Roads of the Righteous and the Rotten (Order of Fire Book 1) (26 page)

Her arms climbed around his neck as she squeezed herself just as close to him as she could, and a moan snuck from her mouth as Zar’s hands pulled her waist firmly against his, pushed her back away and pulled her in again. When they had splashed in the spring for some time, and Shahla had acclimated to the intensity of it all, she kissed him feverishly, all the while bouncing herself in his lap.

Feeling her skin, her breath, her hair fluttering over his neck, her warmth that had caused Zar to be lost in the moment, he could only think to himself that he never wanted to be finished, but after being wrapped too tightly in the pleasure of it all, he was, and he sat in the pool wondering if he should feel shame or regret over what he had just done, and realized that he didn’t feel either.

Neither did Shahla, apparently, for her voice soon sounded. “I feel as if that should’ve happened years ago.” She giggled as she snuggled against him.

Zar wondered if she would ever stop surprising him. “I’ve dreamed of what we just did—dreamed of it forever,” she whispered in his ear, her voice and breath telling Zar’s body it was ready for more.

When they left the pool, Shahla pulled a blanket from Dalya’s saddle and spread it over them. Their pores were still open from the water and a spring breeze chilled them as they huddled under the blanket and looked at one another.

“Clothes? Or fire?” said Zar with a grin. Shahla shivered and giggled. “Fire.”

The two waddled around together under the fur to gather branches from the woods and pieces of dry brush for kindling, and when a fire blazed not long after, the two let the blanket slide off their shoulders. They stared into the flames for a time, but once their blood had warmed up their bodies began stirring and their limbs drifting, and it wasn’t long before they had wrestled themselves down to the ground, creating a different version of the dance they had started in the spring. It left them in the end quite drizzled with sweat from their movement and the heat of the fire, and when they were finished they laughed, joking that they would need to take another bath.

“I’m hungry.”

“As you should be after all that,” replied Shahla, giggling. “I’ll go for a hunt.”

She hopped up to fetch her clothes, and Zar turned his head to watch her as if he would never see her naked again. She picked up her bow and belted her quiver to her waist. Zar was stunned. The pleasure and fascination of discovering Shahla’s body, the disbelief that what had just happened had actually happened, the passion that they had just shared twice was instantly trumped and shattered. Reality had chased away the dream, and Zar’s face turned cold.

“Look,” said Shahla with a giggle, grabbing one of the arrows by the red fletching and pulling it out until the shaft showed the same color. “I use red arrows now.”

28

Venison had neve
r tasted so bland.
The woman he shared it with was Ramla’s killer, his newfound lover, and longtime friend. As startling and sobering as the realization had been, what made it harder was that he couldn’t speak to Asha about it, for Shahla was there at his side even now, the loveliest and most contemptible woman, rubbing his back and leaning in occasionally to kiss his face.

For a while he thought it could be a mistake. He hoped it was. Someone could’ve stolen her weapons and used them, or there might’ve been another adventurer that used red arrows as well. Zar clung to those possibilities, as improbable as they were. He clung to them—until she spoke.

“I’m an adventurer like you, Zar. I’m a bandit killer, a righter of wrongs. That’s what I do now. Have you heard of the Scarlet Quill?” Shahla looked up at him with a proud smile.

“Aye,” Zar answered.

“It’s me!” Shahla giggled, then buried her face in his shoulder.

“Why do you do it?” Zar asked.

Shahla pulled her head from Zar’s body and sat up. “There’s too much wrong in the world,” she said. “If I can help to fix even a piece of it, I will. I do it for myself, for the other women who were taken to the storehouse with me, for the unknown person who suffers in silence. If I can help, I will. I’ll help the good, and I’ll kill the wicked.”

“The wicked,” said Zar, cringing as Ramla’s face drifted through his mind.

“Aye. I’ve killed bandits in all four lands. I saved a man from Snowguards near the capital. I destroyed a clan of witches.”

Zar wanted to shout and weep, but instead managed a few solemn words. “You’ve been busy.”

“I have.”

“Shahla, the Scarlet Quill, punisher of the wicked,”

said Zar, forcing a smile. “Does she not show mercy?”

“When it is deserved.”

“Well, if you truly want to help, I have some things to tell you.”

“What things?”

“Things of Tiomot, Dandil, the Clan of the Condor, and a man called Lawless Tuskin.”

°

It was Zar’s first moment alone with Asha in two days as Shahla bathed, and Zar led the camel away from the spring to graze.

“I love the woman,” he told Asha quietly, “more so now than ever before, but I cannot stand her childish idea of morality. She … she killed Ramla … and all of the maidens of Or. I know they were witches. I know they were wrong. But Ramla was my friend. She was my friend, Asha, and I never judged her for what she did. It didn’t involve me— unless I needed it to. You see, I’m no better than she, for while I would never dare dabble in such devilry, I had no problem requesting her council when I knew the source of her information. I was just as wrong as her, but somehow talked myself into feeling less accountable because I never directly partook in her craft.

“I never stepped into that darkness with her. I have my own darkness to flee from. But her darkness was of a different sort. And she—each time I came—she was deeper into that darkness. I meant to be done with her many times, but I couldn’t. I couldn’t bear to break with her when I had the choice, and now the choice has been taken from me. So be it, Asha. The dawn has come and chased away the night. So be it.

“Let us speak of something more uplifting. Ah, aye,
that.
Let us speak of
that
. Asha, I had no idea that would happen. I didn’t plan it, I swear. What? I didn’t! It was her, Asha, not me. I mean it. I’ve always respected my friendship with Barek, more than anything else in this world, I daresay. It was not my intention to bed Shahla. I tried to avoid it, in truth. I’ve always tried to avoid it, like at the inn in Gara—I told you about that, didn’t I?—or in the woods after the storehouse. She’s been quite forward with her affections, has she not?

“It’s a strange thing for me because when I met her she was just a girl. Now things are very different, aren’t they, Asha? She’s a woman—a most attractive woman, I daresay—and she doesn’t seem to think anything odd of being with me. In fact, she doesn’t seem to think about it at all, as if it’s of no consequence. When we were finished she said it should have happened years ago, she said she’d dreamed of it. What do you make of that, Asha?”

Asha held her peace, leaving Zar to reflect on his own words in silence. When they made it back to the spring, Shahla had finished her bath and was sitting on the ground with a quilt draped loosely over her shoulders. She stood as Zar approached and stretched out her arms, and the quilt opened to show droplets of water rolling over her breasts and down her stomach.

Zar looked at her and shook his head as his blood stirred. “How will we ever save Krii?”

The woman smiled and darted off towards her horse. “I’ll get dressed now—and stay dressed.”

Zar chuckled at her playfulness, wondering if she knew how much he enjoyed it. The woman was dressed before long, and she mounted Dalya and Zar mounted Asha and they headed off to the east.

“So you’re certain he’ll be in this forest?” said Shahla.

“This Tuskin you speak of?”

“Not certain,” Zar replied, “but it’s a good start.”

“The capital is north of here.”

“Aye,” Zar agreed. “That’s why we’re going east.”

Shahla beamed “I know what route you’re taking—east over Dorad, then north past Vaul.”

“Aye,” Zar answered with a smile. “You know the land now.”

“Like my very own hands.”

“Shahla, the bandit killer,” Zar teased, “that knows the land like her very own hands. Did I get that right?”

“Almost,” the woman replied. “I’m the Scarlet Quill now. Shahla died long ago.”

Zar didn’t mean for it to be so obvious how much the statement surprised him, but the silence that followed seemed only natural. Shahla simply smiled at him and kept riding. It was clear he wasn’t the only one who’d changed, for as he had gone from a rogue to a prince, Shahla had changed from a naive and innocent girl to a complacent and comely killer. She was beautiful and dangerous, a similar mix of attributes that had made Ramla so appealing. While it hurt and angered him to think of the two women in the same series of thoughts, he found it peculiar that what Shahla had taken away in Ramla she had given back in herself. It was an interesting idea, but did nothing for the pain.

Three days east over Dorad and the travelers turned their mounts to the north. The open plains condensed into a populated wood as the two moved north toward the towns. On the fifth day the town of Vaul crawled into sight from the other side of the horizon. The two rode in and rested the night at the inn, and they resumed their journey the next day with the shinning of the morning sun.

“How far until Karthin?” Shahla called, flashing Zar a smile.

“You tell me, Scarlet.”

“A day at this pace,” Shahla answered. “If we push them we can make it well before nightfall.”

Zar smiled. She was exactly right. “Did you hear that, Asha? She wants us to sweat today.”

Zar nudged Asha with his heel and whipped down on her reigns until she picked up her speed, leaving Dalya and her rider behind. Asha’s long legs brought them to a gallop, and the camel stretched out her long neck and pointed ahead. Moments after, Shahla galloped at his side, and passed him. “Aye, she’s a bit faster, but she tires much faster than you. Watch, she can’t keep it up for long.”

Asha pulled her neck forward even more and maintained her rapid pace over the road. After a time, Dalya’s speed dwindled, and the mount drifted back into closer position with Asha. Eventually, she sunk behind Asha and Zar knew there would be no more galloping from Dalya for a while. Both riders pulled back their reins and allowed their mounts to rest as they walked side by side, and after a few more of such races the town of Karthin was in sight.

It was about an hour before dawn and the two headed to the Big Fish tavern for an evening meal. Shahla sat beside Zar at the table, their backs to the wall, and after the barmaid brought their food, they enjoyed the meal in relative silence. It was spiced venison stew, a local favorite, and Zar and Shahla weren’t the only two in the room it had hushed to quietness.

Zar always sat at the rear side of the table bench, his back to the wall so he could see the room. He wondered if Shahla had the same habit, or if she simply sat there today because
he
did. It seemed only logical to sit where one was able to see any strange or ill happenings while they transpired, instead of potentially dealing with it afterwards. An overly large, brutish fellow armored in leather and mail with an iron helm over his face approached their table, carrying a sword that looked to be forged for a giant. His face and manner were shocking enough—wild savage eyes peering through the helm’s opening that allowed only his eyes and nose to show.

“Dog!” Shahla yelled, and was on her feet in an instant. She jumped out from behind the table and drew her bow and fired it—all in a second.

It was a close-ranged shot and the giant shuffled rather quickly—too quickly for a man his size—and pulled up his sword over his face. Shahla’s arrow bounced off the broad blade as Zar stepped onto the bench he was sitting on and hopped onto the table, drawing his sword.

“Him I kill!” The giant roared, looking at Zar. He then looked to Shahla. “You leave now, or I kill both.”

Zar didn’t pause to try to figure out the situation. He had seen enough. His sword slashed at the man’s throat, but the brute once again held up his broad-bladed cleaver sword and blocked the strike. Shahla sent an arrow into the man’s left wrist, and he roared out as he cocked back both arms to heave his giant cleaver-sword. Zar darted off the table before he did.

The table crumbled as the brute’s cleaver struck, leaving pieces of wood splintered about the ground. He was quick to recover after the missed strike, for as Zar rushed in he was already cocking back for another swing. Zar darted back out. The giant quickly raised the cleaver to his face and an arrow again bounced off the blade.

Zar moved in, met blades with the man and felt his wrist and arm jerk in pain as the blow sent him nearly to the other side of the tavern. The brute grimaced and turned around quickly to Shahla, an arrow stuck in the back of his neck. Zar slashed—the blade of ill effect due to the man’s armor and sheer fatness. The brute turned back around and swung madly at Zar.

An arrow bounced off the back of the giant’s helm as Zar avoided the wild swing and feinted back. The man’s heavy swing gave Zar the time he needed. At the end of the stroke as the brute’s arm was yet stretched out and his weight already committed, Zar chopped down into his right arm and let red spill from a deep wound. It forced the giant to wield his cleaver in his left arm.

The man grew frenzied. He spun violently in a circle, swinging his cleaver everywhere. As he turned, Zar noted that Shahla had landed three more arrows into his backside—one in his back near his armpit, and two more in his neck. The man stormed the room, charging everywhere randomly and frenetically. He stormed toward Zar and Zar dodged. The brute ran right into a frightened patron and hacked the man down until he lay in pieces on the floor.

Shahla cried out as the patron was killed, rapidly firing her bow from the corner of the room. She landed two more arrows in the brute’s neck, the shafts biting through links of the chainmail hood that rose from his shoulders into his helm. Zar rushed forward and ducked a cleaver blow. The bloody arm he’d wounded slammed into him, sending him flying across the room. The giant staggered, a swarm of arrows nesting there. He swayed, and his leg buckled under his weight. He collapsed to one knee, placing a hand firmly on the ground to support himself.

The brute trembled, barely able to hold himself up, and Zar rushed forward and hacked at the man’s neck. The blade split the mail and dug into the man’s broad neck, leaving a fountain of blood spattering over his shoulder.

The man growled and dropped his cleaver. Before Zar could take a breath, a massive hand secured itself around his throat. Zar’s body swayed as he tried to free himself, and the brute brought his other arm—wounded and bloody—to the other side of Zar’s throat. He squeezed.

The man roared as he squeezed tighter and Zar’s breath left. A clear fluid splashed from the brute’s helm, squirting out from one of the eye openings. An arrow had pierced the man’s eye. The grip around Zar’s throat loosened as another arrow wedged itself right next to the first, digging deeply into the same eye socket as clear fluid dribbled down the helm.

The giant fell.