The Cost of Betrayal (Half-Orcs Book 2) Read online

  Harruq stood by Aurelia’s bed and ran a hand across her cheek. “Going to bed,” he said. “I suggest you do the same.”

  Qurrah offered no reply. His eyes lingered on Tessanna’s closed eyelids as his brother left. When he spoke, it was to himself as much as it was to her.

  “The hardness of your life is over,” he whispered. “You have earned your peace. I will give that to you, Tessanna. I promise.”

  He pulled the hood of his robe low over his face and left the tower.

  Qurrah wandered Veldaren’s empty streets in a trance. He had been to the temple of Ashhur, but there was no aid for him there. Instead, he searched for another temple hidden among the winding streets, one to a darker god, a hidden god. A simple spell guided his path. He could feel the pull of dark magic, leading him on like a thin thread. The closer he approached the luxurious areas of the city, the more it throbbed in his temples. One house in particular cried out to him in a voice only his mind could hear.

  Our faith is stronger. Our way is truer. Our destiny is assured. Order cometh.

  He halted at the black iron gates. At first glance, the home seemed perfectly normal. It was not fancy, but well kept. Its walls were painted a soft white and its roof a dull brown. His soul opened, and his eyes saw what normal sight could not. A new building towered before him. Several pillars lined the front, chiseled of dark marble, their sides scrawled with runes that glowed red in the darkness. A giant skull of a lion hung above the door, carved from the finest obsidian, its mouth open and dripping blood.

  “Let me pass,” Qurrah whispered to the gate, his fingers wrapping around the cold metal. “I will pass, I will enter, and I will speak with whoever is the strongest.” The gate creaked open, yielding to his touch and his words. He slipped inside, flinching when it slammed shut behind him. In all those years he had grown up in Veldaren, he had never once visited the temple. The doings of the gods meant little to him, but there was something the priests of Karak might know more of than the priests of Ashhur, and that was madness.

  He approached the door. Built of the thick strips of oak and bound together with long straps of iron, the monumental portal hummed with magic as his knuckles rapped the smooth front.

  “I come seeking knowledge,” Qurrah said to the door. “I bade thee let me enter, for willingly or not, I shall pass through.”

  The creaking of metal and groaning of wood broke the silence. The door swung inward, and waiting in greeting was a man dressed in robes a shade lighter than Qurrah’s. A pendant shaped like a lion’s skull hung from his neck. His low hood hid much of his face.

  “What knowledge is it you seek,” the man asked. “For many turn away at our truth, or yearn for false answers to the questions they ask.”

  “I seek chaos,” Qurrah said. “And I seek a way to end to it.”

  The man nodded. “Come. We’ve been waiting for you.”

  10

  The fall of Karak’s right hand was known to us from the moment it happened,” the priest said, shutting the great door.

  “You speak of Velixar,” Qurrah said.

  “That was one of his names, yes. Karak’s sorrow was great, but even as we mourned, he gave us hope in visions. Velixar had an apprentice, one who could continue his legacy. We were told he would be a living heresy, an elf of blood both cursed and pure.”

  They passed through an expansive entry room, with purple curtains tied above portraits of long dead priests of Karak. These contrasted with the deep black of the stone, making their color all the more vibrant.

  “I have the blood of orc and elf in me,” Qurrah said, “but I have no desire to replace Velixar. I wish to aid one dear to me, and that is all.”

  The priest waved his hand as if this were no matter. “Velixar needs no replacing, as you will one day see. In time, you will accept your path. For now, we will aid in any way we can.”

  They reached a set of double doors made of stained wood. Gold runes marked the outer edge in a language unknown to Qurrah. The priest grabbed one of the ornate door handles, then paused

  “Tell me, stranger, what is your name?”

  “I am Qurrah Tun,” he answered.

  “Qurrah, have you ever bowed in prayer to Karak?”

  The half-orc shook his head. “I have felt his presence, but never have I prayed. Prayer is naught but begging to a god. I do not beg.”

  The priest chuckled, his dark eyes gleaming.

  “We shall see.”

  He swung open the doors. Standing tall was a statue to Karak, chiseled in stone older than the race of man, and sculpted by divine hands. Twenty feet into the air it towered, a handsome man dressed in armor scarred by war. Long hair fell down past his waist, blown by an eternal wind. In one hand, he held a sword with a serrated edge. In the other, he held high a clenched fist. In this ageless pose, he demanded all who looked upon him to tremble before his power. Twin altars churned violet flame at his feet, yet they produced no smoke.

  “Behold the Lion,” the priest said.

  Qurrah gasped. His heart weakened, and he felt a pull on his chest like never before. Many bowed before the statue, crying out prayers, heartfelt and brutal in their honesty. The half-orc’s guide knelt to one knee, his eyes diverted as if he were not worthy to look upon its beauty. Qurrah stared into the statue’s eyes, mesmerized. How could this be the god condemned to eternal darkness and fire?

  Qurrah knelt there at the door. He prayed, five words, and he wished for no reply. Aid me in aiding her, he prayed. He felt compassion encircle him, and a confidence fill him. There on his knees, Karak answered.

  In all you do, I shall be there. Do not forget the words of my servant Velixar, or the desire of all that serve me.

  When he opened his eyes, he discovered his vision blurred. Tears. He wiped them away, ashamed. His guide stood and smiled down at him.

  “Never forget the power of prayer,” the priest whispered, extending his hand. “Come, tell us how we may help.”

  Qurrah took his hand and stood.

  “Her name is Tessanna,” he began.

  He finished his tale in the priest’s private quarters. It was a small room, simply furnished with a cot, a desk, and a small window. Qurrah sat on the cot, facing the priest, who leaned back in his chair behind the desk.

  “Our study into madness is extensive,” the priest said. “We feel it a result of the chaos that has engulfed this world. To bring about a cure, one must study the disease.”

  “I wish to end the chaos in her mind,” Qurrah said. “Many have failed, but they did not seek to understand, only bandage it like a wound.”

  “How will you study such a mind?” the priest asked, leaning his elbows on his desk. “She will resent all but the most casual observance. Anything deeper will risk permanent harm.”

  “I know,” Qurrah said. “That is why I wish to study others with such madness.”

  The priest cradled his head on his palm.

  “Where will you find so many with madness akin to hers?”

  The half-orc’s eyes hardened. “I will make them.”

  For a long time, the priest was quiet. He only stared, studying Qurrah with his gaze. It was the second time Qurrah had felt that type of stare, and it troubled him still.

  “Few of our brotherhood ever hear this truth,” the priest said. “Only in absolute emptiness is there order. To cleanse chaos, much must be sacrificed. You seek to kill others. Do you understand this?”

  “I do,” Qurrah said.

  “Then know this: life is, by its definition, chaotic. Karak fought against all that represents this mortal life. We still do. Ashhur preaches against the nature of man, not the nature of life itself. His goal is smaller, his resolve, weaker. He seeks to end this chaos by instilling common beliefs inside every mind, with hopes of a world of puppets. We are above such nonsense. Let every breath halt in this realm. Let us end all that Celestia has coddled. Karak led you to Tessanna, and now to us. All is as it was meant to be, and now I shall aid yo
u.”

  He reached into a cubby and pulled out a frayed collection of paper. He flipped through it, touching its pages like they were precious things, and then pulled out several he deemed useful. The priest handed the pages to Qurrah as he asked him if he could read.

  “I can,” the half-orc said, his eyes flicking over the words. “And these are spells.”

  “Not spells. These incantations represent perfect order. The chaotic mind tries to adhere to them and cannot, and so it shatters. There are many kinds of madness; with those words, you can create them all. Just make sure you do not hear them yourself. Do not memorize them, for there is risk in even that.”

  The priest took out a book bound with black leather, archaic runes inscribed with gold across the front.

  “In this book are the spells from the most ancient of necromancers. Its knowledge is inferior only to Darakken’s spellbook. Take it. Know we will do all we can to aid you in the path you walk.”

  “Thank you,” Qurrah said, accepting the book. He bowed, his gifts wrapped tightly in his arms. “Before I go, may I know your name?”

  “I forfeited my name to Karak. If you must, you may know me as Pelarak.”

  “Very well, Pelarak,” he said. “I offer my gratitude. One day I may return.”

  “We will await you every dusk.”

  Qurrah went to the door, stopping only when Pelarak called out to him.

  “Yes?” he asked, glancing back. A sly smile was on the priest’s face.

  “Do not forget to pray,” he said. Qurrah nodded.

  “I will consider it.”

  Back at the Eschaton tower, Qurrah knelt by Tessanna’s bed and took her cold hand into his.

  “Your salvation is now a matter of time,” he whispered to her, the love in his voice sounding dangerous and foreign. “Even if a thousand must die, you will find peace.”

  He slept beside her, willing to suffer the hard floor to ensure he was there when she awoke. In the other bed, Aurelia stirred uneasily. She had awakened seconds after Qurrah’s return, and with a chilled heart, listened to those heartfelt words and wondered.

  When Harruq forced himself awake to spar with Haern, he found his teacher standing over him, lightly waving a saber above his neck.

  “You’re dead,” he said, his face cold and dark. Then it brightened. “And Aurelia is awake. She wishes to see you.”

  The half-orc hurried down the stairs and barged into the girls’ room. Sure enough, Aurelia was awake. She was also in the process of changing into cleaner clothes. Her back was to him, her dress spread out across the bed. A pair of brown pants lay at her feet, and in her arms she held a simple green shirt Delysia had loaned to her.

  Aurelia heard his entrance, glanced over her shoulder, and glared. “You really should learn to knock.”

  Harruq stammered, his face flushed. His eyes traced down her long hair, her arched back, and all the way to her rear. When he realized she still glared at him, he turned around and faced the door.

  “Um, I thought, um, sorry.”

  “It’s fine,” he heard Aurelia say. The half-orc shifted his weight uncomfortably as he heard the sound of fabric sliding across skin. Finally, he felt Aurelia’s hand on his shoulder, and he turned around. She smiled at him, life returning to those twinkling eyes.

  “You didn’t worry about me, did you?” she asked, tossing her hair back with her hand.

  “We all were. If it weren’t for Tessanna, you might have, well…”

  The elf gave him a funny look. “Tessanna?”

  Harruq gestured to the bed next to hers, and then realized the girl was no longer there.

  “Huh. She slept there next to you. Big black eyes, black hair, kind of creepy. Was she there when you woke up?”

  The elf nodded. Her face grew troubled for a moment, drawing a frown from the half-orc.

  “You alright?” he asked.

  “Yes, I’m fine,” she said. “Just a little weak, is all. And yes, I saw her. She left with your brother about an hour ago. Is she a priestess?”

  Harruq shrugged. He stole a glance down the elf’s shirt, which was too big for her and left quite a bit exposed.

  “No. She’s just, forget it, I don’t know what she is. Qurrah found her somewhere, brought her here, and then she took that poison out of you and put it into herself.”

  Aurelia smiled. “Nice of her. Now come downstairs with me. Tarlak wants to talk to us.”

  “Yay. Everyone seems to want to see me today. You. Tarlak. Haern, but he doesn’t count. He just wanted to pretend he killed me.”

  The elf slipped her arm in between Harruq’s and looked up at him. “I’m still a little weak, so help me down the stairs, please.”

  His heart skipped at least two beats before time resumed normally.

  “Sure. Yeah.”

  They walked down the stairs, Aurelia holding his arm and a goofy smile on his face. When Tarlak saw them, the half-orc immediately blushed.

  “Aren’t you two a cute couple,” the wizard laughed. He took a bite from his plate of eggs and sausage. “So when can I expect to be a godfather?”

  “I may be weak, but I think I can still muster a polymorph spell,” Aurelia warned. Tarlak threw his hands up in a gesture of peace.

  “Of course. Take a seat. Let me whip up some breakfast.”

  By whip up, he meant twirl his fingers so that two plates magically appeared, steaming with bacon, ham, potatoes, and eggs. Harruq’s mouth watered at the sight. Aurelia released her grip on his arm when they reached the bottom floor, kissed his cheek, and took a seat next to Tarlak. Harruq sat opposite the two and started wolfing down his meal.

  “I’m never good at bad news, so I’ll tell you both straight.” The wizard bit off a chunk of bacon, chewed it twice, and then stunned them both. “Aurelia, a bounty has been placed on your head.”

  Harruq nearly gagged.

  “I feared as much,” Aurelia said, sighing and pushing away her plate. “Who placed it?”

  “I traced the official bounty back to the Quellan elves. I wanted to bring you to the priests of Ashhur, but as good a friend as Calan is, he’s still a priest. He would have reported your whereabouts. Respect for law and nonsense like that. As for now, I believe your presence here is still unknown.”

  Harruq coughed, gaining the attention of the two. “Excuse me, but can one of you fill me in here. Why do the Quellan elves want her dead?”

  “They don’t want her dead,” Tarlak said, chomping down on his final piece of bacon. “The bounty is null if she isn’t alive. A thousand gold pieces for her capture. As for a reason, that was interesting, most interesting.”

  The wizard’s expression hardened. He began quoting the bounty’s details.

  “A thousand gold pieces for the live capture of Aurelia Thyne, responsible for the escape of two murderers of elves and human children.” He stopped and stared straight into Harruq’s eyes. “I’ve heard many exaggerations, and there are times when people die, but it is the children that worry me. I would like to know what I am dealing with before every bounty hunter in the country comes knocking on our tower door.”

  Harruq started to reply, but Aurelia stood, leaning against the table on weak arms. There was nothing weak about her eyes or her voice when she spoke.

  “The battle at Woodhaven was just that, a battle. I fought for my friends. Harruq and Qurrah fought for reasons that will remain unsaid. Those murders are nothing more than the deaths of elves in combat. Many died that day, but there is no bounty on every soldier that fought for Neldar.”

  “Then why the bounty on you?” he asked, his voice equally strong.

  “Because I helped them escape. I am a traitor to elven kind, and so they wish me to explain myself.”

  “And then kill you afterwards?”

  Aurelia shrugged. “Perhaps. I hope not.”

  “This is horseshit,” Harruq said. He smashed his fist against the table, stood, and flung his plate across the room. It smashed against a wal
l, splattering egg. “They can’t take Aurry. They can’t!”

  “Calm yourself,” Tarlak said, the only one still seated. “I am not turning any of you over to some bounty hunter. Aurelia saved Haern’s life, who is like a brother to me. There is much I owe her, and keeping her whereabouts secret is a small step I can take toward repayment.”

  Harruq’s breath was heavy and heated through his nostrils as he fought to control his temper. “Then what do we do?” he asked.

  “Nothing. We have Aurelia lay low in the tower, going out only in disguise, until we do something about that bounty.”

  “No,” Aurelia said. She stood tall and shook her head. “No. That won’t work.”

  “Why not?” Tarlak asked.

  “Because I know who put the bounty on my head.”

  The two men glanced at each other.

  “And who’s that?” Tarlak asked.

  “Dieredon,” Aurelia said, her voice nearing a whisper. “And he will hunt for me until he knows my whereabouts. I will not live my life in hiding.”

  “Dieredon,” Tarlak said, rubbing his eyes. “Why did you have to upset that elf?”

  “Dieredon?” Harruq asked. “Wait, is he an elf that uses a crazy bow with spikes?”

  “That would be him,” Tarlak said, adding a bit of grandiose to his speech. “Scoutmaster of the Quellan elves, unbeatable in blade and bow, tracker of shadows, and master of the silent arrow in the night. Thank you, Aurelia, for all the wonderful fun you bring to my tower.”

  Harruq frowned, feeling his rage grow. His body ached, remembering wounds the skilled fighter had given him during their brief skirmish. Aurelia staggered a little, a dizzy spell overcoming her. Harruq rushed around the table and held her in his arms as she recovered.

  “I’m fine, Harruq,” she said, pushing him away. “Don’t worry. And I know why he’s looking for me. Crazy as it sounds, he’s worried about me. Probably angry, too. That is why the bounty is so high, and only if I am unharmed. If I talk to him, the bounty will most likely be dropped.”