The Lover's Curse

Chapter 1: Mine for Tonight

I wipe the blood and gore from my sword before I slide it into its leather sheath. I look around, observing the surrounding carnage—five dead brigands. A pang of guilt grips my chest as I stare into the face of the youngest among them, only a bit older than me. Twenty, at most. How quickly I had cut him down without even a second thought. His blank eyes seem accusatory, and the smell of blood—his blood—lingers in my nose, threatening to make me sick.

Luke's voice cuts through my thoughts, returning me to the present. "They weren't much of a challenge, were they, Valen?" He says with his winning smile. Even with blood splattered across the side of his face, the flash of his white teeth manages to lighten my mood.

"No, they weren't," I reply. But how could they be? They certainly weren't knights like Luke or trained fighters like Joan and me. I try not to think of what cruel circumstances brought these people here. Whatever hardships they faced did not give them the right to pillage and murder. I look away from the dead boy and to the surrounding trees. I wish they had let us take them alive, but they left us no choice. What's done is done; they were criminals and needed to face justice. Now, these roads will be safe—from these fools, at least.

I turn, leaving Luke to gather their sword belts so we can collect the bounty. On the outskirts of the scene, I see my friend, Joan, who caved in two of the brigand's skulls. She's almost a full foot shorter than me and not very intimidating, with her bouncy curls and round face. Still, I know better than to underestimate her. She's strong, well-trained, and one of the few worshippers of Valeia blessed with magic. She looks like the visage of a Warmaiden, kneeling in prayer, garbed in the silver mail and red tunic of her order, with her bloody mace laid across her lap.

She opens her large, brown eyes and rises to her feet. "Gather the corpses. We must burn them." She always says we must burn any bodies after a battle to cleanse their souls before they reach the afterlife, though I think the practice probably started to ward off the spread of sickness. Luke and I gather the bodies and arrange them according to her instructions. I make sure not to look at their faces, not wanting to worsen my guilt. She closes her eyes in prayer for a moment, her fingers forming a circle over her chest where a spark of white fire bursts to life. Without a word, she ignites the bodies and stares into the flames gravely. "Let's get a move on before it gets dark." She's right—no use wasting any more time. Luke throws the belts into his bag, and we bring the swords to sell them for extra coin. We leave the bodies to burn, her divine flames causing no risk to the trees and brush.

We only get a few hours of travel before the sun sets. Luke finds us a small grove just a little ways off the road where we set up camp. The surrounding trees are tall and densely leafed, completely obscuring the road from view. Joan gets a small fire going, and we cozy up next to it as the night grows colder. The nip in the air warns of the end of summer.

We sit in silence for a while. The look on the young brigand's face is still fresh in my mind, and the memory is making me pensive. Luke passes me a small silver bottle and I take a swig. The alcohol burns my throat, but I know it will soon turn into a pleasant warmth. I'm thankful for the drink, it's a strong, expensive brew. Hopefully, strong enough to keep thoughts of blood and death out of my mind. I pass it to Joan, and she takes a large gulp. We wordlessly pass the drink before we're all properly tipsy.

"What are you dolts going to do with the money?" Joan asks with a mischievous grin. It's good to see her more like her usual self.

"No idea, you?" Luke responds.

"You already have all the money you need, Sir Luke Amias. I say Joan and I split the earnings amongst ourselves." I'm joking, of course. But being from a noble house and being knighted so young, he doesn't need the money.