into the nation, only out. Qurrah squeezed Tessanna’s hand tight as they approached the first dozen tents.
“They don’t even look for spies,” he said quietly to her.
“Perhaps they only fear the spies that fly through the air?”
He shrugged.
“Then why did Azariah not mention it to us?”
“Perhaps he didn’t know it to mention?”
The soldiers milled about, some gambling, some singing and playing simple instruments, while a good many drank. Only a few kept their attention on the road, and they had the bored look of someone forced into duty.
“Stay on the path,” one said as they passed. “No gawking, no begging, no selling wares.”
“Not even these wares?” Tessanna said, tilting her head back a little to better show her breasts. Qurrah pulled her along before the soldier could respond.
“Are you out of your mind?” he hissed.
“Do you know of a better way to learn information than from a man’s bed? Whores learn secrets spies cannot.”
She returned his look with a dull gaze, then giggled as if she were a little girl.
“You’re cute when you’re jealous,” she said, letting the matter drop. The concentration of soldiers thickened the closer they moved to the bridge. Ahead of them rode a large group, an apparent family traveling north with all their possessions. Their single wagon was loaded with belongings, and at the first stone of the Bloodbrick they were stopped and lazily searched over by two men holding halberds. A third guard stepped in front of Qurrah and Tessanna and lifted his hand.
“Hold up,” he said, offering no other words than that. He glanced back, watching the others search the wagon. Qurrah bit his tongue, and in the very center of the encampment he waited, trying not to look nervous. He felt stupid for being nervous in the first place, but it’d been five years since he’d been around people in general, let alone a large army. Tessanna was right-he really had been hiding from society in their cabin. Of course, standing in the middle of ten thousand men felt like a horrible time to realize it.
“Is there something they search for?” Qurrah asked, thinking he might try to learn something instead of standing there shuffling his weight from foot to foot.
“Keep your tongue behind your teeth,” the soldier said, barely giving him a glance. “I’m not here for questions. Just wait your turn.”
“You made the man mad,” Tessanna said, still seeming terribly amused by everything.
“Mad?” the soldier asked, actually turning to face them. “Girl, you haven’t…”
He stopped and stood perfectly still, his jaw hanging open the tiniest bit. There was no mistaking his gaze, which focused on her strange eyes.
“Your name,” the soldier said.
“I thought you weren’t here for questions,” Qurrah said, feeling his heart speed up. Ignoring him, the soldier drew the sword at his hip.
“Your name,” he said again. So far he kept the blade tip pointed downward, but he seemed about to jump at any second. Tessanna smiled at him, long hair flowing down the sides of her face.
“Tessanna,” she said at last.
The soldier looked ready to shit himself-whether from fear or surprise, Qurrah couldn’t say. He took a fresh look at Qurrah, and his face paled, showing he knew exactly who stood before him.
“James!” he shouted. “Get the fuck over here, right now!”
The two guards at the wagon turned around. Others around the camp heard the shouting, and seeing the drawn blade they rushed over. Qurrah held his arms out at his sides, hoping to show he posed no danger. Tessanna remained perfectly still, her sly smile receding inward, becoming a calm look of apathy. Qurrah envied her.
“I only travel to meet my brother,” Qurrah said, hoping someone in charge might hear and listen. “We are no threat, no-”
“Quiet,” said an older man who pushed to the front of the gathering crowd. “You, are you the Betrayer?”
Qurrah glared at him even as a wall of swords encased him and Tess. As if they could stop him, he thought.
“I doubt I am the first, nor the last, to have ever committed that particular sin,” he said in answer. Apparently that was enough for the soldier, though, for he turned his attention to Tessanna.
“You said your name was Tessanna,” he said. “The prophet’s bride?”
“I was,” she said, her voice nearly toneless. “But that fiend lives no longer, as will you if you touch a hair on my head.”
“She was never his bride,” Qurrah said, unable to help himself. He hated the title given to her, formed by the twisted story most commonly told around hearths at night. Only once had Qurrah worked up the nerve to ask his brother what the tales said. In them, Qurrah had betrayed Veldaren, his glorious brother, and then the whole world by helping the prophet Velixar summon the war god Thulos. From then on, Qurrah was seen as the hapless puppet and Velixar the true evil. Tessanna was Velixar’s bride, his dark angel, and if the age of the audience permitted, many storytellers liked to embellish the sick, perverted love that had supposedly gone on between them.
“So she wasn’t, was she?” the soldier asked, his glare showing he was an inch away from striking the half- orc. “Let’s see what Bram has to say about that.”
Qurrah sighed. Would it matter telling them Bram knew where they lived, had known for the past five years since he himself had overseen the deeding of the land to them?
“Yes,” he said. “Let us see, but put away your swords for all our sakes. You never know when one might cut a piece of hair by accident.”
Escorted by over thirty men, they walked into the center of the camp. Neither were restrained in any way, and Qurrah sensed the men were too afraid to try such a thing. In many corners of the world Qurrah and Tessanna had become the boogeyman of campfire stories. He could only guess what some of them thought he might do if they laid a rough hand upon him. The way they held their naked blades, it seemed more like they escorted wild bears than a frail half-orc and a short, slender woman. If not for the inherent risk in it, Qurrah felt tempted to growl at them. His brother would have, he thought, and it put a wry smile on his face. He’d growl and wave his arms about like an idiot, just to show he was unafraid of their numbers.
Sometimes he wished he was more like his brother.
At one of many fires they stopped, and the men encircling them gave way. Lord Bram Henley stood waiting, arms crossed over his chest. His hair was long and black, falling down to his broad shoulders. From his right eye down to his chin was a thin straight scar, self-inflicted in the tradition of his family line. If he was surprised to see Qurrah and Tessanna, he did not show it.
“Well now,” Bram asked. “What have you two been doing to stir my camp in such a way?”
“Existing,” Tessanna said, her voice flat.
The rest of the soldiers tensed, but Bram only shook his head and chuckled.
“Of course,” he said, turning to his solders. “Leave us. They are not enemies of Ker.”
None appeared foolhardy enough to argue with their king, so away they went, leaving Qurrah and Tessanna standing before a man they hadn’t seen in several years. To Qurrah’s eyes he looked older, far older than he should have given the relatively short amount of time that had passed. Perhaps being a king aged a man faster, or maybe it was just the stress of always checking the skies for white feathers.
“I’m glad you’re here,” Bram said, sitting back down before the fire in a wooden chair. “Hardly three days ago, I sent riders to your cabin, though I didn’t expect them to return with you in time. That you come to me, well, I’d say it was fate if I believed in that sort of thing.”
“If not fate, then coincidence,” Qurrah agreed. “But what have we come in time for?”
The half-orc looked about but saw no other chairs. Shrugging, he sat on his knees before the fire. Tessanna sat next to him, leaning her head on his shoulder. So far she appeared bored, withdrawn. It was a mood she’d fallen into less often over the past few years, but coming back into civilization seemed to have reawakened it.
“I assume you receive little news in your isolated cabin?” Bram asked.
“Little if any,” Qurrah said, neglecting to mention Azariah’s arrival.
“Then I’ll keep details at a minimum as to not overwhelm you. King Antonil marches this way with an army, intent on another foolish crusade to drive the orcs from his native kingdom. Within the hour he should arrive to ask permission to travel through my lands.”
