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34 – “No Tellies”
🕑 Added 2025-07-22 13:15:03 +0000 UTCMorning had turned to afternoon. Rennia stepped onto the cart, throwing two bags into the back next to the sacks of goods they had come for. The cart creaked as she sat beside Ishmere, who gave her a smile that felt too good to be true.
Rennia was still riding the high of being "tended to" by the guild worker named Mara. Ishmere kept nudging close, her knees brushing against Rennia's thighs, her feet playing footsie beneath the wooden planks. She was on the verge of igniting another fuse, but something else bothered her. Ishmere stared forward, deep in thought, her mind unreadable.
She smelled different—she smelled like sexual fluids, to be exact. Heavy musk mixed with perfume. Her hair was neater than when they had set out. She seemed sated and at ease. That tipped Rennia off.
"Just where the hell did you go?"
"No tellies." She smiled, eyes deliberately evasive. That wasn't cute. Secrets weren't cute.
"I can smell the aftermath of whatever 'business' you conducted," Rennia hinted softly so the cart driver wouldn't overhear. Ishmere didn't budge. "Well, are you going to tell me?"
"I met up with an old friend, that's it." She didn't elaborate, her face flat.
"Old friends, huh? And it's something your new apprentice doesn't need to know?"
"Nope. No tellies. What I do in my personal time, I prefer to keep discrete. You understand, don't you?"
She did, and she didn't.
Dontellin—she believed that was the cart driver's name—leaned toward them as they approached the city gates. He was staring particularly hard. What was his deal? This was going to be an awkward ride.
"So, Ms. Rennia, judging by your heavy accent, am I to assume you aren't native to the borderlands?" He smirked at her, eyes darting over her body. It was a good thing she was clothed and armored. She was one minute away from smacking him over the head.
"No, I'm afraid not."
"Well, should you require assistance around the city, I'd more than welcome the chance to 'show' you around." He winked, his lips protruding.
She pulled her lips back in a grimace. "Thank you." Not a bad-looking man, but persistent and annoying.
"You know, I've hauled cargo from the western lands to the eastern sunset ports, and what I've heard among my kind—drivers—is that foreign soil breeds strange appetites. I'd bet you have stories that would make my heart race, wherever you're from."
She rolled her eyes. She could see where this was going. He just wouldn't stop. Ishmere said little to his flirtations, watching the road, them, and the sky.
"And I'd wager you have stories about missing teeth if you don't redirect this conversation. Keep your pants on."
Rennia bit down on a piece of overripe fruit. The contents were sticky and pulpy; the fig she chomped was sun-scorched to sweetness. It helped with the lingering stares Dontellin gave her.
"Feisty. I respect that. Most local girls are all bound up in local politics and family honor. But someone like you—I'm willing to bet you know more than pretense."
She pulled out a map to occupy herself and gather her thoughts. Emotions could wait. Dontellin didn't interest her; she wanted to spend as little time with him as possible. The map wasn't special—an in-depth overview of the upper borderlands where they were, showing landmarks and known "dungeons" that surrounded the city of Ivarcant. It had been a long day and she was tired, but if all went well, in a few days she would be back to delving, making money, feeding her belly. Deciding if she wanted to go back, see her mother, maybe steal Lyanna from that cult of a religion.
Plans. Plans. Plans.
"Oh, Ishmere, forgot to tell you. I'm getting appraised tomorrow, maybe even some tests. I plan on delving soon. I'll probably start out as tin-ranked again."
Ishmere furrowed her brows. "So soon? I thought you'd help with the reorganization of the tavern at least. You said you would, and what about the special lessons I planned for you?"
"Special lessons?" Dontellin interjected. Ishmere was smaller than Rennia, looked younger. Dontellin assumed things.
"Ahem. Magic lessons. Adventurer stuff." Ishmere grinned at him. Rennia wasn't impressed. "Anyway, it's a bit sudden, don't you think? After everything?"
Rennia's eyes locked onto the map. "Look, I can do both. Maybe even more—the other stuff, you know. I just need to clear my head. I need to kill something, and rats won't cut it. You get it?"
"I do. It's just—"
Ishmere was promptly interrupted. Someone shouted from afar, calling to someone in particular. "Rennia Perillion!"
Cassandra, the half-devil girl, again. She seemed happier than when Rennia had barged in on her—almost impulsive and eager. She ran after the cart where dust was kicking up. Rennia did not want to deal with her right now.
Rennia perked up, her expression turning into a scowl. She tapped Dontellin on the shoulder. "Quick, hurry up!"
"What? Why—"
"Just do it!"
The cart driver sped up, the horse galloping faster into the streets. Rennia's hands covered her face. The words [Shadow Step] rang loudly in her ears, and she saw Cassandra briefly vanish from existence and reappear almost next to the cart.
"Why are you ignoring me? I just want to catch up!"
Ishmere turned to Rennia, startled and wary. "Who is that? And why is she calling you by your full name?"
Rennia shrugged, still scowling. "Long, dumb story. A crazy bitch. Can't you zap her with lightning or something, please?"
"That would probably be criminal," Dontellin shouted from the front.
Rennia mumbled, "Well, just blast her with something, or I'm going to use my sword. I don't want to interact with her—she's nuts."
Ishmere waved her palm around the cart, around them.
"Wombs of winds, currents bright, compress these moments, speed our flight. Swift as starlight, and crude as clouds under, shake us like a storm make us thunder and blitz!"
She muttered the words [Haste] loudly, and the cart rocketed forward. Rennia was pulled upward by the sudden inertia, slamming into the back of the cart. Her head spun as time seemed to slow and she could move faster than she should have been able to.
Dontellin shouted from the front, "What the fuuuuck!"
The cart raged through streets. Dontellin grabbed the reins and the horse pivoted around the corner, narrowly missing people crossing the road.
"Lady Ishmere, I can't keep this up!" he screamed in panic.
Ishmere cast another spell. Rennia was curious where she had gotten this sudden burst of energy. And her spell casting was quiet a magnificient sight to behold.
"Leaden limbs and sluggish breath, slow as winter, cold as death![Slow]"
The cart slowed down, but their mystery guest had disappeared. Dontellin looked pissed. Ishmere tossed another small bag of gold over to him, and his expression changed to joy. Money did make the world go round. And gold made a man prostrate himself.
"Well, Rennie, are you going to give me details?" Ishmere asked.
Rennie. She didn't need to call her that. Rennia was reluctant to explain; speaking about things like that brought bad omens. She was more interested in the spells Ishmere casted. But she owed Ishmere a brief explanation.
"Someone from back home, or formerly. She set the village aflame like a decade ago. She's a nobody—just nuts. I don't even want to interact with her. I don't want to speak about her." Rennia stared down at the houses standing still as they moved. Old traumas tickled her brain; she threw them away. It wasn't relevant, shouldn't be.
"Well, now you have my attention, and several miles of riding await us, so start spilling."
"I—I... you know what? No, I'm not in the mood. Forget about her."
Ishmere seemed unsatisfied, but so was Rennia. Ishmere chose not to press.
Leaving the gates had been easier than entering them. The guards were still on post; all of them gave them knowing looks as they passed, didn't ask anything. Some were afraid of Ishmere, some of what was between her legs. After that, they were on the road. They passed the bend where they had seen the panther once. Rennia glanced out, hoping. Nothing but dead brush and silence.
"Still not going to tell me who it was?"
Ishmere didn't even look at her. "No tellies. But you could tell me about that devil girl."
Rennia sighed. "I'd rather not speak about it. Trust is a two-way thing, you know."
Those were the last words between them for miles.
The cart rumbled as it came to a heavy stop. Ishmere shifted and stretched. Dontellin leaned over, staring at Rennia. "You two owe me drinks after that stunt you asked me to pull. You, Rennia, for asking me to risk law and honor, and you, Ms. Ishmere, for casting a nasty spell on me."
Rennia showed him her middle finger. Ishmere interjected, "You got paid extra, didn't you? Besides, you couldn't handle me, cart boy. Stick to hauling cargo."
Dontellin let out a horrible laugh. Rennia threw herself off the cart, hauling bags. She stopped before entering, her eyes ahead, freezing. Something was off—the door wasn't as it had been. Sure, it was partially broken, but it was hanging open. Someone had been here, left in a rush.
This was wrong. She felt chills creep up her spine.
She drew her weapons, and Ishmere's hands were raised, ready to cast. She could see the haste spell had affected her again, but Ishmere stood ready. Dontellin went completely quiet, not moving. The horse picked up on the tense environment and kicked its hoof once, then stopped.
Rennia pressed inside. The interior was dimmer than they had left it—blinds and curtains were drawn. There was a faint smell that was off. Some of the crates were disturbed, and the cupboards of the kitchen were open. All of her coffee was gone, little streaks spilled everywhere. She turned her head.
Something had scuttled fast, unseen and moving. Small, humanoid—little toe prints on the ground.
Ishmere started sniffing. She said one word, and Rennia was disturbed. "Goblin."
Rennia turned up her nose. "You can smell goblin? By what?"
"It must be a member of the nearby tribe. Nothing to worry about."
"Nothing to worry about? My stuff was ransacked. And look, they tried to get into the basement."
"There might be a reason for that. Don't worry about it."
"What possible reason?" She stared, then blinked, then remembered something about Ishmere fornicating with the goblins. She wasn't racist, but she held some disgust—goblins were dirty, thieving, murderous little bandits. As if the rats weren't enough of a problem.
Ishmere, however, seemed delighted. Dontellin stood at the doorway, half-afraid.
"Ahem, ladies. What seems to be the problem? I'm afraid if I take to the road, something will start pouncing on me."
That would have been good if it shut him up. Rennia pressed inward; she was not dealing with this today.
