David Dalglish: The Death of Promises

At last she pulled back and cried out in ecstasy. She released him from his paralysis. His throat and mouth was so charred and burned he could not even scream. Nothing but a blackened mess, he collapsed to the ground, bled, and died. The fire left her body…at least the outward fire. Qurrah wrapped his whip around his arm, amused at how aroused his lover was.

“I told him he couldn’t handle me,” she giggled.

T he next morning, Qurrah was first to awake. His whole body shivered underneath his blankets. He pulled them tighter about himself and attempted to return to sleep but the groaning of his stomach refused to let him rest. He had eaten nothing the previous day. Their provisions were running low, and he meant to stretch them as far as they could go.

“I should have made her teach me that spell,” he muttered, thinking of the banquets his brother’s wife Aurelia had conjured seemingly at will. The spell most likely required some sort of component to cast, but whatever it had been, Qurrah knew it would be easier to carry and obtain than his current stock of food.

Tessanna stirred at his voice.

“Getting hungry again?” she asked, rubbing the sleep from her eyes. He didn’t answer as he opened the dried meat’s brown wrapping. He tore off a chunk and ate, grimacing at how salty it was. He immediately craved water. The girl watched him, absently picking at her lip.

“Do we ride today?” she asked. Qurrah shook his head.

“The Bridges are near. I want us to be prepared in case our welcome is as kind as last night.”

The half-orc took another bite. Couldn’t Aurelia summon water too? He thought he remembered her soaking his brother once or twice in such a way. The elf was a walking supply caravan, he thought. Here he was, able to manipulate shadow, bone, and blood, and he would trade it all for the ability to conjure a tiny bit of water along with a sweetroll or two.

He finished the rest of the meat and then cast the wrapping to the dirt. Tessanna raised an eyebrow.

“Someone’s being a pig. Where will we get more?”

“Those men that attacked us last night must live nearby,” he said. He pooled saliva in his mouth and then spit, imagining it full of salt. “Most likely a village. If we meet them at the Bridges, we’ll find out, and take what we need.”

“Murder for supplies?” She wrapped the blankets around her so that only her head peeked out. “That’s low even for us, isn’t it?”

Qurrah opened his mouth to speak, then stopped. It was, wasn’t it?

“They attacked us first,” he decided. “If they dare touch us again, well, would you blame me for taking what they will no longer need after I send them to the abyss?”

The girl shrugged. She pulled the blankets above her nose.

“Will they try to hurt me again? I don’t like it when people do that.”

Qurrah offered her his hand, and was not at all surprised that she shrunk back from it. She had slipped into her childlike state. She seemed more like a six-year-old girl than the young woman she really was.

“I’ll protect you, whether you need the protection or not,” he told her. “Now get dressed. Those men likely saw our fire from their post at the eastern bridge, so we cannot be far.”

“Qurrah?”

“Yes, Tessanna?”

She smiled an unseen smile behind the blankets.

“What are the Gods’ Bridges like? I’ve always heard they’re pretty.”

“Come with me,” he told her, once more offering his hand. “And we shall see together.”

He took her hand and pulled her from the blankets. She kissed his cheek before putting on her dress.

“Together,” she said. “I like that.”

When they were ready, Qurrah scattered the last few ashes of their fire and led them west.

The Bridges had been constructed centuries ago by the gods Karak and Ashhur after they had Celestia split the land of Dezrel with the great Rigon River. Just before reaching the ocean, the Rigon River forked in two, creating a large delta. Each god had placed a bridge just south of the fork. Each had hoped this crossing would allow them to claim the fertile delta, and it was their twin claims that led to their war.

Karak had built his bridge across the eastern fork, and it was this bridge that Qurrah and Tessanna first saw.

“Oh, Qurrah,” Tessanna said, smiling. “It is beautiful.”

Twin lions carved of stone flanked the entrance. They were reared back on their hind legs, their front paws raking the air. Their mouths were forever open in a roar of battle. Three arches made of giant stones wedged together formed the bridge’s structure. The first arch began where the ground sloped toward the river, and the third ended atop the bank on the far side. Two giant pillars marked where the arches met above the water. Qurrah had heard that the hand of Karak himself lifted and placed the stones into the water, and seeing its size, he held little doubt to its truth.

Carved into the pillars was a giant man standing beside another lion. Qurrah recognized the image, for he had seen a similar one when he visited the priests of Karak back in Veldaren. The top of the bridge was smooth flat stone. Along its edges were three more arches, significantly smaller than the ones underneath. The entire bridge was a chalky white, though in patches throughout there remained the golden color it had once been.

“Pelarak mentioned this in his journal,” Qurrah said as he and Tessanna stared in awe. “He wrote that many of his order came here to study the bridge and learn its secrets. Those arches in particular interest them. Pelarak claimed their strength is far beyond the mere stone that makes them.”

“I don’t care about its secrets,” Tessanna said. “But I must see it closer.”

She led the way, and Qurrah followed.

Twelve men waited at the bridge’s entrance. They wore the same brown coats and gray trousers as the men who had accosted them the previous night. A couple had swords attached to their belts while the rest carried daggers. All Qurrah could think was of how pitiful the men looked compared to the stone lions on either side of them. The men drew their weapons as Qurrah and Tessanna neared. One man perched at the foot of the left lion called out to them.

“Stop, now,” he shouted. “That’s close enough to talk.”

“We don’t wish to talk,” Qurrah said, using magic to strengthen his voice so the others could hear. If he tried to shout, he’d tear an old wound and blood would pour down his throat. “We wish to cross.”

“Well that’s the problem,” the man said, tossing a dagger up and down in his hand. “We’re not sure we want you crossing, not after what happened last night. And I said to stop moving.”

The couple continued anyway. The other ruffians grew nervous at their boldness while the apparent leader kept tossing his dagger. Qurrah eyed him closely. His hair was cut much shorter than the others, and he wielded the weapon with an ease that implied many hours of practice. If it came to killing, that man needed taken out first.

“Fine then, guess shouting isn’t too civilized, is it?” the man said, hopping down from the lion’s foot. “My name is Tory. It’s nice to meet such a lovely couple.”

Qurrah grabbed several bone pieces from his pockets and held them in one hand. His other caressed the handle to his whip.

“We wish to cross and find supplies within the delta,” Qurrah said, letting them look into his eyes and see the lack of fear within. “And we will not be stopped.”

“You killed a few of my men,” Tory said. “However, I believe they were acting boorish, so unlike the example I try to set for them. For that I apologize.”

“Accepted,” Qurrah said. “Now will you let us pass?”