The Cost of Betrayal (3 page)

With Harruq no longer carrying the bags, they made a faster pace. Aurelia took in as much as she could as they weaved through homes and back alleys. They were so close to the prosperous northern districts, yet here it seemed the sun shone less, the faces bore little happiness, and no sign of wealth dared let itself show. With each turn Harruq led them on, things grew worse.

“There are no places such as these in Woodhaven,” Aurelia said softly.

“Welcome to the dark parts of mankind,” Qurrah muttered with strange amusement. Drunk men wandered the street in daytime. A few whores catcalled to them. The air stank of feces and urine, for the thin sewers on each side of the street were clogged and overflowing. Lying beside a ditch, crowned with a halo of flies, was a blood-spattered corpse. No one seemed to notice.

Qurrah glanced back, barely catching sight of a yellow robe.

“Find us a building,” he said to Harruq. “Make it large and empty.”

The big half-orc approached what had once been a storehouse. A shove of his arm, and the weathered door collapsed. Dust erupted as it hit the ground. Harruq led the way, Aurelia and Qurrah following after.

“Cheerful place,” Harruq said as he looked about the mostly empty building. Dust covered the floor, and splintered boards hung from the windows. Feces and dried urine filled one corner, and stacked hay filled another. A few crates and some rotting wood decorated the place.

“Who chases us?” Aurelia asked, frowning at the sight around her.

“Are your spells ready?” Qurrah asked her.

“I’m a sorceress. My spells are always ready.”

“Good. Because I fear we have a mage nearby.”

As he said those words, Aurelia’s robe faded back to its deep green, her ears returned to their sharp points, and her face, back to its exotic beauty.

“Uh oh,” she said.

It was then that a wide blanket of interlaced webs fell on top of all three.

2

N
ow I’m pissed,” Harruq said, yanking at the web surrounding his body. He yanked one of his swords out from its sheathed. The black blade easily cut him free. Aurelia remained perfectly still, her eyes closed. Qurrah let his whip drop, the fire burning away all webbing that it touched.

“Just stay put, you durn idiots,” a voice cried out. A short, stocky human dressed in full platemail stood at the door, his chest nearly covered by his black beard. Each hand held a nasty looking punch dagger.

“Aren’t your swords a little tiny to be calling us idiots?” the half-orc shouted, tearing loose from the web and storming toward him. “Now what in blazes do you want?”

“Harruq, look out!” Qurrah shouted. Harruq glanced back, but was too late. A figure leapt from atop a pile of crates and crashed down on the burly warrior. The butts of two sabers smacked his skull, dropping him like a sack of grain. The attacker landed without a sound, his entire figure shrouded by swirling gray cloaks.

“Enough of this,” Aurelia said, still shrouded in webs. Twin lightning bolts arced out from her hands, tearing through webbing as they streaked toward the ambushers. The man in gray cloaks whirled, dodging the blast. The shorter fellow did not fare as well. The lightning hit him square in the chest, lifted him off his feet, and deposited him outside in a gasping lump of metal, dirt and flesh. Aurelia followed with two more bolts of lightning. The man in gray dodged back and forth, leaping off walls and crates so that each strike just barely missed.

Qurrah lashed his whip, burning away more of the webs. He heard soft chanting from within the darkness high above his head, and he recognized it for what it was: a wizard casting a spell.

“Darkness is no haven here,” he said. Invisible forces gripped his arms and legs, slowing their movements. Qurrah ignored them, knowing they were mental illusions. He kept his hands looping through the semantic motions for his spell. The darkness covering the ceiling suddenly recoiled and fled as if it were a living thing. Standing there, illuminated in no light but still clearly visible, was a middle-aged wizard dressed in yellow robes, a yellow cloak, and a tall yellow hat. In his left hand he held a long, knotted staff.

“Hello there,” he said, realizing his cover was gone. “Clever fellow, aren’t you?”

A ball of fire leapt from his hands to convey his appreciation.

“Aurelia!” Qurrah cried as the fire approached. The elf stopped her barrage of lightning just long enough to place a warding spell around them. The fireball hit the ground and detonated. The flame swirled about Aurelia and Qurrah, held at bay by Aurelia’s spell.

When the fire dissipated, the half-orc laughed at the wizard in yellow.

“Surely you can do better than that,” Qurrah said.

“Aye, that I can, but why should I?” asked the wizard.

“Because you gave me one mother of a headache, and that makes me cranky,” Harruq said. He staggered to his feet, his swords drawn but flailing wildly as he tried to gain his balance. Before he could move, the points of two blades pressed against his back.

“Move, and you’re gonna get more than just a headache,” a rough voice said from behind.

“You’re a short little guy, aren’t you?” Harruq asked. He shifted his hips slightly, tightening the grips on his swords as he did.

“What’s that got to do with anything?”

“Nothing.”

The half-orc leapt forward and away. Qurrah covered his flight with a sharp burst of cold air. Aurelia whirled on the yellow wizard, red light on her fingertips. Several bolts of pure magic flew outward, fizzling into smoke as they struck an invisible shield.

Harruq found little reprieve, for the man in the gray cloaks assaulted him with a wicked barrage of double-stabs and feints. He batted away what he could, furious and confused as he watched what should have been killing cuts repeatedly deflect off his armor, or cut no deeper than a scratch.

“You’re gonna pay for that one, ya pansy caster,” the short warrior said, a bit of frost sticking to his beard. He charged across the warehouse with his punch daggers pumping the air. Qurrah laughed. A snap of his whip took out his attacker’s feet. He crashed across the floor, a rolling, jumbling mess of armor.

“I’m a pansy caster too, don’t forget,” the wizard in yellow said, smiling down at Aurelia even as she launched a swirling blue cone of ice back up at him. He pointed his staff toward her, summoning a clear shield of pure magic. The cold swarmed about him, doing no harm.

She opened her mouth to cast again, only to feel the curved tip of a sword press against her lower lip.

“Do not give me cause to harm such beauty,” the cloaked man whispered. He shifted, using the elf as a shield between him and Harruq.

“Don’t you dare touch her,” Harruq said.

“Lower your weapons,” the wizard said. “We have no desire to hurt you.”

The fire left Qurrah’s whip. Harruq sheathed his swords, glaring at the cloaked man with open hatred.

“God-damned pansy-tripping cowardly weaselwhip-using orc-kisser!”

The short warrior jumped to his feet, fuming.

“Don’t worry, Brug,” the wizard said. “Being useless in this battle doesn’t make you useless as a whole.”

Harruq raised an eyebrow at the yellow-garbed wizard, who was levitating down to join them. A nod from him, and the cloaked man removed the sword from Aurelia’s face.

“Is there a reason you attacked us?” Aurelia asked. “Or did you just feel like a little fun?”

“One could have a lot of fun with you,” the wizard said, blatantly examining her lithe and firm body. “But, it would be impolite without first knowing my name. I am Tarlak Eschaton, at your service.”

“Did I miss something here?” Harruq asked.

“You missed a few of Haern’s swings, by the looks of your face,” Tarlak said. “Don’t worry. We’ll get you a healer, if you want.”

Qurrah joined his brother’s side, his whip dragging along the ground. He put another hand on the burly half-orc’s arm, hoping for patience, but not expecting it.

“State your purpose,” Qurrah said.

“It’s simple, really. The King has banned elves from Veldaren. Elves also happen to be a sneaky bunch. They can disguise themselves, as, say, a noble woman from a far off country. So our little gang of mercenaries was hired to flush out and remove any such sneaky elves.”

He bowed again to Aurelia.

“My apologies, but you must leave.”

A woman entered through the doorway, dressed in the white robes of Ashhur. Red hair fell down past her shoulders. Her face had soft, curved features, and she bore a strong resemblance to Tarlak.

“Should I attend to Brug first as usual, Tarlak?” the priestess asked. Tarlak glanced back to her, a smile flashing across his face.

“Do you have to ask, Delysia? Brug got himself--”

And then a whip wrapped around his neck. Haern drew his sabers, but Qurrah glared at him, prepared for his speed.

“With but a thought I can surround my whip with fire,” he told him. “Move, and I burn him alive.”

“I’d greatly prefer you stay still for now, Haern,” Tarlak said, the muscles in his neck taut.

Haern sheathed his swords. “Of course,” he whispered, his voice barely audible. “Let me know when you want them dead.”

“Qurrah, release him, he intends us no harm,” Aurelia said.

“He means to order us around,” Qurrah said. “I do not appreciate that. Besides, if you go, we go, and I happen to like this city.”

“Touching,” Brug grumbled, his knuckles white as they gripped his punch daggers. “But you’re a fool thinking you got yourself a bargaining chip. I’ll gut any who cause him harm.”

Delysia slowly approached, standing at Brug’s side with her arms crossed.

“I do not like stalemates,” Qurrah said, his eyes jumping from one to the other. “So I propose that you four pretend you never saw us, and no one will be the wiser.”

“Bad idea,” Tarlak replied, wincing slightly, half-expecting fire to engulf his neck. None did, so he continued. “We let you go, and someone finds out, or even worse, you go off and kill someone, our heads would find themselves a nice new spike for a home. Personally, my head likes my neck, so we need a solution that addresses that particular worry.”

“Don’t sound like there is one,” Harruq said, drawing his swords. “Because we’re not leaving.”

The cloaked man drifted around so fluidly that Qurrah did not realize he had moved until he was almost gone.

“Order him where I can see him,” Qurrah said. “I need no assassins at my back.”

“Well, that is what you have, my friend,” Tarlak replied. “And quite frankly, I can’t order him to do anything. You’re the one with the fiery whip, after all.”

“Qurrah, I’m not liking this,” Harruq said, shifting attention back and forth from the short warrior and the cloaked man.

“Nice to know,” his brother said.

“I believe I have a solution,” Delysia said. All eyes turned to her. “Let them join the Eschaton.”

Harruq, Qurrah, and Aurelia all glanced about in confusion at this, but this hardly matched the confusion of their counterparts.

“Join us?” Brug roared. “By Ashhur, I’ll join ‘em in a grave before I join ‘em in Eschaton!”

“May I ask what the Eschaton is?” Aurelia said.

“The Eschaton Mercenaries,” Tarlak answered. “Named after my sister and I. The four of us in front of you would be the Eschaton. We do a few jobs, kill a few people, and get paid outrageous sums for it.”

“They are skilled,” Haern whispered from behind, startling all three. The sharp end of a saber curled around Qurrah’s neck. “Skilled enough to be trained.”

“How does this solve the problem with my elven blood?” Aurelia asked.

“Vaelor’s edict ordered the Veldaren Guard, and the Eschaton Mercenaries, to remove all elves from his city,” Delysia replied. “It did not order elves to be removed from the Eschaton itself. Our home is not located within Veldaren’s walls.”

“It is a weak argument,” Qurrah said, his eyes locked with Tarlak’s. “And a tough decision to make at the point of a blade.”

“Well I have to decide at the point of a, well, whip. So go ahead. You three seem more than capable. Feel like becoming part of the happy family?”