The Cost of Betrayal (39 page)

One after another, they took her like she was their slave, their property, their conquest. One after another, Qurrah had to watch. Bruises covered Tessanna’s face and body. Blood trickled from her nose and ears. Only Karnryk refused to touch her, hating the agonizing throb in his pants. It was not until the very last one had finished that she moved. Her elbows flexed, her neck tilted, and her black eyes shimmered in a way that sent cold fear creeping through all who had touched her.

“You took me,” she said, looking around without any sign of anger. No, it seemed to be curiosity, and that chilled the men even more. “You took me while I was away…all of you?”

The ropes that bound her neck and wrists blackened and smoked as if a fire burned them from within. A sharp edge entered her voice.

“Did you enjoy it?” she asked. The ropes fell to the ground, nothing but ash. She stood. None moved against her. An unseen wind blew her hair. “Because I am about to enjoy this.”

Black lightning arced to the nearest man, into his crotch, and then throughout his body. He died instantly. Still none moved. Her eyes held them still.

“Did you watch, Qurrah?” she asked, bringing her gaze to him. The half-orc nodded.

“Seven have had their way,” he said.

“Then in seven ways I will have mine,” she said, smiling to those around her. “Your deaths will be painful, I promise.”

Karnryk lifted his sword and screamed for them to attack. What happened next was a blur of blade and black magic, a chaotic mess in which only Tessanna thrived. Waves of power washed out from her, sticking to the eyes of those that did not look away. They stumbled around, blind. One thug launched himself at Tessanna, wild with fear. The girl laughed at his terror, then multiplied it tenfold. Poisonous magic leapt from her fingers and into his mind. He sailed past Tessanna, rolling onto his back. He scratched and clawed at his chest, finally flaying at it with his knife. The whole time he shrieked, “The maggots! The maggots!”

Karnryk lunged with his greatsword, determined to take his vengeance. Tessanna saw him coming. The corners of her mouth curled into a brief smile. A single step back and the sword cut the air where she had been. Before he could strike again, she lunged forward and touched his chest.

“
Kelakkao,
” she said, almost seductively.

The half-orc staggered, his entire insides seething like a pit of snakes. He fell to his knees as wave after wave of vomit poured from his mouth, continuing until blood and acid scorched his throat and splattered the ground below.

Tessanna watched him until the furious cries of those she had blinded changed in sound. Her spell had worn off. They could see again, and they sought death. She twirled, her arms swaying like an elegant dancer. With each finger, she beckoned them closer.

Amid the death cries, Qurrah struggled against the ropes that held his hands tight. Each movement sent horrible pain throughout his throat, until he gave up squirming free. He glanced about, searching for another way. A dagger lay nearby, but the rope was far too thick. Then he saw his whip, for whatever reason untouched from when he had dropped it. The half-orc crawled on his belly like a worm until he reached it. He put his back to it so that his hands could close around the handle. Instantly it sprang to life.

“Not yet,” he said to it. “First, my freedom.”

The leather wrapped around his wrists, and at his command, burst into flame. The initial fire did not harm his flesh, but when the rope itself started to burn, so did his skin. Qurrah closed his eyes and endured the pain, hoping something remained of his hands by the time the rope broke.

R
ise, pale moon, for I am alone,” she sang, a haunting melody accompanied by an orchestra of wind, eruptions of blood, and the screams of men. “Hide, burning sun, day waits anon.” Black flame roared out of her hands, scattering back any who approached. Only four remained alive, three terrified men and Karnryk. To each one she turned, singing a lyric.

“Sing, night birds, night needs beauty.” An ethereal arrow struck the back of one man’s head as he fled. Blood shot from his ears, and then he fell.

“Dig, grave man, then leave me be.” The second one hurled his dagger. It struck her side, drawing blood. She dipped a hand in her own wound and let it soak red.

“Goodbye, pale moon, for I am alone,” she sang, removing her hand and grinning at it. Magic poured out of her. The blood stiffened, took shape, and flew. Seven hardened balls shredded the dagger thrower’s face and punched out the back of his skull. Only one left before she faced Karnryk.

“Goodbye, burning sun, see me no more.” The final fell to his knees and begged for mercy. Tessanna tilted her head, as if confused. Tears ran down this man’s face as he groveled like a dog, unable to bear the sight of his companion’s brutal deaths. The girl answered him with another lyric.

“Goodbye, night birds, dirt fills my ears.”

She cast her spell. His eyes blasted out his body by a great surge of blood, and his body shriveled and curled in obscene ways. She ended her song, smiling at the beautiful sight of death she had created.

“Goodbye, grave man, cover me in the morn.”

The sound of movement made her turn. She felt no worry. Pure euphoria swirled inside her head. She was a goddess among mortals. None would dare strike her.

Karnryk was a furious warrior, proud and arrogant. He had no respect for goddesses. As Tessanna stared incredulously, he shoved his greatsword through her stomach. The tip tore out her back, the blade soaked in gore. She gasped as her blood poured out.

“Where’s your magical armor now, bitch?” he asked, spitting on her face.

“Gone, as is your life,” Qurrah said from behind. Karnryk turned, his blood chilling. Surrounding the necromancer in strange orbits were the bones of his dead hirelings, numbering in the hundreds. With but a thought, they assaulted. His eyes cold, Qurrah watched as Karnryk staggered about, surrounded by a tornado of bone that shredded his flesh, stabbed his eyes, and bruised every bit of exposed skin. Down he fell, unable to withstand the torture. Still the bones struck, faster and faster, their chalky white turning red. Qurrah was not satisfied.

“You struck her,” he said, his voice a low, seething sound. “Suffer for your sins!”

The pieces of bone dug deeper into his eyes. Sharp rib bones broke through his teeth and poured down his innards. When the necromancer approached, the remaining bones parted for him. He yanked Karnryk’s bloody mess of a face by the hair and whispered into his ear.

“I will torture you, even after death,” he said. “You will yearn for the abyss, and you will not be granted its reprieve.”

He shoved his fingers deep into Karnryk’s eye sockets. The bones lodged there pushed farther in, deep into nerve tissue. Spasms wracked his body, and for the only time he screamed.

“
Hemorrhage!
” Qurrah hissed. Dark magic poured into the remnants of the half-orc’s body. Qurrah yanked his hand free as a great explosion of blood and brain burst from where Karnryk’s face had been. When the body collapsed to the ground, Karnryk was already on his way to the abyss.

“Qurrah,” Tessanna said, the sword still through her waist. She lay on her side, her legs paralyzed. The sword had shifted when its point touched dirt, grinding against her spine. Qurrah rushed to her, kneeling down and grabbing her hands.

“Tessanna, I’m so sorry,” he said. “I should have acted sooner, I should have-”

“Shut up,” Tessanna said, her face pale and cold. “I hear the singing again…”

Those were her only words. Overcome with grief, he placed his hands on the giant hilt and apologized before yanking the sword free. Holding in a sob, he wrapped his arms around the painfully light body of his lover.

“Don’t die on me,” he said. “You can’t die.”

The lack of breath and heartbeat insisted otherwise, but Qurrah would not accept it.

“Delysia can heal you,” he said, staggering south with her in his arms. Each step sent more blood dribbling across his knees. Everything was strange. It seemed the stars had shifted and the warmth of summer seemed lost into autumn.

The trek south through the woods was the longest, darkest time Qurrah had ever experienced.

N
o cloud dimmed the light of a single star. The Eschaton mercenaries had just eliminated a troublesome band of thieves with delusions of creating a new guild. Haern had given them the choice of death or surrender. Their leader had drawn his weapons. The rest surrendered when they saw how quickly he died.

“Nothing like a job well done,” Tarlak said after depositing the thieves at the prison.

“This place always depresses me,” Delysia said, pulling her robe tight about her. “Let’s go home.”

All glanced to Aurelia, who frowned at them.

“What am I, your wagon?” she asked. “The night is peaceful. We can walk, unless someone else is capable of opening a portal home.”

“What about your kid?” Brug asked. “You should get home, not safe and all… right?”

Another frown. “Nice try. Aullienna’s fine. Bunch of whiners, all of you.”

They left town, traveling across the beaten path west. Harruq and Aurelia walked hand in hand, smiling as the wind blew against their faces. Haern let down his hood, shaking free his golden hair. Tarlak led the way, babbling to the assassin about the idiocy of common thuggery in Veldaren.

When they reached the tower, everything changed.

“Someone awaits us,” Haern whispered, seeing a deviation in the shadows at the door. Aurelia’s keener eyes widened as she saw what waited there.

“It’s Qurrah,” she said. When Harruq heard, he ran ahead, a smile spreading across his face.

“Qurrah!” he shouted as he neared. “Qurrah!”

His smile faded when he was close enough to see.

“Brother?” he asked. Qurrah looked up, and to Harruq’s great surprise, he saw tears. He held the pale body of Tessanna in his arms. Her limbs hung limp, her eyes closed. Blood soaked her clothes, which were ripped and torn. Harruq took a shocked step forward as his brother spoke.

“Please,” Qurrah said. “I need help. Please, help me.”

More and more tears rolled, along his cheek, past his thin lips, down the gray of his chin, and then falling, falling, until breaking atop the dead face of the girl with blackest of eyes.

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