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

  “No. Not for this.”

  Tessanna sat up and leaned against the opposite side of the couch. All sense of warmth fled from her.

  “You fear he will not agree.”

  “I fear he will overreact, nothing more,” the half-orc said. “Besides, I could not separate him now.”

  “From who?”

  “From her.”

  Tessanna nodded, her eyes cold and lifeless. “The elf.”

  “Yes. The elf. He is happy with her. I would give anything for him, so now I must give him this. We’ve never been separate, not since we were seven.”

  She bit her lip and huddled against the cushion.

  “You’re doing this for me, aren’t you?”

  Qurrah brought his eyes from the wall to her. He nodded. “Yes. I think I am.”

  Tessanna just nodded back.

  “Our home will not be far. If you wish to see him, you can. We will find men and bring them there. There are ways. I know how. Do you wish to take me again?”

  The half-orc looked at her thin, pale body, curled into a tight ball of arms and legs.

  “Yes,” he said. “Yes, I do.”

  He pulled her over to him, and again they made cold, determined love.

  You can’t leave,” Harruq said, blocking Qurrah’s way to the door. “You just got here. Pay is good, beds are warm, and you’ve seen the food!”

  “This is something I must do,” Qurrah said, his arms crossed. At his feet were all his belongings in the world; a few spare coins, the spellbook and scrolls from the priests of Karak, some bed sheets, and his enchanted whip, all packed in one large rucksack.

  “Why? What must you do? And why the abyss is she going?”

  Tessanna cowered behind the necromancer, currently in one of her shy, fearful moods. Qurrah saw her so, and his heart was instantly angry.

  “She is going because I wish her to go,” he said. “We do not belong here. Our magic, our ways, are limited by these walls. Freely we entered, and now freely we leave. Move aside.”

  Harruq shook his head, shoving his arms harder against the doorframe so that his knuckles turned white. “No. No. And, um, NO!”

  “Harruq!” Qurrah shouted, loud enough to send pain spiking down his throat. “Listen to me. We are brothers, and long you have looked out for me, but I do not need your guardianship. Not anymore. You are a fine warrior, and I am proud of you. Now let me go. Please.”

  Harruq’s eyes danced back and forth from Tessanna to Qurrah, trying to make sense of the conflicting emotions of his heart.

  “I don’t want you to,” he said at last. “Do you have to? Really have to?”

  Qurrah pulled the rucksack over his shoulder. “I must. I will return, as often as I can.”

  The half-orc moved aside. Qurrah took up his things, nodded to Tessanna, and then moved for the door.

  “Where will you live?” Harruq asked.

  “Not far. Please, honor this wish, brother. Do not look for us. I will be fine, I assure you. If I am ever gone longer than two months, you may have the elf scry for our location.”

  Nodding, the burly half-orc motioned for the door. Qurrah patted him on the shoulder. He opened his mouth to speak, but found no words, only a soft trickle of blood down the back of his throat. He turned and hurried down the stairs, subtly pressing the sides of his hood against his face on the way. Tessanna paused before poor confused Harruq, pitying his turmoil. She was still a stranger to him, and in a few fleeting days, she had come and stolen away his only brother.

  “Harruq,” she said, her eyes locked on his toes. “I just…I want to thank you.” She kissed his cheek, blushed, and then fled down the stairs. The half-orc stood there long after they left, hating and loving his brother and his girl with the deep black eyes.

  Tarlak waited for them at the bottom, his arms crossed and his foot steadily tapping the floor.

  “Going somewhere?” he asked.

  “We are leaving the Eschaton,” Qurrah said. “We have a new home, and wish to move on.”

  The wizard nodded, his expression dire. “Good. Then I have just one thing to say to you.” He strode over to Qurrah, reached into his pocket, and then pulled out a small, silver scorpion. It was exquisitely carved and dangled from a chain of gold. He handed it to Qurrah, who held it close to his face and opened his mouth in wonder.

  “You will always be an Eschaton, and so I give you a parting gift. It is a token, representing your ties to us. Brug spent many hours working on that one, and I’m not sure what all it does. Tell it to awake.”

  Qurrah glanced at the wizard, his confusion apparent. “Awake?”

  “Not ask, order it.”

  The half-orc shrugged. He held the medallion higher, impressed with the life-like detail and size. The pinchers were sharp, and the tail curled and ready to strike. “Awake,” he told it, his voice firm. At once, color flooded the silver. It crawled about to face its master, snapping its claws repeatedly.

  “Many wizards have a familiar,” Tarlak said, smiling at the scorpion. “Brug decided you should have one as well. You won’t have many of the same connections that most mages do, but I do know you won’t end up in a coma for a week if this little guy gets squashed.”

  Qurrah brought his hand back and clicked with his tongue. The scorpion crawled onto his shoulder and nestled down into the black cloth.

  “It is a fine gift,” the half-orc said. “Far better than I deserve.”

  “You saved my sister,” Tarlak said. “It is far less than what you deserve, but take it as an effort to thank you, just the same.”

  Qurrah shifted the rucksack to his other shoulder. “We will return occasionally. Make sure my brother is well each time I do.”

  “Other than a few bruises and broken bones from Haern, he should be just fine.”

  Tarlak bowed, and Qurrah returned it. Tessanna joined his side, stroking the scorpion.

  “Pretty,” she said. “And creepy. I love it.”

  Her laughter still echoed when they shut the door and left the tower.

  Harruq was miserable the rest of the day, not brightening up even when presented with another bountiful feast for dinner. He picked at the food, and then pushed the plate away. He left without a word.

  “Someone needs to cheer that guy up,” Tarlak said, shoving pieces of chicken into his mouth.

  “He will be alright,” Aurelia said. “Give him time.”

  “I’ll set him straight tomorrow if he isn’t,” Haern said, smiling. His hood was nowhere in sight, and his smile a bright sun to the somber table.

  The stars shine well this night,” Aurelia said, approaching the lone half-orc. They were a mile south of the tower. The Eschaton tower and its surrounding forest were far away. Only hills and stars blessed their eyes. “They do so to light your way, and the way of your brother.”

  “Don’t feel like talking, Aurry,” Harruq said. His back was to her, hunched over and his head low. His eyes looked to the ground as much as they looked to the sky.

  “I know,” she said, sitting beside him in the grass. “Do you know why he left? It’s because he must, Harruq. You two are brothers, closer than most humans and elves ever become to their kin, but you are not the same. You cannot walk the same path forever.”

  Harruq remained silent, absently picking at the grass.

  “It’s normal to miss him,” she continued. “Please don’t dwell upon it, though. You have friends here, and your brother is not alone.”

  “He has her,” he said.

  “And you have me,” Aurelia said. Her fingers touched his chin, turning his face to hers. “Did you mean what you said earlier?”

  Harruq met her gaze, a bit of anger flaring into his eyes, but then he pulled away and looked to his feet. “Yeah. I did.”

  The elf slid closer and wrapped her arms around him. Her head rested on his shoulder. She felt his muscles stiffen, and she sensed the instinctive discomfort it caused him.

  “Don’t look at your feet, dum
my. The stars are far prettier.”

  He chuckled, mumbling some sort of protest. He looked to the stars. Long moments passed, quiet and warm, as they gazed at the beacons of white locked into the black painting above. Finally, Aurelia stood, brushing off grass from her dress. She pulled a silver ring off her right hand and held it out to him.

  “Take this.”

  “What’s it for?” he asked, accepting it. The silver twinkled in the starlight. Such a beautiful token seemed out of place on his rough, dirty hands.

  “One day you’ll understand,” she said. She knelt and kissed his forehead. “All you give me I will return,” she whispered. “Anything, and everything.”

  With those words, she left him to his thoughts. He twirled the silver ring, mesmerized by the reflection. When he returned to the tower, he placed the ring underneath his pillow and did his best not to look at the vacant bed beside him.

  13

  A strange sickness claimed the trees as they neared the clearing, miles from any established path. Grass lay curled and limp, its color a dull brown. The sunlight brought no cheer, for it shone through dead branches. In the center, dilapidated and weatherworn, was the former home of Tessanna Delone. It was a small cottage, overrun with brown vines, with a single door, flat roof, and clogged chimney.

  “Pretty, isn’t it,” Tessanna said. Her voice was sullen and inward. “Daddy said the land died at my birth.” She approached the front door, Qurrah at her side. The grass crumpled weakly under their feet. When she yanked open the door, the dull noises of the forest silenced altogether.

  Qurrah was familiar with death. He could sense its approach, harness its power, and touch the cold trail that lingered long after its passing. Corpses meant nothing to him. He should have handled seeing what he saw. He didn’t. His breakfast rushed up his throat, and he lurched to one side, doubling over and vomiting.

  “Hi, daddy,” Tessanna said. “Did you miss me?”

  Tied to a chair hunched the remains of Tessanna’s father. His shriveled hands were bound behind him. The ropes had loosened over time as the flesh underneath shriveled and decayed. The house had been his tomb, and within, he had almost mummified. Stitches of red cloth hung stiff from the leathery nubs of flesh that had been his lips. Covering what remained of his clothes were great blotches of dried blood, mixed with shards of glass.

  “I wonder how he died,” she said, glancing back to Qurrah. “I hope it was lengthy.”

  Qurrah entered, hands sweating and his stomach still churning. He chastised himself for his weakness. It was just a dead body, after all. Never mind the horrific expression on the man’s face, or the expelled blood and glass. He blamed his reaction on the smell. The air was remarkably stagnant, preserving the body in all its gory detail.

  “If we are to live here, we’ll need to greatly improve the natural aroma,” he said, holding a side of his hood over his mouth. Tessanna looked at him, her eyes blank.

  “Of course. Did you presume us to leave the body here?”

  Qurrah shook his head. “Never mind what I presumed. Help me dispose of your father.”

  Using Tessanna’s dagger, they cut the ropes. His body slumped forward, his head falling between his knees as if he were to vomit. The girl took a rope, wrapped it around his neck, and dragged him out of the chair. She showed no sign of emotion as she pulled the body across the floor. She acted as if she were removing a chamber pot. Qurrah propped open the door, took the sheets from the bed and wrapped them around the chair. He carried it around back, planning to toss it to ruin in some far away brush. He stopped, though, for Tessanna was already there.

  The grotesque body sat propped against a tree. Tessanna knelt opposite it. She was staring, not blinking, not moving. Qurrah put down the chair and approached.

  “Tess?”

  “I never said goodbye,” she said. “I wonder why I never said goodbye. It never bothered me until now.” In perfect contrast to her words, her voice lacked any of emotion.

  “He didn’t deserve any comfort or sympathy. You knew that, then. You have forgotten it, now.”

  The girl shrugged. “Perhaps you’re right. He didn’t deserve it. He didn’t deserve me. He didn’t deserve my hugs. My kisses. Me.”

  Still no emotion. Qurrah placed a hand on her shoulder. She jerked her head around and saw him, and then the tears started to flow.

  “Oh, Qurrah,” she said. She sniffed. “Want to do me a favor?”

  “Anything, my love,” he said.

  “Fuck me.”

  She pulled him down to her, assaulting him with her kiss. They made love in the dirt while the corpse of her father watched.

  Harruq paced outside their door, Aurelia’s ring in hand. Two opposing thoughts clashed in his mind. When he came to a decision, he knocked his large knuckles against the door.

  “Who is it?” he heard a female voice ask.

  “Just open it, Delysia,” said another.

  The door cracked open, and Delysia looked out, smirking at the half-orc.

  “Care to join me in my prayers?” she asked.

  “Ha, ha. Can I talk to Aurry, please?”

  “Sure thing, cutie. Aurelia, your suitor is here.”

  She danced past him, grinning at the fierce blush in Harruq’s neck. He pushed open the door, stepped in, and crossed his arms. Aurelia lay on her bed, her hair braided into a long ponytail.

  “Yes, Harruq?” she asked.

  In answer, he walked over, opened her hand, and shoved her ring onto her palm before he lost his nerve.

  “What are you doing?” she asked, staring down at the ring.

  “I know what you want me to do with it,” he said. “I can’t. Ever.”

  She clenched her fist and met his steeled resolve. “Why is that?”

  “You know why,” he said.

  “No, I don’t. Why?”

  “Because it can’t work!” he shouted. Aurelia flinched, and the sight stung him deeply.

  “Why, Harruq?” she asked, quieter. “Why can it not work?”

  “I’m an orc. You’re an elf. It’s never happened.”

  The elf stood, shaking. She slapped him with her empty hand.

  “You think me foolish?” she asked, not giving him a chance to speak. “You think I haven’t thought of that? I have abandoned my forest, abandoned my home, and made enemies of my friends, all to be at your side. Just because you fear and loathe the blood in your veins doesn’t mean I feel the same.”

  “That’s not, I don’t think you…damn it Aurry, you think this is how I want it to be?”

  “What is it you want then?”

  “I want you,” he screamed, his face glowing red. “I want you at my side for the rest of my life. And I want to stop being so damn scared to admit it!”

  They stared at each other, anger and confusion pulsing through their hearts.

  “Say you love me,” she said.

  “I love you,” he said.

  “Fine.” Her voice quivered, a knife’s edge from breaking. “Then take this ring back. If you want to be with me forever, then to the abyss with what anyone else might think. There may be orcish blood in you, but never would I wish it gone.”

  She extended her hand, the ring laying in her open palm. Harruq stared at it, both fearing and yearning for it. Rejecting her was a kindness, a blessing, a noble act from an ignoble man. How could he be so wrong?

  He took the ring from her hand.

  “I’m sorry,” he said, putting it into his pocket. “I’ll be going now.”

  “Wait.”

  She wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him. At first, he was unresponsive, but as his shock faded, his arms circled her waist, holding her close. When the kiss ended, she pressed her forehead against his chest.

  “I’ve given so much,” she whispered. “But I’ll give more.”

  He hugged her tight at this. “I don’t deserve it.”

  “And that doesn’t matter, dummy. You can spend the rest of your life tryi
ng to earn it, if you want.”

  “That sounds like a plan,” he said.

  Aurelia slipped from his arms and smiled at him.

  “Good. I’ll be in the rain room. Don’t take forever to decide. I may be an elf, but I still don’t live that long.”

  Together they left, only to find Delysia waiting outside their door.

  “Lover’s squabble?” she asked.

  “Nosy little priestess,” Aurelia said, poking her side. “I should turn you into a gnat.”

  “Well, looks like the fights over. If you want to continue kissing and making up, I’ll stay out a little longer.”

  Aurelia only winked, abandoning Harruq and his brightly flushed face as she skipped down the stairs.

  “No, uh, it’s fine, we don’t need the room,” he said.

  Delysia giggled. Having nothing else to say, the half-orc fled up the stairs.

  “Those two need to get married,” she laughed to herself.

  Two weeks later, Harruq awoke to the soft rustle of cloth against floor. His room was dark, and the sun still in hiding. A quick glance around his room showed no visitors, but he knew better. Haern lurked nearby, testing him. He shifted his head, still searching. Nothing. Again, he heard a soft rustle, and he spun, thinking it directly behind him. He found only wall.

  He glanced up. Nothing there, either. Slowly, Harruq reached down next to his bed and grabbed his swords. He gripped Salvation by the handle and drew it free. Bare-chested and dressed in an old pair of brown pants, he scanned his room. Through the small window, he could still see faint stars. In the dim light, nothing seemed out of place.

  “Maybe he’s not here,” he mumbled to himself. Grumbling, he put a foot down to get his chamber pot. When the cold touch of steel pressed against his calf, his entire body jerked in fright.

  “It would be difficult to fight without a foot,” he heard Haern whisper from underneath his bed.

  “You scared the piss out of me,” Harruq said to him. “Well, nearly. Care to give me a bit of privacy here? Nature’s calling.”

  Haern crawled out and removed his hood.

  “You should always look under the bed,” he said, frowning. “Just when I thought you were improving. Oh, and your brother is here.”