The Cost of Betrayal by David Dalglish Page B

a drink.
    “Keys. Bah.”
    Haern tossed the barkeep a silver coin.
    “To cover your losses,” he whispered before following Harruq down into the depths of the Spider Guild.

    A s they descended the stairs, two thieves ambushed from either side. Harruq jumped, landing hard at the bottom. Haern smashed his feet into his attacker’s face. The man staggered back, blood pouring from his nose. Haern took his feet out from underneath with a sweeping kick. Twin sabers buried into his heart as he fell.
    Harruq drew his blades, relishing the surge of power they offered. His attacker rushed him, his dagger thrusting. The half-orc smacked it aside like a toy. The longer reach of his swords was too much an advantage. The thief fell before him, several gaping wounds in his chest.
    “You ever been down here?” Harruq asked, glancing around. They were in a tiny room filled with dusty barrels and crates.
    “Yes, a long time ago.”
    The assassin approached what appeared to be a bare stone wall. He traced the subtle indents of the bricks with his fingers.
    “Here,” he whispered. He stepped back and pointed at a particular section. “We need a new door.”
    “With pleasure,” Harruq said. He tucked his shoulder and ran right through the false wall, showering rock and stone everywhere. Haern dashed in as dust clouded the air, his swords drawn and his eyes searching. All about were plush cushions, silver platters of food, exquisite dining tables lined with black and scarlet patterns, and several private rooms adjacent the main floor. There should have been lords and nobles, scantily clad women and wealthy merchants, trading, dealing, and bribing one another with pleasures of flesh, powder, and coin. Instead, the room was dark and empty.
    “Everyone go home for the night?” Harruq asked.
    Haern shook his head, his eyes still darting. “The pleasures are partaken here night and day. I fear we made a great error, Harruq.”
    “I’d say so,” called the barkeep from the top of the stairs. “Thanks for the coin, by the way.”
    Haern flew back through the busted wall and up the stairs, only to find a wall of magical origin blocking his way. Harruq came rushing after, his swords still in hand.
    “What the abyss is going on?” he asked.
    “The meeting wasn’t the trap,” Haern whispered, turning back around to face the half-orc. “This is.”
    The deep grinding of stone rolling against stone came from the far room.
    “I’m scared to ask what that was,” Harruq said.
    “They are called the Spider Guild for a reason,” the assassin said. He knelt in front of Harruq, pulled out a golden medallion shaped like a mountain, and then, as the half-orc stared incredulously, whispered a quick prayer. When finished, he slipped the medallion back underneath his tunic and stood.
    “Come,” Haern whispered. “I have no intentions of dying this night.”
    “You got that right,” Harruq said. The two re-entered the plush room. On the far side, surrounded by rubble, was a newly created hole. From within came loud skittering sounds that made the half-orc’s skin crawl.
    “Oh, that better not be what I think that is,” Harruq said.
    “Go for the soft underbelly,” Haern whispered. “And don’t get bitten.”
    Loud thumping sounds joined the skittering. After a few quick motions by Haern, they ran to either side of the entrance in hope of an ambush. The sounds grew louder, and then out crawled a giant tarantula, enlarged to the size of small house. Of all the things Harruq had seen in his life, nothing prepared him for legs the size of pine trees, giant mandibles beneath eight huge eyes, and that loud, constant shriek.
    “Don’t get bitten,” he mumbled, staring at the fangs protruding out from the bottom of its head, each one bigger than his hand. “No kidding.”
    When it was halfway out, Harruq used every bit of his courage to swing at one of the legs. His sword thudded as if hitting a tree, and clear blue ichor spewed across