The Cost of Betrayal (14 page)

“Come on over, sis,” he whispered to it. The gold flared a brilliant white before returning to its soft shine. Standing in front of Tarlak, her hands on her hips, appeared Delysia.

“I wish I didn’t have to stay behind so often,” she complained.

“We’ve gone over this,” Tarlak said. “I would be an awful brother to risk you being hurt in a melee.”

Delysia rolled her eyes. When she caught sight of the wounded rogue, she winced. “Oh, you poor dear. What’d you do to him?”

“I might have stabbed him,” Haern whispered.

“Might?” the rogue gasped before falling unconscious. Delysia knelt beside him, her hands on his chest and her eyes closed in prayer. Qurrah slid beside Tarlak and said softly to him, “He would talk easier if he was dead.”

“All men have a chance to be redeemed,” Tarlak said back. “Killing in combat is one thing, but I will not finish off a helpless man I can save. Delysia would furious, otherwise.”

White light surrounded Delysia’s hands and then poured into the dying man. The wound closed, ending the flow of blood. Strength poured into him, stirring him back to consciousness.

“Wakey-wakey,” Brug greeted. “Care to answer a few questions?”

“I’d rather die,” the rogue said.

“You almost did,” Delysia said, frowning at him. “Glad to know my aid is appreciated.”

He sneered at her but said nothing.

“Haern, we need an attitude adjustment,” Tarlak said. He snapped his fingers. The assassin walked over, knelt down, and then buried a saber into the thief’s right wrist. He screamed and struggled, but the location of the saber was perfect, in between the bones so the blade could not tear free. Finally, the man calmed, wincing against the pain. Delysia pointedly turned away, her face disgusted.

“You do not approve?” Qurrah asked her.

“There are always better ways,” she said. “Violence is rarely the best.”

The half-orc laughed. Aurelia glared at him.

“Silence, Qurrah, or I will quiet you myself.”

He grinned at her but obeyed.

“Care to talk now?” Tarlak asked once the thief regained his composure. The man nodded. “Good, tell me your name.”

“Terrence.”

“Alright Terrence, who orchestrated this whole farce? All I want is a name and I will let you live.”

“They will kill me if I talk,” Terrence said.

“You will die if you don’t,” Haern whispered. “Besides, all will think you dead. Now give us a name.”

Tarlak stood watching and stroking his goatee. The man appeared to be greatly troubled, and when Haern yanked his blade free, it did not help his confused mind.

“I will tell,” Terrance said at last. “But I want you to promise.”

Tarlak clapped the man on the shoulder, ignoring the wince of pain on his face. “I speak for the Eschaton. You will not be harmed, nor persecuted for any crimes you might have committed in your guild.”

Terrence glanced about before his eyes settled on a vacant area of the floor.

“What they’ve told us,” he said, “is that all of the guildmasters wish the Watcher dead. The guilds are united. They prepare for war.”

Haern’s face darkened. He pulled his hood lower. “Who initiated it?” he asked.

“I don’t know,” Terrence said. “The Spider Guild seems the most eager. Thren has spoken with our representatives every night. Now may I go?”

The mercenaries let him stand. He winced, clutching his tender chest. Delysia turned back around and grabbed his hand in hers.

“Go with the peace of Ashhur,” she told him, light swirling about her hands. When she released, there was no trace of the wound. He nodded to each of them, pilfered coins from his dead comrades, and then ran.

“Why did you let that one live?” Tarlak asked, watching him go.

“He was the least bloodthirsty, and had some measure of skill. I thought he might be the most tempted by a new life.”

The wizard shrugged. “Makes sense to-”

“Look out!” Aurelia shouted. She dove in front of Haern and then screamed as an arrow pierced through the flesh of her breast. Haern spun, seeing just the trace of a gray cloak at the door Qurrah had shattered. Tarlak caught Aurelia in his arms and helped her to the floor. Haern knelt beside her, eyeing the wound.

“Poison,” he whispered. “Lady Thyne, please forgive me.”

He yanked the arrow out.

Harruq rushed to the door, his swords drawn and ready. He ran out into the street, spun one way, then the other. No one was in sight.

“Move Haern, I must help her,” Delysia said. She knelt down, her hands upon the wound. She prayed for healing, and white light shone about her. Suddenly, her face contorted in pain, and a black light poured out of the wound and into her fingers.

“Sis, stop it!” Tarlak screamed, trying to pull her away.

“I have to…I have to…” she said before shrieking. More and more darkness poured into her, pushing away the white. As the rest stood helpless, Qurrah walked over, knelt beside Delysia, and put his hands atop of hers.

“
Delrn rel thun yaer,
” he hissed. The black magic poured into his hands, but did no harm to him. Instead, it swirled above his palms, held captive by the necromancer.

“Let your death go elsewhere,” he said. He flung his hand as if throwing a spear straight into the ground. A dark, ethereal arrow flew through the dirt and vanished. For a brief moment, healing light flowed into the pale and dying Aurelia. Then Delysia fell back, unable to keep her balance. Tarlak caught her gently in his arms.

“I think I helped her,” Delysia said, her voice barely a whisper. “I don’t think it’ll kill her. I don’t think…”

She slipped into sleep in her brother’s arms. Harruq returned then, and looked down at his precious Aurelia.

“Will she be all right?” he asked.

“The arrow was cursed,” Qurrah said, his eyes looking not to his brother but to Haern. “They wished you to die of poison, and they wished death upon any that tried healing you. Aurelia saved your life.”

“Who did this to her,” Harruq said, the whole world turning red in his eyes. “Was it the Spider Guild?”

“Don’t do anything foolish,” Haern whispered. “They are many and powerful.”

“And they’ll soon be many and dead.”

Qurrah put his hand on his brother’s shoulder.

“I will await you at the tower. I will be of no use to you now. I have not the strength. If you wish any to speak, however, I will be ready.”

Harruq turned to Tarlak. “Can you get her to the tower?”

The wizard nodded. “I’ll open a portal. Haern and Brug’ll help me carry Aurelia and Delysia. What is it you plan on doing?”

Harruq’s grip tightened on his swords, and the rage in his eyes was visible fire.

“Killing everyone responsible,” he growled.

Tarlak glanced to his sister, weak and sleeping in his arms.

“Kill them twice for me,” he said.

With a nod, Harruq stormed out of the warehouse and into the dark streets of Veldaren.

H
e did not get far before Haern fell from the top of a building and blocked his path.

“Out of my way, Haern. This is something I have to do.”

Haern’s cold voice showed no sign of backing down. “I will aid you. The Spider Guild is strong. You cannot do this alone.”

“I can, and I will.”

He tried to shove his way past. Haern hooked his foot behind Harruq’s ankle and kicked. The half-orc fell, Haern holding an arm so that his landing was not too painful.

“Do not be foolish,” Haern whispered into his ear. “They meant to kill
me.
Aurelia saved my life. I will repay such a debt.”

Harruq snorted, blowing dirt away from his face. “Fine. Do you know where we should start?”

Haern released his hold on the half-orc. Harruq brushed himself off, got to his feet, and glared at his teacher. Haern’s glare back showed he cared little for his pupil’s attitude.

“Follow me,” the Watcher said.

7

T
he Black Mug Bar was a dank, crowded building made of old plaster and uneven walls. Its drinks were often watered down and always overpriced, but despite this, it remained fully stocked with customers. Most were not there for the ale. In the back of the building was its real purpose. A guarded door led to an expansive and well-lit basement filled with the finest luxuries available. To enter, one needed a password, which changed every month, and to show a sigil proving membership. Harruq and Haern needed neither.

“What you say?” a burly man asked as they approached.

“Pissed off half-orc,” Harruq said. The guard shook his head.

“You two should leave. Nothing down there you want.”

“Oh yeah, there is,” the half-orc said, grabbing the man’s head and slamming it against the door. The guard slumped to the floor. The few patrons jumped to their feet, drawing weapons. Most were members of the Spider Guild, and donned gray cloaks similar to Haern’s.

The assassin whirled upon them, drawing his sabers.

“I have killed more men than all of you have combined,” he said, his blue eyes blazing. “Those wishing to live, leave now. Those who dare face the wrath of the Watcher, come now, and die.”

Uncertain glances were followed by disappearing cloaks. Soon only the barkeep remained. Harruq kicked the door, splintering the meager lock.

“There was a key on the guy you just clobbered,” the barkeep said, pouring himself a drink.

“Keys. Bah.”

Haern tossed the barkeep a silver coin.

“To cover your losses,” he whispered before following Harruq down into the depths of the Spider Guild.

A
s they descended the stairs, two thieves ambushed from either side. Harruq jumped, landing hard at the bottom. Haern smashed his feet into his attacker’s face. The man staggered back, blood pouring from his nose. Haern took his feet out from underneath with a sweeping kick. Twin sabers buried into his heart as he fell.

Harruq drew his blades, relishing the surge of power they offered. His attacker rushed him, his dagger thrusting. The half-orc smacked it aside like a toy. The longer reach of his swords was too much an advantage. The thief fell before him, several gaping wounds in his chest.