Never would I hurt a child,” she said. “Never.”

“Do you want Tessanna to stay with you a little while longer?” Aurelia asked her daughter. The girl bounced her head up and down.

“She’s plays. She’s a kitty! Kitty-kitty and a mouse.”

“The mouse didn’t do a good job running away,” Tessanna said, sitting next to her on the illusionary grass. “She needs to learn. Mice are sneaky.” She acted as if Aurelia were not even there. Her hand crouched and jerked about, accompanied by twitching noises.

Aurelia watched them play, torn. In the end, she did what felt right. She let them be.

Y
ou wanted to see me, Tar?” Harruq asked, poking his head into the wizard’s room. It had been three days since Lathaar moved in, and with Qurrah and Tessanna also staying in the tower, things had been chaotic. The half-orc frowned when he saw his wife standing next to him, a dark expression on her face. Tarlak looked equally serious.

“Can you read?” he asked.

“Long as the letters are big and the words are small,” he said, flicking his eyes back and forth. Neither found this amusing. Aurelia handed him a small piece of parchment. He read it, struggling only occasionally to make out the words.

Tarlak Eschaton, leader of the Eschaton Mercenaries,

The formal bounty is already announced, but due to the increasing brutality of the murders, I, Antonil Copernus, Guard Captain of Veldaren and servant to our great King Vaelor, offer an additional seven hundred gold pieces above the current eight hundred if you bring me the culprit known as the Veldaren Reaper. This increase is only if he is alive. He has taken twelve children, cut their throats, and done atrocities improper to list in complete detail. This bounty shall diminish a hundred gold for every body henceforth found in such a manner. I am confident you may stop the loss of life, given the fine skill of your mercenaries.