David Dalglish - A Dance of Ghosts

Thren paused, and he stared at Delysia like he would an animal that crawled up to him, opened its mouth, and began speaking.

“These matters do not concern you, woman,” Thren said. “I suggest you go join the wagons while we discuss. We have no need of a prostitute.”

Haern’s eyes spread wide, and he was too stunned to speak. Delysia, however, was not.

“I am a priestess of Ashhur,” she said, a hard edge entering her normally soft voice.

“Then you’re a whore for the wrong god,” Thren said, hardly caring. “At least with gold, you can accomplish something in this world.”

She moved to stand but Haern held a tight grip on her wrist, keeping her seated. He met his father’s eye, and his tone made his opinions clear.

“Delysia is a guest, and will be staying with us for as long as she pleases,” he said.

“Is that so?” Thren asked.

“It is. She’s a founding member of the Eschaton Mercenaries, and will prove valuable in our attempt to find Luther.”

“Valuable?” Thren asked, turning his attention back to her. “Is that what you are, Delysia Eschaton? Valuable?”

Something about the way he was staring at her, the way he said her name, made Haern suddenly uncomfortable. It was almost as if he recognized her somehow, but from where? Had Tarlak ever tangled with the Spider Guild prior to Haern’s joining them, perhaps?

“I will be no burden,” Delysia said, but the answer was unsatisfactory for Thren.

“So be it,” he said, rising to his feet. “I cannot do this on my own, and if this woman is a requirement for your aid, Haern, then I will endure. I take it we are to travel with the wagons?”

“Until we cross the Gods’ Bridges,” Delysia said. “After that, they will be continuing west at Umbridge while we head south.”

“Of course,” Thren said, his look a mixture of acid and condescension. “Good of you to plan our path for us. Perhaps you will be valuable after all.”

He wandered back into the forest, and at his departure, Haern felt Delysia relax considerably in his arms.

“How did you stand being alone with him for so long?” she asked, pulling her arms across her body as if cold.

“He’s not always like that,” Haern said. “Something about you set him off. I don’t believe he thinks too highly of Ashhur.”

“Of course not,” Delysia said. “There’s no room for gods in his heart. He already views himself as one.”

Haern shook his head, remembering the words he’d been taught.

“ ‘Let them think every breath of theirs is a gift,’” he echoed. “ ‘Not from the gods, but from you.’ Thren once taught me that.”

Delysia shivered.

“How horrible,” she said.

“That’s just who he is.”

“No, not that,” she said, staring off into the woods. “That he’d have you believe it yourself.”

Traveling with the families was pleasant enough, and they passed over the Gods’ Bridges with relative ease, which was fine for Delysia. The last thing she wanted after the orcs’ attack was excitement. Once at Umbridge, the three of them parted from the group and began their trek south. Travel was easy, given the fine weather, at least the physical aspect of it. Being around Thren Felhorn was always awkward, especially given the strange way he behaved when she was near. It was as if he knew a secret she did not, something that made him far more guarded than he had any reason to be.

Over the course of their travel, food had become something of an obsession for Delysia. As their smoked meat and dried grains ran low, dry tack became their food of choice. Boiling it helped a little, but it still hurt Delysia’s teeth and made her stomach cramp during their days of walking. Their only real fresh food beyond that was either from hunting (a rare kill should Thren or Haern manage to hurl one of their throwing knives and pierce a rabbit) or, more commonly, foraging for berries.

“It’s getting late; stay and help me with the fire,” Haern said as he cracked a branch over his knee. High above, the sun was beginning its descent, heading toward the long row of hills that lined the horizon. All around were tall grass plains, dotted by scattered trees and the occasional bump of hill.

“I still have an hour, at least,” Delysia said. “I believe I saw a raspberry patch just off the path, and I’d love to have something else to eat tonight.”

“Thren might come back with a rabbit or squirrel,” Haern said.

“If he does, then we’ll make it a feast,” she said, grabbing a small basket and taking it with her.

It was clear he didn’t like seeing her venture off on her own, but though she’d never say it to his face, she was getting tired of his protective gaze, his constant presence. Even the little things, such as how he always made sure he slept with his bedroll between her and Thren, added up like tiny needles pressing into her skin. He wanted to keep her safe, she knew, but it also meant he didn’t trust her to stay safe on her own.

Delysia glanced to her fingers as she bounced down the hill. A moment’s prayer, and a bit of white glimmered on her fingertips. Someday, she might have to remind Haern how capable she actually was. At least he wasn’t as bad as her brother. No doubt Tarlak would have eventually cracked and just teleported her back home to Veldaren while she slept. That he hadn’t done so already showed how much he trusted Haern, or how busy he was with other events. Given the state of the city when she left, her instincts said it was more the latter than the former.

With a shake of her head, she scattered such thoughts. The weather was fine, the sunset a beautiful mixture of red and yellow, and she would not dwell on such frustrations. When she reached where the path veered right to slice through the center of two adjacent hills, she pushed off the path toward the thick set of bushes she saw several hundred feet away. As she neared, a smile spread across her face. She’d been right. They were raspberries and perfectly ripe. The first bush she reached, she yanked off several, popped them in her mouth, and squeezed out the juices with her tongue.

“You can keep your squirrel,” she said, picking several more and filling her mouth. “Nothing is better than this.”

After another minute of indulging, as well as staining the tips of her fingers purple, she grabbed the basket she’d brought with her and began to fill it. The berries would only last for a day at most, but as with every time she picked a basketful during their journey, their moods would lighten considerably. She began to hum a song, focusing on picking faster to ensure the basket would be full before the sun could set completely. So focused, in fact, she did not hear the sound of footsteps through the bushes.

“This patch was well hidden by the tall grass,” said Thren Felhorn behind her. “I’m surprised you were able to see it.”

Delysia tensed on instinct, then quickly recovered. She felt foolish for behaving so, but there was always a seriousness to Thren’s tone that made it impossible to feel at ease. Trying not to show how flustered she’d been, she grabbed the basket and turned to face him. He stood with his head cocked to the side, a curious look on his face. In his right hand, he held a rabbit by the legs, blood running down the brown fur and dripping drop after drop from the creature’s mouth, which was locked open in death. In Thren’s left hand, he held the slender blade that had performed the killing.

“I guess I have an eye for these things,” she said.

“I have an eye for things, too,” Thren said, and he looked to the rabbit. “Where to hide. How to tell a lie. How to kill.”

He only wants to intimidate you, she told herself. As if the blood and knife were nothing, she turned back to the raspberry bush in front of her.