David Dalglish - The Death of Promises

“No, not yet,” Tory said, pacing between the lions. “See, I heard some crazy stories about a girl made of fire killing my men. Now I don’t see any fire, but what we see is hardly what we get, is it?” He gestured to Tessanna. “Are you more dangerous than what you appear?”

“I’ve killed more than you,” she said, her voice meek and shy. “Ten times more. Does that make me dangerous?”

Tory laughed, but Qurrah detected a bit of nervousness. The other men were getting antsy. They had gotten a good look at Tessanna’s eyes and they wanted no part of her.

“That’s what I thought,” Tory said. “Such a beautiful thing, too. Are you both in such a hurry that you cannot stay with us in our friendly town? Riverend may not be the largest of places, or the most civilized, but the ale and food are excellent.” He looked at Tessanna, a charming smile on his face. “Surely we could become better acquainted.”

Jealousy flared within Qurrah.

“How dare you…”

“We could,” Tessanna said, offering him a flirty smile back. “But as I told your dead men, you’d die the moment you touched my flesh.”

The charming smile faltered.

“So be it,” he said. He snapped his fingers. The men around him reached back and pulled out loaded crossbows from behind the lion statues. Qurrah tensed, his knuckles white.

“No one insults me,” Tory said, the dagger in his hand twirling so fast it was a metallic blur. “No one.”

Before the men could fire, Qurrah tossed the bones into the air. Dark power flowed from his hands, giving them life. The pieces hovered in a small circle, shining a phantom gray.

“You cannot win this,” Qurrah said, his fingers outstretched. “Put down the bows and I will let you live.”

“They’re scared,” Tessanna said. Her hands remained at her side, and she appeared bored of the situation. “They’re scared so they threaten.”

“Then let’s remove their ability to threaten,” Qurrah whispered. He formed a fist, igniting the power of the bones. The shards flew through the air, aimed straight for the crossbows. They punched holes in the wood, broke the fingers that held them, and snapped the strings. A couple fired, but the shots were erratic. Qurrah opened his hand once more. Half of the bone pieces returned, hovering before his face.

“Do you think your swords will kill me?” he asked. “Do you think you will get close enough to try?”

A few men grabbed their daggers but Tory waved them off.

“You may cross,” the man said. “You are the stronger, without question.” He gave one last longing look at Tessanna. “A shame, too.”

The group of men parted, granting the couple passage.

“The western bridge is not far,” Tory said as they passed. “My men will let you through without hassle. Try not to keep them waiting.”

Qurrah grabbed Tessanna’s arm and walked across the bridge, silent.

“We’re not going to the other bridge,” Tessanna said once they were beyond earshot. “And we’re not going just because he said he wanted us to. You’re such a child.”

“We need supplies,” Qurrah said.

“Keep telling yourself that,” she said, kissing him once on the cheek. “But you won’t be fooling me.”

“I’d never try to,” he said, glancing back at Tory. “But I think I might kill him the next time we meet.”

“Try to make it painful,” Tessanna said, her tiny mouth grinning. “All he could think about was raping me the entire time we talked.”

Tory couldn’t decide why, but the horrific laughter he heard from the two as they left the bridge formed a knot deep in his gut, one that would take many drinks to loosen.

R iverend was a quaint little town, at least to Tessanna’s standards. It thrived off the crops it harvested from the fertile land that stretched for miles in all directions. But many travelers crossing between the two countries also stopped to rest and purchase supplies, and coin from all nations was welcome. The two passed a couple of stores, vague places that offered a few odds and ends, blankets, and waterskins. Tessanna’s beauty and Qurrah’s robes gained them immediate attention, though no one dared approach. Most just gawked from afar.

“We have a problem,” Qurrah said as they stopped before the town’s sole tavern. It was one floor with a rain-damaged roof and no windows. Beside the door hung a wooden sign with a crudely drawn mug overflowing at the top.

“I have many problems,” Tessanna said, her hands curled around his elbow as she ignored the curious stares. “But what is yours?”

“We have no coin and no items to barter with. We need food, water, and something for your feet. What exactly are we to offer?” Tessanna gave him a dirty smile, and immediately Qurrah’s face flushed. “We are not offering you, no matter how much it would gain us.” He looked back to the tavern. “If we rest for a night, and then take what we want from their stores, none here could stop us.”

“And if they try?” Tessanna asked. Qurrah shrugged, earning himself a glare and a jab from her elbow. “If you won’t let me sleep with some lonely farmer for our supplies, I am most certainly not letting you kill for them.”

“Then what else do we do?”

The girl tugged on his arm.

“For now, we go and get a drink.”

Inside, the dirt floor was tightly packed and trodden upon. Two tables filled the right half of the room, while the left was made of a tiny bar with several carved stools. There was no one inside.

“Evidently drinking is not as popular here as elsewhere,” Qurrah murmured.

“Oh it is,” said a man coming up behind them, wiping his dirt-covered hands on his trousers. He slipped past them and went behind the bar. “It’s just all the drinkers here are also hard workers, and if you haven’t noticed yet, the sun isn’t even halfway through the sky.”

Qurrah smiled at the man and the man smiled back. He was far older than Qurrah and his face was gruff, but he seemed rather amused by his early customers. His hair was tied behind his head in a bushy gray ponytail. When he smiled, it seemed to pull his entire face to the sides, and his bushy unibrow actually separated.

“I have noticed, but neither of us are hard workers. Might we have a drink?”

“Sure thing. Take a seat.” The man took out two wooden cups and filled them underneath the counter from a container they could not see. He set them down in front of them at their table. “My name is Erik. Enjoy.”

“Before we drink,” Qurrah said, pointing to the cups. “I must say that we have no coin to pay for these. I still would very much like a drink, and I would also like to pay you.”

“Isn’t that how the world always works,” Erik said, waving them off. “You can have the first drink free. Consider it a welcome to our town. I’m afraid the rest of the town won’t be so friendly to your problem, though.” He plopped down at a seat behind the bar. “Not unless you’re ready to work for a few coins, but neither of you looks like the sort to bend your backs in the sun. Those robes. You a priest?”

“No,” Qurrah said, sipping from the cup. He felt the burning liquid on his tongue, fiercely bitter. He swallowed as quickly as possible. “Just a traveler.”

Tessanna dipped her finger into the drink and then put it in her mouth, sucking off the liquid.

“Just travelers,” Erik said, watching Tessanna. “You didn’t arrive here just last night, did you?” When neither answered, the old man nodded. “See, last night I heard a bunch of ruckus while I was sleeping.” He pointed at the floor behind the bar. “That is where my old bones rest, and that is where I woke up to two scared hogs begging for a drink.”