Logline

While on a rescue mission gone crazed, a holy warrior and a rogue fight bandits, demons, and the urge to rip each other's clothes off.

Blurb

The mission, rescuing a princess, could be going better.

Séa is an earnest paladin, honest and gullible. Tash is a rogue, tricky, greedy, and generally unable to hold down a steady job. Try as they might, they can't see eye to eye. And yet, they seem to understand one another.

Along with Ghomarck the wizard, they infiltrate a tower prison in hopes of spiriting away the heiress trapped within. But what if the princess doesn't want to go? What if the tower is a trap laid for them? What if an Abyssal Planelord has a personal interest in the matter?

And what if completing the mission starts to seem less interesting than ducking behind a battlement and snogging? One thing's for sure. Séa and Tash are very, very poor at risk management.

FF friends to lovers adventure-romance for adult readers. Occasionally sexy, some unfiltered language, some violent bits.

~Chapter One~

Letter

Séa

The sturdy young woman inhaled deeply. Among and around the scents of cow patties, pig dung, and chicken poo lurked hints of fresh air. Affectionately, she swatted a sleepy sow's rump. The huge mother pig blurted a basso protest but rolled off the low step. Once the way cleared, the human climbed up the nine steps that ascended the stone-and-mortar wall, lifting the hem of her rough spun monk robes to avoid tripping.

From the wall's top, the view expanded to include the horizon. Evening twilight outlined distant mountains and forested hills. The thin crescent of the messenger moon hung weightless in the west, over vague outlines of village rooftops. The young woman caught her breath as she drank in the scenic wonder. Light as a summer zephyr, a sigh of longing trickled from her parted lips.

She widened her stance and clasped hands behind her back. Her gaze drifted higher, and her gray eyes scanned for a glimpse of the first star.

From the odiferous yard behind her arose a baritone squawk. "Beshrew thee, monstrous pork!" The grumbling continued, at a quieter volume. "My knees can't take this any longer. Pigs underfoot all day, pigs underfoot all night." A plump shadow flapped its way toward the woman's observing station. It was Friar Obel, who should have been the last to complain about an overabundance of pigs. His appetite for pork sparked legends.

As he heaved his well-fed bulk up the short flight of steps, the woman spoke in placid tones. "Looking for me, Friar?"

"Yes, Séa. Yes, indeed."

"Why?" A moment later, her heart took a leap within her chest. An irrational sensation of weightlessness made the world fall away. She felt as if she stood on clouds. Her lips trembled on the impossible words. "The Crusade? They answered my letter?"

Friar Obel concentrated on his feet. Stability, for him, required concentration. The wall was not high, but he was neither young nor athletic. Offhandedly, he replied, "No, Séa."

The clouds beneath Séa's feet turned back to stone, but her heart, roused from its slumber, hammered away, reluctant to sleep again. Her shoulders slumped.

The Friar, now securely parked, swiveled his merry face to hers. "Something better, probably. A letter." He plunged a hand into his vestments. "A missive bearing the King's seal." He added, under his breath, "Might've got pig shit on it. Sorry. Here."

"For me?" Her face lengthened with incomprehension. "How? Why?"

"Believe me, I'm as stunned as you are." Friar Obel shook his hand, and the parchment fluttered.

Séa took it and broke the royal wax seal.

~Chapter One: Part Two~

Tash Steals

Tash

Tash sagged against what appeared to be a potions shop and shut her eyes. It's midnight, my feet hurt, I haven't a coin to my name, and what does the village I finally find smell like? Excrement. At least sixteen varieties of it in various stages of fermentation.

Starlight and the pink light of Gáo the slow moon bathed the dirt track that served as the main street of this village. A couple of sleeping cows all but blocked the road. Tash couldn't read the next-door merchant's shingle, but the one after that had a lantern lit. Its brass shingle looked like the cutout shape of a bell at first glance. Upon closer inspection, it resolved into the outline of a peasant girl with arms outstretched, offering two mugs. A tavern. Suddenly, thirst burns in my throat, because I can't afford even cheap ale right now.

Faint clanking noises past the tavern distracted Tash. It sounded like a walking suit of armor, just about the last thing a village like this should possess at midnight. But true to her ears, a figure in full plate strode into the circle of lamplight at the tavern entrance. She carried a helmet loosely upon her hip. Instead of a padded cap, tightly braided hair cushioned her skull. Instead of a sword, a mace dangled from her belt.

A white-robed figure stepped from the shadowed doorway and waved. Tash's self-pitying ennui vanished. Look at that color, so emphatically not feces-stained. Look at the embroidered trim. That's no local. This village is too small to even have a wizard. I smell money.

"Greetings," wheezed the white-robed fellow. His full, frizzy beard rivaled his robe in whiteness. "Sir Fawk, by chance?"

"No, I'm Séa," the armored woman replied. What a mellow voice. Unhurried.

"Of course you are, my apologies. The eyesight is the first to go, yes? I'm Ghomarck of the circle, as you might have guessed."

With a metallic clash, the woman saluted, fist-to-shoulder. "A pleasure, master Ghomarck."

"Shall we?" The wizard gestured a long-sleeved arm toward the tavern door. Without further conversation, they entered. A warm orange glow and a faint jumble of crowd noise spilled from the doorway for a few moments. Darkness and silence returned as the door closed on them.

He was definitely rich. One of those pouches around his belt is bound to be a coin purse. Should I lurk outside and pick his pocket?

No. Not if he's got a fully armored bodyguard.

Thuds of horse hooves jerked Tash's head the direction opposite the tavern. Busy damn midnight in a sleepy village. Who is this, now?

A sweaty horse trotted toward the sleeping cattle. Upon finding the road blocked, it balked and whinnied. Its male rider spat, "What is it, you spleeny pig?"

Tash's cloak billowed as she flitted closer. The moonlight revealed embroidery upon his tailed jacket and glowed upon a billowy scarf bunched aristocratically at his throat. A sheathed saber hung at his left hip, but on the right— Feck, yes. A coin purse, attached by thin leather to his belt. Tash accelerated toward the spot.

"Fecking cows," grumbled the aristocrat. He backed his horse up and skirted the groggy obstacles.

Tash sauntered forth and casually laid a hand on the reins before the horse gained speed. She summoned a gaudy accent and saucy inflections. "Need some 'elp, good sir?"

"Gah!" blurted the man. His cap bore a feather, and his mustache was an over-trimmed thin line across his upper lip. "Where'd you come from, woman? But, as a matter of fact, you can help. Tell me the way to Ompex." After a brief glance at Tash, he stared down the village road, head tilted back, apparently to reinforce the cliché that rich people always had their noses in the air.

Like I know how to get to Ompex. Tash drifted from the horse's nose to the rider's knee. She plucked a stubby knife from the small of her back and palmed it in her left hand. When in doubt, make fiction. "You'll be wantin' the second right-hand turn, melord."

"Ha!" barked the gent, "And what are the chances there will be a signpost?"

"Low, melord." No time for subtlety, Tash. She pulled the bag with her right hand and slashed at the thongs with her left.

Success. Clutching soft leather, Tash sprinted away.

The aristocrat spluttered, "Thief! You will pay for that in blood."

Pigspittle. He's quicker on the uptake than I could have wished for. Tash rocketed toward a building, probably another shop. She jammed her knife back into its sheath and stuffed the gent's coin purse down her leather trousers. She flipped the hood of her cloak over her face. Tash's skin tones were darker than many, but still, black cloth beat Tash's olive skin for blending with the night.

The rider wheeled his horse around and dug his spurs into its flanks. With a neigh of protest, the horse galloped in pursuit.

Tash veered around the building and out of sight. Her ears located the horse with precision, and she kept the building between her and her hunter. She doubled back, weaving in serpentine fashion around the shop stalls. In the moonlight, her eyesight sufficed, albeit barely, to avoid numerous piles of dung. As she rounded the potions shop, the tavern's brass shingle caught her eye.

I can afford a mead, now. Why not?

The aristocrat's curses and the thuds of his mount had receded into the distance. Tash flitted from shadow to shadow to the tavern door. As she entered, a warm orange glow and a faint jumble of crowd noise spilled from the doorway. The light momentarily revealed Tash, cowled head to booted toe. Feck. Oh, well. With luck, he didn't see that.