The Cost of Betrayal (50 page)

“How?” he asked, breathless.

“Someone once had a hand like this,” she whispered, soft and quiet. “He was a bad man. Lots of people tried to kill him. When they did, they cut him up in tiny, tiny pieces. Bad people deserved that, they said. So I brought his hand here, and I made it alive. Do you like it Qurrah?”

He nodded, his eyes never leaving the hand.

“What was his name?” he asked. In response, she giggled.

“Jerrick.”

Jerrick…

Qurrah laughed. Jerrick Carver, the Cleaver of Newhaven. He had died an age ago, when Ashhur and Karak were but lowly gods warring on the land of Dezrel. Back when Velixar was still alive.

“Run, run, the Cleaver come, you been bad and now you’re done,” he said. Tessanna gave him a funny look. “A silly rhyme,” Qurrah explained. “I thought Jerrick just a myth, a story to scare us as children. Amazing, love. Simply amazing. How will I attach it to Karnryk?”

“Pick it up and put it on,” she said, tossing her hair across her shoulder to expose her soft neck. “Pretend you’re sliding into me. It’ll go just fine.”

“I’ll remember that,” he said, bending down to the still burning fire and retrieving the hand. He felt blood, or some similar fluid, throbbing in the veins. A chill ran through him, and it was a delicious chill. He went to Karnryk.

Bring me a present?
asked the voice in his head.

“One you should be proud to bear,” he said, holding forth the hand. “Extend your arm.”

Karnryk held out his lone arm, the stump a nasty mess of fluids and bone. The necromancer felt a sudden bolt of excitement shoot through his slave when the hand first touched the rotting flesh.

“Wuuuh,” Karnryk groaned, his first audible noise in two days.

“It is your hand,” Qurrah said, sliding the wrist forward exactly like his lover suggested. Somehow, the bony flesh attached and became firm. “And even in your state, you should know what a tremendous gift this is.”

Give me a sword,
ordered Karnryk. In response, Qurrah ordered him to his knees.

“I give all commands,” the necromancer said. “Nothing has changed. Do not forget your place.” He glanced about, trying to remember that chaotic fight that felt years ago, although it had been little less than a month.

“Find your sword,” he told him. “Retrieve it and return here. You are allowed to do nothing more.”

Karnryk willingly obeyed, returning to the place where he had died. He picked up the mammoth two-handed sword in his one hand, lifting it as if it were a feather. He carried it to Qurrah, who examined his pet and his blade. Curiosity overtook him. He had to see his pet in action.

“Chop down that limb,” he said, pointing to a branch hanging low near them. He sensed a bit of magic in the warrior’s blade, so he expected little difficulty. A good couple hacks and it would be down. At least, that is what he thought.

When Karnryk lifted up the giant sword and sent it slicing through the wood like it was butter, he realized just how precious a gift he had stumbled upon. “The tree,” he said as the branch fell to the ground with a crashing of leaves and sticks. “Cut down the tree.”

Without a word, the hulking slave marched over to the trunk. It was easily the width of Karnryk himself. He hefted the sword high above his head and then swung. A great thunder tore through the forest as the blade sunk two feet into the wood before halting.

“Take it out,” Qurrah said. Instead his pet ignored him, letting loose a low grunt. His arm flexed, the veins in the hand pulsed gold, and then the sword shoved further and further in, snapping through the final foot. Birds scattered as branches caught on branches and the tree smashed with a whoosh to the ground.

“Tessanna, you goddess,” Qurrah said, his voice awestruck.

He might have been scared if he realized just how close his words were to truth.

A
re you sure I cannot go?” Tessanna asked. She sat on the bed, her knees up to her neck with her arms wrapped around them. Her tattered dress covered little of her body.

“I will be fine,” Qurrah said, stacking his tome and spellbook into his arms. “Karnryk will provide ample distraction for my purposes.”

“But I want to see her,” the girl whispered. “Please. I just want to see her.”

The half-orc turned and kissed her forehead. He stared into her eyes and promised, just as he had promised many times before.

“You will see her again. I swear it.”

He pulled his hood tight over his head, took his whip, and left. Tessanna bitterly stared at the door.

“Qurrah,” she said, but the thought had too many endings. She did her best to pass the time. She took her dagger from underneath the bed, moved beside the dying fire, and viciously slashed her arm. Each rune pulsed with blood, and she found strange satisfaction knowing those runes would soon be read aloud to that precious little girl.

C
ome, Karnryk,” Qurrah said, approaching his pet. “We travel to Veldaren. Should you perform well, I will absolve you of your sins against Tessanna.”

I would hate to disappoint
, was his reply.

Before they could go, Qurrah needed to cast one last spell. By the time he arrived at Veldaren, the stars would be numerous. Beautiful as they were, he needed them gone. Fear was what he needed. Fear, and chaos. The stars combated both. Tessanna had taught him the words for the spell. The knowledge locked in her brain seemed infinite, yet she used it so sparingly.

The words were simple, at least in terms of magical incantations. He cast the spell with ease. Rolling against the wind, a line of cloud grew across the western horizon. Pleased, Qurrah lowered his arms and let out a sigh of relief.

“We are ready,” he said.

The two trudged east in silence. Qurrah had his spells, his whip, and his tome of insanity. Karnryk had his sword and his hand. It was all they needed.

S
omething is wrong,” Aurelia said, sitting up in the bed. The blankets fell to a heap in front of her, revealing the thin silk that covered her body. Beside her, Harruq stirred with an unhappy grunt.

“What is it, baby?” he asked, rubbing her arm with his hand. She turned to him, her eyes wide and her whole body shivering.

“Please, my dreams were dark. Something horrible is coming.”

“Just a dream is all,” the half-orc mumbled. “Surely you don’t…you do, don’t you?”

She cast off the blankets and headed for their wardrobe. She let her slinky and unpractical garment fall to the floor, revealing her naked form for a brief moment before she slid on her green dress. It glittered with soft runes and gold trim. She tied a sash about her waist and grabbed her staff, all before Harruq could stumble out of bed.

“Aurry, wait up, what’s going on?”

“Your armor,” she told him. “Put it on. Now.”

Harruq got up, a creeping fear growing in his heart. He had not seen Aurelia this afraid since…well, he wasn’t sure he had ever seen her so afraid. He took his black leather armor off the nightstand and began the tedious routine of buckling it on.

“What did you dream?” he asked, his arms reaching behind his back, pulling on strap after strap.

“I saw Tessanna standing over Aullienna,” she said, crossing her arms across her chest. “She was killing her with a dagger, but not normal, not…” She turned, tears sparkling in her eyes. “Please. Hurry.”

From far down the stairs, they heard a banging on the front door. The sound made Harruq’s heart jump.

“That better be coincidence,” he said. Not willing to risk it, he strapped on his cloak, buckled his two swords, and rushed down the stairs. Halfway down, he met Tarlak rushing back up. The wizard was dressed in his bed robes and had a funny, pointy hat on his head, topped with what looked like a ball of cotton.

“Get ready we need to…oh, you’re ready,” he said, giving Harruq a funny look. “How did you know?”

“I didn’t,” he said. “Aurry got spooked by a dream. What’s going on?”

“That was a guard from Veldaren,” he said, dashing into his room. He grabbed his yellow robes and hat, throwing them on over his bed clothes. “Something’s tearing through the town. Tens of guards are already dead. The soldier said they couldn’t corner it, couldn’t overpower it with numbers. We’ve been promised a fortune to kill it.”

He pulled his hat tight on his head, either not noticing or not caring that is was badly crooked. “Wake up Haern, Lathaar, and Brug. I’ll get Delysia. We’re moving, now!”

Harruq banged on Haern’s door, only to have the fully dressed and armed assassin greet him.

“I heard the knock,” was all he said. Lathaar was already awake, his platemail gleaming in the blue light of his swords. Together they roused Brug, who gave Harruq the dirtiest of looks until he heard the reason for his waking.

“Great jumping galoopagots,” he said, staggering toward his armor. Harruq glanced at Haern.

“Galoopagots?”

The assassin shrugged.

T
he entire party massed in the main foyer in less than five minutes, armed and armored.

“Let’s go,” Tarlak said, seeing all accounted for. “We strike the killing blow and two-thousand gold is ours. Since Lathaar here won’t accept any, we’re talking a lot of coin split between the rest of us. Oh, and people are dying. That’s bad, too.”

“What about Aullienna,” Aurelia interrupted. “I won’t leave her here unguarded.”