Far Horizons: Tales of Sci-Fi, Fantasy and Horror. Issue #17 August 2015 | Page 12

Daughter of
Death

“Nothing more than a serving girl,” Arwyn
replied, trying to free her wrist without bringing
attention to herself. Too late, she realized, spying a
soldier who’d overheard the older woman.

By Esther Olson

“What’s this now, Maura?”

Arwyn fought the urge to gag. He stank of old
beer, shit, and dirty sweat. His armour looked like it
hadn’t been cleaned since he acquired it. Judging from
the smears of dirt on his face, she decided he hadn’t
taken a bath this decade. “Nothing,” she managed.
“She’s just making things up.”

Chapter One
“Order up!”

“Quiet, girl. I wasn’t askin’ you.” He turned to
Maura, waved at her to continue.

Arwyn sighed, swiped the sweat off her
forehead, and shook her head at her friend, Emmy. “I
got it. See if you can deal with those troublemakers
over there,” she said with a pointed nod to a group of
rambunctious soldiers. The whole bunch had grabbed,
ogled, and otherwise made a nuisance of themselves
upon the female servers of the tavern. Arwyn lost
her temper and almost swung at a soldier before she
remembered where she was and knew such an act
would be disastrous.

“She don’t look human,” Maura said, her grip
tightening. A dark line formed between her brows.
“Don’t sound it neither.”

Emmy gave her a rueful grin, winked with
her sparkling green eyes and sauntered over with a
purpose. She was much more experienced with men
than Arwyn and accustomed to their clumsy overtures.
With ease, she began to flirt with them and set them
laughing, easing the tension in the whole common
area. As long as the soldiers were happy, the people
were safe.

“Really?” He grabbed Arwyn’s chin, turned her
face this way and that into the firelight, studying her
features. He took in the odd iridescence and the slight
tilt of her eyes, the smooth texture of her hair, and the
way her cheekbones were shaped. He turned her face
to the side, then to the other, saw how the size of her
face was compared to his hand. Even as he looked at
her, Arwyn’s gaze darted around the room, thinking
quickly. He narrowed his gaze and seemed to study
her features and she felt his fingers tighten. “What are
you? No human looks like you.”

Well, safer.

“R-really?” Arwyn gasped out, wincing as his
fingers dug deeper into her face. “I feel sorry for your
womenfolk.”

Arwyn snatched up the bowls of steaming
potatoes and carried them over to patrons who had
ordered a meal. “Here you go, enjoy,” she offered with
a polite smile.

Evidently that had been the wrong thing to say.
Enraged, he shoved her against the wall, shifted his
hand from her face to her throat. “Watch your words,
Wench!”

The woman of the pair grabbed her wrist. “You
don’t look like one of us,” she accused, suspicion in
her dark eyes. She frowned, deepening the lines about
her face. “What are you?”

“Hey! Hey!” Emmy rushed over, grabbed his
arm, and was shoved off for her efforts. “Look, what
does it matter? Maybe she’s just a refugee who came
here to work and just get by!”

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