David Dalglish: The Death of Promises

Qurrah took another sip as the old man leaned closer.

“They told me the craziest story about this girl of pure fire, beautiful as a goddess and as dangerous as a snake. Said she just started burning, and then killed one of their friends. Now I hope I don’t imply an insult, fair lady, but you do look as beautiful as a goddess.”

“I’m not poisonous,” Tessanna said, her finger pressed against her teeth as she grinned. “But I do burn people.”

“Why do you tell us this?” Qurrah asked.

“Because a girl like that, well, she could do a lot of things that people here might appreciate. Might even reward them for doing these things.”

Qurrah finished his drink and slid Erik the cup.

“What things?”

“Which bridge did you cross?”

“The eastern,” Qurrah replied. “We’ve come from Neldar. We traveled through Omn too quickly to supply ourselves adequately before we reached the delta.”

The barkeep nodded. It was a story he heard often. Most desperate travelers had run afoul with the law at some point in either Neldar or Omn and thought to start a new life in the west.

“Did you meet Tory when you tried to cross the eastern bridge?” he asked. When they both nodded, he continued. “He moved in here with a group of thugs from Mordeina. Started charging a toll to whoever crossed the bridges. If anyone was well armed he’d just let them go by; he was smart like that. Thing is, he started getting more and more money, and he’s acquired a healthy collection of all things drunkards love up in his little shack north of town. Got to the point where even those with bodyguards had to start paying his toll…and the tolls themselves got much higher.”

Erik walked around the bar and to the door. He glanced outside to ensure no one was nearby. When satisfied, he turned around and approached their table.

“We’re neutral territory. With the stigma of the war hundreds of years ago, no country will touch us. Tory’s started taking whatever he wants from the towns in the delta, and it’s not just food.” He looked pointedly at Tessanna. “He wanted you, didn’t he?”

She nodded.

“I could tell,” she said. “I always can.”

“You’re older than he’d prefer,” Erik said. Qurrah watched as the old man’s hands gripped the table to stop their shaking. “But you’re beauty was enough to sway his tastes. We’ve sent our daughters south to Haven, but not always in time. And he’s begun to go there now…”

Erik had made this offer many times before to travelers passing through his little town. Never once had he seen such rage as he saw in Tessanna’s eyes.

“Little pissfire comes here with men and weapons and thinks he can take what he wants,” she said, her eyes staring into nowhere. “Do the girls live after he is done?”

“He keeps them,” Erik said. He gripped the table harder. A few tears trickled down his cheek. He was too old and tired to hold them all in. “Keeps them until they’re all used up. My granddaughter, she…” He turned and wiped his nose on his sleeve. “She was never the same. She threw herself into the river one night. Said she was certain Tory would come for her again, and she couldn’t do it. She’d rather die.”

Tessanna stood. Her hands took the old man’s and pulled them from the table. She gently kissed his shaking fingers.

“I’ll drown them,” she said. “In their own blood. I promise.”

“He’ll still be at the bridges,” Erik said. “If he’s not, return and I will lead you to his hovel.”

“We need food, water, warmer clothes, and shoes for Tessanna’s feet,” Qurrah said. “Have it ready when we return.”

The old man nodded.

“Go with Ashhur’s blessing.”

To this, Qurrah smirked. “We come bearing death. Ashhur will grant us no blessing.”

S hould we wait until nightfall?” Qurrah asked as they headed into the lush fields north of town that were in various states of final harvest before winter. Tessanna shook her head. Her lips were thin and pulled tight against her teeth. It was rare for her to be so angry, but the abuse of such young girls appeared to be one of the things that could pierce her apathy.

“I won’t give him a chance to take another,” she answered. “He might have a girl waiting for him, just waiting like a little gift when he returns with his men. I won’t let him. I won’t.”

It took only an hour before the bridge grew within sight. The small gray shapes of Tory’s minions littered the construction. They must have spotted them, for at once they rushed across the bridge and lined the near side.

“They fear us, don’t they?” Tessanna asked.

“They are right to,” Qurrah said.

“They’re not afraid enough. Not yet.”

Tessanna did not slow as she neared. Seven men remained of the original twelve that greeted them earlier. Tory did not appear to be one of them. As the guards leered and made their crude comments, Tessanna grabbed the nearest ruffian by the throat and shrieked. The force of her yell knocked them to the ground, all but the one she held. His flesh turned gray, his hair shriveled white, and the cartilage of his nose and ears curled inward to the bone. On and on her shriek continued, a horrific wail of death. The flesh peeled off his skull and his teeth cracked free from their gums.

She let him go. He fell to the ground looking freshly dug from the grave twenty years after his death.

“Where is Tory?” she asked the others as they lay stunned. None answered, for they could not hear through the ringing in their ears. She grabbed the shirt of another man and pushed. Magical energy slammed against his chest, tumbling him off the bridge and into the water below.

“Where is he?” she screamed.

“West,” one said. He was curled against one of the arches that lined the side of the bridge. His hands were pressed against his ears. Blood covered them. “If you’re looking for Tory, he went west, to the other bridge. We haven’t done anything, we swear!”

Tessanna stared into his eyes, the black orbs peering into his soul.

“Did you ever take one to be your own?” she asked in a voice so calm and soft it seemed impossible to have been the same voice shrieking louder than thunder.

As the man stared back, he felt claws within his mind, feasting on his thoughts like a ravenous being. Through it all, a single question pulsed like a heartbeat, and he knew what it was she asked.

“No,” he said. “It just wasn’t…no.”

Tessanna released him and turned to her lover.

“Let’s go,” she said.

“Do we let them live?” Qurrah asked, pointing to the men that were slowly getting to their feet.

“Only the one with the bloody ears. The others forfeited their lives long ago.”

Qurrah opened his pouch of bones. The men saw this and fled, racing across the bridge like scared children. Only the one remained, perched against the side with his eyes still locked on Tessanna. He watched, mesmerized, as bones flew past his face and into the necks and skulls of his comrades.

When Qurrah turned around, he saw a swirling black portal hovering above the ground. Tessanna stood before it, her eyes shimmering purple.

“There are shadows in the trees,” she said. “Enter.”

He did as he was told. She followed him in. The portal closed behind them, leaving only the stunned survivor to flee back to Riverend, deaf but alive.

T hey stepped out underneath a great canopy of trees. All around Qurrah saw sturdy brown trunks. Tessanna grabbed his hand and together they weaved through the trunks and brush that scratched at their legs and tore their clothes. The light grew brighter, the trees grew thinner, and then they exited the forest directly east of Ashhur’s bridge.