“Qurrah Tun.”

“Well, Qurrah Tun, I’m Craig, but friends here know me as Badback. You don’t have any money to barter with, do you? Didn’t think so. Let’s be honest, Qurrah. I said you were either a liar, a murderer, or a thief. Tell me, which of the three is it?”

The half-orc glanced back to the forest, angry at how uncomfortable he felt before the farmer’s eyes.

“The man who owned these robes was a priest. He died at the hands of an elf, and I took them from his body. I am none of what you say.”

The farmer chuckled. Qurrah sensed the fear within him, tightening but still masterfully controlled.

“You stink of death, half-orc. You are a necromancer, just as I am a farmer, and you toil with blood no different than I toil the soil. If I turn you away, will you kill me?”

The half-orc glared at Badback, who ignored him as he looked at Tessanna peering out from the forest. Qurrah couldn’t shake the feeling that something was amiss. The farmer took his bucket in one hand and his rake in the other. As he stood, Qurrah pulled down the cloth in front of the man’s chest and then spat at what he saw.

“You pick a strange spot to live, priest,” Qurrah said.

“All deserve to hear the word of Ashhur,” Badback said. “Even the poor farmers of the land.”

“I should kill you.”

“For what transgression? Have I harmed or insulted you? Now answer my question.”

“Yes,” Qurrah said. “I would kill you if you refused.”

Badback leaned against the rake. His eyes stared straight into Qurrah’s.

“Then you are a child lashing at those who do not relent to your desires. I would give you the cloak off my back if you asked in humble nature. I still will. What supplies do you lack?”

“Clothes,” Qurrah said, again caught off guard and hating it. “My lover travels naked and will freeze at the first snow.”