When Ylia awoke, the ground was pulsing and tipping beneath her. Bleary-eyed, she sat upright, felt her stomach spasm, then leaned to the side and puked her guts over the road. The wagon lurched wickedly. She let out a groan. Vomit came again. At last, she returned to a seated position. She sat in the front of the wagon, Qala beside her. Urgal lay at her feet, looking at her with disgust and concern intermixed.

  “I don’t need your judgement right now, Urgal,” Ylia said.

  Her head was a throbbing ache that only became more insistent the more she tried to ignore it. She needed water.

  “Drink this,” Qala said, proffering a skin. Ylia took it and popped the cork. Spice hit her nose and she almost gagged. “Don’t fear it,” Qala said. “It will help, I promise.”

  Ylia closed her eyes and forced herself to drink. Qala was right. Something spicy yet sweet slid down her throat with smooth ease. She tasted clove, ginger, and honey. Her stomach almost instantly settled and the headache, whilst still a forceful presence, weakened its grip on her skull.

  “Thank you!”

  “We call this Respiratory Remedy,” Qala said. “But in truth it helps with many ailments. Many people drink it daily in Qi’shath to ward off common colds and fevers. It is something of a cure-all.”

  “Thank you,” Ylia said again. Wondering how long they had been on the road, she turned and looked behind her—there was no sign of the House of the Drunken Dragon. But what she did see were two men asleep in the back of the cart. She recognised one of them. The pretty thief, again! It was not a dream then, he really did barge into the tavern last night. But why did Qala take him with her.

  “What happened last night? Other than…” Ylia trailed off. She knew the answer to that question already; she could still taste the poison of alcohol on her tongue, and the shame building in her gut was worse than any hangover, worse than any pain. She shuddered, a cold spell passing through her. Her hands were trembling. It’d been eleven years since she had succumbed to the call, and now the droughted soil of her body had been flooded with poison.

  “I met your friend, Telos,” Qala said. “He is an interesting fellow.”

  Ylia welcomed her answer, thanking the gods Qala had such tact and empathy. At least for now she could avoid recollecting her sins.

  “Who is the other man?”

  “His name is Jubal. You cannot see because of the blanket, but he is a theront. Naturally, you must not reveal that to anyone.”

  Ylia knew well that theronts had been expunged from Yarruk, a terrible crime in her view, but why had he come to them, and how could they possibly help him?

  “Telos said we were all making our way to Gorgosa,” Qala went on. “And therefore we should travel together. He has some kind of plan that will serve all our mutual benefits, or so he says, but he insisted on sleeping before he explained it to us.”

  Ylia laughed. You sly bastard, Telos. You’ve talked your way into Qala’s affections. Still, this was a good thing. As soon as Telos woke up, Ylia would demand the significant sum of money he owed. She had settled on not killing him. There was already enough pain and heartache in the world. Bu she was getting her money back even if she had to track down his aristocratic family and get them to pay the debt on his behalf.

  “So you’re just going along with his plan?” Ylia said, cautiously.

  Qala’s eyes flashed.

  “Not exactly. I did something for him and his friend. I’ve made it clear that I expect something in return.”

  “Does the same apply for me?”

  “No. As I said, I helped you for more… spiritual reasons.” Qala sighed. “And I suppose you reminded me of myself: a young woman of ambition, robbed of everything. Your whole story was written on your face. Your desperation. I’ve known that darkness. I wished dearly for a helping hand during those times.”

  A bundle of mouldy blankets in the back of the cart sat bolt upright. Telos threw off his rudimentary bedsheets and stretched ostentatiously. He gave a yawn and a wink.

  “Well now I am rested, albeit also bruised. Are you aiming for the potholes, Princess Qala?”

  Ylia hissed at the pet name, not that there was even a house visible for miles around them save for the looming skyline in the east of Gorgosa. But Qala just laughed.

  “Careful which bears you poke, Telos. So, what is this hair-brain scheme of yours?”

  Telos punched the much larger bundle of blankets next to him and it emitted a growl so deep it sounded like it was coming from a dragon. The theront lurched upright. His bullhead was momentarily visible, but he quickly hid it beneath a hood. She had seen only a few theronts in her time, and most of them in Qi’shath, but even so his appearance was startling. His eyes were so deep and black they could be made of pure Void.

  “Now we’re all awake,” Telos said. “I’ll explain.”

  “No you won’t,” Ylia said. She had been waiting her moment, and this was it. It would be no good letting his silver tongue wag for too long; he might convince the others of his innocence and all manner of other things. “First, you will hand over what is mine.”

  Telos frowned. “And what is that, my dear?”

  He was a good actor, but not good enough. Ylia showed teeth.

  Unauthorized usage: this tale is on Amazon without the author's consent. Report any sightings.

  “The two-hundred Demons you stole from me. Right before the Warden—who was looking for you, by the way—came and burned down my home, my livelihood…” She had begun with anger, but now she found tears. Her whole body trembled.

  “The Warden…” Telos whispered, and now at last he looked serious, perhaps even a little ashamed. “He came to your House?”

  “He knew you’d been there. I couldn’t hide it. He had some kind of sorcerer with him. He was… smelling.” Ylia’s guts turned at the memory of the man in red robes sniffing along the ground. “They knew you were gone but they burned it down anyway. I have nothing, Telos. Nothing because of you.” She grabbed him by the scruff and he did not resist her. That only made her more mad. She screamed into his face, “Give me my gods-damned money! I know you took it! I know!”

  Telos had turned pale. His hands roved his bloodstained, mud-caked clothes. They searched every pocket and came up empty. A look of genuine surprise contorted his face.

  “Oh shit,” he said. “Oh shit, oh shit.”

  “What have you done?” Ylia snarled.

  “The curse!” Telos said again, and he looked suddenly deranged. His eyes bulged and he turned to the theront, Jubal. “It’s the curse again, Jubal. She strikes again!”

  “The money is gone?” the theront said, as lazily as though they were discussing a misplaced hairbrush and not a small fortune.

  “It must have slipped from me… in the tunnels. Or the fight. Somewhere…” Now it was Telos’s turn to scream, so violently Ylia actually let go of him. “Curse you Nereth!”

  “‘He who curses the Kwei-Shin only curses themselves’,” Qala said, mildly.

  “Oh save me from Qi’shathian ‘wisdom’!” Telos spat. “Two hundred Demons may be nothing to you but to me—”

  “It was MY money!” Ylia said, so outraged by his audacity she felt dizzy.

  “You cannot prove that,” Telos said.

  Ylia’s hand was a fist and she was leaning over into the rear of the cart before Telos could take another breath. Jubal had thrown his hood and head back and was roaring with insane laughter. Qala was tutting under her breath, saying something about “children”. Ylia swung hard at Telos. She would have struck him, too, had the wagon they were riding not suddenly lurched so violently that she was thrown into the air. There was a hideous noise not dissimilar to a tree being split by a lightning bolt as the lefthand wheel hit a rock and, instead of rolling over it, split asunder. One side of the cart plummeted as Ylia smacked to the ground. Telos tumbled back and went overboard. Jubal held on, but only just, roaring like the bull he resembled. Qala managed to keep her balance, but only because she clung desperately to the reins. The huge horse pulling the cart squealed and kicked and reared, confused by the sudden additional strain. The cart carved a furrow in the mudslick road for a few feet more then finally came to a halt. Qala leapt from the wagon and went to the steed, soothing it in Qi’shathian language.

  Ylia wheezed, picking herself up, her whole front-body covered in horseshit and soil.

  Telos staggered up to the rear of the wagon.

  “Your luck has done for us again, thief!” Jubal said, though there was no trace of malice in his words, only the dark humour of one of the edge of madness.

  “What is this constant mention of luck?” Qala said, now returning to them, the horse having been quieted. Urgal remained in the wagon, licking his paw, evidently bored by the proceedings. Qala’s eyes narrowed. “You’re not cursed, are you?” she said this directed to Telos.

  Telos sighed.

  “Of course he is,” Ylia spat. “He reaps what he sows. He’s an escaped criminal. And a psychopath with a small army is following him. Anywhere that houses him burns to the ground!”

  Telos actually flinched.

  “I’ll have you know I was cursed after I stayed at the Verdant Sun.”

  Ylia raised a fist and marched toward him again. This time Qala caught her wrist, and stayed her aggression.

  “I wouldn’t advise that. Striking a cursed man is like punching a leper. The risk to you is greater than to them.”

  “Well, thank you very much,” Telos said drily.

  “Why did you not tell me this before?” Qala said, rounding on Telos. The anger burning beneath the serene exterior she projected was more terrifying than any brandished weapon.

  “Because you are Qi’shathian,” Telos said. “And Qi’shathians are superstitious.”

  “So now you add racism to the catalogue of your crimes?”

  “I’m trying to be honest.”

  “There is such a thing as too much honesty. But now the cat is out of the bag, as it were, I think we shall be leaving you by this roadside.”

  Qala turned, meeting Ylia’s eyes. So much was communicated in that single look. Forget the money, you will never get it from him. What’s done is done. If he is cursed, we must put as much distance between us and him as we can.

  Qala marched over to the rear of the wagon and rummaged through piles of inventory, all carefully boxed and sealed so as to conceal what she truly possessed. Eventually, she pulled out a huge wooden wagon wheel—a spare. Again, her strength was surprising for a woman so short and slight. She placed the wheel down and rolled it toward the collapsed side.

  “Jubal…” Qala said. “Given that I was the one to repair that strong arm of yours, might you return the favour by lifting this wagon for us?”

  The theront disembarked and stood before them. He crossed his arms.

  “No.”

  Qala looked genuinely taken aback.

  “That is most discourteous.”

  “I will not do it because you should not leave this man behind.”

  Both Ylia and Qala stared incredulously.

  “Why not?” they said, at once.

  “Yes,” Telos said. “Why not?” He looked as dumbfounded as they to have an advocate.

  “Because despite the fact he is cursed, and despite the fact he is not a man of war, he came back for me. He faced my enemy and drove a dagger into his belly. It should have been the heart, but I can forgive him for that. We cannot all be killers. He is the reason I am alive. I have no family left. No friends in this world save him. He is cursed, but I still believe he is my best chance—maybe all of our best chances—at another life.”

  The words seemed to ring, like a hammer on steel. A cool morning breeze blew across the plains and carried with it the song of crickets and crows. All things resided in a stillness that seemed quenchless.

  Qala looked at Jubal for a long time, then she bowed and turned to Telos.

  “Very well. Then let us hear your plan. But I tell you now: if I don’t like it, I am going to leave you here tied up with a bow on, so the Warden can find you at his leisure.”