The Cost of Betrayal (24 page)

“My sword is enchanted,” he said, the pain in his arms unbearable. “Why do you not die?”

In response, Tessanna flattened her hand against his skin and lowered it to his groin. He tensed, exhilarated and terrified.

“There’s only one sword I want,” she cooed. “I’ll tell you if you want to know.”

She groped and pressed. He held her with one hand and pressed his sword against her neck with the other.

“Stop it,” he snarled.

“Don’t you want to know?” she asked. “I’ll whisper it to you.” She leaned forward, unafraid of the blade at her exposed throat. The half-orc felt his heart skip as her hair and lips brushed the side of his face.

“Are you sure you want to know?” she whispered into his ear.

“Yes,” he gasped as she resumed the motions of her hand.

“
Bleed,
” she whispered.

The black magic poured into him. The pain he felt was indescribable, an overwhelming sensation so great his mind immediately shut down in defense. He fell, unconscious, a giant red smear across the crotch of his pants.

“I hope you’ll keep my secret,” she giggled, licking the blood off her fingers.

L
et go!” screamed the man as Qurrah’s flaming leather whip wrapped around his ankle. He hacked at it with his sword, showering sparks and ash, but causing no damage. The smell of burning flesh filled his nostrils, and his screams grew all the louder.

“You will die like the others,” Qurrah said, releasing the leg. The thug charged, howling like a mad beast. Eager to test out a new spell, the half-orc whispered words of power and outstretched his hand. A gray, swirling funnel, like a tornado turned on its side, shrieked out from his palm. Flesh cracked and died as the rolling magic swarmed over him. The man inhaled to scream but the tornado swirled down his throat, shriveling his lungs and denying him his final death cry. The body fell, looking like a freshly unearthed corpse.

A dagger sliced through the air, only its clear whistle giving Qurrah warning. He cried out in anger as the blade cut across his cheek. He dropped to the ground as two more flew above his head. He sought out and found his attacker: Melhed, hiding behind a tree.

“If blood is what you want,” the half-orc said, “then I will gladly grant it.”

He wiped his face, smearing blood across his palm. Dark magic hardened it into a small stone. It vibrated in his hand, filled with power. The next time Melhed threw a dagger, Qurrah released his own projectile.

A blink of his eyes, and then Melhed felt the impact. The ball shattered, swarming him in a tremendous explosion of blood. Its stickiness wrapped around his face, his arms, and his legs. He collapsed, gasping for air. The blood thickened, pulsing as if still encapsulated in veins. Struggle as he might, the rope-like substance held firm.

Comparatively, Melhed’s dagger had far less effect. It bit into Qurrah’s shoulder, a deep wound that would take time to heal.

Qurrah had time. Melhed did not.

“You struck me twice,” the half-orc said. “I shall save you for last.”

Last would not be long, for only three men remained facing the necromancer, and all three were wounded.

“Do any of you dare strike against me?” he asked, snapping his whip to the ground. The men formed a triangle, eyeing him fearfully.

“Get him,” one shouted, his dagger thrusting at the half-orc’s back. The other two remained, cowardly at heart, and did not charge with him. Qurrah spun, shoving his hand forward with his fingers hooked in a bizarre way.

“
Nightmare,
” he hissed in the tongue of magic. The thrust faltered, all strength pulled out of it. Qurrah batted it aside with his free hand and then gripped the man’s face with an open palm. The man stared with wide, unblinking eyes as Qurrah forced him to his knees. From his mouth came screams of sheer terror.

“Do you wish this man’s fate?” Qurrah asked the other two, shoving the shrieking man to the dirt as if he were a pitiful child. “The things he sees are beyond description. Stay, and you may share them.”

“You’ll kill us if we turn to run,” one said, glancing to his partner for support.

“That’s right,” Qurrah laughed, wrapping his whip about his arm. Beside him, the shrieking man gagged and shivered as his heart gave out. “Still, if I were you, I’d be running.”

All light surrounding his fingers sucked in and vanished, leaving two voids where his hands should have been. Black lightning crackled between them, its thunder that of a wailing eagle. Where Qurrah’s eyes had been were now doorways to the abyss, seething with the cold promise of death. The men dropped their swords and ran. They died like cowards, lightning bursting their hearts in their chests.

Qurrah turned to see Tessanna approach. She remained nude, her dress in hand.

“They are all dead,” she said, a wonderful smile on her face. The smile did not flinch even when she yanked the dagger out of Qurrah’s shoulder.

“I left one alive,” Qurrah said, grunting as pain flooded him. Tessanna kissed his cheek, her pale hands gently pressed against the wound. Healing magic sank into him, ceasing the blood flow. Satisfied, Qurrah pulled out a few pieces of parchment from a large pocket within his robes.

“Stay back,” he said. “You must not hear the words I say.”

“But I want to see,” she pouted.

“When I am done, you may see the results,” he offered. She sighed but consented. He ran a hand through her hair, admiring the perfection of her body. Then went to Melhed, who was still bound by the blood curse.

“What do you want with me?” the scrawny man asked, his voice just below hysteria. “I have money. Lots of it! It’s in my house. Let me get it for you.”

“Where is your house, cretin?” Qurrah asked, yanking the man’s hair so that they stared eye to eye.

“It’s in southwestern Veldaren,” he said. “Fourth down Copper lane.”

“What does it look like?”

Qurrah took out his whip and draped it across the man’s neck, chest, and abdomen.

“Small, brown, thick cedar. My name is etched above the door. Please, I have gold in there, you can take it, all of it, just let me live.” The half-orc pulled back his whip. It vanished underneath the arm of his cloak.

“Thank you, kind sir,” Melhed said, thinking his life spared. “I have no quarrel with you, I was paid by Karnryk. Yes, paid, that’s all.”

“I never said you could live,” Qurrah said, his voice vile. He unrolled the parchment, to the horror of the bound man.

“No! No spells, please no, anything, please, use my daggers!”

“These are not spells,” he said. He pulled out two globs of wax and shoved them into his ears. “They are far worse.” His voice was distant and muffled. He hoped it would be enough.

The man screamed when he recited the first line of words written across the page. He thought Qurrah was about to explode his head or turn him into some pitiful creature. The words, however, had a hypnotic affect. He quieted, listening intently.

Qurrah continued. To him, he had read only seven lines, but to Melhed, nearly a lifetime seemed to have passed. His eyes grew distant, his mouth slackened, but still he listened, deep in concentration. When Qurrah reached the end of the passage, he stopped, feeling dizzy and weak. Melhed’s reaction was far worse.

“Nooo!” he shrieked, writhing against his bonds. “Noooo! Speak! Speak!”

Qurrah did not know, but to Melhed, the silence was more than deafening. His entire mind had ridden the magical words like a man caught in a stream. With the end of the water, though, he found passage upstream impossible.

Tessanna arrived as he pulled the wax from his ears.

“It looks as if he yearns for something,” she said, staring at Melhed’s fanatical eyes.

“I do not know what,” Qurrah admitted. “But this is nothing like you. He has no control. His entire mind is shattered.”

The girl nodded, laughing at the way the man flopped around.

“Are you going to leave him here?” she asked.

“There are more than two-hundred passages I must test. He, and the passage he represents, is incorrect. I have no use for him.”

“You poor baby,” Tessanna cooed, kneeling down beside the shrieking man. She put a hand across his head, holding him steady. She put the rest of her weight on his chest. She kissed him, plunging her tongue deep down his throat. She purred as the stink of madness filled her nostrils. Before she ended her kiss, she grabbed his tongue in her teeth and bit down. The tender flesh tore, and the man’s screams down her throat were waves of pleasure. The taste of blood filled her, and she reveled in pure, sexual delight. She stood, flashing Qurrah a smile.

“He will choke soon,” she told the stunned half-orc. “That, or he will swallow his own tongue. Want to stay and watch?”

“No,” Qurrah said, holding in his shudder.

“Aww,” she said, her lower lip pouting. She put her dress back on, flipped her hair over one shoulder, and then slowly licked the blood from her lips.

“No fun,” she told him. “No fun at all.”

12

I
hope your brother and that girl of his return soon,” Tarlak said, pacing back and forth in the main floor of the tower. “If Dieredon decides to grab Aurelia and run, things could get nasty.”

“Qurrah will show if he wants, not much else we can do,” Harruq said.

“I could scry for his location,” Aurelia said, sitting on the stairs, her staff on her lap. “But I’d rather save my strength for more important things, like making sure you all stay alive.”

“Your concern for our safety is touching,” the wizard said. “Especially since we’re doing this for you.”

“Oh, please. You’d hate not seeing my cute butt again, and you know it.”

Tarlak shrugged. “So?”

“You all are idiots,” Brug mumbled, munching on a thick chicken leg smeared with sauce. “He comes in, Aurelia wiggles her ass, and then he leaves, everyone happy. Since when are things gonna get crazy?”

Aurelia winked at him. “It’s me. Things tend to go that way when I’m around.”

“I’ll agree to that,” Harruq said.

“Just try to keep the damage to a minimum,” Delysia said, coming down the stairs in her spotless white robes. “I’m still a little weak, so if you can do with some bandages, then you will.”

The door to the tower swung open, revealing Haern, his face hidden by his hood. “Dieredon circles above,” he whispered.

“Fun time,” Harruq said, drawing his swords.

“Put those away,” Aurelia ordered, glaring at the dark blades. “Wait until you absolutely must.”

The half-orc frowned but obeyed. Tarlak slapped his back before taking command.

“Look sharp and smart, everybody. You’re Eschatons. You have a reputation to uphold here, mainly mine. Don’t blow it.”

“Oh yes, great and wise leader,” Brug said, dropping his chicken and grabbing his punch daggers. “Your speech of inspiration reveals a silver tongue, indeed.”

“Shut up, shorty.”

The two were still bickering when they exited the tower.