No Sin Too Great

Chapter 4


“I don’t like the looks of this group,” whispered Jaron to Phyra as they approached the meeting point.

The two of them had left the monastery at dawn dressed for war and packing bedrolls and other necessary supplies. Together, they walked into the city to meet their travelling group in front of the Ogre’s Pit Tavern. Phyra had had to keep from laughing when Jaron came downstairs. He was not used to the awkward movements between his thick robe and his armor. He was forced to lean back because if he leaned forward the weight of the armor would make him topple head first down the stairs. A simple short sword slapped against his hip, the emblem of the Golden Blade was engraved on the hilt.

As they approached the tavern, they could see a four-horse coach with driver, and six warriors on horseback talking. Four of the six warriors wore the black armor of Deepvale. Only General Worjack wore the standard silver-colored armor of Lochlayn’s army. The sixth man was unfamiliar to both she and Jaron. He looked very natural, as in he’d just stepped out of the forest and decided to join the army. He wore only brown leather armor and a long hooded cloak, and seemed to be in deep conversation with the general. The four local warriors simply ignored the entrance of the two priests, but Phyra easily picked out Darius as part of the group. Much to her amazement, he was not the largest man among the four; that was reserved for a bald beast with a great axe strapped to his back.

When he saw them approach, Worjack climbed down from his enormous warhorse, and with the clanging of his armor he waved them back to the stables. Inside, they found horses of every color, each located within separated stalls.

“With so many warriors in the capital right now, there are plenty of horses to choose from. The king asks that you each select the horse of your choice for this journey. We will be on the road for three days, and the weather will be far worse the further north we go. If I may, I would select the two at the back, both are sturdy mounts, and their coats are thicker.”

As Worjack left them to choose, two stable boys approached from the back stalls, saddles held out in their arms. “Which will it be, sirs?”

Two giant animals waited for them. Both were a deep chestnut brown, and each of them was at least fifteen-hands tall. Jaron only shrugged his shoulders as Phyra looked to him for his opinion. Phyra turned to the stable boys, and nodded. They smiled and went to work prepping the animals.

Worjack was waiting for them as they returned to the street. He waved Jaron on as he took Phyra’s arm. Worjack sized her up.

“Remove your cloak so I can see what you have,” he asked.

Phyra shrugged off the knee-length fur cloak. Underneath she revealed a stunning piece of black armor. She wore a breast plate across her chest with a large red gem set over her heart (which she had no explanation for), and the metal continued down her left arm into a gauntlet that encircled her hand. Her right arm was left free of armor and clothing, revealing all of her inky flames. The way the plate was connected across the back actually allowed the tattoo that crept over her shoulder to be free as well. Priest Risyn had figured that it was best to keep it uncovered in case it was necessary to access her power.

Dilun had thrown together an unusual shirt for her to wear beneath the armor. Since a third of her body would be exposed to the elements, he had used the thickest wool he could find to cover the rest of her. The pants were made to match, both in a soft cream color. He even managed to create a pair of thigh-high boots in a similar color, and lined them with fur for warmth. And all pieces were the same color as the environment they would encounter, so where the men would stand out in their armor, she would almost blend in.

Ramad gave her a helmet as well, and this was her favorite piece. Created from the same black stone, it was a simple design with a single wing as its crest, the narrow tip of it reached down her face to protect her nose. The inside was lined with a thin layer of wool in an effort to keep the metal from freezing to her scalp. He had also affixed a thin curtain of chainmail from ear to ear across the back of the head gear, not only to hide her heritage but to also protect her neck in an attack.

Worjack walked a circle around her, and Phyra simply stood her ground as the man assessed her gear. When he was finished, he took her cloak and draped it over her shoulders again.

“You are not carrying a sword. Are you not adept with weaponry?” he asked.

Phyra shook her head, not embarrassed at her obvious shortcoming.

“You will ride up front with me and Ferasi, along with your colleague. Remember, you are here for healing services only. Leave the fighting to us,” he exclaimed. With a clap on her shoulder, Worjack left to mount his horse.

Amid the group, she could see Jaron talking to two of the men. Both were of the black armor, and wore short swords on the hips and longbows across their shoulders. On the other side of them, Phyra could see three people climbing into the carriage, two men and one woman.

Their mission was simple: escort three representatives from Deepvale’s Merchant Guild to Lochlayn. Once there, they would consult with the king about the state of Deepvale’s economy, and meet with the new regent for the area. The journey required minimal armaments because it was believed the faction that had destroyed the manor house and half of the town would still be in hiding. No foreign elves had shown their faces in Deepvale since the summer explosion. That is none except for Phyra.

It didn’t take long for the mounts to get prepared. Unfortunately, Phyra was too short to reach the stirrup on her saddle, and required assistance from one of the stable boys. That ushered a round of laughter from the warriors at the front.

Worjack rode to her side again. “Our first stop is Crestfall, and it will take us until sundown to get there if there are no distractions.”

Phyra nodded, and watched as Worjack and the one called Ferasi led the entourage, and her horse fell in line with Jaron. Trailing behind the carriage were the Deepvale warriors. She wasn’t certain that putting the man that hated her most at her back was the wisest choice. She only hoped that if something occurred that General Worjack was there to help because she would not expect any assistance from Darius. Yes, this was going to be a long mission.

~*~*~

The first day’s pace was steady, regardless of the wintery conditions they encountered just a few miles outside of Crestfall. The landscape changed greatly along the ride. The land to the north of Deepvale was mostly farmland, now dry and snow-covered from the first fall of the season. Nothing of interest dotted the scenery, and that was when the questions derived from boredom started.

“Pardon my directness,” said Worjack without turning his head. “But why would you burn down half of the town and kill the regent?”

Well, that cleared up who he was asking. Jaron shot her a look of shock at the bluntness of the general’s question. But Phyra could only give the man the same answer she’d given to Priest Risyn.

“I do not know how to answer that question.”

Switching his reins to one hand, Worjack turned as best he could in full armor. “Are you saying you did not do those things? Did they identify the wrong culprit for the crime?”

Phyra stared into the general’s eyes, and she could see his sincerity. “I have no answer for you, general. I do not have the insight into my own mind nor adequate knowledge of the situation to give you the appropriate answer. Who I am now is not who I was four months ago, however, I have found no one who can tell me anything about myself prior to the fall months.”

It was all true up until the last part, but she wasn’t certain of the amount of information the blacksmith would be able to provide. She didn’t even know if the two of them had anything outside of a working relationship. Though, with the way he had touched her lips, she suspected there was more to their relationship than he was letting on. Even now, the touch of his power still gave her a slight tingle down her back that she couldn’t attribute to their wintery surroundings.

Worjack watched Phyra as she sorted her thoughts, searching her face for any tell of a lie. Satisfied that he saw only raw truth in her confused expressions, Worjack turned his sights back to the road.

The further north they travelled, the less leafy trees dotted the land, replaced by conifers and a thin layer of tundra grass. The roads were well-traveled, so the ride was not brutal. Phyra couldn’t remember ever learning to ride a horse, much less an animal the size of her steed, but she handled him well and his attention was with her each time she clicked her tongue.

Everyone kept their faces buried within their cloaks in an attempt to absorb any heat they could find. But Phyra did not seem to be having the same difficulties as the others. Indeed, she felt the cold when the wind whipped her cloak away from her body, but the bitter temperatures did not seem to soak into her skin.

As the daylight lessened and the clouds thickened, the questions started up again, though this time, Worjack turned his attentions to her partner. “Young priest, I heard a disturbing tale about how you found your way into Deepvale. Care to clear up any misunderstandings I might have about you before we arrive at our first destination?”

Jaron coughed, and Phyra glanced at her partner. His once caramel skin was now a paler shade of beige. “I apologize, general, but I prefer to not discuss my personal misfortunes in front of the lady as they may be quite indecent in nature.”

“So,” Worjack laughed, “you’re telling me that there is fact in the harem story from the castle in Excensia. Was it four or five whores that you impregnated before you were caught?”

The beige of Jaron’s face was quickly replaced with the pink of embarrassment, and even faster still, moved into the redness of anger. He looked to Phyra, and gave her a weak smile.

But Worjack wasn’t finished with him yet. “It was idiotic on your part, of course. The whole kingdom knew their king was impotent, that’s why his heir was the adopted son of his dead brother, the previous king. I liked that you tried to blame the seven-year-old for knocking up the women. Still, it was very foolish. I should like to hear how you managed to make your escape. Though, you should know the king still has a bounty on your head, and the king’s reach is far and wide.”

As enlightening as this conversation was about her partner, Phyra felt a small amount of relief as their caravan passed over a frozen river and through Crestfall’s gateway as the daylight faded into night. She marveled at the stone structures filling the streets. The buildings were built to withstand winter’s chilly embrace, each one smoking from a chimney on the roof.

Once in the town, they followed the river to the east. There were few people on the streets, and certainly no vendors peddling their wares in the face of the cold wind. The section of town opened into a cul-du-sac towards the end of the street, and Phyra could see a grand building at the center that was larger than the others. The center was four stories high, and connected on both sides with two other buildings that were one story shorter. A great bonfire was built out front, and men were gathered around talking with mugs in their hands. A steady flow of people filed into and out of the building, and serving women walked through the crowd in heavy dresses, offering more ale to the patrons. As they drew closer, she noticed a smaller man get dragged inside by his cravat by a very buxom brunette.

The carriage stopped outside, and let its three occupants escape into the buildings warmth. Once empty, they continued around the bend to a large stable. Three young men came out to greet them as Worjack and Ferasi dismounted. Jaron handed the reins of his steed to one of the young men, then swung his legs over and jumped down. He approached Phyra’s horse, and held out his arms to her.

“Come on, Phyra. Worjack says this is our destination for the night.”

Ignoring his outstretched arms, Phyra threw her leg over the side, and slid out of her saddle to the ground. It wasn’t a graceful move, but she had already shown once that day that she was incapable of getting on her horse. The last thing she needed with these men was to lose more respect because she fell off the beast.

The large bald man and the small man in leathers walked past them, followed by the two archers who were arguing about what they were going to have tonight. The taller of the two clapped Jaron on the shoulder and smiled.

“Come on, mate! You don’t want to lose out to the likes of Emmet! He always attracts the raunchy ones! Got to make sure there’s some left for the rest of us!” he said, laughing as Jaron’s face went pale again.

As they walked away, Phyra caught the look on Jaron’s face. “Jaron, to what are they referring?”

Heavy steps approached them from the side. “Yeah, priest, why don’t you tell her where we are?” Darius said sarcastically.

“Well,” he started, looking back towards the building. More women were in the crowd now. Two of them approached the bald man, and immediately they started to kiss each other. The large man laughed, and wrapped his great arms around the both of them and escorted them inside. “We’re at an inn. We can get a meal and a bed to sleep in. But you may want to be careful. It seems this establishment caters to a certain type of clientele…”

“It’s a whorehouse,” Darius said as he turned his back to walk away. “But you look like anything other than a working girl, so hopefully you won’t get mistaken for part of the chattel.”

Phyra was still unclear on what the men were talking about, but once she got inside the main dining room, the subject became a little more obvious. Women of all shapes and sizes strolled through the room as though on parade. Worjack had procured a large table at the back, and men from their group were seated around them, all except the bald man. He was no where to be seen.

She watched carefully as Worjack ordered a round of ale for his men. Darius pushed through two women that blew kisses at him, and found a seat at the end of the table nearest to the grand fireplace. Worjack waved to the both of them, and patted a seat next to him.

“I believe he seeks your company,” she said to Jaron. At that moment, a small redhead pranced before the both of them. She reached up and traced a long nail across Jaron’s jaw. “And so does she.”

Jaron nervously glanced at Phyra. He was a man after all, but he didn’t want to leave her alone with a group of people she didn’t know, especially when a few of those might see fit to do away with his partner.

“I believe you will bunk with me this eve,” said a cool voice in Phyra’s ear.

She tried not to show her surprise when she looked to the side and saw a very exotic woman standing next her. Unlike the other women in the room, she was not advertising her wares. Instead she was very elegant in a bronze floor-length gown with a cloak of the same color draped around her. She lifted her chin to Jaron, turning his head and his attention back to the redhead who was still watching him.

“I believe one of your Goddess’s many manifestations is that of a fertility deity, is she not?” the woman asked, licking her dark red lips. “It is not a sin to procreate with the opposite sex. Go, enjoy yourself, and I will care for the priestess.”

As though her voice had spun the spell, Jaron was gone without so much as an apology, leaving Phyra alone with this unknown woman. Now things made sense. It was similar to the story spun by Worjack just an hour before. She could feel concern growing for Jaron and their current arrangements, and wondered if he might repeat his actions of the past. Phyra turned away from the staircase, choosing not to watch as another of her group accompanied Jaron up the stairs to whatever lay beyond.

The dark-haired woman at Phyra’s side walked gracefully across the stone floor and took a seat at a table near the bar. Intrigued, Phyra followed her. A moment later, a barmaid brought them a platter of meat and cheese, and two mugs of ale. The woman nodded to the food, and Phyra hesitantly staked a piece of meat with her fork.

“I apologize for not introducing myself sooner, however the general was in a hurry to leave this morning, so we did not get a chance to acquaint ourselves with our escorts,” she said as she placed a cube of cheese on her tongue. “I am Sanani, Dilun’s partner and a representative of Deepvale’s Merchant Guild.”

So this was the woman she had seen that morning, one of the three they were escorting. But she did not remember seeing anyone as exotic as her walking around Deepvale. Her skin was the deep tan of someone that grew up on an island. Her hair was dark as coal, and her golden eyes were unnerving. And from their interaction, this woman held no grudge against her.

Sanani raised her mug in a toast. “Please, make yourself comfortable and share a toast with me. To our good fortunes and a safe journey.”

Phyra set her helmet on the table and shrugged out of her cloak, revealing herself to her companion and the others in the room. As she raised her right arm to match the toast, she could hear gasps coming from the bar. Phyra ignored them, choosing to take a deep drink from her mug.

Sanani smiled to her as she forked a piece of meat. “You are as fearless as they say you are, though your actions may be foolish in nature. The people of Crestfall are not as accepting of those who are different,” she said, nibbling at the meat. “And speaking of foolish, it seems you’ve caught the eye of our resident blacksmith as well.”

Phyra looked around, and saw men and women both staring at her. Some were moving away to tables closer to the door. One woman was crouched to floor, cleaning up a mess of alcohol and meat that she had dropped. She looked across the room, and saw Darius sneer at her with disgust. Was she such an anomaly?

“To what are you referring?” Phyra asked, placing her fork back on the table and leaning back in her chair.

“Have you not noticed the cold on this journey?” Sanani asked.

Phyra merely shook her head. Sanani leaned forward. “This is what keeps you warm,” she said as she touched her hand to the gem centered over her heart. “It’s a heat stone from the volcanoes of Mehara Island in the southern isles. They are very rare, and I should know. I brought back five from my last trip home, and I sold them to Ramad for a very steep price.”

Ramad had mentioned modifications to her armor, maybe this was what he meant. Phyra touched the stone, and felt gentle warmth emitting from its flat surface.

“If you want to keep that armor, I believe I would keep it covered until we retreat to our room for the night,” Sanani warned.

She stood from the table and handed their leftover meat to the bartender. She asked for a tray of glasses and a pitcher of water before removing her cloak and folding it over the neighboring chair. A ruckus from the men’s table caught their attention.

The two archers were in the process of arm wrestling one another, and they had drawn a crowd of women who were cheering around them. A third man wearing a modest suit of soft brown leather pants and a thick black tunic approached and offered to act as their arbiter.

“That’s another member of the guild,” Sanani said as a tray was placed on their table. She reached forward and poured herself a glass of water. “He is Tayon, and he represents the farmers of Deepvale. We export not only fine cloth but large amounts of livestock and produce. Fortunately, the Calamity did not affect the farmlands themselves, but several workers are living on the farms they work because their homes were destroyed by the fire.”

Phyra caught Darius’s eye from across the room. She had never contemplated the scale of the destruction in Deepvale, but every time she looked at him, she remembered his anger on that first day. Given the opportunity, he would have killed her.

Sanani looked in the direction of Phyra’s stare. “He is fragile, that one.”

Looking at the large man, Phyra was confused. “He looks sturdy enough to me.”

Sanani laughed. “No, my dear. On the outside, yes, but on the inside, there is something missing. He lost his future on the day his home burned to the ground.

“I was there when they were found,” she continued, a haunted look crossed her face. “I’ve known Darius for a lot of years, and that day when he dug his son from the ashes, the man I knew died.

“It is my understanding that he attacked you at the monastery?”

Phyra turned away from Darius’s cold stare, and nodded to Sanani. “I fear him and those who travel with us. I do not know these men, and yet, Priest Risyn says this is my opportunity to make reparations for my horrendous past actions.”

Sanani reached for a second glass, filled it with water, and placed it before Phyra. “That is a cruel penance you must pay, priestess. Maybe I can put some of those fears to rest for you.”

Raising her half-filled glass, Sanani pointed to the arm wrestlers. “Those two are brothers, Kelan and Aze. They are from Deepvale, however they were orphaned young and cared for by a family of farmers. No family ties to the city, only their duty to protect it, so there is no reason for them to want personal revenge. They were at the castle in Lochlayn that day.”
Sanani turned towards Worjack. “I’m sure you know the general since he has been in town for a couple of months. However, I know little about the man he travels with.”

“Ferasi,” Phyra stated before taking a drink of water.

Sanani smiled at her. “He is something of an enigma. When he is in town, he is always at Worjack’s side. I’ve heard that he leads the general’s stealth group, but that’s just a rumor. When he first came to town, we didn’t know what to make of him.

“They say he speaks to no one, only to Worjack. I believe he is human enough, but there is something I see in his eyes, something wild that is other. Dilun and I have discussed him before, but we can’t seem to figure him out. And we have you,” she said, bowing her head to Phyra. “You too are something different, something wild. Maybe along this road we travel, he might open up to you.”

Phyra was not certain that she understood Sanani’s implication. “I am no spy,” she said, trying to keep her tone even and not show her offense.

Sanani laughed. The sound was pleasant with a sultry undertone, making Phyra wonder again about her roots. “No, I mean no disrespect. I simply mean that you may be people with a similar nature. He may find familiarity with you that he would not find in us normal folk.”

Phyra understood that the woman was attempting to form a camaraderie with her, and her words seemed genuine, but as with the others in town she had met, Phyra still had underlying suspicions about this woman’s motives. Why tell her all these things when they had only met a scant few moments before.

Phyra took another sip of water, and found the bartender staring at her. She had not bothered to cover herself up, and he seemed more curious than afraid. She decided to ignore the man’s attention, and returned her focus to Sanani.

“What of the large man?” she asked.

“Emmet?” she laughed. “He’s like Darius in some ways, big and scary at least. But that is where the similarities end. He’s more muscle, cock, and heart than brain. He loves his women, especially in multiples. But he carries no ill will towards you, at least no more than the others. Word is that he attempted to rescue Darius’s family, but was unable to get to them in time, and suffered horrendous burns for his efforts. It’s only now that any of us have seen him since the fire.

“You see, Darius’s wife was a kind woman, and she used to care for the soldiers who did not have families of their own. At the end of every week, she and some of the regent’s house staff created great feasts for them. She wanted to keep them safe, so there was no alcohol served, believed it would lead them to a path of ruin. After a while, others of us were invited to attend, and the feast would turn into a festive party. The regent always kept to his quarters, not wanting his men to think of work on that particular night. The men loved her dearly, and her loss was felt by all of them.”

Phyra looked in Darius’s direction again. He did not see her this time, and she watched as he carried on a conversation with Tayon and Worjack, choosing to ignore the arguing brother archers. She had taken something away from all of them, and she felt shame not because of the actions themselves, but because she had no memories of what she had done. No memories meant no regret. Her human self was very troubled by this notion.

Sanani set her empty glass on the wooden tray and stood from the table. “Come, the general has seen to it that we share a room on the top floor away from the manly digressions. I should like to retire before one of them thinks I am available for purchase.”

Sanani left her side and headed up the stairs. Phyra collected her cloak and helmet, and passed the tray to the bartender. As he took it from her, his calloused hand grazed over hers.

“Pardon me, miss,” he said, with a smile that was missing some teeth. Phyra merely nodded and stepped away from the bar.

Phyra rounded the corner from the bar and found Jaron’s redhead sitting on the stairs, blocking her path. When she saw Phyra, she pointed a knobby finger at her.

“You should thank your lucky stars, missy. He should have been mine!” she said, standing up to look Phyra in the eye.

Phyra stepped away from the girl, not out of fear, but from the stench radiating from her mouth. “Has something befallen my partner?” she asked as she moved further from the woman’s toxic breath.

“Apparently, he has fallen in love,” she said sarcastically, her voice lower than before. “All he could do was whine about this woman who was different from anyone else he knew, this woman that barely knows that he exists. Shit, I didn’t even have the heart to charge him because he was so pathetic.”

The redhead pushed her way past Phyra, and headed to the bar where a mug was waiting for her. Phyra didn’t understand what the woman was talking about, and chose to ask Sanani about it the following day. For now, she simply wanted to get away from the dining room that seemed to get smaller as more people came in.

At the top of the stairs, she found five doors, two to her left and right and one straight ahead. Unfortunately, Sanani had only instructed her that the room was at the top of the stairs, but didn’t say which one. With that knowledge, she made the practical decision to head for the door ahead, located directly at the top of the stairs.

With a hand on the doorknob, she heard a woman yelp from the other side. With more force than was necessary, Phyra shoved the door open so hard it bounced off the connecting wall. She took a moment to inspect the situation, but found Sanani no where in sight. A moment later, the circumstances of the room’s occupants quickly sank in.

There before her on the carpeted floor were three people, one on her back and two on their knees. Emmet towered over the two women he had entered the inn with. The blonde was directly in front of him on her hands and knees. In front of her on her back was the brunette, her legs spread wide with the blonde’s face bobbing up and down between them with the motion of Emmet’s movement behind her. Both women were cooing and moaning. And all three of them were naked.

Emmet grabbed the woman’s hips harder and pulled her back towards him, causing her to moan loader. As he moved in the candle’s light, Phyra could see that his left arm and most of his chest was a scarred mess. It looked as though someone had simply attempted to grab his skin and wrinkle it, then tried to smooth it back over his bones. Some of the skin was darker and redder in places than the rest. And that’s when Emmet looked up and saw Phyra examining him and their display on the floor.

“You looking to join in?” he asked, slapping the blonde across the backside, making her squeal. “This one’s wearing down, so I’ve got an opening coming up soon.”

The blonde looked over her shoulder and glared at Emmet. She stuck her tongue out, then leaned forward and used that tongue on the brunette. Phyra was stunned, unable to speak or retreat. Fortunately, she felt someone approach from behind.

“Your room is on the next floor,” said a gruff voice in her ear.

Trying desperately to not act startled, she bowed her head from Emmet’s gaze and attempted to back away. However Ferasi was standing directly behind her, and prevented her retreat.

“Ferasi! Come on in, take a load off!” Emmet bellowed as he thrust hard into the woman again. This time she yelled in ecstasy, then collapsed to the floor. Emmet kneeled before them, his cock glistening in the candle’s light. “This one will be ready in a few minutes, and you look like you might like ‘em blonde. As you can see, this one’s all natural.”

Ferasi placed a hand on her waist, startling her more. Carefully, he guided her to the side, then reached into the room to grab the door.

“Emmet, your brunette’s getting cold,” he said, smiling to the naked soldier.

Emmet focused on the woman on her back. He got down on his hands and climbed over the limp blonde to settle himself between the brunette’s legs. “Mmm, well, we can’t have that.”

As Ferasi carefully closed the door, Phyra heard another deep moan coming from behind it. Yet, she couldn’t make herself move. She knew what she had walked in on since this was a whorehouse. But her feet were riveted to the floor not only by her surroundings, but also by the fact that Ferasi, a man she had yet to meet, still had a hand resting gently on her waist.

“Follow the hall to your right, there’s a separate staircase for our private rooms,” he said in a low voice. Then he removed his hand, and when Phyra turned, she found him already halfway down the stairs.

Phyra turned down the dark hallway to find an open doorway at the end, and what appeared to be railings going up and down. Without further hesitation, she pulled her cloak around her body and followed the hall.

She wondered if what she had seen was something she ever done in her past life. Had she lain with a man before? Had she experienced the same ecstasy as the women with Emmet? And the more she thought about it, the more the lack of memory made her sad. And what’s more, would she ever feel that level of passion in her new life?

She had felt something extraordinary with Ramad when he had kissed her, but was that actual passion or just the sharing of their elemental powers? Would she ever know the difference? And speaking of passion, who had Jaron been talking about with his escort? The only women he had access to were the priestesses of the Golden Sword. She had never seen him with any other. Could it be a woman from his past, from the harem?

Phyra was so deep in her reflection that when she crossed through the doorway, she didn’t see the man approach her from behind and shove her into the back wall. She dropped her helmet in an attempt to slow her greeting with the oncoming stone. But with one hand on her back, he placed his other arm into the back of her neck and forced her face into the wall. Hot breath fell over her ear.

“Yeah, high and mighty bitch, not so tough now, are you?” said a raspy voice she didn’t recognize. Phyra could smell ale and old fish on his breath.

“Unhand me,” she said as best she could with her face pressed into the stone wall. But she was certain of one fact; this was not one of her companions.

“I’ll let you go long enough to strip you of your fancy armor. I can get a pretty coin for it down on the docks,” he said as he thrust a knee between her legs, disrupting her balance. He removed his hand from her back and pulled the cloak away to rub her hip.

“Had you asked nicely, I would have made you a matching set,” said a deep voice from above.

Phyra couldn’t move her head, but she could hear footsteps creak from the shaky wooden stairs.

“You see, that’s my handy work that you are ruining against that stone wall. Now I’m going to be up all night fixing the damage, and I won’t get any sleep. I’ll make sure to inform the king about your lack of hospitality to his guests, and about the complete disregard for your patrons’ personal belongings.”

Phyra felt pressure from the man’s body lessen as he turned to face his provoker. However, he continued to stroke her hip. She fought off the urge to jerk away from his touch as he massaged the muscle harder. “This ain’t got nothing to do with you. I only want the woman.”

Phyra snorted, and the man on the stairs laughed. “I’d say that she is the pricier of the two, but I think she’d take offense. So I’ll only say this once, let her go or she will kill you.”

The man pushed her into the wall again, this time catching her off-guard and causing her head to bounce off of the stone. The pain felt like a shockwave through her head and down her shoulders. Instantly, her hand started to glow, and small flames grew from the tips of her fingers. As if by instinct, she dropped her flaming hand and grabbed the man’s arm. She thought of heat, and pain, and the man screamed.

She felt him release her from his grip. But she waited before turning around, anticipating a return attack from the drunkard. However, she was to be disappointed. Phyra could hear footsteps, one set tumbling down the stairs behind her, and others coming from the hallway.

Phyra looked to the doorway as Darius and Ferasi came through, but not before she mentally extinguished the flames that threatened to climb up her arm and ruin her cloak. She wasn’t sure what they saw in her face, but Darius had the same look of disgust that she was used to from him. She could see the accusation in his eyes. Ferasi was as blank and stoic as she’d seen him all day.

From above, footsteps descended and her rescuer said, “The bartender was about to assault her. He wears her mark on his flesh.”

Ferasi nodded and disappeared down the stairwell. Darius looked from her to the man on the stairs. She could sense something between them, but was not familiar with what that could be. Darius turned on his heel, and headed back down the main hallway.

Left alone in the stairwell, Phyra leaned against the wall, and looked up the stairs to her savior. “Good evening, Ramad.”

TBC