Dragonlands(11)

A keen rose out of the crowd on the other side of the building. A group of screams and clanging of swords followed.

“What the –”

Connor took off running, with Tressa on his heels.





Chapter Eight


Tressa turned the corner of the village hall, out of breath. Arms were never raised in Hutton’s Bridge. In fact, as far as she knew, they were kept locked up in the village hall. No one had a reason to fight against anyone else in her little village. The scratch of steel on steel halted her in her tracks.

Connor ran ahead. “Bastian!”

Tressa stood on her toes, peering over the swarms of people watching the fight none of them had bothered to stop. Connor leapt onto Bastian’s back, wrapping his arms under Bastian’s, yanking him backward.

“Put it down,” he begged his friend. Bastian had Connor by a few inches and a few dozen pounds. His muscles bulged, straining against Connor’s unrelenting tugging. The sword he held was clean, unblemished. It was a virgin blade, never used in battle.

Tressa’s stomach sank to her toes. No one was allowed to create new weapons. There were more than enough stored in the armory. Bastian’s work in the forge was supposed to focus solely on essentials needed for the village, not on the production of weapons. He would be disciplined harshly. The stocks or maybe banishment into the fog. It depended on the elders’ moods and Udor’s sense of mercy.

Bastian tossed the sword at the other man. Tressa couldn’t remember his name, but he was one of the many who worked in the fields, planting and harvesting the food they relied on so heavily. The man went back to guarding the three bodies lying prone for the viewing.

“I better not hear another word out of your mouth,” Bastian said with a snarl in his throat. “You’ll pay.” Redness crept up his neck, matching the fiery hair on his head.

The other man laughed. “You’re the one who’s going to pay, boy. Where did you get that sword?”

“None of your concern.” Bastian shrugged Connor off. He probably could have thrown him easily from the start, but he and Connor were great friends. Bastian knew better than to hurt those on his side.

Connor clapped Bastian on the shoulder. “Let’s take a walk, okay?”

Tressa strained to hear the answer, but couldn’t over the sound of the crowd. They’d gone from silent, watching the fight, to talking amongst themselves again. Crisis averted, they went back to worrying about the illness and the three dead. A few looked askance at Tressa. She remembered Connor’s warning and slipped off into the shadows again.

She wrung her hands, not sure where to go or what to do. She could hide in her cottage until the anger waned. No one would think Tressa had done anything to purposely start an illness, not even if it meant cancelling the group set to leave through the fog. It was a stretch, even for the most paranoid person.

Looking over her shoulder to make sure no one was following, Tressa rounded the corner of the building, only to run into Bastian’s chest. His hands grabbed her upper arms, helping her stay upright.

“Sorry.” Tressa stepped backward, stumbling into the side of the building. Every time Bastian touched her, it was like being struck by lightning.

“We need to talk to you.” Only then did she notice Connor standing next to Bastian.

“Oh, okay, um, I was just heading back to my cottage. Do you want to come with me?”

Connor nodded. Bastian followed a few paces behind the two of them. To anyone who noticed, it might look like Bastian was simply moving in the same direction as Connor and Tressa, not walking with them. The three of them knew it was better that way, without even communicating it explicitly.

Tressa opened the door to her cottage, holding it for both Connor and Bastian to slip inside. She glanced around. No one was paying attention to them, at least not that she could see.

She closed the door and leaned up against it. Connor sat at the table while Bastian paced the room. He hadn’t been in her cottage in a couple of years and Tressa was struck by how he seemed to have outgrown it. A memory of playing cards at the table seemed like a different life, almost as if all of them had outgrown their little village.

“Connor, you already filled me in on what’s going on out there. Bastian, do you want to tell me why you were fighting that man?”

“His wife just died.” Bastian said it under his breath.

“What is wrong with you?” Tressa couldn’t help herself. There wasn’t one good reason he should snap at a man suffering grief like that.

“He blamed you. He said this was your fault. I was only defending you.” Bastian stared at his shoes, unable to look Tressa in the eyes.