The Cost of Betrayal (7 page)

Brug scratched at his beard, thinking over the idea.

“Can’t be planning something that big without us knowing,” he said. “Besides, Haern’s the Watcher. Any one of them guilds gets out of line, and he’ll come and set things right. A scary thought, though, the guilds working together.”

“I hate thieves,” Tarlak moaned, pulling his tall yellow hat down past his eyes.

“Half our business is keeping them in line,” Brug said, hopping from the chair. “You’re like a miner saying he hates the mountain but loves the gold inside.”

“That’s why I prefer to pay others to mine for me,” Tarlak said with a grin. “Have you finished the pendants for our new members?”

Brug shook his head.

“Had trouble deciding the animal. Figured Harruq’s would be a scorpion. Saw that one on his chest, so that makes sense. What about Qurrah, though?”

“Make it a scorpion, as well,” Tarlak said. “They’re brothers.”

“And the elf?”

The wizard shrugged. “Go ask her. She seems a bit friendlier.”

Brug half-saluted, then left. Tarlak leaned over the map, pondering schemes that might simultaneous earn every thief guild higher profits. Any that came to mind were either too farfetched, or too frightening. Brug popped his head back in five minutes later.

“Strange girl, that elfie is,” he said.

“What animal did she pick?”

Brug made a go-figure motion with his hands. “She wants a spider as well as a kitten.”

“As in one creature, or both?”

“Never heard of a spiderkitty before, so yeah, both.”

Tarlak chuckled. “Compromise. Make one, but have it be both a spider and a kitten.”

“How am I supposed to do that?”

“You’ll figure it out.”

Brug rolled his eyes and slammed the door.

Q
urrah wandered through the streets of Veldaren, blessedly silent in the early hour. No merchants hawked their wares, and the few men and women that wandered about were busy with whatever task forced them from their beds. Qurrah preferred the company and secrecy of cities to the green of the forests. He always felt uneasy amid the tall trees, as if part of his blood recognized them as home, but the other half rejected all their comforts. It was in the dust, dirt, and stone of a city that he felt he could go about unnoticed. More importantly, he could let his mind wander.

His path led him straight to the fountain in the center of town. He stared at the great king of old, whose loyalty to Karak had been unfailing.

“What purpose do you have in my life now?” he asked that statue. The stone gave no answer, which was no surprise. It was a relic of an era many seemed desperate to forget. What if the stone could talk, Qurrah wondered. What if its mouth opened and words of a god came through? He stared, wondering, until he thought he saw the lips of the statue begin to crack, as if desperate to open. He stepped back, frightened, and that was when he saw the girl.

She sat atop the edge of the fountain, one leg dipping in and out of the water. Her black hair hung over one shoulder, trailing down to her waist. His eyes took in her soft face and pale skin. She hunched over her legs, which were exposed below the knee by a fairly common skirt cut uncommonly high. Her right arm extended outward. She clenched her fist, and the veins in her arm swelled. In her left hand, she held a dagger.

Qurrah’s reaction was a mixture of shock and curiosity as he watched her cut the flesh of her arm. The movements of her dagger were not random. She turned the blade this way and that, forming separate runes. She showed no sign of pain or pleasure. The girl seemed completely apathetic to her mutilations as her bright blood dripped into the fountain, staining the water scarlet.

The half-orc glanced around, realizing he had been staring. He was intrigued by how the few people passing by showed no surprise at what the girl did. A few frowned as they went on their way, but most ignored her. Qurrah walked away, then turned about, resting his back against a small shop facing the fountain. His curiosity awakened, he patiently waited. For what, he did not know.

As time passed, and more and more people filled the center, the girl ceased her cutting. She raised her arm to the sky, turning it so she could better see the runes she had carved. A smile creased her face, and she giggled. She put the dagger into her pocket, not caring her sleeve and dress were soaked with her own blood.

The girl hopped down, turned to the fountain, and splashed the statue king. Qurrah’s stomach twisted as she drank the waters. A man swore at her as he walked past, but this only elicited another giggle as faint red water dripped down her lips and neck.

“Staring at Tess, eh?” asked a voice behind Qurrah. The half-orc glanced back at a powder-covered baker standing next to him. Both watched as she left the fountain and traveled south, drops of blood trickling off the end of her fingers.

“Is that her name?” Qurrah asked.

“Tessanna, actually. Tess rolls off the tongue easier. I take it you’ve never seen her before?”

“No, I have not,” Qurrah said.

“She’s a weird one,” the baker said. “Guards keep telling her to stop, but she keeps on, anyway. She scares me, and I’m not too easily spooked, if you know what I’m saying.”

“Bloodletting has been done in your apothecaries for centuries, why should that frighten you so?”

The baker chuckled and cracked his knuckles.

“You seen her eyes?” he asked.

“What of them?”

“No good telling you, then. Greet her sometime. Look her in the eye, and if you don’t get shivers, then Ashhur made you of sterner stuff than I.”

Qurrah smirked at the final comment but gave no reply. He started toward home, but then stopped.

“That girl,” he asked the baker. “Tessanna, does she come here every morning?”

“Certain as the sun,” the man replied. “By the time I get here, the fountain’s always colored red, and she’s dancing off like a little princess.”

“Thank you,” Qurrah said, dipping his head in respect. He wandered the rundown parts of southern Veldaren, lost in thought. He had come to Veldaren to think of his future, but Tessanna had given him far more immediate concerns. With the sun high in the sky, he returned to the tower, his mind decided. That next day, he would not miss Tessanna’s arrival. When the blood began to flow, he would be there to watch.

T
he sound of sword hitting sword was clear and loud from behind the tower, so Qurrah circled around, remaining quiet and pressed against the stone in hopes of catching the battle unseen. He succeeded, and the sight was a worthy reward.

Harruq stood panting before Haern, his arms low and dragging as if the weight of his swords was too great to bear. Sweat dripped off his face. His entire body shuddered with each breath. Haern faced him, his face and body covered with an elaborate combination of cloaks. The tips of his sabers poked out from the folds.

“…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

T
hroughout 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.