David Dalglish: The Death of Promises

Tory fought against the bonds, but they were too tight. He was losing feeling in his hands and his head felt as if it would explode.

“Put your hand here,” Tessanna said. She held Julie’s hands in her own, gently guiding them atop Tory’s head. She pressed it firm. A shiver went through her. “Now kneel down and whisper to him. Just one word. Will you do that for me? Whisper just one word?”

Julie looked back and forth, her teeth chewing hard on her top lip. But something about Tessanna’s eyes soothed her, and so she nodded again.

“I will,” Julie said.

Tessanna knelt down and whispered the word to her. The girl seemed to understand. She left Tessanna’s arms and knelt beside Tory, her hand still atop his head. The man’s face was above the pool of blood, his chin dipping in and out of its disturbingly warm surface. Julie looked the man in the eyes, remembering how he had hurt her. Remembering the other men that had taken her, beaten her, and shouting things she did not understand. When he looked back at her, she saw no shame, no remorse, just cowardice and fear. She found the courage to say the word.

“Drown,” she said, and then she pushed. The tendril snapped down. Tory’s face smashed into the pool. Julie yanked back her hand as blood splashed in all directions. He shook and struggled, his head completely submerged. Screams bubbled up from beneath. Tessanna held Julie’s hand as they watched.

When he was dead, Qurrah pulled his head out from the blood. His face was smashed and broken. Tessanna smiled even as her emotions faded away into apathy.

“You’re safe now,” she said to Julie. “You were strong, and now you’re safe.”

“Let’s bring her back to Erik,” Qurrah said, wrapping up his whip and opening the door to the shack. “He can find where she belongs.”

Tessanna took Julie’s hand and walked her home.

E rik was waiting for them at the entrance to his tavern. He had dragged a stool outside and propped it next to the door. At sight of Julie he straightened in his seat, and a grin spread across his face.

“He’s…he is, isn’t he?” the old barkeep said. “Ashhur be praised.”

“Ashhur had nothing to do with this,” Qurrah said, glancing down at the girl. “She has been tortured for days. If anything, he should be cursed for allowing such a thing to happen.”

“We all see things as we wish,” Erik said, offering his hand to Julie. “Come with me, child. You’re from Haven, aren’t you?” The girl nodded and accepted his hand. Erik smiled and gestured to a burlap sack bundled next to him.

“Food, water, and shoes for your lady,” he said. “Should last you at least two weeks.”

“It will last us far longer,” Qurrah said, hoisting it onto his back.

“Light eaters?” Erik asked.

“Very,” Tessanna said, giggling at his quizzical look. She knelt before Julie and placed her hands on either side of her face. “You be strong now,” she whispered. “Be strong, and the hurt will go away.”

“I will,” Julie said.

“Sure you folks can’t stay a night or two,” Erik said. He gestured about. “People will be in a festive mood hearing the young devil’s dead. A lot of parents here got daughters that can finally return from Haven, and plenty others that already buried their own would love to toast your health.”

“We must move on,” Qurrah said, digging through the pack. “And there we are.” He pulled out a pair of rough leather moccasins and offered them to Tessanna. She put them on and smiled.

“Much better,” she said.

“Might I ask where you’re headed?” Erik said as the two prepared to leave.

“To the Sanctuary,” Qurrah answered. “Do you know the way?”

“A semblance of a road leads out from the western Bridge,” Erik said, his hand on Julie’s shoulder. “Follow it until it turns completely north. Farther west you’ll see some mountains. The Sanctuary’s built into their base. You’ll have no trouble finding it.”

“Many thanks again,” Qurrah said.

Q urrah and Tessanna camped miles past the western bridge, having crossed out of the delta and into the land of Ker. They had ridden Seletha to make up for the time they had lost, and the ache in Qurrah’s back constantly reminded him why he hated doing so. The stars were blocked by a line of clouds that had come rolling from the north. Fearing rain, the two huddled close, their backs against the trunk of a giant tree that sprouted like a lone fixture amid the great pasture.

“What did you think of her,” Tessanna asked, breaking the silence they had shared for the past hour.

“Who? The girl?” Qurrah asked.

“Julie. I like that name. So simple and pretty.”

“Why do you ask me this?”

Tessanna turned and buried her head in his chest.

“Because she would have been a good daughter. I would have understood her, and she would have understood me.”

“We could have kept her,” Qurrah said. “No one would have known.”

Tessanna smiled.

“You know we can’t. Not yet. We’re going to do some fighting at the Sanctuary, aren’t we?”

The half-orc stroked her hair.

“If we must. Lathaar told Tarlak that few there knew of the tome’s existence. They should be unprepared for our arrival.”

“Lathaar left far before we did. If he warns them?”

“Then more will die than I’d prefer.”

They quieted for a bit. Tessanna stared at the clouds, her mind drifting far away.

“He’s almost there,” she said, her voice dreamy. “He doesn’t know we follow, but he fears it. He doesn’t know about Aullienna. If he did, he’d ride faster. He’d know we chased.” She wrapped her arms around Qurrah’s neck. “I would have been a good mother for her,” she whispered. “Do you believe me?”

He kissed her forehead. “Of course I do.”

She pressed her face back against his chest, hiding the few tears that dripped down her cheeks.

“Then why’d you kill Aullienna,” she whispered as the rain drowned out her words. “Why?”

L athaar rode down the well-trodden path, branches flashing by either side of him. He knew he should be patient, but the forest was nearing its end. He held his sword high, using its light to see in the darkness. Rain had come and soaked the ground. The cold tried to chill his bones but he refused to let it. Fire and blankets awaited him. After weeks of riding he was about to arrive at the Sanctuary.

The trees grew thicker, their branches intertwining above his head. The leaves had long since fallen, and in the glow of his sword they appeared crisscrossing veins marring sight of the sky. Not long, he thought. Not long at all.

He let out a whoop as his horse suddenly burst through the trees and into open air. Towering before him were the Elethan mountains, shining purple in the reawakening stars. Cut into the stone was the Sanctuary. The entrance was built of wood harvested from the nearby forest and used to form the doorways and the roof. Beyond, chiseled in the rock, were circular pillars and great square sides. A lantern shone from a window in each of the four towers that stretched up from the corners. Lathaar swatted his horse on the rump and urged her on.

There was a single door to the building, roughly the size of a man and reinforced with bars across the front. A small window filled its center, also protected by bars. Lathaar hopped off his horse and banged just below the window with his fist. He waited a few minutes, then banged again. After the second time he heard commotion from the other side of the door and then a voice spoke through the window.

“What’s all the fuss?” the voice asked. “Speak your business so an old man can get some sleep.”