Tales From a Thousand Worlds

Halakir lounged beneath the glow of the moon, alongside the sweet waters of the fountain with their musical splashes. In one hand he nursed a small glass of fearsome spirits. Despite the serene calm, he found that he could not enjoy it. His hard face stared moodily into the fountain, a grim look upon it. The two had gone, to their deaths he knew, and it sat not well with him. They were not of the deserts and the tribes, but they had been good people and companions, skilled in battle and generous. They were qaslar, those whom oaths had been sworn with.

Follow this link for Part Eight of The Oasis of Broken Bones