《The Elequan Legacy: Fool's Errand》 Fools Errand - Prologue Blood dripped over the stairs as a crimson falls spreading slowly across the dais stone. Candlelight flickered undisturbed by the violent scene, and the reflections of its many miniscule flames danced within the macabre stream as molten beads of light. If the walls could speak they would say only that they had known this day would come, and that the body splayed upon the rising¡¯s steps had been long expected. That the priestesses had chosen to hide the accursed item here, betwixt the stone walls deep beneath the temple, it had only ensured this outcome. It had only been a matter of time. Alone within these deep halls, there was no one for whom the priestess could call out to for help. Few knew of this secret place, and even less of the greater secret buried within it. Only the cold, heartless stone could hear the woman¡¯s labored gasps, and it kept her breaths as closely guarded as it did its secrets. How could it possibly know the priestess¡¯s desires and intent? How could it comprehend the despairing truth that she had not meant to be caught down here? It was only by some strange and foreign fancy that the woman had been driven to come, to check upon the item¡¯s state and make certain that it was safe in light of her startling feelings of foreboding. For nearly 200 years she had kept the temple¡¯s secret, had seen to the relic¡¯s safety before it was even her duty to tend. But tonight something felt different. Tonight, something had felt wrong. What had begun this night as naught but an ominous feeling gnawed into the priestess¡¯s mind until it had spurred her into action, and hastily she had made her way into this hidden chamber. What guards she passed she turned away, beckoning them to patrol elsewhere that they would not discover the temple¡¯s deepest secret. That secret, concealed behind an enchanted door for longer than she had been alive, was something that she and only a handful of others were even privy to. She found it quickly; the entrance¡¯s face disguised as part of the corridor¡¯s unassuming wall, and willed it open with its partnered key. The magic of the medallion she wore, bequeathed to her by the high priestess before, commanded the spell of the lock to open and allowed her to rush inside. Initially, the woman had felt relieved at seeing the secret room untouched. The ornate reliquary upon the dais¡¯ pedestal was still in place with its countless locks and seals unopened. Yet a tingle in the furthest recesses of her mind caused the hair on the back of her neck to rise, and the relief at seeing the coffer safe was swiftly replaced by unnerving suspicion. The high priestess strode toward the pedestal, needing to closer inspect the chest. Was this ill feeling the work of the artifact within? This she wondered as she steadily approached the box. When her boney fingertips lighted upon the chest¡¯s iron surface however, she felt there no forms of malice nor sensed even the slightest hint of power welling up from within. Puzzled, she wondered what had caused her to worry so, and came to no singular conclusion until the dagger slipped into her side. The blade, silent, cut through the priestess¡¯s ornate robes and skin alike, leaving a searing pain and fiery sting to rip up between her ribs like many bolts of lightning. The edge of it punctured her lung, impaling her fully before it ceased, and during it all a powerful gloved hand fell over her mouth to stifle her shrill scream. She had been followed. The blade was retracted, sliding again over bone and muscle, and the priestess was released to collapse under agony and weakness, her aged body crumpling pitifully across the dais steps. Every edge and stair she hit created its own painful jarring as she fell, causing her entire body to radiate with pain. She grasped at the worst of them, that gaping hole within her side, and floundered with shaking hands to put pressure on the wound and ease the flow of blood. But like a river loosed from the dam did the blood pour out from between her fingers; a river that she had little hope to stem. For all her years treating the critically injured brought on slim hope to Alandia¡¯s stoop, she knew a fatal wound when she saw one, and so too knew by simple touch that hers was among such ilk. She guessed that she had but minutes left if the bleeding could not be stopped, and looking down to her hand, she saw naught but red. Minutes. The taste of iron filled her mouth as each breath bubbled up with bloodied mist, her spittle turning bright red and staining her lips. Desperately, she tried to swallow it down but found that she could not. She was fighting for breath like a drowning man, gasping against the harrowing weight growing within her chest. Helpless, she looked up from her place upon the floor and watched as a cloaked figure ascended the rising¡¯s steps. A man? A woman? She could not see them clearly for the tears filling her eyes and blurring her vision. Against the candelabra¡¯s light the figure was no more than a moving shadow besides, their finer details obscured. The priestess knew what they were after though. There could only be one thing, and in knowing it she tried to call out, to stop them, to warn them. But all she did was choke on her own blood and was ignored. Without a sound the faceless figure confidently approached the pedestal and its intimidating chest of locks, and raising a hand, they proved unperturbed by the traps and obstacles laying in wait. One by one they swiftly began to undo each of the reliquary¡¯s clasps and fastenings, their hands working here and there with alarming speed. The clacks of loosening metals, the pings and sparks of magic undone, it rang horror in the priestess¡¯s ears. How frighteningly adept the thief had to be to so quickly undo each latch! The spells placed upon the ancient chest were potently strong, and the keys for its multitude of locks had been long ago destroyed. No one should have been able to get into that box, and yet the priestess did not doubt her ears. In mere moments after having begun their tampering the thief calmly threw back the lid, and reaching deeply into the chest they retrieved the forbidden trinket. Even at this distance the priestess could feel it: the raw power emanating from within that box. As though aware that it had been found the relic seemed reawakened, longing to be used again and proving to the one who beheld it that power lurked here still. Briefly the thief held the artifact aloft, inspecting it in the soft candlelight, before unceremoniously slipping it into a plain sack tied upon their belt. What blood remained in the priestess¡¯s face drained upon seeing that shadowed shape, in knowing that the danger that had been detained was once again set free. Fear for the world, not just herself, gripped her breast as she lay dying, and with that fear surged within a sudden burst of strength. This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere. ¡°D¡­Don¡¯t,¡± she gurgled, her efforts causing crimson froth to appear in the corners of her mouth. ¡°You¡­mustn¡¯t¡­¡± ¡°I must,¡± the stranger¡ªa woman¡ªreplied in a voice calm, smooth and deathly cold. A sensation like ice trickled down the priestess¡¯s spine and she would have shivered if not for weakness. And yet, strangely, though the thief¡¯s words were few she could sense the depth within them. Therein was contained a bottomless abyss of things implied but left unsaid, a hint of boundless machinations moving yet unaccomplished. The priestess did not understand from whence such sensations came, this gravity by which so little was spoken yet possessed so grave a meaning. Was it the artifact that made this so? She had watched over it for so long and yet knew so precious little of it. How foolish she now felt for being so na?ve. ¡°T-Too¡­danger¡­¡± Her voice was hardly a whisper now, and hoarse from the blood coating her throat. ¡°I know well the danger,¡± the stranger said. ¡°It is for this reason I have come.¡± Sharply then, the figure turned from the emptied chest, the candles flickering in the wind kicked up by the brandishing for her cloak. This light dancing upon her back, the thief began to descend the dais with as much decorum as she had approached, and in silence, she slipped into the distant shadows as a wraith would into the night. The priestess dared to reach out, to catch the flitting edge of the woman¡¯s cloak in one last effort to waylay her, to change her mind, but she had no strength remaining. Her final minute was nearing its end. Her heart sank in anguish as her breathing slowed. As a priestess of Alandia she did not fear death. The goddess of life promised life beyond the end to her faithful, and faithful she had been since her youth. No, her soul ached for her failure, of a promise broken and of a foul power now unleashed. Such a power did not belong in the hands of men; naught but woe would come to the world for it, just as it had in times before. Regardless, she would not be blamed for the fault of the thief, and her murder would be seen as a blight to her long-standing efforts. The sanctuary would certainly forgive her this last shortcoming, but, would she ever be able to forgive herself? ¡°Alandia¡­¡± the priestess whispered, desiring nothing more than for the name of her goddess to be the last word upon her lips. But behind closed eyes the woman felt upon her then a sudden presence: the cold pierce of an intensive stare. Weakly she pulled her eyelids open and found the thief returned, standing above her with a loathsome gaze seeping out from beneath her hood. A feeling of unnamable dread washed over the priestess as her eyes met those of her killer, or rather, the shadowed pits of where the woman¡¯s eyes should have been. Only now, standing upon the dais at the priestess¡¯s bleeding side, did the candlelight finally illuminate the thief¡¯s face. But it was not a face at all, it was a mask; one that was holding a seething hatred at bay. ¡°The gods will not hear you,¡± the mask stated coldly, her voice so sharp, so cruel, that the priestess felt cut as though with ice. ¡°The Kayll abandoned us long ago.¡± Unadulterated truth dripped from those words so potently, so convincingly, that it gripped the priestess¡¯s chest like a phantasmal vice, and a new fear came upon her so suddenly that it shook the very foundation of her faith. It was a lie! This simply could not be so! And yet, her mind spun in blood loss and uncertainty, puzzling over truths she¡¯d long denied. How many decades, how many centuries had it been since last anyone had heard the words of the Kayll? How much longer still since they had witnessed the gods¡¯ divinity? Surely she was not the only one to hear naught but silence in return for innumerable years of prayer. Surely it was not just she who sometimes wondered and feared. A derisive chuckle slipped out from behind the thief¡¯s mask and the priestess once more peered into those bottomless pits for eyes. But the black face with its sloping white brow, those swirling mother-of-pearl tears that flickered dizzyingly in the candlelight, were unchanged, expressionless, void. ¡°The Kayll have damned us to Fall gain,¡± the mask spoke, its words cruel yet somehow comforting. ¡°Take solace in knowing that you aid to prevent it.¡± Yet it was not solace, but confusion that the priestess felt upon hearing those cryptic words, and despite her efforts to maintain strength in her final moments, her lips quivered with fear. The Fall. The words echoed in her mind with a horrible sense of doom. It could not be true. They could not Fall again. Her family, her loved ones, they did not deserve to bear such a curse! Surely the strength of the Kayll had not fallen so; that the Fawln would rise to take their place and condemn them all to ruin again. And yet, she knew. She knew how many centuries had passed since the last great Fall, how long had passed since that bloody war when the gods stepped onto the earth and cursed the very ground. She¡¯d known all along of the approaching Fall, known of its inevitability. All at once the priestess felt so very small, so very helpless in the face of those shifting godly forces. She had relied on the goddess for guidance for so long¡­were her prayers not enough? Had the prayers of the wicked truly grown so much stronger in spite of everything she¡¯d tried to achieve? Tears poured from the priestess¡¯s eyes unbidden, a river in their own right, born of sorrow; proof of the truth her heart believed. Thoughts of those she loved, of those she cherished, flashed through her mind as her strength failed. Helpless to stop the fading figure, the relic and its new owner passed beyond her reach, gone unto the shadows. Her body ached to cry out, to do something, anything to stop what she knew was to come. Was there truly nothing she could do? Was she doomed to leave them unprepared? To leave so many to perish? ¡°Alandia¡­help me¡­please¡­¡± the priestess pleaded with her dying breath. But the goddess of life remained silent. Fools Errand - Chapter 1 Wind billowed in over the high divide, a chilling gush of lingering winter, blowing residual snow loose from the parapets above in a frozen wave that cascaded down like water. The girl shivered as it raked across her cheeks, catching the inside of her drawn-up hood and slipping its way under her shirt. Instinctively she pinched closed the open neckline of her cloak, pulling her hood in a little tighter that it might better shield her face. A frenzy of snowflakes swirled by her nose then, pushed out from the wall¡¯s shadows in a chaotic bluster, where there they caught the sunlit rays of afternoon and transformed into a glittering cloud of lights, sparkling brilliantly in the sun. The trailing wisps of the gust sent the dangling corners of her cloak aflutter, and she pressed her back against the cold stone when feeling the breeze¡¯s adamant tug. Perhaps it was a mistake to climb this high. She looked straight down to the rooftops far below as she thought it, watching as the snowfall dissipated before ever touching those distant houses. The chastisement rang clearly inside her head from a cynical inner voice, a voice so constant that even the shrill wind had no hope to block it out. The girl rolled her eyes and ignored it. Contrary to its accusation, she believed that the promise of an excellent view was enough to make this ¡°foolish climb¡± worth the risk. And besides, the challenging feat had kept her well distracted; something she had sorely needed. Though it had taken much longer to do than anticipated, clambering up the border wall with nothing but her hands and feet had tested her abilities as much as she had hoped it would. The structure¡¯s sturdy stonework had supplied very few footholds for grabbing after reaching a certain height, and she¡¯d been forced to be clever and expertly nimble in order to continue climbing. Scaling the links of giant bone buttresses and drakescale plating proved the most treacherous of her obstacles, for these had grown slick with melting slush in the sun and icy where shadows fell. Nevertheless, these too were bested once she had discovered the secret to ascending them, but now that she had come so far up, it was better that she stop. Yes, the whole endeavor was admittedly foolish, dangerous and a complete waste of time, but even this silly, pointless climb was more preferable to the accursed lull of waiting. For the past four days she¡¯d done naught but wait: wait for her enigmatic mistress to return, wait for necessary supplies to be bought and gathered, wait for the caravan to ready itself and move on, wait, wait, wait. She¡¯d grown exceedingly tired of waiting, bored by the lack of activity and the changelessness of her surroundings, and restless whenever told to be patient. Honestly, how could they expect her to be patient when that day was growing so near? They knew she¡¯d been waiting six years for it to come, and now, finally, it was almost time. Tilting her head back, the girl gazed up at the bleak, blue sky and sighed. What underlying apprehension she¡¯d been keeping pent up escaped upon her breath, and she felt a pang of guilt upon hearing it. ¡°I shouldn¡¯t feel this way,¡± she uttered to the air, her words becoming a white mist on the wind. ¡°You rarely feel anything but contempt,¡± the girl scoffed, ¡°so it¡¯s no surprised you aren¡¯t the least bit nervous.¡± Again she sighed, with exasperation this time, and sat down upon the thin stone ledge that was serving as her current perch. ¡°What I wouldn¡¯t give to know what put that dragon-sized chip on your shoulder.¡± ¡°Which means that either you don¡¯t know or won¡¯t talk about it.¡± The girl shook her head, knowing she¡¯d get no answer. ¡°It doesn¡¯t matter. I¡¯ve spent nearly seventeen years not knowing your problem. A couple hundred more won¡¯t hurt me.¡± Absentmindedly she pulled the loose strands of her bangs away from her mouth where the most recent breeze had threatened to dry them to her lips. Then she tucked an ankle under the bend of her knee, letting one leg dangle freely over the high edge. ¡°It¡¯s completely reasonable to be nervous,¡± she muttered, trying to convince herself more than anyone else. For a third time the girl sighed; she¡¯d been doing that an awful lot of late. ¡°I really don¡¯t need your commentary.¡± Falling silent then, and rather than dwell on her own apprehension, she gazed down toward the city below in search of something that would take her mind off her worry. The breeze died fully when she did, and soon after the scent of burning soot began tickling her nose. With the wind now calm, the rising smell of city cinders could reach her easily, and the ashes from a multitude of chimney fires were wafting up toward her on thin plumes of black smoke, converging into a hazy fog just below her feet. Normally, there would be a great throng passing beneath that haze; crowds going about their daily business and weaving through the city streets. Today, however, the atmosphere was beset by an unusual silence. Those seeking to cross over Cambria¡¯s border were few this time of year, and, normally, this would account for the absence of bustle as the city would not return to its usual prosperity until the fullness of the approaching spring. But this was not the true reason why the border town had grown so vacant, and the girl could see the obvious cause quite easily from her vantage point. Out in the open fields just beyond the city¡¯s walls was the place where The Circus of the Moonlit Veil, her home, had made its temporary stead. In vivid contrast to the bleak stretches of dead grass and snow stood a circular hoard of multicolored wagon cars and a variety of tall, striped tents. The lively hues of their mass stood out brightly against a dreary backdrop of leafless black oaks, and within a world cast beneath the doldrums of winter, the vibrant color of the caravan easily attracted the wandering eye. Even at such a distance away the girl could make out the flickers of movement between the colorful tents and carts, spying there the missing city crowds and stirrings of life that came with them. Like so many ants people walked here and there between the circus¡¯s wagon cars, meandering from one eccentricity to the next. The caravan became like this wherever it was they went. Always it was crowded by strangers whose curiosity birthed a desire to trade away their precious coin for a variety of amusements and wonders. One could hardly blame their visitors for succumbing to such wants, for it was the circus¡¯s very purpose to make those feelings bloom. Her beloved caravan was the only one of its kind on the whole of Elequa, and thus it rightly piqued the peoples¡¯ interest no matter what town or country they graced. This time of year, a simple glimpse of the odd and unique was all it took to pry coin from winter-weary palms. That visitors were so easily convinced to part with their money was, in some cruel way, amusing, but necessary. The traveling wagon train was of enormous size and so needed a likewise large amount of funding in order to supply for its expensive ventures. To make this so, the caravan had become the only place that housed traders, craftsmen and entertainers alike, all wandering to every corner of the continent on nothing but wind and wheels. It was a self-sufficient cornucopia of goods, marvels and talents, and the girl was but one of the great many pieces used to procure its prosperity. It was her job within the circus to bring smiles to forlorn faces, and laughter where there was none to find. People of all walks of life paid good money for what wares and works the caravan possessed, and oft would hand over even more so to witness their brilliant flights of fancy. Yes, no matter where they set up shop, she was always there to help ensure that the circus left every city with coffers brimming, and that in their wake was left the desire for them to come again. And now, with the long-awaited day fast approaching, the girl found herself thinking often about the caravan and its larger scope, reminiscing on her place within the circus and her duty to it. Even now, sitting alone, high upon the wall, her thoughts drifted to such reveries. She¡¯d learned a great deal being under the big top, and now that she was to become even more integral to its design, she wondered what more she would have to shoulder for its sake. Long ago she had decided that nothing would be too great for her to give, for the circus was her everything and she desired little else than to be of greater use to the caravan¡¯s matron. After all, six years ago, that very matron had saved her life, and ever since the woman had not only given the girl a place in this gods-forsaken world, but had also taught her how to survive in it. She¡¯d consider it a blessing, an honor, if her new calling was just to better help that woman¡¯s cause. ¡°Saraya!¡± The call came to the girl on the wind, drawing her from the depths of her inner thinking. Looking out toward the open air, she quickly spied a figure flying toward her over the city, one swaddled in many thick layers of wools and cottons. ¡°Tief,¡± she muttered, shaking her head with a smile. Clothed as he was, Saraya could have correctly identified the dracon male from a mile away if she¡¯d had the need, for no other dracon but he would dare dress so absurdly in public. Tief hated winter more than anyone else she knew, and always bundled up so much that it was a miracle he could fly. Saraya had never once seen a fat dracon before, but if they existed, she was certain that they would look much like the cotton-puffed male: round, plump and impossibly clumsy. This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere. Frankly though, there was no chance that this draken wasn¡¯t one of her circus kin, for dracon largely avoided cities due to the threat of being shot down. The circus, however, housed many of their kind, in spite of the race¡¯s notorious and well-deserved reputation. That he was one of theirs was the only explanation as to why a dracon would be here, and the only reason why he wasn¡¯t being attacked by the city guard. Slipping her hand from her glove, Saraya stuck two fingers into her mouth and released a sharp whistle to the air, causing the presumed Tief to stop mid flight in answer. For a few moments the wool-coated dracon searched for the sound¡¯s source, hovering in place with his wings raking at the rising plumes of cinder smoke. Once the green forest-blessed finally looked her way, Saraya gave a wave to catch his attention, and when he spotted her signal he turned and started in her direction. When nearing, Tief fell into a sudden dive before swiftly arcing back up again, and rose just above Saraya¡¯s height with an accompanying gust of wind that forced the girl to shield her face. Coming into land, the young male opened his leathery wings like a large parachute, and floating down toward the thin ledge he extended triple-jointed legs that were nearly as long as Saraya was tall. These taking the full brunt of his fall, the dracon fell into a crouch with a grunt, his claws scraping upon the weatherworn stone. Unfortunately for him, the perch was clearly much too small to accommodate his size, and so it was all Tief could do to just stand there awkwardly. ¡°You could have chosen a larger ledge,¡± he grumbled, still facing the wall, his voice muffled by his back and the thick, striped scarf around his face. ¡°But I like to watch you struggle,¡± Saraya sneered, though the voice was not quite her own. Tief snorted through his nose. ¡°Of course you would, Alter,¡± he sniffed in retort, accentuating the name of they who had truly spoken. He¡¯d known Saraya for years, and like the rest of the circus, also knew very well of the quirk she possessed. ¡°At least Saraya isn¡¯t as coldhearted as you.¡± ¡°Well,¡± Saraya began, wryly grinning herself, ¡°actually, it is pretty amusing watching you struggle so.¡± ¡°I stand corrected,¡± Tief scoffed as he stretched out a wing and hooked its opposable claw into a crack in the wall¡¯s mortar. Using this to hold his weight, he shuffled around on large lizard feet until he successfully managed to stand facing the open air. But even like this the ledge was still too small to fit him comfortably, and despite his better positioning he looked quite squished regardless. Still, he crouched like a bird in a tree nonetheless and then wrapped his thick green tail over his clawed toes. ¡°Don¡¯t adopt any more of her traits, Saraya,¡± he warned, pulling his scarf away from his mouth. ¡°It¡¯s already hard enough to tell which of you is which sometimes.¡± ¡°Sorry,¡± Saraya replied in earnest. ¡°It¡¯s not like a mean to. But we are one in the same, you know. I can¡¯t help that I was born with two minds.¡± Tief released some noncommittal noise, to which Saraya merely shrugged. ¡°You know,¡± she went on, ¡°I didn¡¯t expect you to join me.¡± ¡°Oh really?¡± Tief began, peering over the edge. ¡°Then how were you intending to get down?¡± Saraya went quiet, but then, chuckling slightly, she replied, ¡°Okay, let me amend: I didn¡¯t expect you to join me yet.¡± Tief snorted from his nose, creating a great white cloud as the girl laughed. But he swiftly smiled too, and after a moment, pulled off his woolen cap to run clawed fingers through his messy blonde hair. ¡°It¡¯s almost time, isn¡¯t it?¡± He asked, replacing the hat once his hair was back in place. ¡°Time?¡± ¡°You know¡­¡± ¡°Oh, that. Yes, it is.¡± Tief was being unnecessarily vague, but Saraya knew of what he spoke. She¡¯d been dwelling on it all day after all. The thirteenth of Wintersbane. To most it was just another day, no different than the many others that combined to create the year. But this was not so for her. This year it marked the day she would turn seventeen; a meaningless age to the vast majority, but one that meant a great deal to the company she kept. In typical society it was only upon reaching the age of thirty that one would be considered an adult and be granted the right to take part in city affairs and politics. This was not the case, however, within the circus caravan. Because their wandering societal ring was unlike any other, it required a different set of rules in order to maintain balance. Though she would still be considered a child at her coming age, Saraya would be expected to shoulder greater responsibility for the caravan¡¯s care nonetheless. It was precisely this duty that she had been waiting to possess, training for years to accept and uphold. It was also this same looming duty that had been making her feel so nervous with its approach. ¡°Do you think it will be me or Chloe this year?¡± Tief said, changing the subject, though only slightly. ¡°I don¡¯t know,¡± Saraya answered. ¡°You¡¯re both tied at two each. It could go either way.¡± Though he hadn¡¯t said it outright, Tief was referring to their game: an unspoken contest that the three of them played concerning the giving of birthday well-wishes. In part, the game was unspoken because their third party, Chloe, was a mute, but it was also because it was more fun to keep the contest a secret. ¡°You only think so because you¡¯re a boring old nag,¡± Saraya snapped to the air, causing Tief to look at her quizzically. But then the dracon caught on. ¡°Criticizing us again?¡± He questioned. Saraya nodded. ¡°Of course. It¡¯s what she¡¯s good at. It just wasn¡¯t worth usurping my tongue to say aloud this time.¡± Alter¡¯s scoff echoed in her mind. ¡°Well, that won¡¯t take very long,¡± Saraya sighed deeply, and putting her arms behind her head to act as a buffer between her and the cold stone, she leaned back against the wall with a slouch. Having her voice stolen was not an uncommon occurrence by any means, but she hated any time she unwillingly lost control of any part of her body. The others called it a quirk, but she never found the term strong enough to suit whatever her condition was. To Saraya, having Alter alongside her was not just a quirk, but life as the only way that she knew it; and often times she found it to be a nuisance. Still, she couldn¡¯t deny that her peculiarity did indeed have its uses, and also that, quite frankly, she would be lost without her second half. Admitting to herself even slightly that she needed her other half seemed to ease Alter¡¯s temper, for her mind immediately felt a little less roiled and more in line. Saraya was relieved to know it, for fighting with herself always caused her unwanted stress, and she didn¡¯t need any more of that with everything else that was on her mind. Sinking a little lower against the wall, Saraya looked out over the view that she¡¯d worked so hard to claim. Lazily she watched the wind whip the city smoke around in swirls and observed the continued goings on inside the circus in the distance. Already she could feel her boredom setting in again however, and knew that if this kept up she would need to find another distraction. She was just about to mention as much to Tief when she spotted a distant pale blue streak, racing as though a piece of the sky itself had broken off into a plummet. Though it was difficult to see at first, after the drake-shaped speck had torn away from the clouds, it spread large wings to correct its course and appeared to be heading directly toward the caravan. ¡°Tharanax!¡± Saraya exclaimed, recognizing the flying mount as her mistress¡¯s wind-raker. ¡°Tharanax?¡± Tief began while scanning the sky with his eyes. Stretching his legs a little that he might stand a bit taller, eventually he also spied the quickly-approaching blue drake. ¡°Yes, I¡¯d say that¡¯s him. I doubt anyone else around here rides such an expensive alteya.¡± ¡°Especially if they live on a soldier¡¯s pension,¡± Saraya quipped. ¡°And even if they could afford it, soldiers always choose ryk instead.¡± Getting her hands back beneath her, Saraya jumped carefully to her feet just as another frozen wind swept down over the border wall. This gust was the strongest yet, blowing so fiercely that she could hear pennants somewhere above flapping wildly in the tempest. She inched forward regardless of it, standing so close to the edge that the toes of her boots crossed over into the open air. Again she felt the wind pulling at her cloak with the intent of dragging her down, and as before, old snow fell from above like a miniature blizzard. But this time Saraya threw back her hood and embraced the snowflakes upon her cheeks, too eager now to be off the wall and thus unwilling to cower. ¡°Come on!¡± She called to Tief. ¡°You know I¡¯m always the first to greet Veil upon her return. If we don¡¯t go now I¡¯ll be late!¡± Tief, however, didn¡¯t budge. In fact, he sunk even lower into his cramped space. ¡°It won¡¯t kill you to be late,¡± he grumbled while tying his scarf back around his face, making it even tighter than before. ¡°I¡¯m not flying in this cursed wind. Wait until it dies down. I¡¯ll take you then.¡± Saraya huffed through her nose, nearly scoffing with impatience, and looked longingly toward the caravan as the alteya eventually reached it. Teetering dangerously over the edge with her desire to go, Saraya wondered how else she could get down swiftly, but thought of nothing. It had to be Veil who had come. It could be no one else. How anxiously she¡¯d been waiting all this time for her mistress to return, and now Tief was going to willingly ruin their reunion! The words whispered were sly, and immediately images of Alter¡¯s unspoken plan seeped into Saraya¡¯s mind. In response to the notion, Saraya glanced over the ledge and down toward the city, gauging their current height with her eyes. They were quite the distance up, with that she agreed, but to do as Alter suggested, would it be high enough? It was a risk she was willing to take. ¡°Well, if words won¡¯t convince you to move¡­¡± Saraya coyly began, and without waiting for a response, she jumped forward. Fools Errand - Chapter 2 Frost spread inward along the edges of her lenses, creating a forest of tiny, white branches afore her eyes. The heat from her face and breath was causing her goggles to fog, and the resulting moisture was subsequently making them freeze. This feeble attempt to blind her was negligible however, for her eyes were already of little use. Every bit of the surrounding air was naught but fog and ice already, and had been so ever since they had entered this wide expanse of clouds. Frost could hardly hamper a flight where her depth of vision was less than an arm¡¯s length away, but as long as she could still see the compass between the two horns of the alteya¡¯s saddle, the woman didn¡¯t care about such a minor inconvenience. Presently the compass was guiding her every move forward, its metal needle waggling far to the right, pointing nearly directly behind them in its attempt to find north. Southwest was the course the woman sought to maintain, and she had been vigilant to keep it even when blind. It was foul luck that low-hanging clouds had appeared during this last stretch of her journey, but, fortunately, these had ultimately proved of little hindrance to their current pace. Before now, she had successfully covered a remarkable distance once the alteya had reached his stride, and at their current speed they would be home within the hour if not within the next several minutes. The wind-raker broke away from the frigid cloud cover no sooner had the woman considered this, revealing that they were now gliding over a large stretch of field and pine. Hit with the sudden appearance of the blinding sun and a slight increase of heat, though the change was small it was enough that she could feel it beginning to affect the cold and stiffness in her arms and hands. The damp had been so constantly present, lingering for so long, that it had nearly defeated the purpose of her many layers of thick attire. Their outward-most surfaces, coated in brittle frost, crackled apart beneath the rays, though she could not hear it for the wind. Her gloves too, lined with fur and stretched halfway up her arms, glimmered with beads of ice, and some time ago her fingers had grown stiff from the constant barrage of cursed cold. Locked in place around the alteya¡¯s saddle horns, had she lost function in her hands completely she would have risked losing her hold on the harness and falling. Of course, under normal circumstances, she would have stopped at some lowly inn or waystation to warm herself before carrying on, but she was so close now to home that it only seemed a waste of time. Even now, having come out into the open, she could spot the circus caravan afar off in the distance, its myriad of colors sprawled out below among the fields of snowy white and muddy black. Indeed, there had been no need to stop. Slowly the woman began working blood back into her sore, rigid fingers, squinting against the brilliant sun and making ready for arrival. The reins attached to the alteya¡¯s bridle were still hooked to the saddle horns; taut to prevent their lengths from flapping loosely in the wind. Stretching out and reaching forward, she gave both tethers a hard pull, directing the alteya downward by forcing his nose to dip. The drake plunged at her command, dropping like a stone, and folding his wings he accelerated into a headlong dive. The sudden fall pushed the woman¡¯s stomach into the pit of her gut, but she ignored its nauseating threats. Having taken such plummets so many times now, she¡¯d grown well accustomed to the various pulls and forces, and thus simply fell instinctively into routine. Against the fiercely whipping wind she used her newfound weightlessness to assist her up off her stomach, sitting now so that she could better direct the wind-raker¡¯s course. Calmly and unhurriedly she unhooked an allotted length of the alteya¡¯s reins from the saddle horns, wrapping the leather around her palms to take full control of the diving drake. Gently she guided the creature left, steering him onto a more direct course toward the circus, and giving slack to the reins thereafter, obediently he unfolded his wings to catch the winds and level out. Slowly then their dive transitioned into an expedient glide, one that caused the forest below to pass by in a blur. Over a large expanse of trees, both leafless and evergreen, they maintained this pace for at least another mile. Given no further spurring however, the alteya¡¯s speed soon began dropping off, and failed completely just as the two of them reached the caravan¡¯s outer ring. At this gentler pace they circled about the outermost edges of the circus, choosing to land in the open fields where the caravan¡¯s roving herds and flocks were currently set out to graze. With a sharp tug on his bridle the alteya came up short over an empty patch of grass, and gave one last great forward-flap of his wings to come to a full and sudden stop. The slender blue drake landed then like a cat in the sparse patches of snow, and shaking his head satisfactorily, sent the metal rings and belts of his harnesses clinking like a relieved sigh. Likewise, the woman threw back her hood and pried off her goggles, hungrily inhaling a deep breath of fresh air. Immediately she felt more awake for having done so; the lull of her long flight beginning now to disperse. She took another, deeper inhale to further clear her head, grateful to not have to fight against the wind pressure to obtain it. No matter how many years she¡¯d weathered flying, the woman always found it more relieving to be back on solid earth. Breathing the recycled air of one¡¯s scarf for so long always took its toll upon the body, to say nothing of how unpleasant it was to inhale the cold, thin vapors of high altitudes. One could certainly start to feel their age when up for so high for so long, but she was rarely the type to consider or complain about such trifles. For a few moments more the woman remained sitting atop the drake¡¯s back, limbering up numbed fingers and joints until she could properly unfasten the lifeline tethered to the harness around her waist. When free of it, she slid off the drake just behind his wings, her padded slacks scraping against both scale and saddle in the descent. The sodden earth cushioned her dismount with a fine layer of slush, and with shoulders aching, the woman reached up to remove her pack from the alteya¡¯s back. Once tossing it over her shoulder, the wind-raker stretched his elongated neck and chortled into the air, pleased to be free from both load and rider. The drake then made to scamper off, but was foiled in the attempt as the woman quickly snatched up the creature¡¯s reins. ¡°Wait,¡± she commanded coldly, stilling the alteya with her words. The beast was a bit too willful for her tastes in truth, as many things that came into her possession often were. But the drake was well trained and adhered soundly to instruction; a thing that she had paid a great deal of money to ensure. The expense had proven itself necessary more times than she cared to remember, and often she lamented that others could not be so cowed with coin in the same way the alteya had. Truly, truly it was a shame she could not make it so. ¡°My Lady, Veil!¡± The woman turned upon hearing her name, recognizing the voice. Admittedly though, she had expected this first of greetings to come from someone else. Regardless, she met the caravan¡¯s singular Whinnari resident with a nod, acknowledging the tall Draken¡¯kin as the woman trekked toward her over the saturated ground in stilted shoes. As usual, though dressed in plain clothes and a shawl, the whinn was blithely unaware of the formality of her presence. Often this was the case, and yet it couldn¡¯t be helped. Her Whinnari heritage and upbringing demanded it of the woman innately, and it was practically impossible to conceal the truth of who the draken was. Of course, being whinn in blood alone meant that even the average onlooker would revere her as noble born, and the woman¡¯s gait and manner would only affirm the thought. It meant nothing that the Draken¡¯kin¡¯s impure bloodline left her without her kind¡¯s identifiable arm and facial scales; the point of long ears, the sandy yellow of her skin, and the midnight-blue hue of her long hair each marked her as whinn. And while other whinn would have ignored the woman based on her style of dress, they would not ignore the litheness of the woman¡¯s stride, one found only in the most renowned of courts. The way the draken carried herself, it was as one who¡¯d spent many years preparing to give council to ruling authorities; a trait that was constantly practiced whenever the whinn passed her thoughts to Veil. No self-important Whinnari noble would overlook such details, and this ran counter to the very reason why the woman had joined the circus. Alas, such unconscious subtleties were those the woman could never learn to hide, and Veil had long ago given up trying to amend the whinn¡¯s absentminded disregard for caution. ¡°Miss Shi¡¯tan,¡± Veil greeted coolly as the draken reached her. ¡°Here for the beast, I assume?¡± The woman, better known as Vitanya, smiled at Veil in answer. ¡°Unless you would see to him yourself this time,¡± she said, holding out her hand for the reins. As she moved, the cyan gem upon her brow, her Keen, caught the sunlight with a glow. This was how the woman had likely sensed Veil¡¯s return so quickly; having felt the alteya¡¯s approaching presence within her mind. ¡°No, I think not,¡± Veil replied, promptly handing the tether over. ¡°I have more important business to attend to than seeing to him.¡± As she spoke, her hand fell to the plain satchel fastened to her belt, one hidden beneath her double-layered overcoat of fur. ¡°We leave on the morrow, as planned,¡± she continued, changing the subject. ¡°I thought we would,¡± Vitanya spoke with a nod, stroking the alteya¡¯s spindled neck. ¡°I will let the others know. After all, some of us have been growing quite restless in your absence.¡± ¡°They always do,¡± Veil stated, causing the whinn to chuckle softly. ¡°True.¡± Pulling taut the alteya¡¯s reins, Vitanya convinced the drake to follow with a series of clicks from her tongue. Ever caught in those courtesies of noble affairs, she then bowed respectfully and excused herself from conversation. Whistling through her teeth, Vitanya summoned two kaptcha to her side, both the size of the largest of wolves, and the beasts came bounding out from the ensemble of wagon cars. At the woman¡¯s command the wingless drakes raced off briskly toward the mixed herd of ghaun, ox and cattle, the dark green of their scales almost indistinguishable from the dead field grass they were clawing through. The dull orange markings splashed down their sides, like splatterings of paint, were only now starting to regain their former, brighter color. Without such marks, the usually-untamable creatures appeared no more than moving bits of earth, running circles around the herd with snapping snouts and driving back into line anything that had wandered off too far in its mindless grazing. Veil paused a moment to watch the creatures work. Truthfully, she would have preferred dogs to drive the livestock rather than these feral beasts, yet she suffered them because their place within the caravan caused quite a curious stir among their patrons. Quickly though she dismissed this thought; she hadn¡¯t the time to waste on pointless thinking. She hadn¡¯t the time for many things, in fact. Content now to leave the herd in the care of its handlers, Veil departed the field to deal with those other matters she had need to oversee. The ghaun and oxen would be hitched to the wagons before dawn, and, of course, she would need to be at the caravan¡¯s head to drive it northward come time. Before then she had many matters to attend to, not least of which concerned the item at her hip. She had yet decided how and when to deliver it, and hadn¡¯t the time to deal with it now that spring was so soon approaching. In the coming days she would have increasingly less time to spare as the affairs of the circus would require her full attention. Already she had planned for Cambria to host the caravan¡¯s impending month of travel, but this decision created problems of its own. Though it was usually a country tied explicitly to hard work and its code of honor, Cambria had become rife with rumors and civil unrest within the last year due to the unexpected demise of its chief governing authority. Now more than ever the country was in dire need of the circus¡¯s particular wares, and so there had sprung here a deep well of coin to be coaxed from the denizens¡¯ desperate hands. This potential for gain was far too lucrative an opportunity for the circus to pass up, and Veil certainly had no intention of allowing this untapped source of wealth to slip her by. Thus, for now, all matters that did not pertain directly to the caravan itself would simply have to wait, which included this most recent¡ªand vital¡ªof acquisitions. Veil shifted her traveling pack from one shoulder to the other, its weight now its own pressing burden. With eyes and ears she scanned over the encampment of wagons, choosing a quieter route through the caravan toward her homestead. It seemed that even after four days the circus was still considerably full of both patrons and onlookers; a thing not entirely unexpected given the recent break in snowy weather. The winter always had such an effect on people, cooping them up for so long that it birthed a yearning for escape. Even the most mundane of tasks would serve as a reasonable excuse to leave the doldrums of home, and the sight of the circus was anything but mundane. If this were any other day, Veil would have been overseeing the conduction of business, if not serving her primary role as circus ringmaster under the big top. But the caravan had not stopped at this city to perform. It was just a layover for a greater destination later on. Veil was far too worn from her own trip to bother entertaining the masses today besides. Her bones and joints were still incredibly stiff from the taxing flight, and all she wished to do for the remainder of the evening was rest with a hot cup of freshly brewed tea. Stolen story; please report. Thankfully, as she progressed through the encampment¡¯s byways, she met relatively few. Those she did meet she exchanged the necessary greetings with, and imparted to them the details concerning tomorrow¡¯s departure. From what she gathered, everyone, it seemed, was quite ready to leave this place. By now patrons had come and bought what it was they required, and the only ones currently moving coin were the performers whose various tricks and talents could always earn them a few loose coppers no matter the day or season. Visitors were hence coming to the circus for its novelty rather than for trade, and this was as sure a sign as any that it was high time to move on. Veil kept this all in mind as she drew nearer her wagon car, pausing only to examine the remaining ones she passed. She noted how a fair few would soon need a fresh coat of paint. The expenses for such upkeep she quickly calculated, and tucked the estimation away in mind to tally up properly later. Unfortunately, her own wagon was no exception to the wear of weather and time, as when finally she reached it, it was clear that the wagon¡¯s color had too begun to fade. Though it still retained its royal violet sheen (hers the only wagon in the caravan to sport such a color), it had become nicked and dulled under the harsh winter storms. The spiraling wisps of accenting color along its sides had faded out as well, and the decorative shapes no longer glimmered as they once did. Usually the secret concoction of paints shimmered gold by daylight and reflected a silvery blue at night. But in the afternoon light it now glistened a plain, metallic bronze, and later it would shift into an unimpressive iron shade. It bothered Veil greatly that the once sparkling hues appeared now so common and ordinary. As soon as the weather allowed for it, she would see this oversight corrected. Stepping up onto the iron stoop hanging off the back end of her wagon, she climbed the set of welded stairs and produced a key from her belt. This she inserted into the wagon¡¯s door, unlocking it and letting herself inside. Almost instantly the scent of lavender wafted forward to greet her, the relaxing aroma having been stirred up by the movement of the door. Though the hanging incense burner at the wagon¡¯s opposite end had undoubtedly been long cold, the residual vapors that clung here still were a suitable welcome for her aching muscles. Tiredly she closed the door behind her, dropping her pack upon the floor and untying the straps holding her overcoat together as she walked. With them loose, she tossed the heavy coat onto a large hook near the door, and without its weight on her shoulders she immediately felt much more at ease. Veil went straight to changing her attire into something more comfortable thereafter, quickly ridding herself of her riding gear and underlying clothes. Replacing them with simple grey trousers and a selection of rich wine and violet sashes, she wrapped each one around her waist in offset, uneven layers. A lavender half-coat she pulled on after, one that bore a partial collar with only the right sleeve intact, and secured it to her person with a deep violet corset embroidered with gold. Upon her bicep she put a golden band with swirling ends, slipping two more gold bracelets around her wrists, and then placed three rings upon her fingers: two on the right, one on the left. Finally, on the arm that was sleeved she pulled on a black, leather bracer, and adorned one more elegant sash to drape around her shoulders. Now adequately dressed, she strode to her vanity to undo what her long flight had surely done. In the mirror she glanced herself over, brushing fingers through her mane of ghostly-pale lilac hair. Her side-swept bangs¡ªlonger on the right than the left¡ªhad been windblown into disarray, and she used her nails to comb them back down to swoop over her high cheekbones. The rest of her long hair she had already tied back, and so pulled it up over her left shoulder to where she preferred it to be. As she¡¯d suspected, being stuffed under her overcoat had taken its toll on the length, and so she grabbed a brush to begin undoing its many knots. She would have to perform the same treatment to the long strand of hair tied at her left ear, its length just as disorderly at the rest. And, alas, both would take a fair amount of time. And, indeed, for as long as it took, she barely managed to finish the task before a knock rapped upon her door. Having already guessed who had come to call however, Veil merely bade her visitor enter. ¡°You are late, Miss Lafeir,¡± the ringmaster stated, still gazing into the mirror. As expected, her prot¨¦g¨¦, the circus¡¯s most skilled acrobat, stepped gently into the room, slinking in smooth as shadow. ¡°I knew I would be,¡± Saraya sighed, shutting the door at her back. Throwing off her hood, the girl shook loose the pale blue hair that had trapped itself behind her ears. ¡°Tief wouldn¡¯t bring me back when I asked.¡± These words Veil took in stride, and calmly she slipped her brush back onto the vanity in feeling herself become slightly annoyed by the girl¡¯s purposeful misdirection. ¡°I would not blame him for your tardiness,¡± the ringmaster started in reply. ¡°In fact, I would thank him for ensuring your return.¡± Pulling back from the mirror Veil turned with a cold, accusing stare, one that Saraya rightly flinched back from in surprise. ¡°Have I not warned you countless times about taking unnecessary risks? I should not have to tell you to stop throwing yourself into needless danger.¡± For the briefest of moments the girl was stunned. ¡°How?!¡± She exclaimed once the moment passed. ¡°How do you always know?!¡± This rebuttal only confirmed for Veil what she already knew concerning the girl¡¯s choice of descent from Cambria¡¯s border wall. Always Saraya proved herself far too willing to take foolish chances, and this most recent leap into danger was no different than the innumerable others that came before. ¡°The same way I know everything,¡± the ringmaster firmly snapped back, then she slipped into a stoic silence as evidence of her displeasure. Always this bothered the acrobat, who knew well that Veil highly disapproved of her recklessness, and so it took but mere moments for Saraya to start to fidget. ¡°But I knew Tief would catch me,¡± she began, offering this weak defense, ¡°so it wasn¡¯t truly a risk. Not really.¡± But Veil did not answer and instead only glared at the child harder, knowing that her continued silence would be far more effective than words could ever be. Long ago the ringmaster had learned that by firmly expressing her disappointment did it coerce Saraya to behave, at least for a time. It did not work quite as well on the girl¡¯s second mind unfortunately, but it still proved an adequate enough method for making them think about their mistakes. Caught within the enduring silence, the acrobat shifted uneasily. ¡°I wouldn¡¯t have jumped if I didn¡¯t think he could do it,¡± she insisted, but her tone of voice had lost its strength, becoming more reserved. Veil¡¯s refusal to speak was having its desired effect, and very soon Saraya¡¯s shoulders slumped, her head bowed in defeat. ¡°I¡¯m sorry¡­¡± For a few moments more Veil kept quiet, eventually breaking from her cold demeanor with a heavy sigh. ¡°Greet me as you would,¡± she instructed flatly, holding her arms out to the girl. Though it took a moment for Saraya to move, she did inevitably jump obediently into the woman¡¯s arms. Giving Veil her customary hello, the acrobat happily squeezed the ringmaster around her ribs in an embrace. ¡°I¡¯m glad your back,¡± Saraya spoke softly, a bit of her glow having returned. Not usually one given to such gestures, Veil rested her hands upon the girl¡¯s shoulder and head, giving her hair a gentle stroke. ¡°Do not tempt fate, Saraya,¡± Veil warned, this not being the first time she¡¯d advised such caution. Nor would it be the last, she knew. Nevertheless, at her words Saraya pulled back just enough to look up into Veil¡¯s face, and though she made as to retort, she quickly bit her bottom lip, thinking better of it, and kept silent. ¡°Very good,¡± Veil told her, giving the acrobat¡¯s head one final pat. ¡°I have great need of you for the tasks ahead. I prefer you alive so to carry them out.¡± ¡°But you still haven¡¯t told me what it is I¡¯ll do,¡± the girl said, releasing the ringmaster as she pulled away. With her second voice she then quipped, ¡°How much longer must we wait?¡± ¡°You will learn soon enough,¡± Veil told them both, and indeed she would now that Saraya had matured to a satisfactory age. Out of all of those before her, Veil believed Saraya the most crucial for carrying out her will; a thought she¡¯d been considering all the more often as the day approached. Veil¡¯s Eyes had never once failed her concerning these matters before, and she fully believed that this girl was the most capable of all she¡¯d seen. ¡°But when?¡± The acrobat asked again, pressing once more for an answer. Such insistence made the ringmaster stop and turn to face her ward. Saraya¡¯s adamancy had only increased with the promised day drawing near, and certainly the ringmaster understood the girl¡¯s growing need for answers. Incidentally, Saraya was one of the very few who would press Veil like this so strongly, and this was only one of the stark changes she had nurtured within the girl. Saraya¡¯s stubborn nature and willingness to speak where so many others would not, this had not always been so. Where once had stood an orphaned, scared and sniveling whelp now existed an unassuming yet capable force of skill and strength. It had been some time since Veil had thought back on that day; back when she had first taken the girl in as her own. It was striking how much had changed since then. Six years ago, an incident had left Saraya the only living member of her family, and the Hytheria Mountains¡¯ winter cold had nearly snuffed out this last survivor. If Veil had not intervened, the girl¡¯s life would have ended, but in taking the child beneath her wing she had gained one of her most valuable assets. Eager to please and highly gifted, Saraya had proved fiercely obedient since the beginning, displaying too an immense wealth of talent and promise. Over the years Veil had nurtured this, and eventually the girl had blossomed into everything the ringmaster had hoped her to be. Saraya had grown into a fine, beautiful young woman, second only to Veil herself if no one else, for her Crystarian blood flowed as strongly in her as it did through Veil. Possessing the fairest features, pale skin and a glistening head of icy-blue hair, the girl radiated elegance. For her role in the circus however, Saraya had opted to dye that tied-back length, coloring the right half of her hair a blue as brilliant as her eyes, and the left an equally vibrant shade of purple. Always her decision to do so attracted the gaze of her onlookers, captivating circus patrons with this bold choice of colors. The acrobat¡¯s charm however, this is what kept them returning nightly. Innately friendly and energetic, Saraya was pleasant company, yet remained coy and aloof. Her true expressions she hid behind the long-cut bangs that covered the left half of her face, using them as a shield to conceal conflicting emotions. For like reasons of secrecy, she wore dark grey trousers, black boots, gloves and hooded shirts that she may roam undetected should she wish. And yet she sported harlequin stripes in the form of an underbust corset; proudly displaying vertical strips of alternating shades of violet. A teal sash around her waist, and a purple kerchief tied about her right arm, completed her off-duty garb. However, the acrobat¡¯s costume was not complete without the assortment of belts she wore. Armed to the teeth with a variety of blades, all ranging in various lengths and purposes, the self-professed knife-thrower was trained and gifted in the use many types of weapons. The most notable of these was the blade oft sheathed at the small of her back: a pristine dagger she¡¯d inherited from her mother that she only pulled out when in dire need. ¡°Well?¡± Saraya prodded again, still desiring an answer. ¡°Tomorrow,¡± Veil stated absently, the girl¡¯s words pulling her out of thought. ¡°We will speak on it tomorrow as we travel.¡± This seemed to suit Saraya well, for the girl smiled with a nod. How fortunate it was that she was so easily pleased. ¡°Now, I would have you be of use and tell the others of tomorrow¡¯s departure. However, there is one thing I have need of you for first.¡± As she spoke Veil made her way over toward the door, retrieving the pack she had earlier discarded. Prying the hefty satchel open, she rifled through its many contents and pulled out a small parcel. This she turned to Saraya with, and opening it, she revealed a crystalline pendant within hung upon a long, silver chain. ¡°Am I to run another errand?¡± The acrobat wondered quizzically, gazing curiously at the gem. Of course, it made sense that Saraya would think this way, for she was often chosen to handle Veil¡¯s various tasks. And after all, she knew that the ringmaster would have no need for such a useless bauble. The only necklace Veil ever wore was one she could ne¡¯er remove: a gruesome scar that wrapped all the way around her neck. The hideous mark was a grim reminder of a defining piece of her history, and Veil would never deign wear a necklace again because of that memory. ¡°This isn¡¯t for me, Saraya,¡± the ringmaster thus told her plainly, and taking a hold of the chain, she slipped the trinket over the girl¡¯s head. Saraya was taken quite aback, as Veil knew she would be. Rarely did the woman ever give away such expensive gifts, especially without warning. ¡°But¡ª,¡± the girl sputtered, floundering for her words. But Veil dismissed her protest with a wave. ¡°Happy birthday, Saraya,¡± she told her simply, able to muster some semblance of a smile. ¡°Be sure to keep this with you always.¡± Still the girl was speechless, and had to give herself a moment to collect her thoughts by closer examining the gift. The necklace was that of a glimmering blue gemstone, shaped like naturally-formed crystal and attached to a silver chain via a bell cap. The piece closely resembled in nature one of Veil¡¯s own bits of jewelry: a silver band on her left ring finger that was inlaid with the same blue gem. Saraya no doubt noticed this (she tended to notice such fine details), and likely it only made her happier for it. ¡°I will,¡± the acrobat eventually answered, ¡°I promise.¡± Smiling brightly and hugging Veil once more, Saraya latched on so tightly that the ringmaster found it hard to breathe. ¡°Good,¡± the woman told the girl, patting her head again. ¡°Now do as I asked. Tell the others to prepare.¡± ¡°As you wish,¡± Saraya obediently answered, though was reluctant to actually let go. ¡°We¡¯ve been dying to leave this place anyway.¡± ¡°I¡¯m sure you have. Now go.¡± Still beaming with delight, Saraya finally pulled herself away and left by the same way she¡¯d come. Alone again, Veil shook her head once the girl had gone, exasperated, though amused, by the child¡¯s genuine show of care. But Veil had allowed herself to become too distracted, and again her hand slipped to the satchel still hanging at her belt. Already too many things had begun piling up in her absence, and there was still yet much to do before tomorrow¡¯s dawn. Fools Errand - Chapter 3 The familiar noises of a moving-day morn filled the twinkling hours of dawn with a quiet, constant murmur. The baaing of ghaun, the lowing of oxen, these soft objections to waking accompanied the yawns and groans of others whose sleep still lingered in weary eyes. Before long though, the morning buzzed with the expectant sounds of preparatory labor: of footsteps, hoof beats and creaking wagons shifting on freshly oiled wheels and axles. Harnesses rustled with bits of metal and leather as they were pulled from storage to be put to use. Their retrieval coincided with the grunts of numerous men and women, all busy attaching yoke arms to wagon fronts, each being pounded into place with hammers ringing out on spikes. This morning proved colder than the one before, for today frost glazed the grass a sparkling white as far as the eye could see in the early dim. Like glass, the brittle crystals of ice crunched under foot and hoof as animals were led to the wagons to be hitched, each according to its size and strength. The ghaun bucks, the largest, were strapped by twos to the heaviest of the caravan¡¯s wagon cars; namely those that carried heaping amounts of assorted goods or those laden by a stockpile of tools. The nannies without kid were tied in pairs to those wagons of lighter burden, as too were the oxen whose smaller frames were equal in power to the high-shouldered does. In a well-practiced rhythm, one honed over the course of several years for speed and efficiency, the majority of the beasts were secured to their designated places just as sunlight began creeping over the distant horizon of snow. The shadows cast by the forest kept tentative time for the troupe as they steadily continued their work, for while the shadows of trees still striped the fields, there was time yet before the caravan would leave. Saraya had risen before the dawn with the rest to haul tack out of storage and secure the yokes. Although she felt the twinge of fatigue in the space beneath her eyes, she passed on a warm drink when it was offered. The presence of spare time had allowed the idle to start up a small cookfire and brew a strong coffee over the embers, but the taste of Sakoran beans had never suited the acrobat¡¯s tongue. Nor did she need its gift of energy as badly as some of the others. Taegun was one such fellow who required the remedial boost. The blacksmith had been up late mending a wagon wheel by firelight, and had only just finished shoeing the caravan¡¯s horses before starting into the early morning¡¯s prep. Back then, he had enlisted Saraya¡¯s aid before she could get the chance to wander aimlessly between jobs, and so, after finishing up with her own preparations, the acrobat had joined up with the blacksmith to assist in the packing up of his wagon and forge. Thus, while Taegun leaned against the side of his homestead, gulping down large swallows of black, steaming brew, Saraya continued working. Having achieved a good pace for being busy all morning, she had successfully finished hitching the second buck to the blacksmith¡¯s wagon just as he emptied the last few drops from his mug. In response, the furry, teal ghaun snorted her hand away as she pet his nose, pulling his head up out of reach while shaking his long mane. ¡°I can¡¯t blame you,¡± Saraya chuckled, patting the buck¡¯s neck. ¡°I hate working this early too.¡± Patting, too, the other ghaun, Saraya returned to Taegun, who had only just sat his tankard aside when the acrobat rejoined him. Together then, under the soft glow of lantern light, they worked as one to organize and secure the traveling forge. For a while they spoke concerning the usual things: of the city behind them and their musings over the road ahead. Soon enough Taegun¡¯s wife, Brema, joined them, and together they tied and tethered down anything that they didn¡¯t wish to move during transit. When small talk was exhausted, they began speaking eagerly on the impending birthday celebration; an event for which the whole caravan awaited, and something which Saraya was looking forward to most of all. Eventually, and once the blacksmith¡¯s wagon car seemed mostly ready for travel, Saraya deemed it finally time to take a well-earned break. Intending to return to Veil¡¯s wagon and warm up, she bid the married couple goodbye for now before taking her leave. Normally, she would have opted to stay with Taegun and Brema to occupy herself with their company. Taegun was a lovable giant of a man, good natured, strong, and every bit the way she imagined a good father would be. And Brema, though now the circus¡¯s resident gemsmith, was once the most popular barmaid on the southern coasts of Giraffin. Saraya always enjoyed listening to them both recount tales from their lives before; stories of bar fights, pirate raids and other equally grand adventures. In truth, Saraya sometimes wondered why the pair left such a life of thrill and excitement, but when asked, neither Taegun nor Brema could agree on a sound reason. The acrobat had thus assumed that their motive was that of family, particularly in the area of children. The loving duo had no child of their own, but being with the circus, about two years ago, they had agreed to take in a waif from the streets. That young girl was one Saraya often found herself unexpectedly entertaining. No doubt still sound asleep inside the blacksmith¡¯s caravan in spite of all the noise, the girl, Asauna, would be chagrined to know that Saraya didn¡¯t wake her to say hello. But, quite frankly, Saraya had no desire to attract her street-thief shadow today. Veil had promised that they would finally speak concerning the acrobat¡¯s new line of work, and Saraya didn¡¯t want the obstinate child to intrude on such an important¡ªand private¡ªconversation. Thus Saraya weaved her way back to the front of the caravan, around the waiting beasts and wagon cars that had already been pulled out into place. Very soon now the troupe would depart, leaving the border wall far behind them and heading deeper into Cambrian territory. Already their dracon scouts¡ªthose who would spend their days in transit guarding the caravan from danger¡ªwere perched on top of various wagons, waiting for the circus to leave. Some of them were stretching out the muscles of their wings, yawning tiredly as they prepared for an extended time in flight. Those who had gotten an earlier start were already flying shallow laps around the encampment, chatting with those gliding beside them who would be sharing the morning shift. Saraya waved a fond good morning to those that spotted her with a smile, receiving hearty gestures in return from grinning canine fangs. Luminaya, the storm-blessed dracon who worked as Veil¡¯s second in command, was perched atop the ringmaster¡¯s wagon when Saraya finally reached it. The decided clan mother of the caravan¡¯s ragtag flock, the woman was barking out orders to the other dracon with a snarl, sometimes in words and sometimes in the guttural language of their kind. Presently she appeared ready to pounce on the two flame-blessed twins who had been assigned to today¡¯s first watch, for the two mischief makers were failing¡ªas usual¡ªto adhere to her instruction. This was always more than enough to rile the naturally cantankerous female. Dracon were notorious for their anger and foul tempers after all, but the navy-scaled Luminaya would have surely been a growling she-devil even if born a human. Smartly, Saraya passed beneath the woman¡¯s talons without uttering a word, entering swiftly into the wagon before the clan mother could take notice. Certainly Saraya had no desire to test the woman¡¯s patience today, and would gladly leave all repercussions for trouble to the twins this time. Once safely inside, she pulled back the hood of her cloak and pried the gloves from her fingers to wipe the cold sweat off her palms. The firestone, one of Veil¡¯s many magical relics, had fortunately been whispered alight during Saraya¡¯s absence. Placed within a small brazier at the center of the wagon, the stone filled the stead with a comforting warmth and light. Saraya walked over and crouched near to the glowing crystal, its magical inner fire gleaming like a small sun beneath a shining red sheen. The brazier it was sitting in was etched with arcane runes, and these were currently shimmering molten white. Saraya, alas, had no talent for getting the artifice to work, and was grateful that Veil had had the foresight to bring it to life before she left. The enchanted heat sunk into the acrobat¡¯s clothes and skin like any natural flame, and in mere moments she was thoroughly warmed to the bone. She hesitated to go back outside, however, despite having plenty of things she could do. Luminaya¡¯s growls were still coming down through the ceiling in muffled hisses, and the wagon rocked slightly every time the dracon woman moved. Saraya obviously had no desire to risk getting caught in the verbal crossfire between grumpy Draken¡¯kin. For her, simply being present would be enough to attract an unwanted lashing. Alter suggested. At first, Saraya was reluctant to agree with her mind¡¯s selfish request. But when the wagon shook again, shifting and jangling every loose reliquary and bauble in Veil¡¯s massive collection, she concluded very quickly that it was best that she stay put. Thus she resigned herself to the comforts of her self-proclaimed home, and after shoving a discarded overcoat aside, she sat down on the small, red-cushioned bench at Veil¡¯s vanity. Leaning back, she rested her elbows upon the rich, rosewood table, noticing a stray beam of sunlight stealing in through the wagon¡¯s side window. Hardly a pinprick through the closed wooden panes, she wouldn¡¯t have really noticed the intruding sliver had it not caught the surface of an ornamental trinket and cast a myriad of prismatic colors across the ceiling. The sight of this rainbow glisten caused Saraya to smile. This simple beauty was but one of the many things that made her enjoy living with Veil, even if the arrangement had initially began with the ringmaster¡¯s begrudged permission. And indeed, Veil¡¯s wagon was always filled with a plethora of curiosities and wonders; an uncountable amount of varying riches all belonging to the caravan¡¯s matron. No other wagon within the caravan held such a wealth as this. In this place, walls were lined with golden hilts laced in jewels; blades of all sizes tucked away in dazzling scabbards of royal make. Numerous racks and shelves were laden with gold, ceramic and silver. There were urns and ivory vessels carved with intricate patterns and designs, all filled to brimming with lavish perfumes and oils, each sealed to protect the entrapped scents or preserves within. Priceless pendants of jade and gemstone swung on lengths of leather and chain, magic runes and godly symbols carved with care upon their surface. Some of these radiated hidden power, awaiting their time to be appraised and stored, while several chests of ornate woods kept many more like treasures under lock and key. The smallest of them were stored along upper shelving, while the large sat at floor¡¯s edge serving as makeshift stools and end tables. Among them sat still more staves and jewels and relics, things that Saraya could guess at neither their use nor worth. Yet she knew that each and every one of these commanded an impossibly steep price, for her mistress would not have stored them in her home if it was not so. ¡®Beautifully cluttered¡¯ had always been the best way Saraya could think to describe Veil¡¯s dwelling: filled with exquisite articles found nowhere else, yet lined with strewn papers, misplaced books and days¡¯ worth of unwashed clothes. Still, the glow of sun and firestone flowed gently over those loose sashes and personal effects, glinting off the shimmering pieces that poked through the disorderly mundane. Hence the galaxy of prismatic faux fire that was still reflecting along the ceiling, creating for the acrobat a most beautiful and comfortingly-familiar display. Saraya sighed as she gazed up into that glowing light. She would certainly miss this dearly when she was gone¡­ Suddenly the wagon lurched hard to one side, nearly throwing Saraya from the vanity¡¯s bench and jarring everything that wasn¡¯t strapped down out of place. Common trappings rattled loudly while loose blades and staves toppled with loud clunks and metallic clanks. Papers slipped from the shelves of Veil¡¯s desk and flew in a flurry of directions across the whole of the floor. The brazier holding the firestone rocked once and immediately began tipping over, forcing Saraya to catch the pedestal between the rungs with the toe of her boot. The firestone clanked against the metal as it slid to a precarious stop, leaving Saraya to sigh, relieved that the crystal fire hadn¡¯t fallen out. ¡°Luminaya¡­¡± the acrobat grumbled as she guided the brazier back down onto all fours, letting the firestone slip back into place with a heavy, glassy thunk. Alter said, implying the oncoming of a harsh beating. Both knew that nothing but the sudden, angry take off of the giant draconess would have shaken Veil¡¯s wagon so. ¡°Probably,¡± Saraya answered. ¡°Though it could have just as easily been Karn.¡± After so many years living within Luminaya¡¯s favorite perch, she could usually tell how angry the woman was by the strength of her departure. Given how rough this recent jostling had been, Luminaya was positively livid. A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation. Stepping around the brazier now that things had settled down, Saraya set to gathering up the newly disheveled papers. Choosing to also pick up those that had been littering the ground before, after retrieving them, she tapped their edges atop the desk and placed the stack neatly back to where she believed they went (though, quite frankly, she couldn¡¯t be absolutely sure). With Veil gone on business, there had been much to do when she finally returned. Thus, while Saraya had slept, the ringmaster had slaved away at her desk long into the night, awake far beyond the midnight hour. As was expected, the wagon had become quite unkempt once Veil had finished her work, for if it did not pertain to the matters at hand, then the woman had quite literally swept everything aside to be sorted later. Inevitably, this left many things scattered about and out of place, and with the caravan preparing to relocate, there had been no time to put anything away properly. Not that Veil would have done so anyway, Saraya knew, for the caravan¡¯s matron always preferred her living quarters a bit messy. Truthfully, the acrobat had come to expect these manageable levels of disorder, and never did she mind it. Rather, Saraya took it upon herself to keep the wagon relatively tidy, and so continued putting what had been moved back into place. With the bottom of her boot she pushed a trunk back against the wall, then gathered up the fallen staves and blades, checking them over to confirm that they¡¯d suffered no damage in their fall. Completing these few, minor tasks, she turned finally to the door. With Luminaya gone she had no excuse not to return to work, though remained exceedingly reluctant to leave the warmth of the wagon behind. Prying open the door only just, Saraya flinched when the icy air slapped her in the face, and very nearly did she allow it to chase her back inside. Only by gritting her teeth and willing herself forward did she force herself outside, and pulling up her hood, she began to descend the iron stair. Before reaching the bottom however, she spied Veil making her return, and noticed that the ringmaster was suspiciously alone. ¡°Lady Veil?¡± Saraya began, hopping from the last step. How odd it was that Veil had no one in tow, she thought, for usually the ringmaster waited until the last possible moment to cease giving out instructions. There was always so much to do, so much to account for, that Veil had the terrible habit of overseeing everything down to the minutest of details if time allowed. And yet, today, she strode in silence. Perhaps there had simply been too great a load for Veil to handle alone this time, especially since she had only just yesterday returned. Saraya did not miss the dark circles hanging beneath the ringmaster¡¯s tired eyes, knowing this to be sign enough that Veil was already in danger of stretching herself too thin. ¡°I knew I would find you here,¡± Veil spoke flatly as she reached the place Saraya stood. ¡°Come into the wagon. It is time we spoke.¡± Certainly Saraya wouldn¡¯t argue with this sudden request, for she hadn¡¯t wanted to leave the wagon in the first place. But as Veil stepped around her and up into the wagon car, a sudden bundle of nerves welled up in the acrobat¡¯s chest. Born from knowing what was about to happen, the tight, winding knots between her lungs made it hard to breathe. Hesitating for a moment then, a kick from Alter in the back of her mind spurred her into moving. Timidly she climbed back up the iron stairs and into the wagon, walking past Veil who stood waiting to shut the door behind them. ¡°What I am about to tell you I do not speak lightly,¡± Veil began, wasting no time as she latched the wooden door¡¯s heavy lock. ¡°Nor is what I say something you can discuss with anyone other than me.¡± Already nervous enough, Veil¡¯s words only worked to make Saraya¡¯s apprehension worse. Forcibly the acrobat swallowed the hard lump that had appeared within her throat, clearing it before responding. ¡°Alright,¡± she replied, softer than she had meant to be. ¡°Tell me.¡± Pausing for a moment, Veil tucked her hands behind her back, hiding them beneath her thick, white-furred cloak. Without uttering a word she strode slowly to the other side of the wagon, taking a sprig of incense from a thin wooden case at her bedside. ¡°Times are changing, Miss Lafeir,¡± she stated in all-knowing manner, ¡°and know that it is not for the better. You are far too young to have recognized the signs, but I assure you that they are there, and have been for decades. The Kayll priests openly deny it, clinging to their foolish hope, but our time¡¯s imminent end is at hand.¡± As she spoke she brought the oil-infused twig to the crystal brazier, holding its end to the firestone until it flamed. Instantly, the soft scent of lavender began to permeate the room, and Veil breathed deep of it before she spoke again. ¡°You asked me what it is you are to do for me, and to know this, you must know my aim. And what I aim to do, what I indeed will do, is stop the Fall, Saraya, and you will help me to do it.¡± These words washed over the acrobat so smoothly that she, at first, didn¡¯t understand them, and it wasn¡¯t until she repeated them wordlessly to herself that she began to see. Her mistress was speaking of forces far beyond those of mortal men, she realized, of powers that she often ignored or revered with superstition. In knowing this, only then did Saraya begin to understand what Veil was implicating, whereupon a hole of despair formed in the pit of her stomach almost instinctually. ¡°The Fall?¡± The acrobat weakly questioned, her thoughts besieged by fearful denial. ¡°That Fall?¡± ¡°It and no other,¡± Veil confirmed as she placed the smoldering lavender within a hanging incense burner. ¡°I take it you understand what this means?¡± Remaining silent, Saraya sunk to the floor where she stood, feeling sick under the pressure. Of course she understood exactly what Veil meant. By the gods, how could she not? What Veil spoke of concerned the most common of knowledge: about the gods and the ebb and flow of time itself. Everyone knew what a coming Fall meant: it was the downfall of civilization, the loosing of chaos and the very end of the living world as they knew it to be. Though Saraya had no retention for Elequa¡¯s history, even she knew the events by which time was recorded. Eras always began with what all called a Rise: a time when the Kayll, the revered gods of good, held power over the world and through them it became blessed. In much the same way, each era closed with a Fall, when the contemptible Fawln gained control of that power and led the world unto destruction and misery. Though Saraya never fully understood how, she knew that mortal kindred were somehow key to the shifting of these forces, and were the reason why time always rose and fell repeatedly without fail. For Veil to claim she meant to stop a Fall, it meant she intended to stop time itself, or at least somehow change its constant cycle. It was an utterly ridiculous notion, and yet the ringmaster spoke it so easily! ¡°How?¡± Was the word that first came to Saraya¡¯s mind, springing forth from her newly formed recesses of fear. ¡°How on Ira are you going to stop the Fall?¡± ¡°How it will be done is none of your concern,¡± Veil answered frankly. ¡°You need only know to what goal you aspire. It will do you no good to burden yourself with the details of my plans. Such things are for my knowledge alone.¡± Returning to the firestone, Veil reached toward it with a singular hand, the light casting dark shadows upon her face. ¡°You need only carry out the tasks I assign to you and nothing more. This is the new duty I intend to give you.¡± The bluntness of the woman¡¯s answer caused Saraya to fall silent, and she stayed this way for a while, contemplating things. She mulled over this new ¡°duty¡±, the thing she¡¯d so badly wanted to know, and when considering the powers she¡¯d be fighting against¡­in their face, her courage waned. ¡°This isn¡¯t what I was expecting,¡± she admitted after a time, pulling her cloak a little tighter as she suddenly felt cold. ¡°In fact, it¡¯s nothing at all like what I was expecting. By the Rings, you speak of the impossible!¡± ¡°You think it impossible for me, do you?¡± Veil questioned, narrowing her gaze. Immediately Saraya froze. ¡°N-No,¡± she corrected, but¡­was that a lie? ¡°You doubt me then?¡± Veil continued. ¡°No, never!¡± Saraya exclaimed, jumping to her feet. ¡°I¡¯ve never doubted you!¡± ¡°Then know this,¡± the ringmaster stated, confidence bolstering her every word. ¡°What is impossible for all others is not so for me. I hate the gods, Saraya, and would damn them all to the deepest ring of Agonis, to its blackest of hells for eternity if I could.¡± Though she may not have meant to do so, Veil trailed her fingers across the dark scar around her neck, the marred skin appearing stark in the fiery light. ¡°Kayll, Fawln, Unaligned, it matters not to me. You say the task is impossible, but no one has before set out to do this as I will. And it will be I who succeeds.¡± The strength of Veil¡¯s words caused Saraya to shudder, for she could feel everything within them: her mistress¡¯s ambitions, her self-assurance, even her deep, loathing hatred. Faced with the unexpected display of such raw, powerful emotion made the acrobat want to cower, and yet, there was a comfort that stemmed from the ringmaster too. It was a comfort born from the woman¡¯s limitless confidence, and from Saraya¡¯s own hope that Veil would succeed. Veil had never once failed in anything Saraya knew her to do before, and thus she¡¯d always had full faith her judgment, never doubting Veil¡¯s every decision. But stopping the Fall¡­could it truly be done? Even if not, could Saraya sit idly by and simply let it come? No, of course she couldn¡¯t. If there was any chance at all that Veil could truly prevent the Fall, then Saraya had to help or else everything she¡¯d come to love would perish with the changing times. ¡°So what is it then?¡± Saraya asked, accepting Veil¡¯s desire for what it was, though not yet understanding her role. ¡°What am I supposed to do?¡± ¡°That which I have already told you,¡± Veil responded matter-of-factly, ¡°you will carry out all I assign. Following your revelry, you will travel north come dawn, where your task will be to seek out and kill the Mediator of Cambria.¡± The emotionless tone by which Veil spoke the outrageous request caught Saraya more off guard than the demand itself. Yet compared to everything else she had been told so far, the task of assassination seemed almost too straightforward and simple. Nevertheless, an excited tremor shot through the acrobat¡¯s spine at the promise of bloodshed and thrill, though it was not truly her who had so strongly reacted to it. ¡°You require someone murdered?¡± Alter spoke with the sneer of Saraya¡¯s lips. ¡°Consider it done!¡± ¡°Wait,¡± Saraya harshly snapped, wrenching back her stolen voice. Rare were the times that Alter spoke for them both, and her second¡¯s excitement for bloodshed was not always shared by her. Saraya more than Alter felt the real weight of this mission, the depth of its importance and the fallout it would cause. The death of Cambria¡¯s Mediator was infinitely more complex than the secret disposal of an overly-handsy patron, and bode greater consequence than the silent theft of a street vendor¡¯s unwatched change. Though the circus earned the majority of its coin and goods through honest means, criminal affronts were not uncommon among its many members. Because of this, no one really batted an eye when someone committed a crime, and Saraya was chief among the crewmen who had a habit of breaking laws. For years she had been honing more nefarious skills at Veil¡¯s request, skills that few others could hope to possess or let alone have need to use. But never did the acrobat expect to use her talents on so grand a scale. A political assassination was leagues above anything she¡¯d ever been tasked with before, and more dangerous, more daunting, than anything she¡¯d ever dared to do. Truthfully, she wasn¡¯t even certain she could complete such a momentous job, even if Veil did seem to believe her able to see it done. ¡°I hand chose you for this purpose, Saraya,¡± Veil spoke then in the silence, her words a calm response as though she¡¯d read Saraya¡¯s mind. ¡°I make no choice without first evaluating every course I may take. If I did not know you will succeed, then I would not have left it to you.¡± But the ringmaster¡¯s words did little to ease the acrobat¡¯s spinning mind. Everything was so sudden, so weighty, that it scared her a great deal. Even the spark of joy that had blossomed within her couldn¡¯t fully counteract it. Yes, she knew now what so many others did not, and she was happy knowing that she had earned this much of Veil¡¯s trust and faith. That her matron believed in her this much¡­it was certainly a wonderful thing, and yet she couldn¡¯t help but remain fearfully hesitant. ¡°The Mediator¡¯s death,¡± Saraya began, pondering everything still, ¡°it will help to stop the Fall?¡± ¡°It will,¡± Veil answered, stepping gently nearer as she spoke, ¡°and it will aid the circus as well. Everything I will require will be for the good of our home and all within it.¡± Likely these words were meant to give Saraya hope, to give her purpose. But in spite of the promise laced within, they failed to reach their goal. Doubt swelled within the acrobat even stronger now, welling within the pit of her chest like a dreadful bubble ready to burst. Surely someone as untested as her was unfit to carry out such a delicate task! Why would Veil thrust this upon her now?! ¡°I¡­I don¡¯t know¡­¡± Saraya muttered, giving in to her reservations. ¡°I¡¯m not sure I¡¯m ready for something like this.¡± ¡°I am,¡± Alter sharply countered, stealing Saraya¡¯s voice once more. ¡°Such tasks are precisely what I was born for.¡± Saraya grimaced in having her tongue stolen away again, and fell deeply quiet against Alter¡¯s courage. Her counterpart¡¯s reckless bravery made her feel even worse about her own hesitation, no matter how justified it was. Yet Veil did not seem bothered by either one of their replies. ¡°You both are more than ready,¡± she stressed, glossing over Alter¡¯s attempts to upstage her other half. ¡°However, if one of you is not yet convinced, then I will grant you time to think it over.¡± Alter bristled at these words¡ªshe needed no such time!¡ªbut though she began to protest, Veil silenced her with a sharp gesture. ¡°Your revelry is in two days,¡± the ringmaster continued calmly. ¡°I will expect your answers then. In that time, I advise you reevaluate what your duty to the circus truly is.¡± ¡°Isn¡¯t my duty to you?¡± Saraya said, confused by what was being asked. ¡°Is it?¡± Veil posed instead, this perplexing the acrobat all the more. Saraya¡¯s duty was always to the circus, and even more so to Veil. How, then, could saying so possibly be wrong? ¡°I am certain you will find your answer in time,¡± the ringmaster assured in her usual, stoic tone, and considering their conversation now complete, she made back toward the wagon door. ¡°Now come,¡± she told the acrobat, motioning for Saraya to follow. ¡°It is high time that the circus take its leave.¡± Fools Errand - Chapter 4 Hours yet before the coming of dusk, Veil sent up the signal for the nearing end to the day¡¯s travel. The call was coming long before it was typically expected, for there were still several hours of sunlight remaining and plenty of road left between them and the destination for their next performance. But in spite of the unusual time of day, the command was nevertheless delivered down the entirety of the wagon train, echoing along its length through the voices of those who excitedly delivered the news. The circus had made excellent time northward in two days time, having run into few hazards with gentle weather greeting them upon each new horizon. Had today not been one so long expected, they would have gone on longer until the sun was nearer to set, putting fair woodlands behind them and heading into denser forests. But tonight they needed time to prepare for the coming revelry, and even Veil would not spurn the special occasion for the sake of saving time. Already their scouts had hand-selected a perfect spot for the event, having located a wide copse just off the road while on the wing. In preparation for the circus¡¯s arrival, the dracon had taken the liberty of chasing the scavenging vandaboar and coyotes from the thicket, and soon their wagons were pulling into the empty field through the brush. In no time at all the caravan arranged itself into a defensive circle, a formation that would deter roaming creatures from wandering into their midst. Their beasts of burden were released from harnesses and yokes, and cookware was pulled out from storage to be put to use. Nearby trees were felled by the rhythmic hacking of axe blade and dracon claws, and a bonfire was swiftly erected within the space at the caravan¡¯s center. In less than an hour the grandest of camps lay nestled within the heart of the meadow, their caravan coddled away from the harsh winds of winter by an outward shielding of evergreen. At sunset the sky blazed a vibrant tapestry of orange, blue and violet, with pink clouds dashed between the colors like wisps of candy floss. The setting sun coated everything it touched with a glistening golden orange, causing pine branches to glow as with sun-dipped honey and snow to sparkle as bronze. It was a beautiful scene by which to labor, and before long the cold air of winter was replaced by the mouthwatering aromas of freshly baked pastries and basting meats. As night approached, the tantalizing scents mingled with those of cinder and pine as the camp¡¯s central bonfire was fed to grow. Under such airs, patience for waiting began to wear thin, and as time dragged on and appetites grew, the harder it became for the lady chefs to swat back the pilfering palms of temptation. Human¡¯kin were forced to puff on pipes or chew on hard tack and gummed sap to bide their time before the party, while dracon gnawed on the bones and fat of the eve¡¯s fresh kills to sate their whetted hunger. Yet this agonizing wait only made their final indulgence all the finer, and when the sun finally set beyond the trees and horizon, with joyous cheer the revelry fell into full swing. The black of night had replaced the blue light of winter dusk, and more fuel was added to the burning bonfire to chase away the encroaching dark. Flames now licked the starry sky in a fervent, orange blaze, dancing as wildly as the people who surrounded it. Shadowed shapes and figures striped the wagons all around, mimicking the every movement of the dancers. Tonight, the ground thrummed like its own beating heart as feet pounded down the grass in spinning rhythm. And as the fire rose higher alongside laughter and song, inhibitions were thrown aside for the sake of one night¡¯s limitless fun. Joyful ruckus and music were a common affair for the troupe during travel, but never did it compare to these rare celebrations. Tonight the smells of cinder smoke, sweet foods and honeyed ale hung heavy in the air as freshly baked delicacies and spirits were passed around to each in grand abundance. The sheer amount of substance created an atmosphere of lazy comfort over the whole of the grounds, and this haze was only broken by the chaotic motion of capricious dance and merrymaking. Lute, harp, flute and drum rang together in vivacious beat, while those blessed with fairest voice harmonized together through lyric. Riveting renditions of Love in Lady Luck, Dancing with the Farmer¡¯s Daughter and Moondew Wine were expertly performed by the circus¡¯s well-practiced singers. The popular tavern songs were highly successful given tonight¡¯s drunken ambience, and many clapped in time or sang along with each tune while others danced about the fire, spinning and jumping at each crescendo or switch of verse. Whoops and hollers followed on the heels of those whose movements captivated their audience best, and once-barmaid Brema knew best of all how to make men swoon and sing at her command. Barefoot upon the flame-dried earth, she spun about with green dress swirling, fabric twisting around her knees yet hindering not each quickened step and graceful leap. Her ankles, wreathed in gold-charmed bracelets, twinkled in the firelight as she danced, and with each slap of the tambourine she spun about again. Enticed, her husband leapt to her twirling seduction and swept Brema off her feet, launching them both into a whirl of directionless spinning and laughter. The circus¡¯s lead songstress, Irma, a blue-skinned naviin, swiftly took up Brema¡¯s place by the blaze, still singing as she danced. It was not long after that her storm-blessed lover, Ceph, joined with her by the fire, and with movements remarkably smooth for one with taloned toes, he likewise whisked the woman away into their own swirling dance. Over and over the faces came and went, changing endlessly as each and every one joined the fun in turn. The birthday girl was in the thick of the soiree, accepting the hand of any and all who offered her a dance. Tonight was for her, for her going away, and thus it was only polite that the men made sure she was enjoying herself above all others. Even Tief, on klutzy lizard feet, managed enough grace to dance with her during the second verse of Star-Clouded Rivers, a slower song that better suited his lack of dancing skill. When not in hand with another, Saraya found herself dancing solo alongside her fellow women; jumping into preset motions and patterns coupled to the rhythm of the current tune. Few were the moments when her hands were not intertwined with another¡¯s, and just as she¡¯d grabbed up the idle Chloe for another friendly spin, the flame behind them burned again, flaring even brighter. ¡°Into the fire!¡± Came a roar, followed by a sudden eruption that painted the bonfire a ghostly green. Fading back to a searing red, there came a call for another, and promptly the blaze burst forth again with a brilliant hue of blue. The flame-blessed twins, Kiln and Karn, were responsible for the spectacle, being exceptionally gifted in the art of alchemy where fire and explosives were concerned. The devious youths had long been waiting for this: for the perfect night to put their particular talents and concoctions to good use. Thus, as the fire shifted again, this time from blue to purple, the red-scaled twins set to stabbing small missiles into the ground and used the fire of their breath to light the lengthy wicks of each one. Soon, whistling projectiles pierced the night sky in flight as they launched, screaming, upwards. The festivities below were drowned out completely by the gigantic booms that followed, the explosions bursting into a sparkling array of glowing flecks of colored lights. Cheers rang out from the celebrating troupe as more fireworks were sent soaring, and Saraya took advantage of the lull in dancing to slink over to the sidelines for air. With some distance now between her and the others, she allowed herself a moment of brief reprieve. The party was just as energetic and lively now as when it had begun, and likely it would continue to be so for several hours more now that half the crew had gotten good and drunk. Indeed, the night would play out as it always did, and Saraya would be here to witness it all. Eventually, absurd tests of courage would be bet upon between the men, ending with some hysterical results. The women, meanwhile, would swindle each other out of jewels and coin over games of cards and dice, returning them (maybe) to their rightful owners when once again they were sober. Undoubtedly a row would start between some of the younger fellows, as the intoxicated dracon males would challenge their weaker Human¡¯kin counterparts to prove their strength with fists. Those fools who were challenged would answer the call for the sake of their drunken honor, and both parties would be left with cuts and bruises come the morn where their ale-induced stupors had blinded them to pain. Tomorrow, both would defend the victory that neither party could remember nor rightly claim, before deciding on the calling the whole thing a draw. Unless, of course, the female draken got dragged into the affair, whereupon they would proceed to soundly stomp them both. Yes, a most thrilling night this would certainly be. If only it could last forever. Already coated in a layer of sweat from having been dancing since dusk, Saraya sought to assuage her fatigue in an open cask of water. Taking the tin cup hanging upon the barrel¡¯s rim, she plunged the mug beneath the glassy surface and brought it, dripping, to her lips. She downed it all in a single breath, spilling icy droplets down her neck, and filled the cup to full once more, guzzling it again, before feeling satisfied. Alter huffed in the back of her head, grieved by the endless ruckus. ¡°It wasn¡¯t my intention to, no,¡± Saraya told her plainly. ¡°Though I mean to enjoy every second I can before we leave.¡± Stepping up to a table spread with an array of alluring dishes, Saraya pinched a sugar-dusted sweet cake from the nearest platter. Vitanya had prepared these to suit her specific tastes, and when she bit into the soft, airy dough, a strawberry-preserve filling poured out over her tongue. Saraya purred with delight as she popped the rest into her mouth, then she grabbed a second and did the same. Knowing she was likely to grab another yet, she leaned against the nearest wagon and glanced back out over the party while she chewed. The music had died down now that the fireworks had stolen the majority of attention. The instruments simply could not compete with the louder, brighter spectacle, and so both band and dancers had dispersed for now for various foods, drink and games. Silas, their resident healer, was sneaking about from group to group now that a calm had settled in, and as he walked the fire lit up is oblivious, boyish grin. Saraya¡¯d heard from the man himself that he¡¯d created a brand new flavor of taffy¡ªthree, in fact, if he had decided to keep them all¡ªand was likely going about handing off bits of it for tasting. Being subjected to such tests was usually best avoided, but there were too many too drunk tonight to tell the green naviin no. They¡¯d soon find out, as would Silas, if the flavor was edible or not. Had the man not spent so many years working over various herbs and fumes, he would have never damaged his sense of smell, and consequently, his sense of taste. If not for that, then Silas would have been able to test his treats himself, but his odd tastes meant that everyone else had to suffer his discoveries. Vinna¡¯Kar waved Silas away as he approached her table, but though she was able to save herself from the test, she could do nothing for the others. The three throwing dice with her were suckered into the naviin¡¯s candied gamble, and as Armas coughed, Crow heaved and spit out the offered lump. The strong man¡¯s reaction was much more subdued than that of the contorting fire breather, and the obscured third who sat around with them seemed to have no reaction. The wave-blessed dracon, Vinna, laughed at their expense before sympathetically patting Silas¡¯s back and offering her advice. Games of chance¡ªdice or no¡ªseemed games Vinna always won, and rightfully so. The only dracon among the troupe with elegant fins instead of wings, she had joined the circus to see the world beyond the ocean¡¯s beach and had a knack for divination. Fortune telling and future sight were her rare gifts, sparse as the visions may be. Though, just yesterday, the wave-blessed woman had pressed upon Saraya an augury, saying she had seen it in a dream. Beware the silver fox, Saraya. He is no ally of yours. Of course, the woman¡¯s words meant nothing at the time¡ªmeant nothing still¡ªand Vinna herself could explain no further. This recollection slightly soured the acrobat¡¯s celebratory mood, for she never took such premonitions lightly, especially when Vinna stressed them. Though Saraya didn¡¯t care for the gods herself nor took part in any worship, she couldn¡¯t very well deny the proof of their handiwork. If the fortune teller felt this vision important, then important it must certainly be. All such visions came from a god after all, and knowing now what Veil¡¯s intentions were, the Kayll, the Fawln and the Unaligned had now become vitally important. This vision was just another thing for Saraya to ponder over, and she still hadn¡¯t yet figured out what Veil was referring to about her new job. The ringmaster was expecting her to give an answer before the night was through. But what exactly did the woman mean by reevaluating her duty to the circus, and more over, why was Saraya having so much trouble figuring this riddle out? Chloe hopped up beside Saraya as she puzzled over Veil¡¯s request, though only retrieved her friend¡¯s attention when she flopped back hard against the wagon. This caused the acrobat to turn to the juggler with a start, and she barely managed a quick hello before Chloe launched herself into a string of gestures. Waving her hands, the juggler motioned back to the fire, pointing to the returning bards and others who were gathering around the blaze. She pointed to Saraya next, then to herself, before posing her hands like a partner in dance and spinning around on her toes. This novel''s true home is a different platform. Support the author by finding it there. ¡°Not yet,¡± Saraya said, inferring Chloe¡¯s invitation to rejoin the fray. ¡°I still need a few moments more to catch my breath.¡± The dance the two had been sharing prior had been cut short by the twins¡¯ firework display, she knew. And given that this would be their last chance to have fun together, Saraya wanted to continue on as much as her best friend did. Alter growled, ¡°Just give me tonight,¡± Saraya muttered coldly, speaking into her cup of water. ¡°This is the last night we have.¡± Defiantly she bit into her fourth¡ªfifth?¡ªstrawberry nut, downing it quickly to help drown out Alter¡¯s dismal mood. She sighed happily, the sugary delight doing wonders for her spirits, and did not miss Chloe¡¯s skeptical look while she overindulged in food. ¡°Fine, yes,¡± Saraya defended against the unsaid accusation, ¡°and I want as many of these as I can get before they¡¯re gone. You know I always do.¡± To prove her point, she grabbed another, but Chloe snatched the pastry quick away and popped it into her own mouth in playful jest. Saraya crinkled her nose a bit with a defiant snort then chuckled deviously. ¡°Tief beat you this year, you know?¡± She told the girl with a grin. For a moment Chloe stopped chewing, then blinked at Saraya in surprise, before throwing up her arms in exasperated defeat and releasing a heavy sigh into the air. Taking hold of the bill of her burgundy urchin¡¯s cap, the juggler pulled it down a little further over her eyes before pursing her lips to one side. She rounded on the acrobat afterward, knocking her hard in the forehead with the curled knuckle of her middle finger. ¡°Ow! Hey!¡± Saraya snapped as she flinched away, brushing her fingers across the wound. ¡°It is through no fault of mine that you waited this long! He wished us well while we were dancing. You had plenty of time to tell me before then.¡± Dismissively Chloe flipped the curling ends of her bob-cut, brown hair, seeming to care little for the acrobat¡¯s reasonable logic. Rather, she gestured to herself again, touching her fingers to her chest, and then folded her hands together to mime the presenting of a gift. ¡°You¡­have something to give me?¡± Saraya inferred, guessing at the message. Chloe nodded, but then obstinately folded her arms over her chest, both irritated and annoyed that she¡¯d been beaten. ¡°Well, that¡¯s hardly fair, is it?¡± Saraya said, knowing what she implied. ¡°Why should I suffer because of Tief?¡± For a moment Chloe pondered her friend¡¯s just complaint, and eventually resigned her stubborn position with a shrug. Digging then into the pocket of her faded black breeches, she pulled out an unseen object and hid it in her palm. Tugging nervously at the red kerchief tied about her neck, she eventually held out her open hand to reveal a wooden talisman. Carefully, Saraya picked the charm up from Chloe¡¯s palm and turned away from the bonfire so to see it in the firelight. Holding it up, the flames revealed the handmade design in all its rugged splendor. The piece was rough, admittedly; a trinket carved out of a thick chunk of tree bark with its natural texture still intact along the edges. An amateur attempt at a leafed design was etched into the shard¡¯s sanded center, and at its heart a circular bump was raised and smoothed to hold a symbol. The emblem was that of the goddess Iialu, the common sign for luck and safe travel. ¡°You made this?¡± Saraya asked, and Chloe answered with a bashful nod. Her expression belied her dissatisfaction with this most recent work, but time had likely forced her to do the best she could, leaving the end result unpolished. Saraya knew of Chloe¡¯s attempts to pick up the art of whittling, and though she still had much to learn, it seemed her lessons were going well. Saraya certainly appreciated the gift, even if it was roughly made. The sentiment alone made it supremely special, especially to her. Saraya thus palmed the wooden charm and held it close to her heart with a grateful smile. ¡°Thank you,¡± she said and embraced her friend. ¡°I¡¯ll be sure to keep it near.¡± Chloe grinned and hugged Saraya back tightly, stronger than she usually did. Clearly she intended the gift to give her friend protection, knowing that the acrobat would likely need it. And it was in that moment, realizing this, that something important struck Saraya. Glancing again at the wooden charm, she found therein just what it was Veil had meant before. ¡°I need to speak to Veil,¡± she told Chloe then, releasing her hold on their embrace. Chloe did not question this, did not even make a face, and simply gestured back to the fire in response. ¡°Yes, I¡¯ll meet you there when I¡¯m finished,¡± Saraya assured her with a smile. ¡°On my word.¡± Her promise seemed to satisfy Chloe enough, as the juggler simply nodded once before turning and walking away. ¡°And get Tief too!¡± Saraya called after her as she went. ¡°The lazy lizard owes me another dance!¡± Alone again, Saraya glanced out over the camp with new intention, and spotted the ringmaster across the way speaking with Luminaya. Quickly she began striding through the festivities¡¯ outer edge, dodging around those stumbling drunks returning to the dance, and skipping passed a few young men locked in friendly fighting. Her pace increased to a greater speed when Silas looked in her direction. The glass jar in his hands was still a fourth of the way full, but she had no interest¡ªnot now, at least¡ªin tasting its confections. When the acrobat finally reached her, Veil was reclining against one of the wagons gazing out toward the fire. A wooden platter halfway filled with garnered goods and treats sat between her and the draconess upon an upturned barrel, partially touched. Stoically the ringmaster swirled a goblet of mulled wine about in hand, sipping from its steaming surface occasionally as she spoke. Luminaya, meanwhile, gnawed upon the marred end of an expensive ivory pipe carved with a dragon¡¯s head, and puffing on the leaf within, was exhaling smoke out through her nose. ¡°Lady Veil,¡± Saraya began as she approached the two. ¡°I need to speak with you.¡± Veil¡¯s expression did not change as she calmly continued to swirl her wine, and after a moment of letting the liquid settle she glanced to Luminaya. ¡°We will continue our conversation later,¡± the ringmaster told the draconess. ¡°I must speak with Miss Lafeir alone.¡± Luminaya released a low growl reminiscent of a tired sigh, and a thick cloud of pipe smoke billowed out from between her fangs. ¡°If you say so,¡± she grumbled with her usual grouchy tone (though her mood did not appear foul at all). Taking the pipe from between her lips then, she stood up with a stretch. Already heads taller than both ringmaster and acrobat with her knees bent in full recline, when the woman rose to her fullest height, wings completely outstretched, she towered over them like a beast. Always it was intimidating when a dracon stood this way, though the moment passed as Luminaya released yet another tired sigh. Sticking her pipe back into her teeth, she tucked her wings around her shoulders like a cloak and, walking only as dracon can, she began to stalk away. Luminaya paused, however, as she made to pass Saraya. ¡°Nestling,¡± she began, speaking down to her. ¡°I won¡¯t be so much a nestling come the morrow,¡± Saraya corrected, knowing well the dracon slang and that it referred to a young child. The draconess scoffed, pipe smoke escaping through her nose. ¡°You will be a nestling for a long while yet,¡± she remarked pointedly, grinding the pipe¡¯s end in her teeth. ¡°Though, for your kind, I suppose that¡¯s to be expected.¡± Luminaya bent down lower then, though still remained remarkably tall. ¡°It will be hard for you, I think, but try not to do anything foolish while you¡¯re away.¡± Having said this, she clipped Saraya under the chin before the acrobat could reply, and then the woman slunk away to another part of the camp. ¡°Well, Miss Lafeir?¡± Veil said immediately after the draconess took her leave. Saraya scratched at the underside of her chin, her skin tingling where Luminaya¡¯s claw had scraped her skin. ¡°Are you not afraid we¡¯ll be overheard?¡± She asked, gesturing toward the others. ¡°No,¡± the ringmaster answered factually. ¡°The clamor is quite high tonight. It will drown out our conversation.¡± To prove her disregard for the presence of the crowd, she drank a little more liberally of her wine before lowering it below her chest. ¡°I see Miss Maine has presented you her gift. You would do well to hold tight to it. You may need to draw on its strength in the days to come.¡± Instinctively, Saraya squeezed the trinket in her palm. ¡°Speaking of that,¡± she began as she leaned on the wagon next to Veil, ¡°I think I might finally know what you meant.¡± ¡°Tell me then,¡± the woman coaxed, somehow sounding like she already knew. For a brief moment Saraya paused, finding the proper words. ¡°My duty is to protect the circus,¡± she answered, ¡°because I want to, and because I can. I can¡¯t be just an acrobat anymore because I can do much more.¡± ¡°And have you found the confidence to see it done?¡± The ringmaster questioned after. It was a reasonable thing to ask given how Saraya¡¯s sudden lack of self assurance was why she had so harshly faltered during their conversation from before. Considering that, it likewise stood to reason that Veil would need to see that renewed assurance in her now. Thus, again, the acrobat paused before she gave her answer. She had always said she would do anything for the circus she loved, anything for the matron she adored. This desire to do so, she was realizing, is what would steady her heart in the coming days, and is what would give her the resolve she needed to do all that she was asked. This was her chance to prove herself to Veil, and to the others as well. ¡°Everyone has faith in me,¡± Saraya eventually began, squeezing the charm within her palm slightly tighter as she spoke. ¡°So, if it means I must do what you say I must, then I will always see it done.¡± ¡°Very good,¡± Veil replied, satisfied with this promise. ¡°I expected you would realize this. Many others already have. We all do what we must in order to preserve what we have created. You are no different, and will go because your aid is necessary. Our way of life will not survive in so absolute a chaos as what the Fall would bring, and so, in order to maintain that which we have gained, the Fall must be stopped. It is that simple.¡± ¡°When you say it like that, it seems so obvious. But is that really all there is to it, or is there something else?¡± Veil scoffed amusedly under her breath, but she did not smile. ¡°Your curiosity is both a great strength and a weakness, Miss Lafeir. It will be of tremendous use to you on the roads to come, but be wary it does not become a hindrance.¡± Again the ringmaster began swirling the wine within her glass, letting her thoughts similarly swirl about. ¡°I do not do what I do for noble reasons, but for selfish gain. You know me well enough to have deduced this.¡± ¡°Yes, I know.¡± ¡°Then you should too know that I do nothing without a reason, even if some reasons are unknown to you. Remember, we are waging a war, you and I, a war fought through the implementation of small, choice battles. All those I have sent before you, each one who stood in the same place you do now, toil for my purposes. Each one is integral to my plans, same as you; plans whose consequences for failure spell death. The gods do not take kindly to those who meddle in their affairs, and I aim not only to meddle, but to prevent. Zephyr knew of this before she was sent off, as too did the others who have gone before.¡± ¡°Zephyr?¡± Saraya said, knowing well the name. growled Alter in contempt, wholly failing to conceal the deep hurt she felt. Zephyr had been something of an elder sister to Saraya before Veil had sent her away four years ago. In fact, Zephyr had left in much the same manner that Saraya was meant to be leaving now, though the young woman had failed to say a proper goodbye to anyone before she disappeared. It hadn¡¯t occurred to the acrobat that Zephyr was another just like her: someone who served the same purpose and who too knew the same truths. ¡°Yes, Zephyr,¡± Veil repeated. ¡°She was well aware of the risks my plans would bring, and yet she adamantly sought to carry out what I asked regardless.¡± She gestured out to the campground before her, toward the dancing, the laughter and the music. ¡°Recall that this was done for her as well: one final celebration on the chance she did not return.¡± Saraya swallowed hard at this revelation. Such a harrowing reason to celebrate! She much preferred the notion that all this was done to wish one luck, not to wish the honored party a potentially last goodbye. But more importantly than this, Veil had mentioned the constantly-absent Zephyr and others long gone before her time. Such absence was a fate that Saraya did not wish to share, especially since the circus was so integral to who she was. ¡°But what about me?¡± She timidly asked, almost afraid to know. ¡°Will I return?¡± ¡°You will,¡± the ringmaster confirmed, easing Saraya¡¯s mind. ¡°Unlike Zephyr and the others, your place is here, by my side, within the sanctuary of the circus.¡± ¡°So I will come back,¡± the acrobat breathed, deeply relieved for the knowing. It was the greatest news she could have been given this night: the knowledge that she could come home. Drained by all this sullen talk, Saraya found that she needed a sugary boost to maintain her mood, and so stepped around Veil to reach for the nearby platter upon the barrel. Snatching from it another sort of sugar cake, she took a large bite out of it just as the fast-paced tune of Spring Lively strummed up in song. ¡°You should rest soon,¡± Veil told her, inferring what was about to happen. Calmly then, she sipped her steaming drink as cheers once again filled the night. ¡°Recall that you leave with the dawn.¡± ¡°On Talon?¡± The acrobat asked the woman, posing the question as a request. ¡°If you wish. That horse listens to few others outside of you and me. Take him, and it may prove beneficial for you both.¡± Saraya smiled at hearing this. Talon was a stubborn, strong-willed, gigantic jerk of a horse, but the stallion was her favorite steed for the mutual bond they shared. If she was to have a travelling companion, she was happy it could be him. Gazing out then to the crowd of dancers, watching them against the fire glow, the acrobat sighed somewhat longingly before pushing away from the wagon. Hesitating for but a moment, she stuffed what remained of her sponge cake into her mouth before skipping out toward the fire. ¡°Saraya¡­¡± Veil warned at her back, knowing the acrobat would get carried away. ¡°I know,¡± Saraya replied with a wave, grinning back at the ringmaster. ¡°But you wouldn¡¯t deny me one last dance. One, or two, or three!¡± Fools Errand - Chapter 5 It was midway into the afternoon yet the keep¡¯s eastern wing was unusually dark; lit only by a small number of candle-wreathed sconces with the curtains of every window tightly drawn. Despite this, or perhaps because of it, the hall conveyed a certain warmth under the solitary candlelight. It was the sort of air that was heavy, suffocating even, and was made even worse by the cloth stretched over Lon¡¯s nose and mouth that served to mask his face. Such surroundings only enforced what he had come to believe of these horrid Cambrian manors: that the dark, stone walls of a lavish estate were not so dissimilar to those of a prison, particularly when firelight alone gave them their glow. Without the presence of natural light, the hallways exuded an oppressive gloom that he found almost nostalgic. There may have been no jailers here, nor the harrowing ashen walk of death scratched by the heels of the defiant damned, but when bathed in black, flickering shadows, cold stone and silent surroundings captured that dreariness all the same. Trekking down one of the wing¡¯s few conjoining halls, Lon¡¯s leather boots plodded in absolute silence across a plush and rich red runner, passing by the smoothed oaken doors of guest rooms and meeting halls. The stifling atmosphere of shadow, smoke and wax were enough to make one feel unwelcome, though he supposed it could not be helped. Someone of his profession was not truly welcomed anywhere, least of all in such a grand abode. On top of this, certain precautions had to be taken to ensure the secrecy of his arrival, and that often made his visits unavoidably dour. To be unwelcome was thus by nature, and he could not fault the lord of the estate for that. Quietly Lon made his way toward the far end of the decorated guest hall, to the room where his patron, the noble Honorbound of the Scar, sat waiting. All in Cambria, including himself, knew that a call had gone out for the assemblage of the esteemed, and every Honorbound in Cambria was duty bound to attend the moot. The city¡¯s local dignitary had readily welcomed the Scar¡¯s prestigious lady into his private home upon her visit, knowing that his city was but one of many stops the Honorbound would take on her journey northward to Neurial. It was common practice for the Honorbound to use these trips to check in on the surrounding districts to see how well the cities fared, and the vest here was no exception to having his worth be tested. Having had days¡¯ worth of notice, the man was putting on quite a show, but the Honorbound would not be fooled by gifts and pleasantries. Word had already gotten back that something in Meridia was amiss, and the digging Lon had done at his patron¡¯s request had garnered him a well-kept secret to be divulged at the proper time. Turning down one last corner, Lon slunk beneath the mighty shadow that guarded the guest wing¡¯s final hall. The hulking brown bear, frozen permanently on its two hind legs with mouth stretched open in a fearsome roar, was but one of the many sizeable stuffed trophies littered throughout the manor. Yet, as impressive as the creature may have been, Lon merely brushed it by, sparing the dead beast no more of a glance than he would have a vase or chair. He did not understand the Cambrians¡¯ appeal for such crude d¨¦cor, and likely never would. And so, Lon simply continued deeper into a more elaborate hall, one dotted on both sides by crested shields and towering candelabras. There, waiting at the center room beside one such ornamental light, stood the Honorbound¡¯s steward. She was a whinn¡ªas stewards often were¡ªtall, stiff and expressionless, with long, gold-plated hair of a midnight blue nearly black, and yellowed skin like pale sand. Lon had expected the woman¡¯s presence, for she was his only true obstacle to meeting the Honorbound. The secretive Whinnari race always placed their ilk around those in positions of power, though no one knew to what avail. The same was as true in Cambria as it was everywhere else. Every Honorbound, every ruler of every nation, had a whinn somewhere in their council, and for admittedly good reason. The primal insight gifted to the bestial folk allowed them to detect the approach of gigantic drakes and beasts, and so with a whinn to give preemptive warning, many cities were spared disastrous fates. But Lon could not stand Draken¡¯kin, even the civilized ones, and had a particular hatred for the whinn¡¯s haughty mannerisms and tell-nothing rules and ways. That he was forced to deal with one was certainly a loathsome part of his contract with the Honorbound. Fortunately, the benefits he gained from this partnership usually outweighed the hassle. As Lon approached the steward from the shadows of the hall, the high collar of the woman¡¯s mantle could not hide her visible disgust. He noted with some suspicion how the scales along the bridge of the woman¡¯s pointed nose crinkled, as if he carried with him some foul stench that he could not perceive. If this was so, it was likely cheap perfumes that the whinn smelled, along with other carnal musks. Lon¡¯s recent visit to the city¡¯s brothel square had left him wearing much of the same aromas that coated the harlots within, and if indeed they lingered still, they would be hard to miss. Unable to catch such scents himself, Lon had thought the perfumes long faded, but the whinn¡¯s heightened sense of smell had likely outed the position of his recent whereabouts. If the whinn was wise, however, she would not broach the topic. ¡°Lizard,¡± Lon sneered under his breath in a most offensive greeting. The steward¡¯s stone-like face hardly shifted in response however, though the slitted pupils of her emerald eyes became intensely thin. Even in the hall¡¯s low light, he could detect too the slight movement of a muscle twitch, and watched as the woman worked to deny him the satisfaction of her snarl. That she fought so hard against her anger caused Lon to grin, amused. ¡°I¡¯ll let myself in,¡± he then told the whinn, dismissing whatever answer she could give as he reached for the Honorbound¡¯s door. ¡°Mind your tongue and manners, boy,¡± the steward snapped with lowered breath, folding her clawed hands into the large sleeves of her colorful, ornate robes. The motion caused the fabric to catch the light, revealing how each arm and hem was stitched with a multitude of elaborate patterns. Lon was aware that the embroideries were meant to serve as an outward symbol of the woman¡¯s high position. That she drew attention to them now meant that they too served as a warning: a warning to Lon that one wrong step would earn him a terrible fate. Lon chuckled to himself at this and flashed an arrogant smile. ¡°In as much as it suits me,¡± he coolly replied, ignoring the steward completely. He knew as well as the woman did that such idle threats were empty, for as long as the Honorbound had need of him then Lon¡¯s position was secured. It mattered little that the woman could have Lon hanged or worse with but a word, for in being Whinnari, she would not act against her liege¡¯s wishes. No amount of prestige or pomp would suppress Lon¡¯s willful nature regardless, especially that of a lizard, for a lizard in power was a lizard still and meant nothing to him at all. The whinn expectedly turned up her nose at Lon¡¯s overconfident reply, causing the blue gem embedded in her forehead to catch the light and twinkle. The tattoos upon her brow and nose did likewise share the glow, their colors matching that of the stone. Lon puzzled at those markings for the briefest of moments, these colors being yet another Whinnari secret, and left the whinn to stew in anger as he pressed on through the door. The room that housed the Honorbound was most grand indeed; a place prepared for only the most prestigious of guests. The immaculate state of the abode was obvious at a glance, with fine carpets, pelts and satins adorning every corner. The bed was gargantuan, with a sturdy headrest lined with antlers, numerous pillows and no less than five blankets of varying thicknesses layered a foot high atop the mattress. Cases stacked with books and parchment accompanied a grandiose oaken table, one surrounded by several chairs and multiple scrawling tools. It was a bedchamber and study rolled into one, and though the room could comfortably fit an entire farmer¡¯s family, it housed only one occupant. No comfort had been spared to appease the local lord¡¯s most important guests, and among the room¡¯s expensive trimmings sat the Honorbound, reclining before a roaring fire. In the light of a large hearth of bleached-white stone, the uniformed woman flipped a page of the book she read while resting in a high-backed, cushioned chair. Though the usual light from the room¡¯s tall windows was currently absent within the chamber, the glow of the fireplace lit up the noblewoman well enough for Lon to see. Her long, straight, brunette hair appeared almost red against the fire, and while half of it she tucked behind her left ear, the other half was left loose to dangle, shadowing her slim and angled face. The woman was a might scrawny for a Cambrian, who were commonly of fuller frame, and beneath the fur shawl slung upon her shoulders for warmth, she wore a rich green bodice that curved to her lither shape. In true Cambrian fashion, the shoulder line of the accompanying coat was decorated with small, golden pauldrons. There, a cape would be hooked during important events to signify the woman¡¯s station, and her forearms were shielded by plates of similar gold-encrusted steel. Being a woman, the chest of the ensemble had been cut out and sewn with separate cloth to allow for her breasts to breathe, and the collar upon the garment was pinned closed with a silver brooch. That brooch, Lon knew, bore the emblem of the Scar, a crescent moon hung above an evergreen wood, and no one but the Honorbound themselves would be permitted to possess it. You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story. Continuing deeper into the room, Lon¡¯s eyes darted to the woman¡¯s waist where she normally wore a heavy belt that housed a sword and buckler. Tonight however, they were missing, and the man spied the armaments lying harmlessly on a small table nearby instead. In the beginning, the woman had always armed herself when they had the need to meet, but this ceased some time ago. Lon suspected this was because the woman no longer considered him a threat, and to this day he could not decide if her laxity was meant as a compliment or insult. ¡°You are late,¡± the woman said as Lon stepped into the inner rings of firelight. ¡°My apologies, my dear Amelia,¡± the man began, dipping into a bow, ¡°but it could not be helped.¡± The woman scoffed in response to his words, the usual reaction to his common show of mockery. Lon was aware that to bow to another was not the Cambrian way, for it was considered a show of weakness and a sign of one lacking in self pride. He, of course, had neither weakness nor lack of pride, but got away with using the gesture because he was not of Cambrian blood. Often he would use the bow to simply annoy his patron, to imply a prestige to the woman that he believed undeserved. To him, it was a game he played to see how far he could test the Honorbound¡¯s patience, yet the woman did well to ignore his goading for the sake of their partnership and goals. Amelia closed the book she had been reading and rose up from her place. ¡°Do not test me, Develli,¡± she warned with subtle hints of threat. ¡°The contributions I give to your guild are steep, and are not given in exchange for cheek.¡± ¡°Yes, of course, lady Honorbound,¡± Lon replied obediently, though arrogance still tinged his voice. ¡°And we of Fangris are ever grateful for your continued support.¡± ¡°As you should be,¡± Amelia spoke sharply, her pretension putting the man¡¯s own vanity in place. A wry grin threatened to creep onto Lon¡¯s lips in harsh reaction to this verbal slap, but he remained composed. Instinctually, he realized that something must have happened for the Honorbound to already be wound so tightly. There would be no chance for an oral spar today, only talk of business. ¡°Has something happened?¡± He asked, wondering what it could be, though frankly caring little. ¡°You have been trailed to Meridia, Develli,¡± the woman stated harshly, wasting no time on idle chatter. The frown Lon made in light of the news was not a shallow one, for if this was true and he had been tailed, it was by no small feat. Never once since he had joined the guild had he failed to see a trap before it was sprung, nor failed to round on and dispose of those who dared follow his steps too closely. His ability to predict the intentions of his enemies¡¯ movements and scrutinize the details of his surroundings is what allowed him to adapt to the unexpected, was the reason he had survived so long within the shadowy work of his field. For someone to be closing in on him without his knowing, it should have been impossible. ¡°And you know this how?¡± Lon asked calmly, hiding his slight apprehension and disbelief. ¡°You are an important piece to me,¡± the woman began in answer, ¡°but you are far from the only one in my employ. I have other eyes throughout the Scar, eyes that have told me that the Valor has made a move, a move that most likely concerns you.¡± ¡°You presume much,¡± Lon remarked in counter. ¡°For what reason do you think I¡¯m to blame?¡± ¡°Timing,¡± Amelia told him flatly. ¡°The facts are that your arrival triggered a stirring within their ranks. The Valor would never openly oppose an Honorbound. It is not their way. And if it is not for me they now prepare, then there is only one other of consequence in this city that could spur them into action.¡± Frowning again, Lon furrowed his brow. Though he was disinclined to admit it, the woman had the right of it. The Valor might conduct their business in secret, but they were noble through and through. They would never move against an Honorbound without proper proof or reason. He, however, was not protected by such honorable customs, and if the Valor meant to move on him, then they would gain all the proof they¡¯d need to depose Amelia. This could not be allowed. Lon puzzled this for a moment in silence, contemplating this unexpected turn of events. ¡°It must be that damnable captain of theirs,¡± he spoke aloud, permitting the Honorbound¡ªjust this once¡ªto freely know his thoughts. ¡°Only they would deem it necessary to hound me across the Scar.¡± Amelia lowered her gaze in hearing the admission and fell into deep thought, then paced back toward the fireplace and peered into its blaze. For a short while then, both were quiet, formulating their separate thoughts until the woman spoke again. ¡°To have attracted such attention bodes ill,¡± she stated. ¡°The Valor cannot be allowed to interfere with our venture; not now, and least of all those high within their ranks.¡± Turning away from the flickering flames, Amelia faced Lon again, her expression having somehow grown even more serious than before. ¡°You will dispose of the captain here, in Meridia,¡± she ordered, ¡°before they can reach Neurial and convene with the rest of their kin.¡± Lon raised a skeptical brow as he processed the demand. ¡°You would have me kill them?¡± He questioned. Even if the situation was dire, this did not seem a wise course of action considering what he knew of the Honorbound and the image she wished to keep. But then again, performing a mere assassination would be easy work for him, and Lon took great delight in receiving simple jobs. ¡°No, you will not touch them,¡± Amelia clarified, knowing what the man was thinking. ¡°Not while I am here. The Valor may be a thorn in my side, but do not forget that, to the public, I am sympathetic to their cause. For their captain to come to harm while I am present in the city would only further fuel their suspicion of me. This must be avoided at all costs.¡± ¡°And yet you wish them dealt with? How do you propose I do this, then?¡± Now it was time for the Honorbound to smirk, her vile grin one worn by those who had grown confident in their position. ¡°You are a smart man, Lon Develli. I am certain you will figure it out.¡± Lon took the snide words in stride, though inside he was irritatingly agitated. The Valor¡¯s captain of the Scar was an enigma to him, his one and only nemesis since his work for the Honorbound began. The two parties had been tiptoeing around each other ever since the existence of the other was discovered. Lon had assumed that the Valor captain was aware that Amelia had a right hand man in play, just as he had come to assume that the Valor kept the Honorbound closely watched. In the months he¡¯d been at Amelia¡¯s command, Lon had quietly disposed of his fair share of Valor spies and sneaks. But even with the liberal use of torture, he had never learned of his opponent¡¯s name or face. It was just as well, he supposed, for as far as he knew, the captain likewise knew nothing of his identity and only that he existed. Even so, this gap in his knowledge concerning his foe was nevertheless Lon¡¯s failing, and the only one he could recall having made in recent times. It was a failure that he had been careful to not admit to the Honorbound, though that hardly mattered now. That Amelia would call on him to find and remove the one whose face he did not know, it implied that the woman had secretly known of Lon¡¯s failure all along. As much as he hated to admit it though, this problem was indeed one best dealt with before it got out of hand, and though taxing, it was well within the limits of his contract to handle the job as tasked. ¡°Now, onto other matters,¡± the Honorbound said, dropping the troublesome topic at hand and returning to the fireside chair. ¡°What have you learned regarding Meridia¡¯s affairs?¡± Now was Lon¡¯s chance for a little revenge for the task Amelia had so suddenly thrust upon him. And so, in exchange for the Honorbound¡¯s dismissiveness, he decided to play coy. ¡°The river docks,¡± he answered vaguely. ¡°I would advise you to check there.¡± For several moments the woman waited, expecting Lon to say something more. ¡°Is that all?¡± She prompted when nothing came. But Lon responded only with the same kindness she had shown to him. ¡°You are most wise, Honorbound Fairwater. I am certain you will figure it out.¡± At first his snide retort elicited a stunned silence, but Amelia proved quick to recover from the verbal blow. ¡°In this, you are correct,¡± she answered smoothly, refusing to take his bait. ¡°I need nothing more of you. You are dismissed, for now.¡± ¡°As you wish,¡± Lon acquiesced with a cynical playfulness. He had expected to have no fun at all during this particular visit. How happy he was to be wrong. ¡°And Develli,¡± the Honorbound began again, causing Lon to pause in his retreat. ¡°You spend far too much time gallivanting through brothel halls. No man should so reek of gaudy women¡¯s perfume, especially those in my employ. It will not be tolerated.¡± Lon chucked to himself and gave the woman a devil¡¯s smile. ¡°Nose sharp as a whinn¡¯s,¡± he quipped, and then, giving another loathsome bow, he entered the shadows at the edge of the room and quietly took his leave. Fools Errand - Chapter 6 Lon pulled lightly upon his shroud, ensuring that it wholly covered his hair and shadowed his face. The heat of his breath, trapped by the thin layer of cloth stretched over his mouth and nose, warmed his cheeks, but made them damp. In the crisp and gradually chilling air of the approaching evening, the moistened skin stung like ice when we inhaled. Alas, such discomforts could not be helped. Time had been played against his favor, forcing him out into these biting winds. Had he the choice, Lon would have rather bided his time until midday tomorrow, where the weather was likely to be more agreeable and he would have had more time to scout and plan. But he could no longer afford the luxury of a leisurely pace. Already he had wasted too much time on matters concerning the Valor captain, and now that the Honorbound¡¯s plan was in active motion, she would not allow him to risk failure brought about by his own lack of urgency. Amelia had always possessed an incessant desire for perfection; a desire that Lon found to be one of the Honorbound¡¯s most taxing traits. Often her intentions and timing conflicted with his own, misaligned upon a path to reaching the same goal. The woman wanted jobs carried out immediately and efficiently as possible, while Lon preferred to move at his own pace and in his own time. His way was no less efficient, of course, for every task he undertook he carried out so to appease his own high standard of satisfaction. Being rushed by an overseer did nothing but add unnecessary stress to his job, and tended to make things more complicated than they had any reason to be. Lon much preferred a task that hinged only on what he deemed worth doing at any given point during its completion, and his chosen choice of tactics had rarely failed him in the past. Unfortunately, the guild was breathing down his neck, and their demands required him to maintain this lucrative alliance with the Scar¡¯s Honorbound. The Lady Fairwater¡¯s choice in tact thus vastly outweighed his own, and for the sake of his distinguished reputation, as well as that of Fangris, Lon would not disappoint. Still, the Honorbound¡¯s hounding garnered her nothing, and did even less to help solve Lon¡¯s current problem. He still yet knew how he was to dispose of the Valor captain without killing them, which would have been the simplest way. A plan, one suited to meet the Honorbound¡¯s bothersome requirements, would be concocted in due time once all the pieces had been arranged, but first there came the tricky matter of the captain¡¯s identity. Only after knowing his target¡¯s face could Lon truly lay his traps, and then he and the Valor captain could finally end this dance they shared. Though he would never admit to it, Lon knew he had allowed this matter to elude him for far too long. Indeed, it was high time that the two of them finally met, though ¡°meet¡± was not quite the proper word for what he planned to do. As long as he had the right tools to work with, Lon was confident that he would be able to find out who the captain was without giving himself away. Already he was forming a tentative plot to make this so, which bided him return to the brothel square¡ªin spite of Amelia¡¯s warning¡ªto locate the pawn he required. For an hour Lon solemnly stalked the mundane streets, passing those corners housing scantily clad ladies, all bare skin and curves. With some amusement he watched how the women shuddered in the evening chill, and reveled in how they called to him, yearning for him to be the one to return the warmth unto their skin. A gentle stroke of the cheek and a deceptively kind word kept both his time and his coin free from their clutches. Regardless of having refused the advances, it entertained Lon nonetheless to watch them rouse so at his touch, and provided him an even greater joy to witness such desperate eagerness that they should throw themselves at him. How many had he seen act this same way before? Even those refined women of noble courts oft proved themselves little different than these garish whores where their bedchamber was concerned. All were so easy a pet to mold when treated a particular way, and Lon had never had problems finding bed companions when he wanted, money when he needed, or secrets when he asked. His charm and manner were enough to always ensure that this was so. Recently, only the woman, Fairwater, had resisted his will so sternly, and in so doing had only confirmed his strong dislike for headstrong women. Slowly the first hour of his searching passed, and just as slowly the sun dipped behind the tallest buildings. The lack of it cast the streets under a cloak of shade, signaling the coming time for the usual influx of disreputable patrons. Believing themselves better hidden under the growing cover of dusk, those seeking to indulge in their sin and lust began filling the alleys in number. Some of them hoped to some choice of god that no one would recognize them in their hour of weakness, while others with no such scruples boisterously meandered in, half-drunk already, to satisfy yet another one of life¡¯s many needs. There were few other places within the city that so readily gathered the desperate and easily swayed. Beggar streets, poorhouses and slums were each another such wellspring, and sufficed most often for locating those willing to partake in any manner of work for coin. But today Lon needed someone who possessed more than simple intellect and street guile, someone who would perform for him the calculative role he required. Be it a clever harlot or some weak-willed, wily cad, here, in the place where degenerates from all walks of life mingled, Lon was certain to find someone he could use. Already he had his ideal pawn in mind, and had been keeping a sharp eye out for anyone matching what he envisioned. For years Lon had made it something of a pastime to use unsuspecting people for gain, and so could easily recognize those traits he prized most in his tools. Thus he weaved casually between the decrepit, shady streets, eavesdropping on small cliques and couples that had broken off alone, and tailing just behind those few who gave off particularly-potent vulnerable vibes. So many he trailed proved far too dull-witted for his cause, alas; lacking all manner of subtly and possessing no presence of grace. Some even wanted for a base intellect, or were otherwise worthless in another way. However, the nervous whelp, cowering, forced here on a dare, was one plausible choice for use, and the rebellious young vest recently duped out of a high sum of money by a corner vixen was another possibility. Both would be easy targets to cow via the promise of coin, threat or blackmail, and best of all, either could be just as readily disposed of once their partnership had reached its end. Possibilities began to blossom from the wheels within Lon¡¯s mind, ways to use either boy to his greatest advantage. But just as the details of a plan started to take root and grow, a new face suddenly appeared. Grinding Lon¡¯s plotting to a halt, there, stepping her way carefully through the entourage was a young Crystarian girl. A Crystarian in Cambria was a rare sight indeed, and likely being aware of this very fact, the girl was keeping her hood up in an attempt to divert unwanted notice. Unfortunately for her, the pale blue of her hair was peeking out just enough to still be visible beneath the shadow of her cowl. This gave her lineage away instantly, for such a color was unnatural in Cambria and so it blatantly stood out. Moreover, the girl¡¯s dark and striped clothing labeled her a serf of the street; another prostitute, or so Lon guessed, who had escaped from the house in which she worked to be allotted some freedom before nightfall. But he knew nothing of such a jewel dwelling in this place, and he¡¯d always been certain to seek out the best! No doubt the brothel that owned her was charging an exorbitant sum, for Crystarians were well known for their natural beauty, and this one was so very young. Captivated now, mostly by his own curiosity, Lon watched after her, and soon began noting other things that worked to intrigue him all the more. There was a catlike grace in the girl¡¯s movements, her each step light and planned, and her every nimble motion, even when stepping near enough to bump shoulders, kept her safely out of any would-be captor¡¯s reach. Quickly she pressed ever forward and faster through the brothel square, passing across from where Lon stood. For the briefest of moments he saw the flash of steel beneath the girl¡¯s cloak, and counted there far too many weapons for any one harlot to hold. Perhaps, then, this Crystarian was not a brothel girl at all, but simply someone in the wrong place at the wrong time. Such things mattered little though, not now that she had been seen. The whispers to Lon¡¯s side alerted him that she was being scouted, and the jealous glares of bedwomen spurned for the younger, more beautiful, were growing slowly hotter in their intensity. Lon had to move fast, before someone else did, and so struck out after the Crystarian girl just as she rounded the nearby crumbling fountain. Truly Lon could have asked for no better luck than this. Women were always easier to coerce than men, and more often than not, far less stubborn. A Crystarian could prove simpler for him to handle as well, for they tended to lack a Cambrian¡¯s innate bullheadedness and often possessed the greater wit that he currently required. Smiling to himself under his black face shield, Lon stepped ever faster toward his unsuspecting prey. His unwitting pawn had come to him in his most desperate hour of need, and for that, he was nothing but grateful. But better than the timing was this one simple thing: that no matter how pretty a face may be, no one missed a street serf when they were gone. Saraya had made a terrible decision. The innkeeper¡¯s instructions had been explicit, and she well remembered every turn to take. But while walking she had deduced there to be ample room for shortcuts, and thus, rather foolishly, she had plotted her own course. Having hoped to return to the inn before too late an hour, for the sake of time she had decided to cut through certain areas rather than go around them. If she had known that doing so would cause her to wind up here, in this contemptible place, then she never would have followed through with it. Belphor¡¯s sphere of influence was never a good place to be, especially for someone like her. Street performers like herself were oft seen as little more than modestly-dressed harlots, and treated in like manner. To be seen in a brothel square would only enforce the false notion that female jesters were whores, and besides this, she did not need nor want the unnecessary attention. Being Crystarian had already given her unwanted notice enough, her hair being to blame. That Crystarians were known magic users, and being that Cambrians hated magic in all forms, this had made her a target. Only narrowly did she avoid starting a fight when attempting to check in at the inn, having been confronted by a handful of those who were hostile to her kind. Calmly she had been forced to explain that she possessed no magic ability, and that the dye of her hair (a symbol of magic use in Aerim) was nothing more than flair used for the stage. It had taken some convincing, and knife juggling as well, to assure her accusers that she was telling the truth. In the end, she won herself a free meal for the unwarranted hassle, and though she had to pay for it, also a place to lodge. She was granted a stage to run as well, if she so desired, and though politeness demanded that she agree to the work, she had to wonder if it was even worth the trouble. Alas, this was not the first time she¡¯d caught such glares of suspicion simply from the color of her hair, and it would hardly be the last. Certainly her looks were perfect for attracting eyes to the stage, but it was detrimental in these areas of civility. It was a fortunate thing that the Mediator was not here and that there were days of travel yet before she¡¯d reach Neurial. Saraya could afford to be a little lax for now concerning how much she stood out, but it was something she would need to take much greater heed of in the future. Alter scoffed as they dodged around yet another small gathering of street women and brothel boys. Glancing one way and then another, Saraya did her best to avoid catching the gazes of any such bystanders, though still she felt the burning discomfort of their eyes upon her back. There were too many people here, far more than she expected, and it was proving a challenge to get through them all without causing too great a stir. If nothing else, she was lucky that most city traffic seemed to avoid this place, as the roads appeared primarily tread by foot rather than horse or carriage. The streets themselves were poorly tended (which likely aided in keeping carts away), and much of the roadway cobbles were cracked or otherwise askew. It was in dire need of repair, and yet, even with such signs of neglect, there were more patrons about the streets than she would have originally believed. Saraya had once thought quite highly of the nation of Cambria, as one would of any civilization built on merit. But even the supposedly honorable Cambrians could still lie, cheat and steal, and as she had so recently discovered, were as susceptible to suspicion and prejudice as much as anyone else. Veil had warned her that signs of the Fall were all around them plain to see, so perhaps this was just one sign of that cruel, impending change. Far more likely, however, was that Saraya had simply been too na?ve to notice such things before. There were a great many things that looked different to her now in fact, now that she was alone and the circus was no longer acting as her shield. Five days¡¯ worth of travel had proved far more arduous solo, particularly in those instances when lodging was unavailable. Dracon would not longer defend her camp from the creatures that may creep in, and her sleep had become short and shallow by taking the sentinels¡¯ place. Travel was lonely, cold and insufferably boring, and any stranger she met had to be approached with caution rather than a jester¡¯s smile. There was no one to rely on now if things went badly, and any injury she sustained could prove detrimental to herself, her journey and her job. While nothing she had done so far was anything she had not done countless times before, there was a weight partnered to it now that made every decision feel heavy, and she did not much appreciate the added stress. She had only been away from the circus for a short amount of time, but already she was longing to return. Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon. Saraya sighed and tugged lightly on the hem of her hood, moving it down a little more in hopes of better hiding her long hair. It would be better if she stopped thinking about how things had changed and instead focused on what she had ventured outside to do. She was where she was now because of the growing need to replenish, to get back those provisions spent after leaving home. Veil had granted Saraya enough coin to easily sustain her for the trip as long as she spent it responsibly, and certainly she would need it in the days yet to come, especially when considering the high price of city living. Currently she carried with her only two silver scales; more than enough to buy whatever it was she needed. The rest she had locked away in her room at the inn, hiding it within a secret place to keep it safe. As soon as she got out of the brothel quarter, the shops and market streets would be but a quick jaunt away, only down a few more blocks. The market streets themselves would be just recently closed, but singular shops around the area would remain open to welcome any late-coming visitors. A local grocer would possess the stock Saraya needed to restore her used supplies, and even if she failed to find one, she had enough provisions to reach the next town at least. Of course, she¡¯d rather not risk cutting things that close if she could help it. Neurial was another three days away if the roads and weather proved fair, and that was much too far to travel on dwindling winter supplies. Alter suddenly hissed, causing Saraya to snap back to attention. Instinctively the jester drove her heel into the road¡¯s cobble, and feeling a presence at her back, she turned around. Ready to defend herself if she must, by the time she and her stalker locked gazes she had pulled a dagger free of its sheath. The hilt of the blade firm in hand and ready for use, the man looked as surprised as Saraya did when she spun about to face him. So close were they that they could reach out and touch; a feat no average person should have been able to accomplish without Saraya¡¯s knowing. She had not been so deep in thought as to miss the man¡¯s approach, and thus she immediately regarded the man with a great amount of caution. But a quick glance of his person was all she truly needed to take heed. The only visible thing on him was a pair of amber irises, the dimming light of the sun catching their color with a shimmer. In seeing them, Saraya was reminded of the feral eyes of a beast, and for some reason, she could not shake the harrowing feeling of danger. ¡°Impressive,¡± the man said as he smiled beneath his mask, the fabric stretching with the movement of his lips. Slowly then, he held up his hands, revealing them to be empty. ¡°You may sheathe your blade. I mean you no harm.¡± ¡°I will be the judge of that,¡± Saraya responded sharply while gripping her blade all the tighter. ¡°You will forgive my curtness, but I am no whore to be bought. If you seek a bedfellow, you will need to search elsewhere.¡± The man¡¯s smile widened, the grin reaching his eyes, and he chuckled amusedly. ¡°My dear girl,¡± he purred smoothly, making the acrobat¡¯s spine tingle, ¡°that is not the sort of proposition I bring. I could tell you were no whore simply by watching your steps. You possess a grace few others at your age could boast, and by my guess, hide a talent of which I have great need.¡± The silk of his tone and the flatteries laced within caused Saraya to frown. ¡°I know not of what you speak,¡± she replied flatly, denying the assumptions outright. How could she know if she possessed the skills he sought or not, and more over, what did it matter? The man was playing coy, and that only put her on edge. In her experience, those unwilling to be forthright or who spoke in empty kindnesses were often times trying to hide something dangerous or important. Getting involved with such people was risky at best, and usually led to little else but inconvenience and trouble. Her fair share of such partnerships had taught her well to be wary, and not knowing the man¡¯s face was certainly not helping his case. But the man seemed somehow moved by her halfhearted answer, and stroking his chin with a gloved hand, he began again. ¡°The stripes you bear, you are a performer?¡± ¡°And if I am?¡± Saraya answered. ¡°Then I would know where you are performing tonight.¡± Saraya bit her tongue at this, not wishing to reply. Already she was certain that this question carried more importance than it seemed, and though she¡¯d rather not reveal the place, she doubted this man would let her go without telling him where it was. ¡°I will not say,¡± she began, speaking it low under her breath. ¡°Not here.¡± Casually then, the acrobat glanced to the nearest faces around them. Already she had succeeded in attracting one unwanted face tonight, and if indeed she must give an answer, she certainly had no desire to risk attracting more. It took but a moment for the man to infer her intent, glancing as she had to the scattered crowds. ¡°Yes, of course,¡± he agreed, his voice, too, a whisper. ¡°Then what say you we take a walk, away from listening ears?¡± Before the jester could protest, and without any prompt, the man produced a gold coin from the shadow of his cloak. Turning it about in his fingers, he just as quickly then tucked it away. ¡°I assure you,¡± he muttered quietly, ¡°it will be worth your time.¡± The sudden flourish of the falcon took Saraya by surprise. ¡°You offer that much just to speak? It is a steep price for mere conversation.¡± ¡°True,¡± the man admitted freely, ¡°but the importance of my task demands it.¡± Upon telling Saraya this he beckoned toward the nearest alley with the gentle wave of his hand. ¡°Well?¡± But the acrobat hesitated. The pricey promise was indeed tempting, but she knew it would lead to trouble. And yet, with her own curiosity piqued and growing, she felt that she could hardly deny the man an audience now. Alter purred in Saraya¡¯s head, her second voice doing little to help deter her forthcoming bad decision. ¡°Together,¡± the acrobat thus told the man, gesturing for him to take lead. At the very least, she would not have him following at her back. A shady deal was one thing, but to leave herself purposely open to attack was another entirely. The man surely smirked under that mask given the bemused glimmer that sparked his eyes. Regardless, he walked into the alleyway at Saraya¡¯s behest, passing wordlessly between those few people who were still watching them. Saraya stepped in line behind him, keeping her fingers loose and dagger ready. Obviously she did not trust the man or the cryptic task to which he alluded, but, against her better judgment, her curiosity had grown too strong. She wanted know who this man was to possess such wealth, what it is that he wanted and why he would choose her. The coin he¡¯d flashed was inconsequential; a convenient excuse for Saraya to follow him and sate her intrigue. After all, five days of uneventful travel had left her painfully bored, and this was the first thing that had happened since leaving the circus that promised a bit of fun. Eventually the man came to a stop at a crossroad between the alleys, somewhere that was well out of earshot of anyone lingering on behind. ¡°This is far enough,¡± he stated, fetching the coin out once again. Then, flipping the token off the end of his thumb, he flicked it through the air to Saraya. ¡°I did not think you serious,¡± the jester remarked when catching it, examining the coin and hardly believing that she had actually obtained gold for nothing. ¡°It is a small price to pay to convince you to join my purpose,¡± the man told her plainly. ¡°I am looking for someone, you see, and I need your help.¡± Alter grumbled, scowling at the golden falcon; a look that Saraya had to make sure didn¡¯t reach her face. ¡°You know I care little for that,¡± Saraya replied, speaking her feelings aloud. ¡°I care only inasmuch as it grants me a living.¡± Shoving the coin in her pocket then, she slowly sheathed her blade and looked back toward her patron. ¡°So, who is it you¡¯re searching for?¡± ¡°The one who hounds me,¡± the man stated flatly, saying nothing more. The acrobat raised a brow. ¡°And you wish for me to do¡­what exactly?¡± ¡°First, confirm a rumor. I have heard that merrymen have the ability to read unspoken feelings and intentions while on the stage. Is this true?¡± ¡°It is, to a point,¡± Saraya answered, uncertain why this was important. Any successful performance relied on the performer¡¯s ability to read the atmosphere of the room and to know the preferences of their audience. Certainly Saraya believed herself rather gifted in this area of her field. Always she had been able to pick up on the unspoken feelings and intentions of those she met, knowing the upright from the cur with little more than a glance. Being sensitive to airs and auras had been her boon for years, and went far beyond her time as a jester and acrobat at the circus. Being a performer had only honed those skills she already possessed, and when put into practice on a stage, such intuition had not only made her successful, but also kept her safe. The man fell silent at this answer, and for a moment he paced around the width of the alleyway, thinking. ¡°From the stage, can you infer an individual¡¯s intent?¡± ¡°It depends on the intent,¡± the jester claimed. ¡°If the intent is a dangerous one, then it is likely I would foresee it. We performers learn how to please our audience, but also how to watch out for trouble. You don¡¯t spend years on a stage and not learn how to read a room, especially when that room holds a threat.¡± ¡°It is possible then,¡± the man muttered wryly, speaking this wholly differently than how he had spoken before. Alter growled in the acrobat¡¯s mind. ¡°Nor I,¡± Saraya agreed, daring to take a step nearer to the man. ¡°What is possible?¡± But the man only dismissed her question, waving it away. Unsurprisingly though, the flippant action only caused the acrobat to bristle. ¡°I will take part in nothing if you do not tell me what it is you¡¯re planning,¡± she warned. ¡°There isn¡¯t time to speak of it in detail,¡± the man assured her suddenly, having come to resume his kindly nature from before. ¡°But as long as the circumstances are correct, then I am certain you will be able to find the one I seek. You¡¯ll have to.¡± ¡°The five hells ¡°I¡¯ll have to¡±,¡± Saraya snapped, spitting back the stranger¡¯s words. But no sooner had she said as much did the man produce another two gold coins from his coat. ¡°I have every intention of paying you for your help,¡± he said, rolling the falcons over in his hand. Their shine caught what little light there was remaining in the alley, but though it truly was a generous offer, her stubbornness was preventing Saraya from agreeing to go along. ¡°Four,¡± Alter suddenly quipped, taking over Saraya¡¯s tongue. ¡°What are you doing?!¡± Saraya hissed vehemently under her breath. ¡°Negotiating,¡± Alter mused, smiling greedily. ¡°Four falcons and not one leaf less.¡± ¡°Four falcons?¡± The man replied, his face twisting so drastically that his mask failed to hide it. ¡°I thought you cared little for coin?¡± ¡°I care for it enough,¡± Alter sneered, her teeth slightly bared. ¡°Besides, no performer would jeopardize her stage for such a meager prize, and you do intend on using our stage for your gain, do you not?¡± The man seemed to glower at her, but, after a few moments, he did indeed pull another two coins out from his pouch. ¡°Four falcons,¡± he said bitterly, though handed off only two. ¡°Two now, two more when the job is done.¡± ¡°Agreed,¡± Alter spoke with a triumphant smirk as she palmed the money. The man had proved himself good for the coin; it would be enough for now. Once the gold had made its way safely into Saraya¡¯s possession, the man unexpectedly cleared his throat. ¡°Now, where is it you are performing?¡± He asked rather loudly. ¡°The White Hearth,¡± the jester told him, furrowing her brow at his change in voice. ¡°An inn a fair walk from here. You should know that I¡¯m there for only one night though, and must be on stage before long.¡± ¡°One night is enough,¡± the man assured. ¡°More than enough for what we have planned. You will be well compensated for your part in this, rest assured.¡± His strange stressing of the word ¡°we¡± greatly confused Saraya, and that he spoke again of her payment, why repeat what they already knew? Before she could say anything about it though, the man forcefully shoved her away. ¡°Damn it, girl!¡± He cursed at her, yelling angrily. ¡°They¡¯ve found us! Flee before they catch us both!¡± ¡°What are you¡ª?¡± The jester began, nearly snapping for being shoved, but then the sound of boots reached her ears and immediately silenced her. Spinning around, she spotted two large men in dark cloaks racing toward them from the brothel street, and already her reliable partner in crime and gone and abandoned her. Left well behind and on her own, Saraya¡¯s choice was to either face her assailants or run, and cursing to herself, she turned heel and took off another way. Barreling down some other street as swiftly as her feet could go, when she heard the footsteps in pursuit, it seemed that only one of the two men was following after her. It was one too many, but after only a short distance Saraya proved herself the faster, and taking a few nimble twists and turns, she made successful her escape. Lost now within the alleyways but safe for the time being, Saraya slumped against the nearest wall to finally catch her breath. ¡°Ashen blood,¡± she swore again, cursing her foul luck and foolishness. Curiosity had gotten her into trouble once again, and Alter¡¯s meddling had sealed their fate. Intrigue was hardly an excuse to get caught up in something like this. Now she was running from an enemy she didn¡¯t know, was caught in the middle of a scheme she had no business being a part of, and had no way of backing out. She had already accepted the nameless man¡¯s coin, had already revealed where it was she was staying, and had no way of procuring some means of escape for she¡¯d already promised that she would perform. Even if she wanted to flee, she would have to wait until later to avoid both onlooker¡¯s eyes and guards, and by then it would be too late. Besides, her honor as a performer would suffer if she ran away, and Talon needed a good rest after being so long upon the road. No matter how she looked at it, she was doomed to see this through. The two gold falcons sat heavy in her palm, and upon remembering that they were there she rolled them around, listening to the plinking of their jingle. ¡°This had better be worth it,¡± the acrobat grumbled as she started hatefully at the coins. Alter spoke to her with a cruel yet excited laugh. ¡°I oft tend to suffer from your ideas of ¡°fun¡±,¡± Saraya reminded her other half. ¡°And you¡¯d better hope Veil doesn¡¯t find out about this.¡± After saying this, the jester looked up to the sky, and though she tiredly released a sigh she couldn¡¯t help but chuckle too. ¡°Hah¡­what am I saying? She probably already knows.¡± Forcing herself up from the wall, Saraya pocketed the two coins to join with the other one, and then started toward the mouth of the alley to try and figure out where she was. She had to give up her prior plans of restocking her provisions, not having much in the way of choice, and so wandered back toward the larger streets so to find her bearings. There were more important things she needed to ready herself for now, including a heap of impending trouble. She had hoped that tonight would prove some fun, but instead, it was shaping up to be far more ¡°fun¡± than she had bargained for. Fools Errand - Chapter 7 The White Hearth Inn was so named for the grand fireplace at its center: a gigantic furnace around which the entire tavern had been built. The front of the hearth, the part visible to guests, was framed in bleached-white stone (hence the inn¡¯s name), with the mantle chiseled to bear the shapes of leaves, butterflies, and small flying quips licking nectar from petals with elongated tongues. With fresh wood on the flame, the hearth was blazing hot with a backdrop of loud pops and crackles, thoroughly warming the tavern¡¯s common room for those seeking refuge from the cold. Red coals and cinders fallen loose off the logs had been pulled to the hearth¡¯s hidden back, where an opening there served as the main stove for the inn¡¯s impressive kitchen. For two hours or more the mouthwatering aromas of roasting meat on spits, baking bread and simmering stew had been wafting out from the front of the hearth, filling the common with all manner of delicious smells. Saraya¡¯s stomach grumbled long before she came to notice she was hungry, for having been so deep in thought since her return, she forgot that the dinner hour was nigh. ¡°Quiet, you,¡± she ordered at her empty stomach, the cavernous sounds having disrupted her concentration. Sitting at the back of the tavern hall from the upturned barrel that served as her table, she had been watching closely all those who had entered the inn following her arrival. She had requested this corner place specifically so that she could be alone, much to the confusion of the innkeep. At first, the Tuh¡¯luan male thought her still offended from earlier, from when he¡¯d nearly kicked her out under the suspicion of magic talent. She had assured him that this was not the case however, and that she merely wanted some time alone to prepare for tonight¡¯s performance. Thankfully, he had accepted her answer without fuss, even if it was only half the truth. Honestly, Saraya had wanted a better vantage by which to watch the dining hall, as well as to stay out of the way lest someone else suspect her of being a caster. The man who had hired her was bound to show up eventually, and she wanted to know the exact moment when he did. That man wanted her to find someone, but had given her no clues or hints as to whom. If Saraya was going to get through this trap without losing an ankle in its snare, then she was going to have to learn something from him that could help. With the hour having now grown late, men and women, pale akiri like herself, colored, striped naviin, and dark-skinned tuh¡¯lu all began coming through the tavern doors in greater number. A good half of the inn¡¯s tables and chairs were already filled even as more people piled in, with those remaining being mostly claimed by laborers fresh off the job. Lumber appeared to be the Scar¡¯s greatest commodity, with Meridia serving as a port town for shipping it up river. Nearly all of those who were coming in smelled strongly of pine and sap, their white linen shirts each stained gold by the drippings of bark blood, with flecks of wood chippings dusting every furred shoulder mantle and coat. Even those who looked to have no dealings with the city¡¯s mills seemed to carry the scent upon their dress, causing the sweaty, forest odor in the inn to grow and thicken. Strangely, the mixing of pine, sap, meat, bread and pie wasn¡¯t at all unpleasant, and even gave something of a spring-like feel to the tavern air. If nothing else, it succeeded in chasing the winter away with its warm illusion, leaving only the occasional whiff of river and fish to reveal the trick for what it was. The cozy atmosphere endured however, regardless of those things threatening to break it, and the haze helped ease Saraya¡¯s looming anxiety. With so many locals taking up space inside the tavern, the jester turned a greater portion of her attention to those strangers from the road. Those newly arrived in Meridia were sprinkled in among the city folk far fewer in their amount. As was to be expected, people were beginning to travel more now that spring was nearly here, and in a city like this there were a plethora of places that could put up a road-weary traveler. Upon her own arrival, Saraya had purposefully searched Meridia for somewhere like the White Hearth Inn: a place that served as a haven for locals more than it did for strangers. Other travelers would not be nearly as picky as she had been, nor have the need to search for so particular an establishment. For Saraya, however, knowing whom the inn serviced was absolutely necessary, as it would allow her to better work her craft if the need arose. Time abroad had taught her that locals were often open to having their daily monotony broken by the display of jester tricks, while those fresh off the road much preferred their evenings quiet. Having a split audience would only make her acts harder to appease, but then again, accepting the work of a masked stranger had made such things hard already. If rumor was anything to go by though, stage fools and dancers had become a less common thing in Cambria of late, and so her presence would likely be readily welcomed. The White Hearth¡¯s proprietor had suggested that any who proved to have such talent were snatched up by wealthier houses and inns, these merrymen paid to entertain for private families and guests. Saraya didn¡¯t know how much of this was true, but she did know that she hadn¡¯t seen a single street performer on her way to Meridia or since. It was possible that somewhere they still existed, earning an honest living at the behest of a wealthier inn than this. But she didn¡¯t envy these performers, if indeed they had decided to trap themselves in a singular place, though she couldn''t blame anyone in her position for wanting the stability either. ¡°The cook says you still haven¡¯t eaten, girl!¡± The booming voice of the dark-skinned innkeeper startled Saraya from her watching, nearly causing her to flinch out of her chair. It wasn¡¯t that she hadn¡¯t seen the man approaching (one could hardly miss a towering man built like a bear coming their way), but he had the habit of talking so loudly that it was like standing up to a gale, and she didn¡¯t much care for being caught up in the bluster. ¡°I promised you a meal for the trouble I caused, but wait any longer and you¡¯ll be waiting all night! Lumbermen eat like ravenous wolves at din, and it¡¯s a hard thing to keep up with them even on slow days.¡± ¡°I thought the air had taken on the scent of pine,¡± Saraya coyly replied with a smile. She then sniffed the air slightly, letting the aromas hit her nose. ¡°A nice chunk of that mutton, a bit of bread and a slice of pie ought to serve me fine.¡± ¡°Drink?¡± ¡°Water. Just water.¡± She chuckled innocently when the burly innkeep gave her a skeptical look. ¡°It would not do me well to sip on wine before getting on stage. I need my whole wits about me to do my best.¡± At her answer the man muttered his understanding before responding with a nod, and with no further questions, he walked away and let her be. Alter spat out in contempt. She had been looking forward to this bout of shadow play ever since its conception, and had been growing evermore impatient and grouchy from their accomplice¡¯s extended absence. ¡°Be patient,¡± Saraya calmly spoke. ¡°You always get like this when forced to wait. It is never a good thing to rush in blind, you know, no matter how exciting it may be.¡± Gently she pulled from her pocket the wooden charm Chloe had made, and holding it in her fingers, traced her thumb over the twisting symbol of Iialu. Chloe did not realize how both caring and wise she had been in making this, and Saraya considered it a good idea to keep the well-wish near. The acrobat was going to need all the luck she could get tonight, especially when her own luck was always so atrocious. Within a few minutes one of the tavern¡¯s serving girls made her way over to Saraya¡¯s makeshift table, carrying a wooden platter atop her hand with everything the jester had asked for. Lowering each item in turn, steam rolled off the freshly baked goods and rose two feet overhead, causing the air to swirl about with delightful smells of assorted spices and sugar. The powerful scents poignantly reminded Saraya of how hungry she truly was, though she didn¡¯t take to the food until the barmaid wished for her to enjoy her meal and left to tend to the still-increasing number of other patrons. Everything that the inn¡¯s cooks had prepared looked and smelled absolutely delicious, and were made all the more so for those days Saraya had spent eating naught but bread and travel rations. The healthy cut of smoked lamb had been both peppered and basted, while the fresh bread was already slathered with a great dollop of melting butter. The slice of pie she had requested was larger than she¡¯d expected, and was filled with sweet, assorted wild berries topped with sugar. Alter warned with a chuckle. ¡°I don¡¯t get fat,¡± Saraya grumbled, taking a small amount of offense. ¡°I work too much and too hard for that. Besides, I¡¯ll need to keep my energy up tonight. We¡¯ll begin soon after I¡¯ve finished, and who knows exactly when we¡¯ll stop.¡± Using her spoon to hold the meat steady and a fork to pull it free, she stuffed a large bite into her mouth and chewed the tender, crumbling mutton until it had all but melted on her tongue. She had to fight to keep the basting juice from dribbling down her chin, but it proved every bit as good as it had smelled. Wiping the corners of her mouth with the back of her wrist, she chomped down one quick bite of bread before going for the pie. Sticking the fork into her mouth to clean off the mutton taste, she forgot to pull the utensil back out when the tavern¡¯s front door burst open. In marched, rather gaily, an oddly dressed man, one sporting a bluish hat with a long, white feather. Saraya¡¯s eyes locked onto this ornately clad stranger, hers far from being the only ones so entranced. Nearly a third of the guests had had their attention snatched in that moment, drawn to the front of the tavern by the newcomer. The stares lessened, however, as he stepped his way through the room, where he weaved around serving girls with the nod of his head and a happy smile. By the time he had reached the bar, calling for the proprietor for an exchange of words, most had determined what the man was, Saraya among them. This newcomer had no need to announce himself to the room; his strange clothes did that for him. He was a merryman, he had to be, and a rival to Saraya¡¯s stage. It was obvious to her what the man was doing, speaking to the innkeeper as he was and gesturing to the lute strapped on his back. No doubt he was attempting to exchange his talent for room and board, the very position that Saraya had hardly managed to fill without conflict. She could guess with some success what it meant when he pulled away, face dejected, and felt some relief in assuming that her stage was still secured. Until then, she hadn¡¯t noticed how stiff she had gone while watching the man haggle, or that she had been gnawing anxiously upon her fork, its prongs poking painfully into her tongue. What came next, she expected, even hoped it to be. After finishing his chat, the man turned and cast a long gaze over the crowded tavern in search. It didn¡¯t take long for his eyes to find her¡ªthe jester¡ªoff alone in the corner, for she was the only one in the inn dressed as strangely as he. Saraya thought she saw something like recognition light the man¡¯s face when he spotted her, and without pause, he started toward the place where she sat. Alter said as the man made his way over, being careful to not bump his pack into patrons or chairs. When he reached her, he smiled and shifted the pack on his shoulders. ¡°So, you are the one working the rising tonight,¡± he stated, knowing that he had to be right. If the man was upset at being beaten out on a stage, he didn¡¯t show it at all on his face. The frown he had gained after speaking at the bar had gone completely, and there wasn¡¯t a hint of anger in his voice. ¡°I am,¡± Saraya answered, ¡°and it was not easily won. I was nearly tossed out just for being Crystarian.¡± ¡°I suppose they thought you a Planesbreaker,¡± the man correctly assumed, his tone conveying his sympathy. ¡°Can¡¯t say I¡¯m surprised,¡± he continued, then, leaning in with a whisper, he added, ¡°Cambrians can sometimes be very brash about such things.¡± ¡°So I¡¯m learning,¡± agreed Saraya with a mutter and the softest of scoffs. The nameless man laughed genuinely under his breath, though to Saraya, she didn¡¯t find the situation to be much of a joke. ¡°I¡¯d bet it earned you a bed though. Garth would surely want to salvage some shred of his honor for the trouble.¡± He gave Saraya a knowing wink and let his smile say the rest. Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit. Saraya recognized the innkeeper¡¯s name, having learned of it earlier, and for the second time tonight she found herself questioning this supposed Cambrian honor. She had been less than impressed by their self-satisfying standards, and she wondered how many more times she¡¯d have to bear the brunt of it before the end. ¡°Only a meal, I¡¯m afraid,¡± she informed the merryman bitterly. ¡°The room I have to pay for.¡± She was going to leave it at that, but Alter, it seemed, had her own grievances to air. ¡°Crystarians must not get the same respect that you southerners do,¡± she disdainfully snapped. ¡°Being of common caster breed is as damning as if we had used magic ourselves.¡± ¡°In some circles, it could be,¡± the man said with a nod. ¡°And Cambria has a wide range of circles.¡± He shifted his pack again, a little unsteadily this time. The way it sagged on his shoulders, it must surely be heavy, but he didn¡¯t seem keen on dropping it yet. ¡°You knew me southern?¡± Saraya grinned at the question. Of course she would know. The circus travelled everywhere, and so she could guess rather easily at someone¡¯s origins. The man¡¯s skin was just one of the most obvious clues for placing him. He was pale but lightly tanned; a common trait of akiri in both Giraffin to the south and Val Aven to the west. Meanwhile, his long, blonde hair was filled with too much sandy color to mark him Cambrian, and far too faded to count among the vibrant western shades. There was also the matter of his clothing, though this conjecture was founded on naught but her own intuition. His breeches were plain, a common shade of grey, but his tunic and the cloak her wore under his heavier winter coat were of varying shades of ocean blues with hints of green, their every color fading seamlessly into the next. The edges of his shirt were an elaborate thing too, rimmed with white embroidery like the rolling waves of the sea. To wear something like this, she assumed he had spent some time near or upon the water, and Giraffin was the most well known for its seafarers and ocean trade. It would make sense that the sea had influenced his tastes in some manner if he was indeed from the south. ¡°So we are right,¡± Saraya stated with a mischievous grin. ¡°You¡¯re an awful long way from home.¡± ¡°I am a Wanderer, my lady,¡± the man began with a smile. ¡°My home is wherever my feet take me.¡± He then tipped his blue, brimmed hat while taking a small bow, the feather fluttering in the invisible currents inside the tavern. ¡°Wandering minstrel and merryman to all, I am called Mathias Windchaser, for I go where the winds do. And you? Are you not a Wanderer same as I?¡± ¡°I am a Wanderer, yes. But I have not earned a title, not yet, if ever. Nevertheless, I do adhere to the traditions.¡± To prove it, she gestured to her table, or what counted as one. ¡°Saraya Lafeir is my name, so you can call me that. And since we are both performers, my stage is yours, Windchaser, if you so wish to share it.¡± Mathias¡¯s smile relaxed as he replaced his hat. It seemed that this was the invitation he had been waiting for. ¡°The whole world is our stage, young Saraya,¡± he said, ¡°and one that I am most willing to share with you.¡± With no small amount of relief, Mathias slid his tall pack off to the floor, and rolling his shoulders beneath his cloak, cracked them so loudly that Saraya could hear it over the clamor of the tavern. Now freed of his burden, Mathias found himself the nearest empty chair and pulled it up to the barrel to join her. ¡°It has been an age since I¡¯ve found a kindred spirit in my travels,¡± he began. ¡°Performers like us are becoming more and more scarce, and the stars are not the most talkative bunch.¡± He chuckled a bit and placed his hat atop his pack, running his hand through his long mane of hair before stroking his well trimmed beard of identical shade. ¡°Most nights it¡¯s only me and Fruuk.¡± Saraya swallowed the bite of pie she¡¯d managed to sneak while he was speaking. ¡°Fruuk?¡± She questioned, raising an eye at the name. The way Mathias had spoken implied that he was with this Fruuk often, but the merryman had been alone when he came into the White Hearth. ¡°Who is¡ª¡± Her words stopped short when the hood of Mathias¡¯s cloak moved, shifting as though responding to the uttered name. And the furry, long eared creature that poked its muzzle up in response only further took the acrobat by surprise. ¡°Is that¡­is that a phrax in your hood?¡± ¡°Fruuk,¡± Mathias confirmed with a comically large grin, one that implied that this wasn¡¯t the first time his pet has earned such a reaction. Clicking his tongue, the animal clawed its way up onto the merryman¡¯s shoulder, its wet, black nose sniffing around in every direction. Most likely, that nose hadn¡¯t stopped moving since they had first entered the tavern, and even now the phrax looked like it wanted to pursue everything that it smelled. ¡°This is my faithful travelling companion. He keeps me company on those long nights upon the road.¡± Saraya almost didn¡¯t hear him; she was too distracted by the creature. It had been a long time since she had seen a phrax as a pet, as they weren¡¯t the easiest of animals to tame. Its face was a mixture between a rodent and a bear, painted white and wreathed in reddish-brown fur that covered most of its body, save for a white stomach. Its elongated ears and short paws were socked in a darker brown fur of the same reddish hue, and the hindquarters of its weasel-like body were stripped with this color also. These stripes had an under color of royal blue hidden beneath that dark brown, and in the flickering firelight of the tavern it sometimes shimmered through. As big as a tomcat, the phrax¡¯s tail was a furry, long, and chubby thing that made it seem bigger than it actually was, and was perfect for letting the animal sit up on its hind paws without falling. Saraya had heard that phraxes made good hunters when properly trained, and could catch ground fowl and rabbits with ease for their owners. It made sense why Mathias would want a phrax while abroad. ¡°Can I pet him?¡± Asked Saraya, partially embarrassed that she was so taken with the cute, fuzzy critter. Even as she spoke it, she swore she could feel Alter¡¯s presence within her, wordlessly mocking her for the childish want. ¡°Of course,¡± Mathias told her. ¡°Though he likes it best when you scratch behind his ears.¡± With his permission, Saraya stood and reached out for the animal, doing as Mathias instructed and scratching the phrax behind the ears. Fruuk made some noise, a mixture of a growling squeak and a groaning purr, and his beady black eyes began to close in contentment as he leaned hard into Saraya¡¯s gloved hand. ¡°I¡¯m surprised the innkeep let you bring him in,¡± Saraya said. She knew that phraxes were notorious for their desire to burrow into walls to make nests; the prime reason homeowners chose cats to hunt rats over phraxes. ¡°I¡¯d have to be here for some time for him to cause any trouble,¡± Mathias explained, ¡°and currently Fruuk and I are making our way west. We¡¯ll stay here for a day or two before continuing on, which is why I consider it good fortune to have met you this evening, and why I am eager to share your stage tonight.¡± ¡°Luck indeed,¡± Saraya agreed as she returned to her seat, leaving Fruuk to shake his fur back into order. ¡°I¡¯m only here for tonight, and otherwise would have missed you. I would be happy if you wanted to join me.¡± ¡°Splendid!¡± Mathias beamed before leaning closer to converse. ¡°So, tell me, what is it you were planning?¡± In between the bites of what remained of her meal, Saraya explained to the merryman her plan for the evening. Mathias retrieved his own dinner just as she cleaned her plate, and listened intently to what the acrobat had decided. Against his wishes, Saraya forced him to allow her to pay for his drink. She had the coin to spare after all, and it was the least she could do for his company. Incidentally, their talk wound up taking longer than either of them had expected, for when Saraya voiced an idea, Mathias would interject his own, and nothing he added seemed to her an unwelcome change. Saraya was still somewhat of a novice when it came to changing the atmosphere of a room on a whim, though no one would ever call her unskilled. Mathias, however, was well seasoned in this regard; able to gage the needs of his audience and far more aware of Cambria¡¯s political climate. It impressed the jester more than a little how much this man seemed to be aware of the needs of his crowd, and the lengths he would go to to meet them. Certainly Saraya could read her audience with ease, but she was more used to the tents of the circus, where patrons came of their own free will to be entertained, and where acts were predetermined and left mostly unchanged. She¡¯d had little need to amend her routines based on season, social climate or people, but Mathias was sensitive to it all. As he talked, Saraya became all the more grateful that the merryman had approached her table, for she could do to learn his experienced tricks of the trade. It was apparent that the two would work well in tandem with one being a minstrel and the other an acrobat. Mathias knew the Cambrian people well, and could lead them in any song of their choosing while Saraya performed her feats of daring. Really, she could have asked for no better a partner for her performance than Mathias. Alter mused with no sarcasm for once. ¡°Shocking, since you typically hate everybody,¡± Saraya teased, listening while Mathias listed out those songs they could share. ¡°Pardon?¡± Mathias spoke, stopping short his ramble when he heard her. ¡°Nothing, nothing,¡± she insisted, waving her hand dismissively. ¡°I think the Wanderer¡¯s tunes would do well for the most part, but open with At the Sides of Gods. I think I know that one well enough to assist you, and I agree that it will start the mood off right. Of Honor and Ale should come secondly, and after that a Wanderer¡¯s song or two; you choose which. We¡¯ll both be on our own after that.¡± ¡°Agreed. I think it will be a good¡­no, a wonderful evening if we proceed this way.¡± Saying this, Mathias laughed and took another long drink of his second mug of ale. ¡°It has been a while since I¡¯ve been this excited, and even longer since I¡¯ve had a real partner!¡± Saraya gave a laugh in light of the man¡¯s high spirits, nearly forgetting how much she missed the circus in this moment. Having Mathias about was like being back home with the caravan, surrounded by the warm feeling of companionship and family. She¡¯d all but forgotten about the role she must play tonight, until it all came crashing back down. It was while Mathias drank that the serving girl reappeared and slipped a folded piece of ripped parchment onto the barrel top. ¡°What¡¯s this?¡± Saraya asked the girl as she took up the paper. ¡°Dunno, miss,¡± the girl answered with a half attempt at a shrug, her hands too heavy with mugs and platters to do it properly. ¡°A little boy brought it in. Said to give it to you. I didn¡¯t think to ask any questions. Boys his age are always taken by pretty girls after all.¡± She gave a slight chuckle. ¡°Why, I earned myself such a love note just three days ago.¡± Saraya laughed softly. ¡°I understand,¡± she said, though as the girl walked away, her laughter faded. ¡°Is it trouble?¡± Mathias asked, eyeing the suspicious letter over the rim of his mug; he wasn¡¯t blind enough to miss the sudden change in Saraya¡¯s mood. But the acrobat didn¡¯t immediately answer. It was more important that she read. The one I am after, the note began, has no name I can give and no face to describe, but now they are after you as well as me. They know you aid me, they know your face, and I have ensured that they will come here seeking you in my place. They do not know that I am hidden here, and it shall remain this way. If what you say is true, then knowing that they come for you will supply you what you will need to find them, and when you do, I will require a sign. Do this for me and I will double your pay. Do not, and you will be at the mercy of their hands. Alter snarled, her rage burning like fire through the bones in Saraya¡¯s arms. Without warning the note crumpled within the acrobat¡¯s hands, its edges nearly tearing under Alter¡¯s vehemence. But this time the jester¡¯s own fierce anger nearly matched that of her other half, for this was not at all what she had expected to receive. A target with no name, no face, and only her gut to tell her if she was correct in her guess? And if she failed, she risked capture or worse! It was ludicrous! ¡°Is something wrong, Saraya?¡± Mathias asked, watching the paper curl in her grasp. No doubt he saw the sudden concern on her face, a look that Saraya had to let quickly slip away. She released a long breath, finding her outward calm again. ¡°Nothing that I can¡¯t deal with,¡± she replied coolly, distracting herself by smoothing out the wrinkled paper. Folding it neatly again, she stuck the letter inside her pocket, and closing her eyes, looked to amend what had suddenly gone so wrong. Alter¡¯s rage had formed a tight knot in her chest, and she worked quickly to release it, to disperse it throughout the whole of her being. Her anger began to mellow, forming a heated pool of emotion, and this seeped into every muscle of her body with invisible pressure. It was a familiar feeling, not unlike the nervousness she would feel before a grand circus performance. She felt much calmer thinking about it this way, and believed this pressure necessary to push her to success. Perhaps the promise of the performance had lent her more confidence than usual this night, or perhaps she was not so unlike Alter as she liked to believe. Unwilling to admit it, in this they were no different. Alter¡¯s rage would subside, and they would both be the same: both excited to see that the plot had begun, and happy that it was proving more intriguing than first believed. Alter must have picked up on what Saraya was thinking, for she could feel the sneer that crossed her other half¡¯s nonexistent face. ¡°That¡¯s because I know we won¡¯t fail,¡± Saraya stated aloud. ¡°We¡¯re in this together, you and I, and we¡¯ve never failed at anything involving our stage before.¡± She patted her pocket, and then suddenly grinned. ¡°In fact, I do believe he¡¯s only made things easier.¡± Grinning still, Saraya snatched up her covered pack from the floor, the one that held her performing tools within it. She flung it over her shoulder with a bit of unnecessary flair then flashed her confused companion a charming smile. ¡°Come, Mathias!¡± She beckoned with an excited air of confidence. ¡°It is high time we took to our stage!¡± Fools Errand - Chapter 8 But there was no real stage for Saraya to take, nor even the hint of a rising. The only place left to her in the whole of the tavern was the last unoccupied table. It certainly wasn¡¯t what Saraya preferred, but she could easily make do. One table with a chair or two were tools enough to conduct her craft, though she wasn¡¯t sure how Mathias would fair in the same space. Likely the bard didn¡¯t require much in the way of room to perform, and so it was doubtful that he would complain of the arrangement. Even if he did, neither of them could change anything, nor would waste the effort attempting to. Besides, the comfort of their setting was the least pressing of Saraya¡¯s concerns now that she¡¯d received her benefactor¡¯s aggravating, nearly useless letter. With its arrival, there were far more important things to consider, not least of which being how her own performance would unfold. When Saraya reached the empty table she dropped her pack on top of it and quickly dug out a silver case, one etched with leaves and spiraling vines. Chugging the last bit of his mead, Mathias threw off his winter cloak and followed after her, leaving Fruuk to hang upon the back of his chair snug within the coat¡¯s warm hood. The hurried motion caught the notice of several patrons, which came as no surprise. With the removal of his cloak, the merryman¡¯s cape revealed beneath was the most breathtaking Saraya had ever seen. The gradient shades of blues and greens that she¡¯d seen before looked every bit the image of an ocean wave even in how it moved, and as Mathias crossed the open floor it shimmered like water in the light. Even Saraya, used to seeing a myriad of fanciful garments, was distracted by the glistening cloth. Too she noticed how the air, heavy with booze and hearth fire, had taken on a new hint of anticipation with the merryman¡¯s appearance, and the jester found herself swallowing pangs of jealousy at how the room¡¯s attention fell to Mathias instead of her. Painted hair and violet harlequin stripes could not compare to something as extravagant as Mathias¡¯s unique choice of clothing, or so it seemed, and this left Saraya trying to console herself by saying that this was for the best. The less the patrons noticed her, after all, the more freely she could conduct her business in secret. Alter chided sharply, her words working to quell the pit of envy that had welled up in the acrobat¡¯s chest. ¡°I know, I know,¡± Saraya grumbled, looking back to the silver case she held. Muffling an angry sigh, she undid the latches, opened the lid, and began inspecting the two wooden halves of the ornate flute within. She was relieved to see that the multiple days atop Talon¡¯s back had failed to jostle it, for she sometimes worried that the flute would come to harm during these lengthy transits. She wasn¡¯t sure what she would do if ever the flute was broken, as it was an essential part of her ability to perform in the cramped confines of tavern spaces. ¡°Is that a Whinnari flute?!¡± Mathias exclaimed suddenly as he neared, having spied the instrument over her shoulder. ¡°It is,¡± Saraya answered him, pulling the two pieces from their case. Carefully she snapped them together, making sure that the lengths aligned. The flute¡¯s carved surface became whole then, constructing an elegant, snake-like drake half submerged within a creek betwixt a floating bed of lilies. The drake¡¯s tail coiled around the neck of the flute, with its head fashioned to serve as the flute¡¯s mouth. ¡°Amazing!¡± Mathias beamed as he bent closer for a better look. ¡°How ever did you come by it?¡± Saraya chuckled slightly and ran a gentle finger over the flute¡¯s intricate designs. ¡°One of my teachers was a whinn,¡± she explained, ¡°and she gifted me the flute. Whenever I was forced to practice, she sat by carving this one.¡± ¡°Is that so?¡± The bard began, and after stroking his chin he held out his hand. ¡°May I?¡± But Saraya hesitated and grasped the flute a little tighter. No one had ever asked for the flute before, and she didn¡¯t truly want to give it. After a moment¡¯s thought however, she supposed that Mathias would be unlikely to cause it harm, and so, begrudgingly, she passed it to him. Nervously she watched the minstrel as he took the instrument into hand, but to her relief he handled it even more delicately than she did. ¡°Such a remarkable piece!¡± He marveled, turning the flute over in the light to see every flower, mark and scale. ¡°I have seen only three others, but never in the hands of an akiri.¡± ¡°I am not surprised,¡± Saraya said, taking back the flute. ¡°My teacher is not like other whinn. She prefers the company of Human¡¯kin to her fellow draken kindred. I am fortunate she favors humans so, as I¡¯ve learned a lot from her.¡± Mathias released a knowing sigh. ¡°Whinn are too talented in all things, or so they say. A shame that more are not willing to teach. I can commend your teacher for doing so, at the least! It truly is a pity though¡­but I digress. At the Sides of Gods? That is what we chose?¡± ¡°Yes,¡± Saraya affirmed with a nod, ¡°though as I said, I am not overly familiar with the song. But I will make sure to join in as soon as I can.¡± ¡°Very well,¡± Mathias chuckled as he softly cleared his throat, and before Saraya could ask why he laughed, the minstrel began to hum. For some small time he went on like this, properly warming his vocal cords as he tightened and tested the strings of his lute. Only once he was ready did his humming grow louder, and only then with the accompaniment of soft music. Closely Saraya listened to the beat, trying hard to remember its tune so to join in as soon as she could. Tonight she needed to fill the entire tavern with mirth, more so than even Mathias likely realized. Real joy and gladness were not emotions someone could truly fake, and so spotting abnormalities within the crowd would be easier done within a place positively brimming with levity. Of course, this perfect circumstance wouldn¡¯t come until later, when the crowd¡¯s emotions had reached their peak. But having Mathias at her side would make a breeze of her own work, for the bard was instantly proving to possess a most enviable talent for subtlety. The simple start of the minstrel¡¯s song was shaping the room with great effect, and even those on the far end of the tavern were slowly noticing the gentle change. Though one couldn¡¯t really make out the merryman¡¯s humming over the other tavern noise, its rhythmic melody crept into the bottommost levels of the common room¡¯s ambience just the same. It was enough to make the people realize that something different was coming, and soon most had their ears perked ready to listen. It would take a better eye than Saraya¡¯s to fully understand what he had done, but she was nevertheless amazed by Mathias¡¯s queer choice of tact. He hadn¡¯t raised his voice at all, nor strummed anything complex, and yet he had turned the whole tavern into his stage with little effort. Certainly Saraya had captivated many audiences that were of this equal scale, but she had never handled it as well, or as easily, as Mathias was doing now. The effectiveness of his approach was more than just impressive, and once again the jester found herself jealous of the minstrel¡¯s display of skill. I must interrogate him about how he does it before I leave the city, Saraya thought as she lifted her flute to her lips, having finally recognized the melody as Mathias started into grander play. The presence the bard had created for them within the tavern was monumental to say the least, and by the second verse, most within the tavern had joined up with Mathias in singing. Both voices and tankards were raised by the crowd, the whole assemblage bellowing out the anthem, and those who did not know the lyrics¡ªor otherwise had terrible voices¡ªkept beat by other means. Fists pounded upon tables and boots stomped on the floor, so much so that the lanterns hanging throughout the tavern shook upon their pegs. Secretly Saraya likened it to leading soldiers into battle, believing their patrons to possess much the same energy. She attributed this feeling, in part, to the sense of pride that had consumed the room and to the song they currently sang. At the Sides of Gods painted a beautiful picture of Cambria¡¯s noble heritage, of a victorious battle fought alongside the Kayll during the Fall of the Fourth Age. Few were those among the crowd who were not in some way moved by the recounted tale, and when the song came to an end four verses later, the entire room was beaming. After just this singular song Saraya could sense the drastic shift of the tavern¡¯s mood. When first arrived, these people had been tired, not just from their jobs, but weighed down by times of strife and uncertainty. But now there burned between them a deep camaraderie, as well as a renewed sense of hope, even if small. And yet, it was not quite a feeling everybody fully shared. Even if she could not see them all from her place as Mathias¡¯s side, Saraya could sense places within the crowd where the glowing mood had failed to reach. The room was not yet ready for her, it needed one last push, and at her own volition, Saraya began into their next chosen tune of Of Honor and Ale. Mathias¡¯s voice no doubt requiring a small break, the jester played through a short intro to prepare the crowd for what was to come, and like a match to tinder the anticipation set the cheery common room ablaze. In much greater quantities now spirits and food were being passed around, and when the minstrel¡¯s voice rang out again, inhibitions all but disappeared. Of Honor and Ale was a comedy, one featuring a drunken soldier and a cunning trickster woman, while the song itself was naught but lyrics comprised of tongue twisters and rhymes. In mere moments after they¡¯d begun the slurred voices of their patrons joined in with the singing, and grew so loud in their volume that they nearly drowned out poor Mathias. Of course, this did not stop the sprightly minstrel from carrying on the tune, and his voice melodically interlaced with a multitude of drunken others who were trying¡ªand failing¡ªto speak the words. By the time the villainess of the song weighed gold against the soldier¡¯s honor, a number of those who had attempted the lyrics had completely given up. And when the song reached its end, with the woman walking away with all the lad¡¯s coin in hand, the entire inn shook with laughter at the foolish man¡¯s expense. Mathias had truly outdone himself, for throughout each and every torturous rhyme he had not once missed a beat or stammered, and had very likely delivered one of the few perfect renditions of Of Honor and Ale that the crowd had ever heard. The tavern was truly alive now, the joy filled to brimming, and oh how easy it would have been to be swept up within the pace. But a quiet word from Alter kept Saraya¡¯s focus steady. She laughed, a mockery of it really. Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings. Alter wanted their work to begin, that¡¯s what she was implying, a sentiment with which Saraya could agree. Thus, as the music reached its end, she pulled the flute from her lips, and as cheers went up for the song again, she slipped her flute away. ¡°I need a better perch,¡± she muttered as she stood up from her seat. In truth, she hadn¡¯t expected things to go this well this soon; for the tavern to take so strongly to the very beginning of their act. The people here must surely have been desperate for any form of entertainment, for Saraya believed that she could not only start her mission, but very well quickly complete it. ¡°Finished already?¡± Mathias began, surprised to see his companion so soon without her flute. ¡°I thought we were to do three songs together at least!¡± ¡°You¡¯re too good, Mathias,¡± Saraya told him honestly, giving the minstrel a playful shrug and a smile, ¡°and I fear that if I don¡¯t stop now, you¡¯ll steal the entire show!¡± While speaking she got back into her bag, and pulling out a small leather pouch, she affixed it to her belt. ¡°I think it¡¯s time for me to do what I do best. Just play me a merry Wanderer¡¯s tune and you¡¯ll see my proper trade.¡± Realizing her intent, Mathias answered with a laugh and soon began into their next chosen song. With a hop Saraya jumped up onto the empty table as he played, and once mounted, she pulled three balls out from her belt. Juggling was not her strongest suit, nor her favorite to perform, but she had learned several tricks from the masterful Chloe and too knew how effective such tricks were inside of inns. Attention shifted to Saraya as soon as she rose up onto the table, and immediately she began into a simple cascade of spheres. The bright colors of red, blue and green rolled over each other in fluid motion, flowing from one hand to the next with a rhythmic arc between. At her feet, Mathias began into an upbeat Wanderer¡¯s tune, one whose purpose was to coax its listeners into dance. It was the perfect backdrop to her act and with her motions she matched the rhythm, switching up her throws, tricks, movements and spins as she listened to Mathias sing. The two of them were the perfect duo; complimentary to each other in every way as though they¡¯d practiced this before. Alter warned, stopping Saraya from losing herself to the ecstasy, ¡°Right¡­¡± the acrobat breathed to herself, putting her thoughts right again. With subtle glances across the tavern Saraya looked out over the room. Most in tonight¡¯s attendance were of the sort she¡¯d seen in every crowd, and there were few among their onlookers who caught her eye as odd. One such suspicious figure was sitting at a game of cards: a woman dressed in a layered gown who Saraya suspected was a swindler. There was also a green naviin about, with tunic pressed smooth and hair brushed slick. The table he was so confidently approaching held well-dressed tradesmen on each side, and everything about him said that he was trying to worm his way into their midst. A table of Slayers was an enticing bunch, identifiable by the types of clothes they wore. While normal hunters and trappers wore the pelts and skins of common kills, Slayers wore armors of expensive scale plates, feathers, furs and spikes; protective gear that kept them safe while hunting Elequa¡¯s largest, most dangerous quarry. They were some of the most tenacious people one could hope to meet, and were well respected for their service of quelling deadly beasts. The creatures slain were often used to create the armor the Slayer wore, and one could discern the best of them just by looking at their clothes and weapons. A woman Slayer was among these here, and was the most decorated of the group. Certainly this would help to explain why she could so easily sit among them, for this woman was not a Cambrian, but a Crystarian like Saraya was. She possessed the lither figure of one, as well as the finer face, and flowing over a silver-fur mantle were long locks of blood-red hair. Such a color was only found in Crystaria¡¯s Caedis province, so that she was here, and mingling so well, was itself a great surprise. The woman had an authoritative air as well, something Saraya sensed more so than saw, and it was clear that those sitting around her treated the woman with both kinship and respect. These Slayers were so caught up in their game of drinking however, that Saraya couldn¡¯t rightly decide if anyone there was a threat or not, and so she turned her attention to a gambling street urchin instead. She watched him leave, completely dismayed after having lost all his coin to dice, then spied the barmaid who had served her supper slip a kiss onto the cheek of a blushing naviin boy. There were so many things the acrobat could see from high upon her stage, but none of them seemed right, and she hadn¡¯t the chance to study more as Mathias¡¯s song came to an end. Casually catching her juggling balls, both acrobat and minstrel took a bow, and a hearty round of thunderous applause was lauded at them both. A request for Of Honor and Ale again came out from the jolly patrons, as too did the desire that Saraya continue on with her tricks. For a moment the two performers glanced to each other and both agreed that they could go on, especially since Saraya could use more time to correctly discern her target. A change of pace was in order though, if she wished to draw them out, for the stronger the audience¡¯s reactions were, the more the anomalies would appear. Alter asked. ¡°Trust me,¡± Saraya whispered smugly. ¡°I know better than you how to appease our audience. If our target is truly here, they will not be able to hide from this.¡± Saraya then slipped her juggling balls away, much to the disappointment of her crowd, but their objections were abruptly silenced when she hoisted the first chair up onto the table. Confused whispers rippled through the crowd anew when she pulled up the second chair, and turning it upside down, she stacked it carefully on the other. Nimbly then, Saraya climbed up onto the treacherous tower and stood gingerly on the rungs between the legs, pulling out her colored balls again and setting them into motion. Mathias too started once more, coaxing the crowd to join him, but though some did, others kept their eyes trained upon the acrobat. The tension of the crowd was apparent, just like the precariousness of her perch, and less sang now for the simple fear that their loud voices would knock her over. Thus when Saraya whipped one ball up behind her back to catch it once again within the juggle, some of her audience flinched, thinking she would fall. She did it again, more confidently now, then juggled three balls within one hand, before throwing each into the air and turning about in a quick, jumping spin. A full rotation and her feet found their footing upon the chair¡¯s upturned rungs once more, the wood beneath her making a squeal as the chairs slid under her weight. Having to crouch, Saraya caught the balls as they fell back down to her one by one, and those who had been holding their breath found their voices as they cheered. The display of such prowess earned the jester a healthy amount of applause, and Saraya smiled as she started into juggling again. With so many eyes upon her now, she glanced from one patron to the next, studying each and every emotion and absorbing every face. By now, even those once involved in their own interests had come to look her way. She was the highlight of the tavern, the one everyone wanted to see, and no booze or game or conversation could distract from her performance. Enthralled as the tavern was by her acrobatic skill, they had given her all she needed, and in a very short time before their collective gazes she finally found her prey. Loud guffaws went up from the table where her target sat, as one of the patrons sitting there drunkenly toppled from his chair. It was a Slayer from the group before, and not the only one of his party to fall victim to the alcohol tonight. Two others nearby were already unconscious, slumped over within their chairs, and not a single one of them had less than ten empty tankards afore their sitting space. Too busy laughing at their friend¡¯s expense, the Slayer¡¯s kinsmen left him on the floor, and the barmaids that were walking by unflinchingly stepped around him. ¡°Another one down!¡± The red-haired woman from before yelled triumphantly, standing with a foot hiked up on her chair. ¡°Which of you still thinks to beat me?¡± Two of her fellows rose to her goading as she confidently downed her remaining ale, slamming the emptied mug down next to a plethora of empty others. The woman then ordered another round for those at her table who were still awake to drink, and then sat down once again, smirking during the wait. For all the same reasons as before, Saraya had been watching this table closest. If she tried, she could easily reason away all of the woman¡¯s obvious oddities, but nothing could rightfully explain just why the woman had, for all this time, been so adamantly looking away. The acrobat¡¯s act had reached its grandest form, and yet the woman barely noticed. It wasn¡¯t just Saraya¡¯s pride that had drawn her to the table, for when studying the woman a while longer, she had slowly begun to recognize a fa?ade that was not unlike her own; a mask that hid an ulterior motive that neither wanted shared. Among the group of Slayers it was only the woman whose attention wasn¡¯t gained, and yet, despite the woman¡¯s dismissive disposition, Saraya didn¡¯t feel at all ignored. Alter advised, knowing Saraya¡¯s suspicions. ¡°Agreed,¡± Saraya answered quietly, and juggling the three balls in a single hand again, she fished a fourth one from her belt. Saraya¡¯s talent with juggling four was not nearly as refined as using three, but it didn¡¯t matter as long as she could use the tricks as an excuse to test her theory. With a bright pink ball rolling around now from one hand to the next, she set the four balls to bubble up in the middle, each rising up inside the center to be caught again on the outside edges. She switched up the throws then, proceeding along with the act as though everything was normal, and waited for the proper time to implement her plan. When suddenly she tossed a ball to the red-haired Slayer, no one suspected anything suspicious, and just as Saraya had predicted, the woman caught it without a hitch. Indeed, the threatening glare that came as a result doused all remainder of Saraya¡¯s doubts, for with the use of the unexpected ploy, the jovial temper the woman had prior left her with a snap. What remained was nothing less than a hardened hunter seeking prey, and Saraya¡¯s smile nearly broke when faced with such a threatening stare. It was only her experience of the stage that kept her from breaking character, and reinforcing her jester¡¯s smile, she carried on with the routine. ¡°Well caught!¡± Saraya quickly adlibbed, regurgitating the proper words. ¡°Now, if you would please throw it back?¡± As though she had noticed her own shift of face, the woman Slayer¡¯s expression eased, and trying to return to how things were she tossed back the juggling ball. Saraya nodded her thanks to the woman and buried deep that flash of fear. Now that she had found whom her patron was after, it high time for her to leave. The ball was certainly sign enough for the masked man to know who hunted him, and as she had successfully done what she¡¯d set out to do, she needed only now to get away. In one last trick, Saraya caught her juggling balls and then flipped down from the chairs, landing on the floor with a graceful crouch before rising up with a bow. With a gracious smile she accepted the flurry of grand applause that broke out from the crowd. Several of those around the common room even gave out a happy holler, and to her surprise, after all this time, they still wanted the acrobat to do more. Concocting some reasonable excuse to say that she could not, with that she signaled to the crowd the end of tonight¡¯s show. Mathias collapsed within his chair as soon as she declared it, obviously most relieved to finally be giving his voice a decent rest. With her performance done, Saraya did her best to slip away before risking the crowd¡¯s approach, though did not leave the common room before thanking Mathias for his help. There was little doubt that some grateful patrons would buy the minstrel a drink or three, but Saraya had no interest in such reception and only wanted to go. Adeptly she snuck through the crowd without much hassle, getting stopped only twice by gifts of thanks, and made good her escape upstairs before being wholly waylaid. She couldn¡¯t bother with distractions now; her job was still not done. Soon enough the masked man would come to meet with her, if not the Slayer woman as some point, and now it was time for her to prepare for whichever one came first. Fools Errand - Chapter 9 Bristles of horse-hair smoothly ran through Saraya¡¯s long, silken hair, straightening the last tangled strands of cyan and purple. The steaming bath was a Godsend after the exhaustive performance, and in addition to removing the grime that had built up over days¡¯ worth of travel, the hot water had worked to ease muscles that Saraya didn¡¯t even know were tense. She found herself in good spirits for it; a state sorely missed after beginning this perilous venture to assassinate the Mediator. She credited tonight¡¯s performance for the lift in her mood. Though small of scale, the show had been extravagant nonetheless, and had given Saraya a chance to have fun rather than worry about the dangers of the open road. After multiple days of dreary travel, she realized now how much she had needed this break from the bleak to restore some portion of her vigor. Surely tonight¡¯s sleep would be the best she¡¯d had yet, and after such an eventful day, she was well looking forward to finally getting some real rest. came Alter¡¯s harsh reminder, cutting through Saraya¡¯s happier thoughts and drawing her out of her blissful musing. How cruel it was to return her back to their far grimmer reality. For indeed their work was not yet finished, and until they left the city, there remained a very real threat of danger. They could not afford to let themselves forget this. ¡°Yes, of course,¡± Saraya sighed, tugging the brush one last time through her hair. ¡°You needn¡¯t remind me of obvious things.¡± Annoyed, she tossed the brush to the top of her bed; a small straw mattress fit for one where her clothes lay spilling out of her open pack. Curse the coin, she thought while flipping her bangs with her fingers. More than anything else in this moment, she simply wished for sleep. The performance and subsequent soak had worn her out a fair deal, and the freshly washed pillow and bed sheets tempted her immensely. It was unfortunate that she had no choice but to begrudgingly stay awake, if indeed she wanted the gold falcons she had so rightly earned. Already she¡¯d contemplated a more frivolous stay when finally reaching Neurial, which meant that she very much wanted the extra money to spend. Regardless of her need to wait however, she had already partially changed for sleep, replacing her usual top and corset with a long-sleeved, white shirt to stave off the night¡¯s deeper chill. Saraya paced toward the solitary window of her room while she buttoned it up over her bare chest, peering out toward the stables behind the inn and into the dark of night. The streetlamps of the main roads did not fully reach the alley here, and thanks to the cloud cover, even moonlight could not illuminate the pitch. Though it seemed relatively quiet and peaceful outside, tonight was not a good night for travelling, and she was glad to have a room in the warm indoors. It wasn¡¯t snowing yet, but the bite radiating off the glass spoke of its threat. In fact, Saraya wouldn¡¯t be surprised if a dusting of snow was there to greet her come the morn, and much like how she didn¡¯t wish to be caught out in the weather, she couldn¡¯t imagine her masked benefactor would want to be out when the first snowflakes began to fall. Hopefully, the promise of snow would be enough to coax him here in haste. ¡°I hope Mathias wakes up early,¡± Saraya muttered aloud, her breath lightly fogging the window panes nearest to her nose. She still wanted to interrogate the man concerning his performer¡¯s tact before she left, or, at the very least, wished to give her new friend a proper farewell. Alter stated matter-of-factly. ¡°Until something else comes along to sidetrack us, you mean,¡± Saraya said with a tired huff. Alter scoffed at her, offended. Alter was completely right of course, but Saraya still snorted a noncommittal answer and refused to take the blame. She couldn¡¯t deny that this ill-conceived partnership was a direct result of her growing boredom, and that her craving for any kind of diversion had tempted her into this mess. The lonely journey was at fault for her strong desire for thrill, of course, for the days on the road had been agonizingly dreary, uneventful and dull. Unfortunately, her days would be so again starting tomorrow morning, and somehow this fate seemed almost worse than the one looming over her now. The very thought of another few days on a winter-starved road cause Saraya to sigh deeply. ¡°Truly I am not meant to travel alone¡­¡± she groaned. The retort made Saraya scowl, and she made to snap back, but was cut off when a knock rapped unexpectedly upon her door. Caught off guard by the noise, she turned about quickly as her hand fell instinctively to her hip, latching around the hilt of a dagger that still hung in its sheath upon her belt. Alter assumed, speaking it with a growl. ¡°And ensure even greater trouble with the innkeep and peacekeepers? I think not. We¡¯ll go through with our negotiations as intended.¡± Alter snorted her disdain but relinquished her stance nonetheless. she warned. ¡°I thought I said you needn¡¯t remind me of the obvious.¡± After taking a moment to finish with the last button on her shirt, Saraya proceeded cautiously to the door. Her hand still lightly fingering the hilt of her blade, she allowed herself to wholly take it as she twisted the door¡¯s handle and pulled it open. At first, Saraya was taken aback by the man she found standing there, for he wasn¡¯t someone she immediately recognized and appeared to be a southerner just like Mathias was. The natural tan of his skin was even more pronounced than what the bard¡¯s had been, though was paled by a distinct lack sunlight. The man¡¯s shaggy hair was long enough that it fell just behind his shoulders, and had a blue hue to it that had likely been more prominent when he was young. Prolonged exposure to a seafarer¡¯s sun had nearly bleached the man¡¯s head to grey, and though it still held strong hints of its original shade, it appeared now as dull silver. The way it swept to one side gave his face a devilishly charming appearance, and the way he smiled in greeting was deceptively disarming. Even Saraya, who had been told she was hopelessly clueless concerning matters of romance, could easily see how a woman would fall captive to a visage like this. Of course, she had always believed that a handsome face was just another form of trap, and in her opinion, Mathias was by far the more dashing of the two. ¡°Can I help you?¡± Saraya calmly asked, wanting to confirm the man¡¯s identity before allowing him to enter. Honestly though, precaution was the only reason she¡¯d bothered with the question, as she was certain that this man was indeed her benefactor. Whoever this was, he shared the same unspoken airs as the masked man from before, and too carried himself with an identically arrogant posture. And then there were those eyes¡ªthose accursed eyes!¡ªthat only worked to make her anxious and put her ever more on edge. ¡°Ah, but you already have, my dear girl,¡± the man answered, his voice smooth and gentle. ¡°You did remarkably well in finding my pursuer, well worth every coin I spent.¡± Saraya grimaced a little before shrugging off the frilled flatteries. ¡°Know me long enough and you would find that I never fail,¡± she curtly replied. ¡°Though after tonight, I should hardly think we¡¯ll ever meet again.¡± After stepping out of the way she beckoned the man inside, glancing down the lantern-lit hallway as he entered to make certain that he wasn¡¯t followed. Stepping around her, the man paced to the center of the barren room. ¡°I must admit,¡± he began once the door clicked closed behind them, ¡°I did not think you would actually succeed.¡± Saraya frowned as she moved to join him. ¡°If you doubted me so, then why bother giving me the task in the first place?¡± For a moment the man stayed silent as he pondered to himself. ¡°I suppose I will tell you,¡± he eventually said. ¡°It is a simple thing, really. Even if you had failed you would have lured out my target regardless, as your true purpose was that of bait. I could have finished the search you started in time, but your success tonight means that I do not have to waste the time or effort doing so.¡± The man paused briefly and then chuckled a bit. ¡°Though, I will say that even I did not expect the Slayer. It is of little wonder that I have never found the woman. She hides herself remarkably well, even in the open.¡± ¡°A trait you both seem to share,¡± Saraya added coldly, reluctant to give the haughty male any sort of compliment. ¡°I do not recall seeing your face among the crowd as your letter described.¡± The man grinned to himself, like he had won some great game. ¡°Sometimes,¡± he began smugly, ¡°one¡¯s true face works as well as any mask, if not better. If you did not see me, it is because I did not allow you to.¡± Saraya scoffed aloud her doubts. ¡°Regardless,¡± she began, ¡°our business will be concluded as soon as payment is received. And I do have quite the long journey ahead of me, so, if you would be so kind?¡± ¡°Yes, of course,¡± the man replied as he slipped his hand into his cloak, jangling the coin purse hanging from his belt. ¡°It is two more falcons, if memory serves.¡± ¡°Double that,¡± Saraya corrected, remembering his promise within the letter. ¡°You owe four at¡ª¡± All at once the dagger she¡¯d been gripping was yanked free of its sheath, swiping up in a cross cut that resounded with a clang as it deflected the flash of oncoming steel. Saraya had barely seen the movement before it was too late, as a blade rather than the promised coin had emerged from the shadow of the man¡¯s cloak. The knife having missed its mark, Saraya jumped back a fair ways and put some distance between herself and her betrayer. ¡°Cursed wretch!¡± Alter hissed with a mouth-twisting snarl. From the start she had guessed that the man had no intention of upholding his end of their bargain, though she didn¡¯t feel the better for being right. ¡°You should have let me kill him instead of insisting on negotiations!¡± ¡°I suppose I should have,¡± Saraya agreed while pulling out a second blade. ¡°At least now you¡¯ll get your chance.¡± Giving her a strange look, the man stepped cautiously around the room. ¡°You¡¯re mad, aren¡¯t you?¡± He said, turning his knife about within his palm. ¡°You could say that,¡± Saraya answered, seeing no reason to deny it. ¡°Would you care to engage in small talk with a madwoman?¡± Alter quipped then with a laugh. ¡°No,¡± the man stated flatly, ¡°I would not.¡± With one long stride he came at her then, his blade aimed low at her ribs. Saraya recognized it as a feint however, and easily blocked the alternate stab when it came in high, rounding on the man with her own blade after and nearly catching him in the chest. The man pulled back out of the way, but Alter pressed them forward on the attack, lashing out with an array of deadly precision blows. Her onslaught forced their attacker to draw out a second hidden dagger, but she continued to push him backwards on the defensive. The look on the man¡¯s face as they exchanged blows belied his bottled frustration, and she could tell that he had falsely believed her an easy kill. That she had not only stopped him, but was forcing him to retreat had surprised him, and soon he leapt away to break free from the frantic pace. ¡°I didn¡¯t expect this,¡± the man grumbled to himself as he threw off his coat and cowl. ¡°No one ever does,¡± Alter sneered, taunting him back into battle, though her arrogant grin swiftly faded as the man dashed forward in a deadly lunge. You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story. Adeptly though, Saraya sidestepped the stab with a clang of deflection, her own blade keeping the man¡¯s weapons at a distance. She struck out with a crosscut-high but it was stopped short with his parry, and then was answered in equal measure with his own quick reaction. Saraya stepped back out of range as the knife neared her chest, whereupon she ducked into a crouch and swung her heel at his feet. The man jumped, barely evading, and then came down with a cleave, but Saraya twirled out of the way just in time to avoid it. Back and forth they went, dancing with a myriad of slashes, blocks, stabs and parries, but neither one could gain any substantial ground on the other, and it was becoming abundantly clear that they were very nearly matched. As they fought, Saraya realized that the man¡¯s balance was perfect, his stances were strong and firm, and his technique was refined to mastery. In the cramped confines of the room Saraya could not get him to budge one inch, and it was all she could do to simply match him. The fluidity of her fighting style, the nimbleness of her movements, were the optimal counter to this man¡¯s stoic, deadly strikes. Each time he lashed out, she could roll with the blow, bending it to her defense if not to her advantage. But being attacked in such a small space was the worst thing that could have happened, as she needed an open area to counteract her innate weakness. The man was taller than she was, inherently stronger too, and had leverage over her because of these unavoidable facts. Where her skill would normally outpace her opponent¡¯s in times such as these, it didn¡¯t here against an enemy that was just as talented, if not more so. If things kept going as they were, there was a chance she would lose. No. She was going to lose, and she knew it. I have to think of something, Saraya thought desperately as she batted away another of her assailant¡¯s deadly strikes. No sooner did she think this did she lose control of her hands, as Alter swept in to take up the exchange of strike and parry on her own. Alter confidently commanded. Right¡­ Saraya breathed, though didn¡¯t question the order. Alter would not fail them when it came to battle, but Saraya did have to act fast nevertheless. It was a disorienting thing, however, to move without moving, to looking without seeing and sense but not feel. Up until this moment, she and Alter had been fighting in sync, but now Alter was moving about of her own will while Saraya took up the reserved place of passenger. Saraya could see the things Alter did, feel the same things too, but it was distant and unfocused and¡­elsewhere; like trying to look only through the corners of one¡¯s eyes. While Alter focused on their enemy, she had to see beyond him, looking for any possible thing that could help. But what could she do in confinements so bare? A mattress, a tiny table, a singular candlestick; what good were these things against such a skilled opponent? Perhaps, in her pack, there was something to turn the tide, but her hands would never be freed long enough to search for it. Curse it all! What could she do?! She had to win or she would die! That¡¯s when it struck her. She didn¡¯t have to win. All she had to do was survive. I have it! Saraya exclaimed after several precious moments, and without warning she wrenched back control of her limbs from Alter. She picked up the dance of blades precisely where Alter left off, and after avoiding a wide strike, she nimbly leapt backwards. Immediately she dropped her dagger, disarming herself willingly, and reached down to the belt still fastened around her leg. Quickly she drew up one of her throwing knives before the man could close the gap between them, and hurled the sharpened metal through the air ahead. Her purposeful maneuvering had put the man right in the knife¡¯s path, and he ducked to one side as the blade whizzed past his arm. There was a loud crack as the knife struck against the room¡¯s lonely window, crashing through the glass. Drawing another knife, Saraya whipped this one at the man on purpose this time, distracting him just long enough for her to sprint toward the bed while he dodged. Without pausing, Saraya scooped up her winter cloak from the mattress and threw it over her head and shoulders, using it as a buffer as she launched herself at the now open window. The already broken glass gave way easily under her weight, and she sailed, unhindered, through the wooden frame. For what felt like a small eternity she fell blindly through the darkness, feeling the intense cold rake against her cheeks in the open air. Though she was blind, her acrobat¡¯s instincts led her to twist appropriately, allowing her to confidently point her feet down toward the invisible ground. She braced herself for impact, hitting the alley with a jarring thud, and rolled forward over her shoulder to mitigate most of the damage from the fall. When she came up, she was disoriented, lost in the dark, and a little dizzy for the blind rush she¡¯d endured. But she was not yet out of danger, and so spun around to locate the broken window high above. Beyond the busted pane she could see the silhouette of her attacker as he ran to the window after her, illuminated from the back by candlelight. Naught but a shadow to her eyes, Saraya couldn¡¯t judge whether the man would give chase or not, though wasn¡¯t convinced that he was desperate enough to take the long, blind plunge into the alley as she had. ¡°Over there!¡± Came a sudden yell from just around the corner of the inn, and within a moment two men in plated tunics and fur overcoats broke into the backstreets. Each man carried with him a torch, held out before him as he ran, which revealed the alley and caused the scattered shards of broken glass littering the ground around Saraya to sparkle like many stars. Saraya flinched away from the men as they neared, her eyes stinging in the blinding light. Shielding her face with her arm, she grasped for her dagger out of habit, not knowing if these two men, like the other, meant her harm. ¡°It¡¯s the acrobat,¡± the one standing on the right said as he reached her. ¡°What are you doing out here, young miss?¡± ¡°A man,¡± she began, her voice unexpectedly hoarse, ¡°a man is trying to kill me!¡± Squinting against the flame, she pointed up toward the broken window of her room, but the shadow of her would-be killer had already vanished. ¡°There, in that room. You must catch him before he escapes!¡± ¡°So he did come then,¡± Saraya heard the left man mutter, and watched in shock as the other gave a knowing nod. ¡°You¡­you expected this?!¡± She stammered, floundering her words in her surprise. But the men didn¡¯t seem to remember or even care that she was there, as wordlessly they sprinted around the corner back from whence they came. Drawing up swords as they ran, the light from their torches faded along with their image, and Saraya was left standing alone in the middle of the abandoned alley. ¡°This is¡­fine¡­¡± she told herself as the darkness embraced her again, though she sounded unconvinced even to her own ears. Alter roared inside her head. Saraya rubbed her head and sighed, letting her vehement inner voice rant. There was nothing more she could do in light of all that had happened, and Alter knew it too, she just wanted to rage about it. They¡¯d been lucky enough just to escape with their life, and certainly Saraya felt fit to collapse for all the effort it took to do it. Surely their attacker wouldn¡¯t stick around now that he had been discovered, and so, perhaps, they were finally out of danger for the time being. While Alter kept on in her screaming, Saraya bent down to hoist her cloak up from the dirty cobblestone, glass plinking on the ground as it was shaken loose. ¡°What a fine mess¡­¡± she grumbled while picking shards of window out of the grey fur. Alter chimed in flatly, having calmed down at last. ¡°That¡¯s only because Zephyr hasn¡¯t visited the circus in months,¡± Saraya said, ¡°though, personally, I could have done without the sudden reminder.¡± She scanned the darkness with her eyes, but it was hard to make out anything in the distinct lack of light. ¡°Now, where is that knife?¡± Throwing her cloak over her shoulders she began combing the ground for any sign of her throwing knife, fearing that she would have to wait for dawn to actually find out where it went. She didn¡¯t get far into her search, however, when the mumbling of more voices drifted to her from around each side of the inn, coaxing her to look up as more lights entered and then passed through the alley. The shadows of figures carrying more torches jogged into the night, spreading out and disappearing into adjoining streets. Saraya guessed that these people must be searching for her assailant, but if they were out here, then it must have meant that they hadn¡¯t found him yet. The sudden prospect that the man had escaped made the acrobat grow exceedingly tense, for if this was true, and he had indeed evaded capture, then Saraya wasn¡¯t nearly half as safe as she had thought herself to be. ¡°I¡¯d be safer inside,¡± she whispered to herself before turning to go back to the inn. ¡°You there! Stop!¡± A female¡¯s voice called out from the shadows behind her, this stopping the acrobat in the middle of her retreat. Saraya turned to look at the one who had spoken, and immediately her heart sank into her stomach at the sight. ¡°Oh no¡­¡± she squeaked, recognizing the figure as the red-haired Slayer she had spent all evening seeking out. As if the woman hadn¡¯t looked intimidating before, under the sharp shadows of a torch she appeared all the more frightening. The jagged outline of the woman¡¯s elaborate armor carved a dangerous silhouette in the flickering torchlight, making the Slayer appear more akin to the very beasts she hunted. Every fiber in Saraya¡¯s body begged her to run as the woman neared, but she was sure that if she did, it would only make matters worse. When the woman finally reached Saraya she held her torch a little higher, moving it so that it illuminated the both of them. ¡°So you are the acrobat,¡± the woman said, examining the jester¡¯s face, for Saraya¡¯s telltale dyed hair was currently hidden beneath her cloak. ¡°Yes, I am,¡± Saraya meekly replied, feeling now very small. The woman stood several inches taller than she did, and with the armor, it felt akin to squaring off against a mountain. In fact, the only thing gentle about the woman seemed to be her face, as her long, red hair, currently tied back, left shorter locks to swoop around her cheeks and caress her gorgeous features. Yet the woman¡¯s beauty was counteracted simply by her hard expression, as well as by the claws, spines and scales that had been worked into her apparel. All of this only made Saraya¡¯s want for trouble further lessen, and so she swallowed again the urge to sprint fast away. ¡°How surprising,¡± the Slayer continued, placing a gloved hand on her hip. ¡°I did not expect to find you alive.¡± ¡°What is that supposed to mean?¡± Saraya questioned in retort, though she wasn¡¯t exactly sure she was going to like the answer. ¡°Only that you do not seem the sort,¡± came the woman¡¯s frank reply. ¡°The assassin has left many a corpse in his wake, several of whom were warriors in their own right. That a mere stage fool would be the first to survive the assassin¡¯s blade¡­it is something none of us genuinely expected.¡± Saraya frowned with a huff and folded her arms over her chest. ¡°So sorry to disappoint,¡± she grumbled angrily. ¡°No, you misunderstand,¡± the red-haired Slayer quickly corrected. ¡°I am glad to have found you alive. You are the first living trail the assassin has ever left behind, which makes you the first real chance we have for catching him.¡± ¡°You mean you didn¡¯t catch him?!¡± Saraya blurted out, gripped by an unexpected flash of fear. ¡°No,¡± the woman replied sharply with a single shake of her head, the motion causing her wavy locks of hair to bump against her cheeks. ¡°We had the whole inn surrounded, but he evaded us still. That man has the blessing of Nox, mark my word.¡± ¡°Gods below,¡± Saraya breathed quietly into the palm of her hand. Already she had narrowly managed to avoid disaster once this night, and truthfully she wasn¡¯t sure she could do so again. That the man was still out there, that she was his first ¡°failure¡±, it made her certain that he would come for her again. She was still in incredible danger. ¡°You will not want to hear this,¡± the woman began, ¡°but you will be coming with me. With your help I believe we¡¯ll be able to find and capture the assassin.¡± ¡°Am I to be bait again?¡± Saraya growled quietly with a bit of a glare. ¡°Were you not for me?¡± The Slayer remarked coldly in response, narrowing her eyes at the acrobat. ¡°You gave the enemy my face. It is only right you give me his.¡± Saraya was taken aback by this sudden show of hostility, and by the truth that the woman had so bluntly pointed out. ¡°I¡­do know his face,¡± Saraya told her, more carefully this time. ¡°He is a man from Giraffin, I¡¯m certain.¡± ¡°There are many men who hail from Giraffin here,¡± the woman retorted, unimpressed. ¡°Cambria is a central nation in which people of all countries tend to gather. You will have to do better than that.¡± ¡°I can identify him without fail!¡± Saraya snapped, angry again. ¡°After all, I found you, didn¡¯t I? And that was on nothing but a whim!¡± At first the outburst did little to move the Slayer, but after a moment, she wryly smiled. ¡°I guess you will indeed be of some use to us then. Gather your things, we leave tonight.¡± ¡°Now?!¡± Saraya choked, horrified by the notion of travelling on so cold a night and with no sleep. ¡°If he is smart,¡± explained the woman, ¡°then the assassin will be leaving the city tonight as well. And if not, then it is better if we are ahead of him.¡± The woman turned away then, clearly expecting Saraya to follow. ¡°If you fear him that much, know that my men and I can keep you safe.¡± ¡°I do not fear him,¡± Alter hissed quietly in Saraya¡¯s stead. ¡°I want to kill him for what he did to us.¡± But the woman didn¡¯t seem to hear it; she was already walking away and taking her torchlight with her. Begrudged as she was to do so, Saraya started after the woman. Things were suddenly moving now far too quickly for her liking, and against her will she was being pushed from one problem into another. But, really, what was there to do? She couldn¡¯t very well carry out Veil¡¯s assignment if she wound up getting killed, and the only protection granted to her now was from this Slayer and her men. The best thing she could do was take up the woman¡¯s offer, and anything else would simply have to wait until a later time. In the fading light Saraya spotted her throwing knife, blade down in the mud, and prying it loose, she quickly palmed it before catching up to the retreating Slayer. ¡°I¡¯m Saraya, by the way,¡± she told the stoic woman as they walked. ¡°And you may call me Myria,¡± the Slayer spoke to her in answer. Then, after a long, contemplative moment, she added, ¡°Valor captain of the Scar.¡± Obviously the title was meant to hold some importance, but Saraya had no clue as to what. ¡°Okay, Myria,¡± she began, ¡°where exactly are we going?¡± The woman glanced down to her briefly, deciding whether or not she should answer. ¡°Where everyone seems to be heading these days,¡± she eventually said. ¡°To Neurial.¡± Fools Errand - Chapter 10 The irony of Myria¡¯s statement was not lost on Saraya, and she wondered if this was the gods¡¯ idea of a cruel joke. For the sake of Veil¡¯s request she¡¯d donned the role of assassin and was heading to Neurial herself, so the notion that she¡¯d become intertwined with another assassin doing same was almost too ridiculous of a coincidence to be believed. Surely her would-be killer was not after the same goal as well; now that would truly be outrageous. Regardless, the remainder of her journey had grown infinitely more perilous now, and though seeing it as a burden to be taken in under the wing of this Valor, perhaps it was a blessing in disguise. Myria had spoken little before they¡¯d momentarily parted ways, but the woman had stressed that the man who had tried to kill Saraya was no ordinary assassin. The acrobat couldn¡¯t get much of an explanation as to what she had meant by that, but it confirmed her suspicions of lingering danger nonetheless. Of course, Saraya wanted no part of this sudden, shaky alliance, if only because the Slayer was admittedly hunting assassins. For all intents and purposes, even if she did not know it, Myria was Saraya¡¯s enemy and so would surely turn on her if ever she discovered the reason behind the jester¡¯s journey. And yet, though it was going to be difficult to keep her true intentions a secret, it remained in Saraya¡¯s best interest to stay in Valor custody. The protection of one enemy was better than the murderous plans of the other, and as long as the acrobat could keep her mission silent, then she would be fine. Still, being effectively held captive left her in a most contemptible position. Her freedom to maneuver had been completely stripped away, and so it would remain for an indeterminate amount of time. To run from this would invoke suspicion and leave herself open to danger, but to stay meant that Saraya would risk the discovery of the truth. Within one evening everything had begun spiraling out of her control, and now she was trapped, a prisoner of someone else¡¯s machinations. She would have to bide her time and wait to find her footing again, if only because she had no choice but to somehow reverse all this. For now though, she was stuck under Myria¡¯s judgmental eye, and thus she followed the woman¡¯s order and prepared for travel. Though it saddened her to leave Mathias behind without a goodbye or explanation, her only option was to comply with whatever it was Myria had her do. The Valor captain had demanded that they leave the city quickly, and so leave they did, with five others accompanying them from the inn. Saraya was told that these others were soldiers, each well suited for combat, but the acrobat wasn¡¯t convinced. Compared to a painted harlequin and a highly decorated Slayer, their companions appeared exceptionally plain. They may have had swords at their waists and spears strapped to their saddles, but did they honestly know how to use either? Saraya sized them up as they passed out of Meridia, riding beneath the city¡¯s north-facing gate. Though they were not formal military, she decided that this boring lot was likely well trained enough, yet would bet crowns to crumbs that she could take every one of them in a fight. Thinking about it though, there were only two reasons why Myria would have revealed that her companions were soldiers, and Saraya couldn¡¯t decide which of them had been the woman¡¯s motive. Did she mention this fact so that the acrobat would feel safe? Or did she speak it as a threat to keep her from running away? Honestly, Saraya wouldn¡¯t have been surprised if the answer was a bit of both. After all, Myria wanted the acrobat¡¯s aid, given freely or taken, and it was clear that the woman would have her way no matter what. For some reason, the assassin was simply that important to find, though Saraya couldn¡¯t fathom why. Thus Saraya silently pondered her position in all of this, keeping quiet as their horses plodded sleepily along the vacant road to the north. They were still near enough to the city that the path was laid with stone, and in the dead silence of night, the clacking sound of many hooves on rock sounded irritatingly noisy. Talon had proved a horror to raise so late into the night, and the black giant had thrown a sizeable tantrum before allowing himself to be saddled. Saraya could hardly blame the beast for his temper when she felt cranky too, though unlike Talon, she knew it wasn¡¯t going to get better for either of them any time soon. After a mile or so, once the horses had been properly paced, the group kicked into a gallop for the tree line. Fields that would be ploughed and planted come spring and the farmhouses beside them disappeared behind their backs as they plunged into the forest. Just as Saraya had guessed, the night was unbearably frigid, and the wind clawed at them constantly as they rode. Whistling through pines and shaking the canopy of black branches laden with spring buds, it threatened the weary travelers with promises of snow. The cloud cover had dissipated, blown apart by the winds, but the small sliver of a waxing moon did little to offer light. Small saddle lanterns jangling upon tiny hooks provided the only means by which the company could truly see. And though the oil-fed flames offered sight enough within the dark, they had to proceed along carefully nevertheless. Footfalls and hazards of a road spurned in winter grew infinitely worse after nightfall. But such simple traps and threats were not the true reason for the group¡¯s quick procession through the woods, nor the reason why they watched the roadside with such care. Used to traveling all year round, Saraya was likely the most aware of the risks they were taking by choosing to ride this late. Too she knew how lucky they were to have a Slayer along, as it was possible that they would need Myria¡¯s skills before their journey¡¯s end. Deep mud and pits were trouble in their own right, true, but they paled hopelessly in comparison to snarling jaws of dagger-sized teeth. Creatures starved by a hard winter or newly awoke from hibernation were known to stalk well-traveled roads when growing desperate, and night provided a perfect cloak for all varieties of fanged things. Without the circus¡¯s dracon about to act as their protectors, Saraya found herself putting a great deal of faith in Myria¡¯s finely-crafted plate armor. If the woman was truly worthy of the trophies she wore, then perhaps the group could avoid any significant trouble. But even if so, none of this accounted for the other numerous terrors of the road, as more than just wild animals were known to prowl the night. Bandits and highwaymen would soon be crawling out from their dens, eager to refill their drained coffers with spring coin. Desperate men were as watchful as any beast for signs of easy pickings, as too were those bloodthirsty dracon clans fresh out on the wing. A new spring never arrived without its fair share of disaster, and there was a good reason why the hiring of sellswords and Slayers picked up this time of year. The faster their procession made their way through the woods, the far safer their company would be, though they would have plainly been safer still just to not be traveling at all. It wasn¡¯t until hours later that they finally stopped to make camp, just as the signs of the morning sun became visible through the trees. Behind the wall of their countless limbs one could just make out the distant sky, where the dawn was tinted comforting shades of lilac, pink and gold. In so early a morning, stars still twinkled overhead in the lingering black, and at ground level everything was still beset by the darkened dead of night. By lantern light the group scrounged about for dry wood for a fire, and once a sizeable blaze was set to burn, bedrolls were laid out upon the scattered patches of dry grass. Being thoroughly exhausted, in mere minutes nearly everyone among them was asleep, with the quiet only broken by the sounds of the wind and the occasional grumble of soft snoring. ¡°Why Neurial?¡± Saraya asked after several long minutes had passed, being unable to drift off like the others for having caught a second wind. Acting as their watch, Myria was the only other left awake, this being nothing short of a miracle. Saraya remembered how much ale the woman had ingested back at the tavern, and knew that the Slayer should have been the first of them to succumb to sleep. And yet, there she sat, solitarily brooding over the campfire while the rest were rent unconscious at every side. ¡°The assassin is a tool with which one may shift power, and there is much power to be had in Neurial right now. That man is allied to Honorbound Fairwater, and she is on her way to Cambria¡¯s capital to attend the nearing moot. The assassin will go with her there. Even if not now, then soon. I cannot comb every corner in Meridia for him with what little manpower I currently possess, and so we will seek him in Neurial. He hunts us both now, after all, and thus it would do us well to enlist more eyes.¡± Myria spoke these words grimly as she poked a branch into the fire, forcing the logs to roll aside and release their heat. The wood crackled loudly at the introduction of fresh air, and an array sparks swirled upwards with the smoke. Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon. Saraya flicked away an ember that popped out from the flames, it having fallen too closely to her blanket for her comfort. Unlike the others, she had put her bedroll right next to the blaze, willing to risk singeing the fur of her cloak for the sake of getting warm. ¡°Do you know anything of Cambrian politics?¡± The question came unexpectedly. ¡°I have been in Cambria for only a short while,¡± Saraya said, ¡°so, no, I don¡¯t really know much of anything.¡± This wasn¡¯t a lie, or at least Saraya didn¡¯t believe it so. While Veil may have told her some things regarding Cambria¡¯s current problems, it hadn¡¯t meant that she fully understood it. Politics was a subject on which Saraya was particularly daft, though this was mostly because it was a topic that she chose actively to ignore. Myria mulled this answer over as she peered into the blaze. ¡°Then you should know this much at least before we get to Neurial. It will help us avoid unnecessary trouble.¡± Tossing a branch into the fire then, she began to explain. ¡°Currently there exist two factions in Cambria: those who support the normal order, and those who don¡¯t. Since the beginning, Cambria has been overseen by a Mediator, someone who settles disputes between the Honorbound who govern each region. But Cambria¡¯s Mediator was recently found dead, and his original replacement was killed some years before. The current Mediator is thus one young and untested, and has been unable to earn the Honorbounds¡¯ backing a result.¡± ¡°Because of this, there has been an uprising of sorts; led by the Honorbound who wish to govern without a Mediator¡¯s input. There are many people who lobby support behind this idea, believing that the Honorbound are themselves governance enough. Those opposed to this are the ones who believe that the Mediator is necessary, that he is key to maintaining power and preventing civil war.¡± Saraya rolled the information around inside her head, trying her best to absorb it. Now that she was forcing herself to pay attention, it was sinking in a little deeper now how important her mission from Veil truly was. If she was to succeed in what her mistress had planned, what would it do to Cambria and its people? ¡°And where do you stand in all this?¡± Saraya wondered aloud. ¡°On the side of stability,¡± Myria stated matter-of-fact. ¡°On the side that knows how much Cambria needs its Mediator. Those who wish for change do not realize what it is they seek, or what they will end up sacrificing to obtain it. They do not realize that having such power corrupts, and that the Mediator is in place to prevent this from happening. Or, worse, they choose not to see it, and ignore the possibility of a future where the exchange of power will only commence through the spilling of blood.¡± ¡°You speak of the future like you¡¯re certain it will happen,¡± Saraya replied with some doubt. ¡°Is it because you¡¯re from Caedis?¡± Just speaking the name caused Myria to straighten, as if she¡¯d been struck by some unseen blow, and when she looked at Saraya now her expression was dark and cold. ¡°I suppose you, being a Crystarian yourself, would fully understand what that means.¡± Saraya nodded thoughtfully. She did indeed know. Though she had a tough time remembering certain historical events, she knew the tales of the Arcane War. In fact, At the Sides of Gods, the song she and Mathias had performed last evening, pertained to this very battle. The war had been one so great and so bloody that it had brought about the Fall of the last age, and had left half of the continent uninhabitable with a curse. The war had been between planesbreakers wielding Godsends and magic, and the gods who were forced to intervene as only they had the power to stop them. Supposedly, the province of Caedis held the descendents of those who had begun that horrid war, and their blood-red hair was a permanent mark of their shame. Even now, over five centuries later, some still considered those from Caedis with unspoken contempt, and likely Myria was familiar with such treatment, especially here in Cambria. Fire danced in the grey of Myria¡¯s eyes as she stared absently into the fire, thinking thoughts of which Saraya could only guess. ¡°Sometimes,¡± she began, leaning her chin onto laced fingers, ¡°I believe Cambrians think themselves immune to Cairvalis¡¯s folly. Perhaps, even too noble to misuse so great a power.¡± She shook her head roughly then, and rubbed her hand over her face with a heavy sigh. ¡°Gods below, why am I speaking of such things to you?¡± ¡°Because a good jester always has an ear ready to listen,¡± Saraya said, ¡°and a Wanderer a smile and a helping hand.¡± Myria scoffed at the line that was so clearly rehearsed before shooting Saraya the fiercest scowl she could muster. Her newly acquired glare she then turned back toward the fire, no doubt chastising herself for having possessed so loose a tongue. Glumly Saraya sunk into the folds of her blanket, letting the fur bury her up to her lips. ¡°What is the Valor?¡± She asked, her words muffled by the cloak. By changing the subject, she hoped that Myria would still be willing to converse in spite of the foul turn of her mood. ¡°An army for the Mediator,¡± the woman stated flatly, ¡°made up of those that support him. Normally, in times of conflict, it is the Honorbound who lend their soldiers to the Mediator for use. But without that support, he is defenseless. The Valor has risen up so to fill the role of the Mediator¡¯s protector, and it has earned us a great many enemies doing so. Some of the Honorbound themselves do not agree with our purpose, and for this reason, the Valor conducts all its operations in secret.¡± ¡°Is that why the assassin had such trouble finding you?¡± ¡°Perhaps, though it was the appearance of his kind that forced us into secrecy to begin with. The Valor nearly paid too high a price once before, so we will not risk such carelessness again.¡± Myria turned back to Saraya, but her eyes had not regained their prior warmth. ¡°It is for this reason that I have you along. The man who tried to kill you is more important than you realize. Now tell me, what do you know of him?¡± Saraya shied away from the Slayer¡¯s icy, indifferent stare. She hadn¡¯t intended for their talk to become an interrogation. ¡°Nothing, other than his face,¡± the acrobat answered sheepishly. ¡°He was willing to pay handsomely for me to find you, but other than that, that¡¯s all I know.¡± ¡°Desperation, perhaps,¡± Myria stated, a guess that Saraya could neither confirm nor deny. ¡°Have you had any other such dealings with his ilk?¡± Alter suddenly snapped. Up to this point, Saraya hadn¡¯t realized that Alter had been listening this whole time, though wasn¡¯t surprised given that her other ego was ever present. Likely it was simply that Alter had nothing to say until now, and indeed, her observation seemed quite on point. Though Saraya hadn¡¯t considered the question out of place at first, what did her prior dealings have to do with finding the assassin now? ¡°Why do you ask?¡± Saraya wondered curiously, fishing for some manner of clue. ¡°That is something you do not need to know,¡± Myria told her coldly. ¡°You need only supply me with an answer.¡± Saraya felt herself grimace, and unhappy with where this conversation was going, she peered up at the stars. ¡°I¡¯m a wandering entertainer,¡± she told the woman honestly, ¡°I have dealings with his kind all the time.¡± The truth only caused the frown of Myria¡¯s hard expression to deepen. ¡°That you speak it so plainly means you have either no regret or no fear, and I cannot decide which is the worse.¡± After saying this, she fell silent and slipped back into brooding, staying this way for a long while. So long did the silence last that Saraya thought their conversation concluded, and so she began to curl up for sleep. ¡°For the sake of my honor,¡± Myria began then suddenly, ¡°I will protect you, as I said I would. But cause trouble for the Valor as you did last night, and I promise I will not lift a hand to help you.¡± Saraya stopped for a moment, caught completely off guard by the threat. It seemed such a cruel thing to say. ¡°That¡¯s fair,¡± she replied once considering Myria¡¯s point of view. ¡°But if you must know, I want the assassin caught same as you.¡± Alter corrected within Saraya¡¯s head. ¡°Then there should be no trouble between the Valor and you, but regardless, consider yourself warned.¡± Pushing herself up from her place on the ground, Myria stood and turned as though to head off into the forest. ¡°Get some sleep, girl,¡± she advised as an emotionless command. ¡°We¡¯ll be on the road again in a few hours.¡± The Slayer then walked off, perhaps to check around the camp for signs of danger, departing just as snow began drifting down through the trees in large bundles of flakes. Saraya curled tightly away as one lighted upon her cheek, and she shivered as a chill shot through the entirety of her body. But it wasn¡¯t truly the weather that was making her feel so cold; it was the callousness of her self-appointed protector. The Valor were not her allies, Saraya needed to remember this. They were just another party with which to do business. To them she was a tool and nothing more, to be discarded when her usefulness reached its end. That¡¯s how it should be, she supposed, as they were the same to her, though Saraya felt little better for thinking of it this way. Wrapping her blankets close to her Saraya curled up into a ball, trying to sleep as Myria had said, but only found herself plagued by thoughts and dreams of deeper longing for the circus. Fools Errand - Chapter 11 The snow persisted through the days that followed, greeting them upon the morning and making the first few hours of their long ride cold and miserable. Only when the day neared noon and the sun had fully risen did the air grow warm enough to see the snowfall cease. But cast as they were beneath the shadows of trees, the company was yet constantly beset by damp and chill. Only a break in the canopy offered any reprieve, where beams of light would slip through the boughs and warm their cloak-covered shoulders. The girl proved a boon to have along in ways Myria did not expect. Having initially suspected that the girl¡¯s title of jester was employed merely for use as a disguise, Myria no longer considered this to be the case. While her men bade horses solemnly forward, slumped under the weight of cold and gloom, it was the jester who broke the disheartened atmosphere with the melody of her flute. The joy that rekindled in the woman¡¯s companions whenever the girl played was undeniable, and Myria even caught herself humming along to the jester¡¯s music more than once. No one wanted to be out in this weather, chasing after an assassin that could be behind them just as easily as he was ahead. But duty demanded that they hunt him down. Having the acrobat around just made their journey more bearable. And yet, though Myria could not deny the aid the girl offered to her troop, she still could not bring herself to trust or like the child. The ale had affected Myria more than she had anticipated, and perhaps she had indeed been a fair bit drunk on that first night. She had said too much to the acrobat, but in some manner, the girl had done the same. Myria had no tolerance for criminals or those who suffered them, and the jester had admitted to being the latter if nothing else. Had she not been of use for the assassin¡¯s capture, then Myria would have never taken the girl into her protection. Alas, it was of utmost importance that they find the man quickly and procure whatever knowledge he possessed. Myria had long suspected her target to be a guild assassin, and with what the girl had described, she was now certain of it. A tool like him was no small pawn to employ, and the Valor had great need to know of the purpose for his presence. Fangris assassins never came cheaply, nor implied anything less than the most cunning and grand of schemes. Simple murder or theft could be left to those beneath them, for a cur from the alleys brought up by the streets would work for far less coin and be no less effective. Fangris, however, always involved themselves with larger machinations, working only for the highest bidders. Myria was not the only one among the Valor who had been expecting signs of the assassin¡¯s guild¡¯s involvement, if only because the winds in Cambria were shifting constantly. Influence, political sway, secret plots, it all reeked of a darker hand. Someone, somewhere, was planning to make a move, and they meant it to accomplish something great. But was it Honorbound Fairwater who meant to accomplish it? There was no way to be certain until the assassin was caught. For though ¡®twas true that this assassin worked in Fairwater¡¯s employ, it did not necessarily mean that the woman¡¯s motives were foul. The Valor had spent time aplenty gathering information concerning those sinister methods by which the Honorbound could launch attacks, and Fangris had been only one such point of interest. During their investigations of it, the Valor had discovered that the guild was, at its core, chaotic in its nature, with no loyalties to anything except its own existence. The interests of their assassins were thus purely self serving, and as long as the guild itself prospered through their work, each member was free to act however they chose. Squabbles between rankings broke out often, or so it seemed, and their hierarchy was ever changing. Therefore, as long as it was beneficial or was in accordance to their contract, one assassin would kill another without hesitation. This lack of kinship between its members cast Fangris¡¯s utilization into shadow, as while one assassin could be used by the Honorbound to kill off competition or threats, another could just as easily be employed for protection against this very thing. If this was the case, and such defense was necessary, who else had enlisted the assassin¡¯s guild? Such was a conundrum impossible to decipher without speaking to the assassin directly. There were far too many questions and not near enough answers, and all attempts to puzzle out such secrets had led Myria only to headache. Fortunately, Neurial was not too far away now; close enough that they would reach it before noon tomorrow. Myria had pressed her troop hard for the sake of speed and though it had run the group a bit haggard, it had allowed them to keep up a good pace while gathering information. At each town they passed they had sniffed around for sightings of the assassin, and more than once had even garnered something of potential use. However, no lead they found could wholly be confirmed, even with the acrobat¡¯s help, and so Myria had dismissed them as nothing more than baseless speculation. After all, she was not one to put her hope in rumors, and being this close to Neurial, she did not doubt that there were countless tradesmen of Giraffin descent who were traveling to the capital to haggle. Neurial was the largest, most prosperous trading hub in all of Cambria, a city where business never ceased, and knowing that the assassin may beat them there only made Myria wish to move faster. But the last league of their journey would wait until morning, and tonight the group would make camp again betwixt the towering evergreens. Having spent roughly two days upon the north-winding road, it was expected for them to house beneath the stars and pines as the scenery hadn¡¯t much changed during their trip. The Scar was so named because of the thick forest that engulfed it; a scar of dense, rugged terrain through Cambria¡¯s otherwise gentle woodlands. All around there was nothing but trees and mists comprised of their looming shadows, filled with the sounds of various creatures bounding through them both. Though they¡¯d passed the occasional wayhouse and hunter¡¯s lodge, the only real change in landscape had come from the sparse number of villages they¡¯d ridden through and the rare skylight between the trees where a stretch of them had been logged. But tonight there was naught but darkness and forest, both made deeper by the contrasting glow of their campfire. Myria had already circled around the encampment once, scouting for any potential signs of danger. She most of all was aware of the creatures that lurked in this area of deep wood, and too knew best how to deal with them. With the change in weather came the behavioral changes in beasts, and more than once she had seen troubling signs of their increasing movements. Being this close to Neurial, Myria was unwilling to take chances and so had taken time to set up a small defense for precaution. Surrounding the campsite with ammonia rags was an old Slayer trick, and the simplest measure one could take to ward away feral beasts. The smell worked to keep most creatures at bay, and too helped mask the presence of the campers. It was an effective method, even if meager, though would not protect the camp from those beasts that truly meant them harm. It was the best Myria could do under these circumstances however, for her current duty was that of Valor captain and thus her mantle of Slayer had been sidelined. Without most of the tools she would take out on a hunt, she felt mildly underprepared for danger. But no Slayer worth their armor was ever truly underprepared, for as long as they had their weapon, they were ready, and Myria was always ready. On her way back to the others Myria stopped at her horse to retrieve her Slayer¡¯s Arm: a thick greatsword a little longer than Myria was tall. The menacing black blade had been carved from the hide of an obsadus, a terrifying creature made of jagged midnight glass and flames. The obsadus was not truly made of glass of course, or else its hide would have made for a pitiful weapon indeed. No, obsadus plating was stronger than steel, blackened and tempered for years by the flame of its core. It had taken a band of Slayers to put down the rampaging beast before it could set the countryside aflame, and Myria had earned her trophies by delivering the killing blow. The onyx sheen of her armor and her blade, both filled with fire, were proof that she had fought the beast and lived to end it. Her greatsword was by far one of her most prized possessions, for even after all these years it still glowed with the flame that ran through its blackened edge, burning as hot as any blaze whenever it was swung. Argosia, the great white war horse who had been her close companion for ages, seemed to realize Myria¡¯s intention and stood a bit stronger for it. But the captain pet down the giant mare to ease her, whispering calming words that there would be no fighting tonight if it could be helped. The experienced battle steed almost seemed disappointed, and began chewing upon the nearby grass to sulk. The mare¡¯s reaction was enough that it caused Myria to grin, though that smile was gone by the time she loosed the greatsword from the saddle and returned to camp. When coming into the firelight, Myria was surprised to find dinner on to roast; a few rabbits turning upon a small spit over the embers. The sight of the kill was most unwelcome, if only because the smell of them was so strong. The scent of fresh meat was a tantalizing one, and a far cry from the usual airs of pine and wet wood they¡¯d come to know. Having had nothing but dried bread, cheese, and jerky since leaving Meridia, even Myria¡¯s mouth unwillingly watered when hit by the aroma. Such smells, she knew, would affect hungry beasts the same way it did her own senses, and so she now questioned if ammonia alone would keep the scent of meat from traveling too far. All the more reason for caution, Myria thought to herself as she took up a place by the fire. Laying her blade down in the grass, she felt much more at ease now that she had her Arm with her, though noticed that the others were eyeing the menacing greatsword with suspicion. ¡°Did you see something out there?¡± One of her men asked, knowing what the blade¡¯s presence meant. It was Baine who had spoken, the one Myria had known longest among all those here. The man was strong, trustworthy and loyal almost to a fault, and Myria depended on him first above all the others. If ever things grew dire, she could rely on his Tuh¡¯luan strength to step in where she failed to be, and never once had he ever failed to deliver. ¡°Your feast may yet entice nearby beasts,¡± Myria stated flatly. ¡°Who was it that fetched meat?¡± ¡°It was me,¡± the acrobat admitted, twirling a blade around on her finger. ¡°I can pin a hare with a throwing knife from 40 yards if I choose. Catching these was no trouble at all.¡± ¡°And what do you know of trouble?¡± Myria spat at the girl, a little more forcefully than she had intended. Regardless, her sharp words caused the girl to glower, and she put her knife away with a disheartened huff. Though the captain could tell that the girl wanted to say more, she proved wise enough to hold her tongue. ¡°The scent,¡± Myria continued, ¡°may invite in things beyond our ability to fight. It is foolishness to be so careless in these woods.¡± ¡°She meant no harm,¡± Baine defended as he continued to turn the spit, ¡°and Cavi and I know the woods around here well enough to know they¡¯re safe. The girl just offered to get what we all wanted.¡± If there was one thing about Baine that Myria wished she could change, it was how agreeable the man was toward everything. Even if his agreeableness was why he so dutifully followed her every order, he didn¡¯t need to make excuses for the acrobat. And that, of course, was the second thing Myria would change: his willingness to speak out against her. Though he meant no ill will, his remarks still questioned her command, and Myria rarely tolerated being questioned. The glare she thus cast to Baine was a hard one indeed, but the man weathered it in his usual manner: by focusing his eyes fully on his current task. The others, however, were not nearly so relaxed. They were not like Baine, and were unused to working alongside the strict Valor captain. They didn¡¯t know how she would respond, but fortunately, Myria knew that she had been pressing the troop harder than she ought, especially since they still lacked news of the assassin¡¯s whereabouts. She knew her men would sleep better with bellies full of warm food, and no doubt it too would reinvigorate them for the hunt to come. With a heavy sigh Myria relented and gave Baine a curt, ¡°Very well¡±, this releasing him and the others to carry on as they had been. Slowly the tension around the fire eased as the group went back to their casual speaking, and in these moments Myria was reminded just how much her companions were so unlike her. As a Slayer, she was used to weathering the wild and its dangers, but this was not the case with the rest. It was difficult to remember that these people were not real soldiers, but carpenters, trappers and bakers alike; professions so unlike her own that they could not be compared. She and her men were only intertwined because of the call to action they all shared, and it had become Myria¡¯s job to lead her sect, seeing also to their basic well being and care. She still sometimes wondered how best to see it done. She¡¯d been called to serve because of her actions in duress and her ability to plan, not because of any leadership skill she possessed. Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings. Thinking about these things bothered her, and unable to, in good conscience, partake in the meal she had rebuked, Myria dismissed herself from the gathering to escape her pondering. Perhaps she would speak to Nathaniel concerning such matters when next they met, but for now, she needed to focus on sleep. She would be taking second watch tonight. A scream tore Myria out of slumber hours later, long after her watch had ended, and she shot up out of bed bleary eyed. At first, all she could see was blackness, so deep that there seemed to be nothing in every direction. Only as she jumped to her feet did she see the firelight beyond the stretch of her own shadow, and though her eyes were still adjusting to the darkness, she ran. Sprinting away from the crackling campfire, her Arm already in hand, Myria instinctively raced toward the location of the shriek. The prickling of her instincts told her what had happened, and now she prayed only that she wasn¡¯t too late. At the very edge of the firelight, where the glow began to fade, Myria spied a glistening trail of red that lay smeared across the disturbed winter grass. She followed it, finding a crumpled body at its end, twisted in a painful position from where it had been dragged. It was Milla, a young woman freshly assigned to Myria¡¯s unit who was watchman of the current hour. One of the horses lay several feet beyond her in even deeper shadow, wheezing in a painful struggle to rise. Ignoring the animal, Myria swung her great blade around once, letting its inner fire gleam as she rushed to the woman¡¯s side. Using the sword¡¯s soft light to better illuminate the scene, Myria saw that Milla¡¯s injury was grave and seeping blood. A large gash had been cut all the way through her flesh to the bone, tearing her leg open from the knee halfway to the ankle. Even if seen to immediately, the wound was so deep that the woman risked losing her leg, and that was only if she somehow survived the blood loss. But what creature did this? The woods provided Myria that answer as a large black thing shot out from the shroud of nearest trees, so fast that she hardly had the time to see it. With a great gush of wind and an ear-piercing snap, a set of gaping jaws clamped over the ribs of the helpless horse. The beast screamed in terror as it was dragged off into the wooded abyss, its body crashing painfully through the trees. Its once powerful neck smashed against a pine there, and flopping back, broken, it fell silent and was gone. ¡°Lao!¡± Myria bellowed out in fierce warning, shouting as loud as she could over the panicking horses. Even her own gallant steed knew the danger they were in, and was pulling hard against its tether so to flee. Myria rushed to Argosia and jerked the horse steady, pulling the mare down so to search through her saddlebags. ¡°Accursed beasts of the night!¡± Myria hissed as she pulled free a large cloth and salve; the only form of immediate medical aid she had handy. Myria knew well of lao, as her profession demanded, and knew them to be a terrifying nocturnal species. The creatures were keen hunters who adeptly hid their black bodies among the shadows of trees, using long and flexible necks to snatch prey. Like a snake attached to a pair of shoulders, the lao¡¯s head slithered across stretches of ground until it was near enough to lash out for a kill. After biting, the lao would drag its victim back to its waiting claws and long, barbed tail, making the lao one of Elequa¡¯s most effective hunters. How dangerous the beast was to get this close undetected! Even more so because it had been willing to break through the ammonia barrier. One horse would not satisfy the creature¡¯s craving for flesh, but they could not stand and fight it if Milla was to live. If they wanted any sort of chance to save her, they had no choice but to run. ¡°Baine!¡± Myria hollered as she began wrapping Milla¡¯s leg, hurriedly trying to stem the flow of blood with a poultice. ¡°Take up Milla with you! The rest of you, ride as your lives depend on it!¡± ¡°To me!¡± Cavi shouted, knowing the chain of command, and following his voice the others mounted to ride. Like leading a charge into enemy lines, Cavi pressed the horses and those with him into a furious gallop, led only by a saddle lantern quickly lit. Myria had already taken up a place between her fallen comrade and the woods, acting as a shield for the injured. Her eyes darted along the edges of the dimming firelight, watching for the slightest sound or movement. It was up to her to buy time for Baine to help Milla, and fueled more by anger than by any form of courage, Myria¡¯s temper made her feel as hot as her fiery blade. She¡¯d faced lao before, had lost friends to them too, and was unwilling to lose another one now. Her honor alone would not allow her to leave a member of the Valor behind. She would be unable to face Nathaniel if she did, and the very thought of that man¡¯s scorn only further steeled her resolve. When the next strike came, she was ready, for the loosing of jaws in so still a night resounded like a shout in Myria¡¯s ears. When she heard it, she whipped her blade around and plunged its point into the ground, causing the monster to glance off the flat of her blade with an impacting ring. The creature recoiled its head with a cry as blasts of pain shot into Myria¡¯s arms up through the obsadus steel. Her arms tingling, she willed her hands to keep a firm hold of her Arm, and pulled her heels free from the soil where they had been embedded by the strike. A Slayers offense was known to be slow and deliberate; it had to be, since the weapons they were forced to use were often cumbersome. A Slayer had to plan their strikes, wait and watch for an opening, but in the pitch black of night Myria could do neither. The best she could hope for was to deflect and defend, knowing the lao would be drawn innately to the scent of blood. For the briefest of moments she had hope that this would be enough, that she would be able to sense the lao where it prowled and move effectively. But enraged caterwauling soon erupted beyond the trees as two beasts, not one, fought over the dead horse. Myria¡¯s heart sank as soon as she heard it, and she gripped her Arm ever tighter, calculating. When Milla was recovered, the horses would run, and the lao would give chase shortly after. The noise of their retreat alone would attract one, if not both, and the scent of fresh blood would ensure pursuit. She knew the horses could not outpace the large creatures for long, for the lao¡¯s speed was far greater than their own. She needed some way to distract them, and she had to think of it quickly, but they had so very little on hand. That Baine was tuh¡¯lu meant he needed no help in drawing Milla up into his care, and in mere moments the woman was secured in front of him on his saddle. Cushioned by a layer of bedrolls and blankets hastily gathered, the woman would jostle less with them than without. But despite Myria¡¯s attempts, the woman was still bleeding badly, so much so that the hastily-applied bandage was as red as it was white. Inspiration struck Myria at the sight of so much blood, and keeping one eye on the woods, she rushed to Baine¡¯s horse while drawing her hunting knife. Carefully, she cut loose the shredded cloth of the woman¡¯s blood-soaked breeches, and then proceeded to slice the torn pieces into smaller shreds. She mounted Argosia quickly, inadvertently smearing the white mare with the blood upon her gloves, and then gave Baine the command to run. Together they kicked their steeds into full sprints, Baine leading the way into the dark with his lantern light. Just as Myria had predicted, a lithe and shadowy figure exploded from the trees soon after, chasing down the sounds of their flight. Attracted to the smell of blood of a freshly injured prey, the lao barreled after them with alarming speed. ¡°Aggressive¡± did not begin to describe the ferocity with which the lao gave chase, and the sounds of its claws scraping against solid ground rung as warning to Myria of how quickly the lao was gaining. It was closing the gap between them with each and every step, and yet Myria dared not look back, not yet. She had to bide her time, had to make each move count, and so she focused on the flickering light in the distance. That light through the trees was the other half of their party, riding fast, but not so fast as to abandon them. Myria and Baine would catch them, but so too would the lao. The time for Myria to act was fast approaching. Over the pounding of hooves, over her own steady breathing, Myria could hear the monster narrowing in on their backs, could even sense what the creature was doing. Though the wind roared in her own ears, whipping by with their speed, the large bat-like ears of the lao were swiveling about in all directions, feeding the lao their current position as it chased. But more frightening than the knowledge of this was the harrowing sound of the lao¡¯s heavy breathing; panting breaths inhaled deeply through the creature¡¯s four flared nostrils. That hideous, flowery nose, Myria knew, was painting a perfect scent picture of the monster¡¯s surroundings, with Milla¡¯s blood attracting the lao like a fly to honey. Lao were the embodiment of swiftness; fleet of foot and graceful in spite of being blind. They had no eyes to speak of, and yet the lao rarely missed its prey. The maw of a lao carried a failsafe for such blindness, for while the inside of its mouth housed dagger-like teeth, its outer muzzle bore bone extrusions used to snag those things the lao may miss. It was these false teeth that had torn Milla¡¯s leg, and what had likely caught the unfortunate horse even more so. These had ripped open the flesh, drawing blood for the lao, that by this smell it would not miss again. It had been a fortunate accident that Milla had been spared the steed¡¯s fate, but now her scent was leading the lao straight to them. Yet, with some luck, it was by this same scent that Myria hoped to buy them time, just as long as her plan worked as intended. Taking what she knew of lao, she considered its size and the stretch of its neck, and judged, the best she could, the lao¡¯s distance. Its breathing now was so close, its steps louder and brisk, and soon it would surely overtake them. Now was the time to act, and taking one of the bloodied cloths, Myria tossed it wide into the trees. In silence she waited, prayed, and listened, before hearing the snapping of jaws farther behind them. Myria breathed a short sigh of relief; the lao had taken the bait. Guided by smell and not sight, the lao had been fooled by the new blood trail, but it would be back again for the stronger scent in no time. Before then, Myria risked a glance at Baine and his horse, seeing that Milla had grown deathly pale during their flight. The side of Baine¡¯s piebald had been stained a deep crimson as well; too much blood was being lost and the roughness of the ride was making it worse. They did not have much time to spend in a continuous run if Milla was to live. They needed to catch the others and end this now. With the dancing lights of the distant lanterns growing steadily nearer, so too did the lao stay its course. Each time the lao drew near, Myria would toss another decoy, but it was becoming less effective with each subsequent throw. Regardless, it bought them enough time to reach the rest of the troop, and with two blood rags still in hand, Myria retook command. ¡°Spear!¡± She commanded of the nearest rider, demanding them to relinquish the weapon from their saddle. The spear switched hands deftly, and Myria affixed the last bloodied cloths to its tip. The lao would be fooled by this, Myria was sure, and she would impale the foul creature upon the sharpened end. It would regret having ever hunted her party. Turning as far about as she could within her saddle, she prepared to face it, to see the starving beast slain by her hand. But what Myria saw startled her; the creature was unnaturally large for a lao, nearly four horses long rather than two. Even so, the massive beast still moved as naught but a flickering shadow, sleek, slick, and bleeding into the light like an extension of the surrounding night. The lao ran now with its head close to the ground, smelling out its path as it bounded steadily on. This was not the same lao Myria had deflected before. This one would do far more damage when it struck. When it took her spear, there was a high chance it would break her arm as well, as the common weapon would not soak up near enough of the lao¡¯s impact. Myria chased these thoughts from her head. This was a risk she must take to see the beast dead and her company saved. Thus, she focused her mind fully on the tip of the spear. Her aim would be true, and she would pierce the monster¡¯s skull. One good stab was all she needed. Stretching into the bouncing light of their lanterns, the lao lifted its head, curled its neck, and prepared to strike. Myria drew in a breath and braced herself for the inevitable, but just before her spear could hit its mark, a great cloud of white dust exploded around the lao¡¯s outstretched head and the startled beast toppled as though it had tripped. The beast tumbled, fell away, and rolled over itself in the shadows, leaving nothing behind but the lingering memory of its existence. The whole event left Myria staring incredulously into the darkness. Gone. The beast was simply gone, and she didn¡¯t know why. As Myria lowered her spear a shrill cry wracked the sky, causing her to nearly flinch at the intensity of the howl. In all her years, Myria had never heard a lao scream in such a way, and hoped to never do so again for the impression that it left. The haunting bay was one that clawed down the spine, and when Myria turned she saw that it had turned the others timid. Only one among them seemed unbothered by the event and the wailing: the acrobat currently riding sidesaddle upon her stallion. This was more than enough to baffle Myria silent, though she regained her voice when their company unexpectedly broke free from the trees. With both forest and danger behind them now, Myria immediately called for their halt in order to better tend to Milla¡¯s wound. Quickly thereafter they were racing onward again, over the plains and toward the distance where Neurial stood. Lit up by firelight at every possible angle, the city stood as the only beacon of hope for the ragged party. Only in Neurial could they get proper treatment for Milla, and once there, Myria would force from the acrobat an explanation. Fools Errand - Chapter 12 Urgency carried them swiftly over the sprawling plains ahead, driving the troop through slumbering sections of ranches and farmhouses that lay scattered out over the outstretched expanse. Desire though she did to find help among these hamlets, Myria knew there would be no respite for them here. A humble, country alchemist could do little for Milla¡¯s current condition, and the common goodwife would accomplish even less. A higher-learned city surgeon was the best hope they had for nursing their comrade back to health, and the only chance they had for saving the woman¡¯s leg. Their momentary stop after breaching the forest had allowed them to stem the injury¡¯s flow of blood and bought them time, but the state of the woman¡¯s health continued to decline. Every decision Myria made now was forced to be done with haste, and there was no telling just how much time they had purchased for Milla, if any. Tonight, only the lowing livestock and the household hounds took any notice of the company¡¯s passing, for until they reached Neurial, they would not stop. The vast city of Neurial was at the heart of an island, though it was apt to say that the island itself was the city. Lodged between the Triia River and two branches of an adjoining river called the Droka, there was no way to enter Neurial without first crossing over water, and afterwards, scaling the high cliffs that bordered it. An impressive wall rose higher still above those island cliffs, entirely surrounding the capital. A lasting relic of an age long passed, it was said that the bones of Neurial¡¯s walls had been crafted from dragon plate, back when the city had been called by another name. No one dared undo the wall to prove if such rumors were true, but the claims lent Neurial power nonetheless. No creature on Ira was larger than the titanic dragons, and though none had been seen since the era of the last Fall, no material discovered before or since was considered to be of higher quality. That the city still stood fast lent truth enough to the stories, so much so that even Myria did not question their validity. During her many years in Cambria, Myria had frequented Neurial often and each time found that simply entering the city proved its own hurtle. Few cities across Elequa were as highly regarded as Neurial, and approaching it now felt reminiscent of riding into the daunting shadow of a mountain. A spider¡¯s web of immaculate stone bridges crossed over the river ahead, and though commonly congested and cluttered, each one would grant passage into the city. The fleets of assorted ships that thread the waters below were the same, though tonight, both passenger and merchant vessels bobbed upon the current in silence. The closer the company got, the clearer it became that the hour would proffer them little in the way of advantage for circumventing the city¡¯s usual obstacles. Neither the current time nor the season affected Neurial¡¯s unending operations it seemed, as even now those wishing entry lined the lower footbridges in number, having set up simple camps along their entire lengths. From shore to city fires burned in small braziers and basins, illuminating the shadows beneath the overlapping crossings of higher bridges. Such campfires could be easily moved when the need to proceed arose, though not even half of those gathered would make it through the gates before dawn. At night, the guardsmen were overly cautious with whom they let into the city, and though few were turned away, they were all thoroughly inspected just the same. Fortunately, Myria had a plan to bypass it all. The highest level of every woven bridge was the largest and most direct course into the city. In times of war it could be used to move soldiers and supplies, and was the easiest path to defend if besieged. As such conflicts were unheard of, the highest levels had been repurposed to move large quantities of goods, be it in the form of traveling caravans or giant beasts transported into Neurial for the Arena. Single travelers and even small companies of merchants were always turned away if they attempted to use these less-traveled routes to save time. But on occasion, the appearance of an emergency could bend these rules. Above them the towering city blotted out the stars as Myria drove her companions across the open bridge, ignoring everything but the brazier fires in the distance. The clacking of the horses¡¯ hooves alerted the nearest guards to their arrival long before they broke into the light, and sliding to a sudden stop over the smoothed stonework of the river crossing, they were coldly greeted with the deadly points of several spears. Myria had, of course, expected this manner of aggressive welcome, as it was customary to treat unexpected night arrivals with suspicion. But having already faced two lao this night, simple men with simple spears she considered nothing. ¡°We require immediate entry into the city,¡± she began sternly, coaxing her war mare unflinchingly toward the wall of steel. ¡°One of ours has been¡ª¡± ¡°Off with you!¡± The words came out with a snap as a brawny yet lanky male naviin dressed in a decorated uniform strode out from a hidden door beside the gate. As he walked, he fiddled with the shoulder cape draped over his right arm, seeming unused to wearing this symbol of his rank. Myria glowered at the red-skinned male as he haughtily approached. Already her rage had flared simply by being cut short, but she held her tongue while the man came forward to stand before them. Silently she watched as he looked them over with a shallow glance, trying to guess at their intentions without asking. But his conclusion, whatever it was, she knew was wrong. ¡°Travelers use the lower bridges,¡± the man explained with a curt swing of the hand, a gesture clearly meant to disperse them. ¡°You will have to wait like everyone else. No exceptions.¡± ¡°You will make an exception for us,¡± Myria poignantly replied, causing the dark stripes on the man¡¯s face to disfigure with a frown. ¡°Lao have denned within your forests and have attacked my party. One of us is gravely injured and needs immediate aid.¡± Withholding the growl¡ªthough not the regality¡ªfrom her voice, Myria motioned to Cavi who rode just behind her and beckoned the man up to her side. ¡°My comrade is a trapper by trade and will inform you of the creatures¡¯ whereabouts in the event that you are needed. Meanwhile, I will seek help for my companion inside the city and report the attack to my guild.¡± She hardened her gaze then, speaking her next words as a command. ¡°Am I understood, captain?¡± The authority with which she spoke must have tempered the man¡¯s fury, for his expression seemed to soften with her explanation. Or perhaps he had finally noticed the sheen of her black armor, realizing only now that she was a Slayer. Being a Slayer in this city gifted Myria certain liberties, and some rules meant for common folk did not apply to her. Though Myria had no intention of stirring up trouble or flaunting status, she refused to let her party be turned away at the gate. If she must, she would abuse those privileges profited to her by Neurial¡¯s Arena to obtain exactly that which she desired. This guard captain no doubt knew regulations, same as she, and so knew that the appearance of dangerous beasts took precedence over most other matters. Such a threat would need to be dealt with swiftly to prevent further death and damage. Matters of daily routine simply no longer applied. ¡°Understood,¡± the naviin replied, sounding more agreeable than before. Now that the situation had been made known to him, the man seemed most willing to cooperate. Certainly it was good that he was not an unreasonable sort, as conflict would have only further harmed Milla¡¯s chances. Immediately the man commanded his spearmen to lower their arms, and called one of them over to ride ahead. This rider, they were told, would inform the other watchmen that Myria¡¯s party was not to be stopped or questioned at the other side of the gate; that the situation demanded that they be let through swiftly. Promptly then they were directed toward one of the wall¡¯s side channels; a faster route than attempting to proceed through the main road¡¯s many layers of gates. Thus, after giving Cavi his instructions and conveying to the captain a proper thanks, Myria rode on with the others into the city. The chosen side channel proved a precarious ride, as it was lit only by a few crude sconces. Unmeant to be used much, if at all, during the night, though there were several balistraria in one side of the tunnel, at this hour there was no sunlight to guide their way. Myria and her men thus rode all but blindly down the passage, until the lights from the city ahead began seeping through. The other side of the channel had been opened long before they were destined to reach it, and in a galloping blaze they exited the tunnel without pause. Just as the captain had assured, they were neither stopped nor delayed, and so Myria raced on ahead into the vacant streets. The whole of Neurial¡¯s lower quarter now lay open before them; dark yet lit by dozens of street lanterns, and quiet though not entirely silent. If they had come into Neurial with the day, they would have carried on toward the risers farther into the undercity, where a series of mechanisms and pulleys would have transported them up into the city proper. Unfortunately, such contraptions would not be running during such an odd hour, and so they would have to use the winding side streets to climb the cliffs. This was the only way to ascend into Neurial¡¯s heart at this time, and was by far a longer and more dangerous route. On a night like this, when the somber ambience was disarmingly calm, it hid a myriad of troubles within its silence. A wholly different atmosphere than the boisterous commotion of day, Myria knew how treacherous these lower quarters could be. This was a place where thieves and the like tended to prey on unsuspecting new arrivals, where the common crowds would conceal fiendish movements. A small band of night travelers would be considered easy targets without the daylight to protect them, and getting lost was a sure way to meet disaster. Fortunately, it took only a brief pause for Myria to regain her bearings of the city, and upon doing so she kicked her horse into another sprint. Because she lived in the Scar, Myria always entered Neurial from the south and so had memorized those streets needed to move quickly. Her destination tonight was the same as it always was: an inn for aspiring Arena Slayers called the Claw and Scale. In Neurial, it was common for all manner of businesses to ride off of the Arena¡¯s success, and so the Claw and Scale was hardly the only inn of its kind. Still, the tavern had inevitably become Myria¡¯s favored location within the city, partially because it boasted the largest variety of local spirits, but also because it sympathized with the Valor. At the Claw and Scale, the Valor could house and train potential recruits without drawing attention, but more importantly, contacting both Nathaniel and a surgeon would be possible there. ¡°Brond!¡± Myria bellowed as soon as she burst through the large tavern doors, marching briskly into the low light of the common room. With a quick glance around the grand hall she saw that there wasn¡¯t a single patron awake, and noticed too that the fire within the open hearth had nearly died. But surely Brond, the inn¡¯s proprietor, was awake somewhere around the tavern; there would be too much work to do for him to be sleeping now. Baine pushed in through the door behind Myria, carrying Milla in his arms, just as Myria made to barge into the back rooms. Before she could reach them, however, a burly, balding man came out from the lantern glow of the kitchens, his expression quite irate at the loud intrusion. Dressed in a plain shirt with his sleeves rolled up passed the elbows, the man had clearly been in the midst of working when Myria called. The flour strewn across his apron in the shape of smeared hands revealed that he had been kneading dough before being interrupted. Whatever pulled him away had better be well worth the distraction. ¡°Brond!¡± Myria began again, having no time for a proper greeting. ¡°I have need of a surgeon. You must send for one quickly!¡± ¡°What?¡± The man blurted out when faced with the sudden demand, fumbling somewhat for words at her abruptness. ¡°What¡¯s all this abou¡ª¡± He stopped when his eyes fell upon the pale Milla, and all anger went out of him like water drained. ¡°Garret!¡± He roared with new urgency into the darkened rooms at his back. ¡°Andalis curse you a hundred years, boy, if you don¡¯t get your scrawny hide out here NOW!¡± Somewhere in the dark there was a tumble, then a scuffle, before a bleary-eyed young lad emerged from the adjacent hallway, half asleep. Rubbing at his eyes, shirt half tucked in, the child appeared better suited to return to sleep than run an errand. ¡°Fetch the surgeon, boy!¡± Brond ordered, almost spitting with a snarl. ¡°And be quick about it or you¡¯ll not eat for three days!¡± Unauthorized use of content: if you find this story on Amazon, report the violation. The threat was enough that it sent the boy scrambling, and Myria assumed that he would surely run¡ªeven barefoot through the snow¡ªto retrieve a doctor now. Brond then went to Milla as soon as the boy vanished, and pulling out a pair of spectacles from within a breast pocket, got in close to examine the woman¡¯s leg. ¡°What beast?¡± He asked, lifting one loose edge of the bandage. ¡°Lao,¡± Myria stated. ¡°Caught by the outer maw when it attacked our horses.¡± ¡°Woman¡¯s lucky she¡¯s a leg left at all,¡± Brond grumbled, and putting his lenses away, he signaled with his head for them to follow. Up a wide set of stairs Baine and Myria climbed as Brond led them to an empty room around the first corner. ¡°Put her in here,¡± he told them as he lit a candlestick and stepped inside, placing it atop a stand to light the room. ¡°When the surgeon gets here I¡¯ll send him straight in.¡± ¡°You have my thanks,¡± Myria replied, placing a heavy blanket over Milla, ¡°and I will compensate you appropriately for the trouble. But for now, I would prefer to wait until after my companion is taken care of. As long as this suits you, of course.¡± ¡°As you will,¡± Brond said, and with a nod he left the room, returning to those duties that needed completed before dawn. Myria dismissed Baine not long after Brond left, telling the man to see to the others in her absence. Because Milla was her responsibility, Myria decided to remain here until she knew for certain what the woman¡¯s fate would be. Time slipped by then agonizingly slowly, and in the dim light it was so quiet that the Slayer could hear her own heartbeat through her armor. Milla was barely breathing, but there was nothing Myria could do to help. How she loathed the accursed feeling of being helpless. Eventually, hurried steps from the hallway pricked her ears in the silence as a pair of boots plodded up the stairs, moving closer. In through the door burst a wizened green naviin, a bit disheveled in appearance but wide awake and eager, with a bulging satchel of supplies slung over his shoulder. ¡°This is the right room, yes?¡± The surgeon asked, though he was already coming in. The man moved so quickly in fact that he nearly knocked Myria over, forcing her out of the way before she had the chance to move. ¡°Lao bite, lao bite. Horrid monsters, the lot of them! You dragged the woman here bleeding? Are you mad?! It¡¯s a wonder she¡¯s still alive! Alandia help us all if she¡¯s gone into shock!¡± Myria grimaced at the chastisement, but kept quiet just the same. In all her experiences with green naviin she knew it was best to let them ramble, as interrupting always somehow hindered their work. Certainly, the green Human¡¯kin were some of their kind¡¯s most eccentric, but they were also some of the most effective in the field of medicine. Of course, being effective was the innate trait of most naviin, no matter their field. Frustratingly, they were simply born to be that way. ¡°It¡¯s good you called me!¡± The surgeon continued as he pushed back the bed¡¯s blankets, cutting open the old bandage to clean the wound. ¡°There¡¯s no alchemist within a mile that could patch this leg up as well as me. I¡¯ll have her walking by the next tenday, you mark my words!¡± Myria scowled at the man¡¯s back as he continued to fiddle about, working. ¡°Without magic?¡± She stated, her tone flat and cold. She watched the surgeon¡¯s movements closely for any telltale signs of change, but he carried on just as swiftly as before. ¡°Magic?¡± He scoffed. ¡°Only crooked souls use magic. My methods are far superior to such a wicked thing!¡± But Myria¡¯s eyes only narrowed. Something in her gut told her the man was lying, and it burned her to suspect him of being a caster. Though a healer was not nearly as dangerous as any Primal caster could be, that he was possibly a planesbreaker still made Myria uneasy. Of course, Myria could not prove her hunch about the naviin, nor did she wish to besides. Because she wasn¡¯t truly Cambrian, magic did not as much bother her, and if used for a good cause she would even condone it. But any other Cambrian would sooner die than accept the otherworldly treatment, and would see the man exiled for his practice, if not publicly hanged. Magic was viewed as an abysmal thing here, and given her heritage, Myria could hardly disagree. ¡°I do not care how you save the woman¡¯s leg,¡± Myria muttered, turning away, ¡°just as long as she is still able to use it. Tonight, I care nothing for methods, just results.¡± Without another word Myria left the man to his work, relieved, at the least, to know that Milla would walk. She began toward the common room then, descending the stairs, and there began scrutinizing her recent actions. Perhaps she would have been wiser to take the woman¡¯s leg off from the start, to use her Arm to remove the limb and cauterize the wound. She had considered it, back then, at least once or twice, and if she had done so Milla certainly would have suffered less. As gruesome as it would have been to do so, she could have used the severed limb to better distract the lao too, waylaying the beast with the bleeding meat while they escaped. But her comrades would have likely little appreciated such a callous tactic, and she would have lost a useful soldier in Milla as well. No, her decision to ride had been the right one, even if it had carried great risk, and her men would surely remember what lengths she had gone to for the aid of one. Such pondering helped put Myria¡¯s tired mind at ease, allowing her to think more clearly on those things ahead. She still had other duties to attend to, and they awaited her in the tavern, as did the potential of a stiff drink to soothe her stress. It was still far too early for the other patrons to have risen, and so her own were the only others currently awake within the drinking hall. The fire in the hearth had been rekindled at some point, and its light now painted the tavern¡¯s elaborate woodwork and d¨¦cor with a golden hue. Baine and the others sat in front of the stone fireplace nursing ales, and the acrobat was there with them, though not drinking. ¡°The girl¡­¡± Myria mumbled, remembering now how they¡¯d outpaced the lao. The acrobat still had some explaining to do. When Myria approached them, she found the group unusually quiet, particularly when compared to the last few days. Though fire and drink were present, conversation and levity were nowhere to be seen, and even the jester seemed out of sorts from the night¡¯s events. ¡°How is she?¡± Baine asked as he handed Myria what remained of his ale, daring to be the first to break the room¡¯s somber silence. Myria considered the truth before drinking it down with the spirit, wetting her throat and choosing her next words carefully before replying. ¡°Though the injury is severe, our expedience proved adequate, and Milla is expected to make a full recovery given enough time.¡± The good news rippled through the group and eased the tension like a wave, and one by one their dismal faces broke into smiles. ¡°The surgeon suggests that she¡¯ll be walking upon the next tenday,¡± Myria continued, ¡°so we will be leaving her to rest until then.¡± ¡°And the quarry?¡± It was Cavi who posed the question, having just recently returned. ¡°Are we to continue on with the hunt as before?¡± Though he used selective words to convey it, Myria knew he spoke of the assassin. It was for the assassin that they traveled here after all, and all knew his successful capture was of significant importance. ¡°She will no longer be a part of it, but it will not matter. If need be, our allies here will provide support.¡± Myria placed the emptied tankard upon the table by Baine. ¡°I will be speaking with the commander shortly, and will arrange rooms for us here. So for now, rest and regain your strength until it¡¯s time.¡± This was all she had to say, and so curtly she turned away, leaving her men to return to their spirits and relaxation. For a moment, she paused and considered interrogating the acrobat, but this hardly seemed the time to discuss trivial matters. Right now, there were greater things that Myria still needed to do, and it was far more important that she speak to Nathaniel. Navigating her way through the city¡¯s many side streets and gutters, Myria had located the Valor sanctum before the dawn. It had not been easy to do so under the cover of night, nor had it been simple to avoid the wandering eyes of any watching. She had discarded her Slayer armor to better blend in with the frigid night, but without it, she felt all the more vulnerable inside the city. Neurial had changed a great deal since Myria¡¯s last visit, and even the night seemed to hold its breath as though expecting trouble. This consuming air of hostility had never been so prevalent before, and it made her wonder what had happened in recent days to spark the change. She removed the hood of her cloak as she entered the underground room, one with wooden casks and thin candles on every wall. This was one of the many locations that the Valor elect could use to meet in secret, and Myria had already sent word ahead that she¡¯d be here. In the quiet she thus waited, listening to the movements above, where the shopkeepers were already pacing about stocking shelves. The gloom of a storage room was truly a horrid place to wait, and she felt herself relieved when a hidden door within the masonry slid aside. In from the dark beyond walked a tall and breathtakingly handsome akiri, dousing the lantern he had used to light his way as he came inside. His profile sharp and countenance dignified, even in the weak candlelight the man appeared rather regal. Standing with proper posture, his hair and beard cleanly cut and well cared for, the man¡¯s elegant visage was the same as it always was. In this place, Myria noted that his brown hair took on more of a reddish hue, yet his hazel eyes still flickered with a charming light. In a stately stride he approached, the glow of the candles glistening off his metal armor, and Myria felt herself unintentionally hold her breath. Myria could never find her words in circumstances such as these. Nathaniel was the only man who could steal her breath away. A thousand curses on Belphor that she loved this man so, for he was already bound steadfast to a wife. ¡°I am glad to see that you have arrived safely,¡± Nathaniel began, ¡°though I am sorry to hear about your soldier. Will she recover?¡± ¡°Yes, she will,¡± Myria answered, taking in every word that he spoke. She was relieved to see that Nathaniel was the same as he always was; polite and thoughtful as she knew him to be. Neurial had changed, and she had been afraid that Nathaniel would too, and so was most glad to find him wholly unaffected. ¡°But that is not why I am here. You read my message, did you not?¡± ¡°Yes. You said that the assassin is heading here, that he might be here already. That bodes ill if the man is indeed from Fangris as you suggest. The Honorbound¡¯s moot is taking place directly after the Springtide, and there¡¯s no telling what sort of damage an attack of that nature would cause.¡± ¡°Aye. Which is why I am hoping to seize the man before then: to find out what he knows. I have a plan, but I would feel more confident in proceeding knowing that it had your approval.¡± Nathaniel gave Myria a strange look, and indeed, she rightly deserved the odd glance, as Myria was never one to be so timid. ¡°Your judgment is the reason I chose you to lead the Scar. You¡¯re hardly one that is in need of my approval.¡± ¡°Be that as it may, I would have it regardless. Even I am not entirely certain of my choice.¡± Nathaniel paused a moment, his expression one of thought. ¡°Is this concerning the girl in your letter?¡± Myria nodded. ¡°There is something about her that unsettles me, and yet it is largely on her that my plan relies. She is neither Valor nor Cambrian, and her perceptions of life are highly dubious. It is ill conceived to hinge one¡¯s plans on such a person.¡± ¡°So you would have me give my approval of your tool?¡± ¡°If you would. I do not trust her, but I do believe she will be of use. If you believe that she is of little threat to the Valor, then I will carry on as intended. But if not, then I will come up with something else.¡± The noise Nathaniel made was something between a tired groan and a sigh, and for just a moment, Myria saw the full weight of the man¡¯s fatigue. ¡°The city has become a most treacherous place,¡± he began tiredly. ¡°Every day there is more fighting between the two factions, and with the approaching moot, antagonizers are becoming braver, more violent. There is little time to waste if we are to maintain the peace, and there is still too much we do not know to be effective.¡± He fell silent again, muttering something unintelligible to himself. ¡°Very well, I will see to your request tomorrow.¡± ¡°Thank you, Nathaniel,¡± Myria replied, putting her fist over her heart in salute. ¡°Be assured I will do all I can to protect our interests.¡± ¡°Then find the assassin, and protect the Mediator, as you have sworn to me you will do.¡± He put a hand on her shoulder, locking his gaze with hers. ¡°I have faith that you can do this for us all.¡± Myria felt a surge of emotions swirl suddenly within her, as they always did whenever her eyes met with his. Always she and Nathaniel looked at each other this way, if only because she stood at his same height. They were the same; both strong, both capable in their own rights, but only Myria felt the pangs of intrusive feelings. Sometimes she wondered if this gaze was the root of the problem, that it rendered her Nathaniel¡¯s equal and nothing else. She was his comrade, certainly, someone to stand beside him in battle, but with this gaze, did he never once see her as something more? ¡°I will succeed, you have my word,¡± Myria responded dutifully, putting such evil thoughts out of mind. ¡°With or without the girl, I will protect the Mediator.¡± ¡°As is our mission,¡± Nathaniel stated solemnly with a nod, turning then to depart from whence he came. ¡°You look tired, Myria. You should go and get some sleep.¡± Myria thought on this for a moment as she pulled up her hood, securing it more tightly than intended around her shoulders. ¡°Of us two, you are the worse,¡± she replied before stiffly climbing the cellar stairs. ¡°Do rest, Nathaniel. It will help.¡± Leaving through the door before anything else could be said, she bit her tongue and started back to the world above and her waiting duties. It would pain Nathaniel¡¯s wife to see him haggard like this. Myria knew it would, if only because it so deeply pained her the same way. Fools Errand - Chapter 13 Saraya had been doing a great deal of thinking now that she was finally inside of Neurial, and her heart raced whenever she thought of the Mediator being so near. She was close now to fulfilling the job that Veil had sent her out to do, but actually managing to complete that job would not be an easy thing to achieve. Realistically, it would take days before she found out some possible way to reach her target, as the city itself was completely foreign to her and she had no idea where the Mediator lived. Finding out the Mediator¡¯s location would be the least of her worries though, for getting inside the place undetected would be infinitely harder. If there were back ways or secret entrances, then Saraya could certainly use them, but finding out if such things existed would take much longer to discover. She couldn¡¯t afford to rush this mission if she wanted to be successful, but more than this, if there were such routes, would she be able to discover them without the Valor catching on? With a grumbling sigh Saraya lifted a tin cup to her mouth and took a sip of her morning tea, grimacing when its sour taste hit her tongue. The Valor was a problem, as she¡¯d expected, even if they were currently helping her. She didn¡¯t like the thought of postponing her venture until after the assassin was out of the way, but Saraya wasn¡¯t certain that she really had a choice. The assassin could still come after her, though frankly, recently she¡¯d been wondering about the possibility of that as well. Would it really be worth the risk trying to kill her now? If she was ever caught alone out on the streets, then yes, the man would likely kill her just for peace of mind. But she hardly believed that he would actively track her own, if only because of the hassle. She didn¡¯t get the feeling that the assassin cared much for her honestly, and likely thought that she couldn¡¯t do much harm given how little she knew of him. If this was the case, then the only reason Saraya was in any danger was because the Valor sought to use her as a tool. Well, this and the coincidental fact that she was heading to Neurial just like the assassin. If she hadn¡¯t been heading to Neurial, then she wouldn¡¯t have had to continue concerning herself with the man. But because their destinations were the same, the Valor escort had been essential. All of this was just an unfortunate mess of foul luck and coincidence really, yet it was hardly a misfortune worth dwelling on. The Valor would protect her for now, at least until the assassin was caught, and after that she could finally get on with what Veil wanted her to do. But how, exactly, would she go about doing that? It seemed like such a waste to just sit around doing nothing, moving only when the Valor told her to. Yet so many things had forced their way into Saraya¡¯s planning that it had complicated everything, to mention nothing of how it was waylaying her mission for some indeterminate amount of time. There was one thing, however, that could be used to move things ahead. Myria was connected to everything that was integral to Saraya¡¯s goal. The assassin, the Valor, the Mediator, the city; the woman was linked to every single one. Already she had considered more than once that Myria was the potential key to her success. And indeed, to have someone so near who was so valuable, it was hardly an opportunity she could pass up. Even if she didn¡¯t use Myria directly, the Valor remained Saraya¡¯s best chance at finding out everything she needed. Used to dealing with the Mediator¡ªeven directly she supposed¡ªthey likely knew the ways to find him, the ways she would need to use. If Saraya could befriend the Valor captain, the one among her current crew who knew the most concerning these things, then she may be able to get the woman to give up what she knew. Already she had deduced a weakness of sorts within her self-appointed guardian. That first night, when Myria had spoken a bit too openly, Saraya had noticed the disconnect between the captain and her men. Though, really, it was actually more of a disconnect between the woman and Cambria itself. Back then, Myria had expressed her thoughts that Cambrians were arrogant, that they thought themselves wholly immune to magic¡¯s seductive draw. It was certainly nothing a true-blooded Cambrian would ever say, and moreover, the acrobat had reason to believe that the woman might be right. Glancing up toward the wall adjacent from where she was sitting, Saraya spotted a large white crystal placed up on top of a sturdy shelf. She had seen such an item before, but for it to be here, in Cambria, it flew in the face of the nation¡¯s supposed magic-hating views. Seeing stones, as such things were called, only worked when fueled by magic, whereupon they produced images within¡ªtypically those of fights taking place inside of the Arena pits¡ªto the viewing pleasure of all who watched. It was certainly hypocritical in nature to claim to hate magic and yet use it for widespread leisure, and Saraya could see where Myria would get her idea of Cambria¡¯s flaw. This secret loathing the woman possessed for the place she called home, it was possible this could be exploited. If Saraya proved sympathetic to Myria¡¯s complaints, then maybe she could form there a kinship. However, merely thinking of such things in this way left a taste within the acrobat¡¯s mouth that was even worse than the tavern¡¯s poor attempt at tea. It ran counter to Saraya¡¯s nature to use friendships for personal gain, and more than this, there was another matter concerning the captain that stung at her confidence. At Saraya¡¯s heart she was a jester, and thus the role of assassin was secondary, and as a jester it was her job to seek to entertain. Doing that job while on the road had planted a camaraderie between her and her Valor escorts, and this was made only deeper due to her own incorrigible habit of quickly making friends. But Myria¡­Myria was a different matter entirely, and it bothered Saraya a fair deal that the woman would not break. No song, no trick, no manner of anything got that stone-cold face to budge, and her performer¡¯s pride¡ªas well as her own selfish desire to be liked¡ªsimply couldn¡¯t stand for that. Already Mathias had shown her where exactly her talents lacked, and now Myria was proving another obstacle in confirming herself adept. In the circus, it was she who drew the most attention, completed the most daring feats and garnered the most applause, and it was driving her mad that twice now on this trip alone she was being undermined. ¡°What can I do to make her smile?¡± Saraya asked herself aloud. It was a genuine question, for she truly sought to know. Honestly, she liked Myria, even though the woman was doing her best to keep this from being so. Myria was cold, distant, and sometimes even cruel, but it hadn¡¯t taken the acrobat long to discern the truth of the captain¡¯s character. Very quickly Saraya had discovered that Myria was extraordinarily kind and caring underneath her icy exterior, and more than this, that she possessed many other qualities that Saraya thought enviable. Myria was reliable, dutiful, and zealous in all she did, and the jester found the woman remarkably admirable because of it. In spite of being on her way to commit a murder, Saraya considered such traits desirable, and felt drawn to the captain much in the same way that she was drawn to Veil. Alter warned. Saraya grimaced at the scrutiny her other was completely right in giving. Alter was correct in saying that Saraya risked getting too personal with these things, and if she wanted to use Myria to garner information, she would have to be careful in what she did. Getting close to the Valor captain meant that she could very well be unable to carry out her duty, though that thought alone frightened her immeasurably, as she couldn¡¯t fathom failing Veil. Sighing, Saraya looked down into her glass and swirled the steaming tea around in hand. ¡°Gah¡­it gets worse every time¡­¡± she groaned when taking another sip. Putting the cup down upon the bar she looked out over the drinking hall. It had been over a full day since she and the others had arrived at the Claw and Scale, but this was the first morning she¡¯d actually been able to seek out any news. Her search hardly proved useful however, as there was only one thing on everyone¡¯s minds, and that topic solely concerned the fast-approaching holiday. The Springtide was soon at hand and it had everyone excited. In truth, Saraya had all but completely forgotten about the nearing event. With everything that had happened recently, there had simply been too many other things to worry about. Still, she did feel a little silly for having failed to remember such an important time of year. Everyone everywhere celebrated the Springtide after all, where the first few days of Snowsbloom were set aside to welcome the coming of spring. Even the caravan, always on the move, stopped for the Springtide revelry, though it was much more common for the circus to entertain for the occasion rather than to merely partake. Saraya was sure that the caravan was heading to such a location even now; to some city that had paid a lofty sum for the privilege of watching their eccentric show. It depressed Saraya to think that she¡¯d miss the Springtide performance this year, but she knew full well how much more important her mission was than any singular show. And besides, the Springtide here in Neurial would likely be something to behold. From the chatter she had overheard from both current patrons and those still arriving, the Arena guild was somehow intertwined with the Springtide every year. Just what that meant exactly, well, Saraya had her guess, and was at the very least certain that it had to do with why so many ragtag hunters and Slayers had put in to the Claw and Scale. Truly, there were a great number of guests currently arriving within the tavern, even those who bore physical traits of living outside of Cambria. Vibrant hair, tanner skin, a wider assortment of clothing styles, so many different kinds of people had come to gather here. Such diverse gatherings were likely common through the whole of Neurial right now, with so many people packing the city that there was hardly room enough to fit them all. It was the best kind of circumstance that any jester could hope to have, and if Saraya were to perform here tonight, she¡¯d probably make a killing. Curse it all that she had to stay hidden and could do nothing of the sort. ¡°Shall we go outside?¡± Saraya asked aloud suddenly. Her tea had long stopped amusing her, and she¡¯d grown quite bored of sitting here, unable to do a thing. Alter said. Saraya nodded in agreement, and leaving her awful tea to grow cold atop the bar, she started toward the back of the room. Carefully she weaved between several tables packed with breakfasting patrons, as well as dodged the serving maids delivering them gargantuan plates of food. The door she was aiming for had two white swords painted upon it, both crossed in a clash. Having never stayed in a Slayers¡¯ tavern, Saraya had only heard, but never confirmed, that they had practice rings upon the grounds. But if it was true, then such a place seemed the perfect spot to find something fun to do. Did you know this text is from a different site? Read the official version to support the creator. Pushing open the painted door, she was promptly greeted with a soft though chilling breeze, and behind this came the hefty clacking sounds of dueling wooden weapons. It did house a training ground, and right in the center of the tavern. Surrounded on every side by walls two stories high, guests likely watched the practice yard from the windows of their rooms when not inside the drinking hall. Stepping further out into the large, open courtyard, Saraya saw three separate dueling rings as well as a range for archers, and nearest to her was a place set aside for practicing basics on straw dummies. There was a weapons rack here as well, holding a wooden variation of nearly every weapon and tool one could think of. As she closed in on it, Saraya noticed how most of the armaments had been carved to take on forms similar to those of Slayers¡¯ Arms, with some of them being so big in size that they¡¯d be impossible for her to lift. Fortunately, there was a selection of normal blades to the side of the others, and after grabbing a hand and half sword from here she began putting herself through some proper paces. ¡°It will do,¡± Saraya said after finishing her routine. All things considered, the wooden replica was a mite heavier than her own sword¡ªlikely because it was meant for someone taller¡ªbut was appropriately balanced just the same. Now all she needed to do was find a willing opponent. The practice ring nearest to her seemed to have drawn the largest crowd, and was the only one of the three that had the noise of combat rising from it. Saraya thus walked over to it, and stepping up to the fence line, she joined with the other onlookers to watch the two men inside the ring exchange various blocks and blows. Back and forth the duo went, and all the while Saraya attempted to get a measure of each one¡¯s skill; quite frankly though, neither combatant really impressed her all that much. The bout was over relatively soon, with one man leaving the ring with bruised and bleeding knuckles, and seeing that few others were holding weapons, Saraya jumped in next. She asked the remaining man to spar with her, taking notice that she¡¯d surprised him, though was not at all surprised herself when finding out the reason why. ¡°You sure?¡± The grizzled hunter said as he looked her up and down. ¡°Yer awful small for someone lookin¡¯ to fight in here.¡± The edges of Saraya¡¯s mouth pulled back into a wry smile. How she loathed it when people didn¡¯t take her seriously. Certainly, it was an advantage in its own right to not be seen immediately as a threat, but it always felt like such a blow every time it happened. ¡°I¡¯m sure I¡¯ll keep up well enough,¡± Saraya answered, swallowing her bitterness. ¡°As long as you¡¯ll permit me to try, that is.¡± The man shrugged, and after allowing him some time to recompose himself, Saraya and the hunter were soon facing off with wooden swords in hand. The man came in first with a heavy downward strike, and it appeared that even if he thought Saraya was an easy opponent, he wouldn¡¯t go light on her. This suited Saraya perfectly, and with a slight twist of the wrist, she allowed his blade to harmlessly glance off her own as she lithely stepped aside. It took only a few more moves for Saraya to realize the man¡¯s biggest weakness: that his footing was too firmly planted. This wasn¡¯t unexpected of a hunter used to squaring off with wild beasts, for it gave him the ability to strongly strike. If Saraya merely broke this stance, she would have him on the run, and so she went in hard on the attack now that she¡¯d determined her opponent¡¯s flaw. Crouching a little lower in her own stance, she came in low with a flurry of strikes that had the man trying desperately to guard his feet. Whenever his blade came in to block hers, she would amend the angle of her attack mid-stab to get around his guard. This forced the man to continuously jump so to keep his ankles in the clear, and eventually she pushed him back enough that he hit against the fence. The jar of the impact caught him off guard, and Saraya struck out with a heavy swipe that knocked his sword out wide. Her blade then twisted back inside, its point set at her opponent¡¯s throat. ¡°Do you yield?¡± She asked the man, wondering if he¡¯d really say no. ¡°I yield,¡± the man answered, peering down at Saraya¡¯s sword. ¡°You got me good, little lady!¡± Saraya smiled at hearing the jovial temper behind those words. ¡°It¡¯s all in the wrists and feet,¡± she said. ¡°You should practice keeping on your toes.¡± The man shrugged. ¡°Don¡¯t know how much that would help with fighting the big beasts, but I¡¯ll remember it for the little ones.¡± Saraya nodded at the observation approvingly, and assumed then that this man must be an aspirant for the Arena. Her advice was probably ill-given to those who meant to spend their time battling against gigantic animals. Saraya¡¯s skills were designed for fighting fellow kinds and kindred, and she had experience enough to know that fending off large beasts was another challenge entirely. Thanking the man for his time, Saraya turned to leave the ring, but was stopped short when someone new jumped in over the fence. ¡°Excuse me,¡± the newcomer said. ¡°Would you care to spar?¡± Saraya sized up her new opponent in an instant, realizing immediately that something about this man set him apart from every other. This was no hunter or Slayer coming in to fight her; his stance was all wrong. Those used to fighting feral beasts tended to loom whenever they stood, this making them appear somehow bigger than they actually were. But this man stood like a soldier, straight-backed and poised, and the way he held his sword made it obvious that he had been trained. Saraya had no love for those in civilized positions of authority, and this alone was reason enough to make her instinctually wary. Regardless, she agreed to the man¡¯s request for a duel, thinking to have a serious match, and after only a short reprieve she was facing her next opponent. For a time they did naught but circle each other, swords poised ready to intercept or strike. All the while Saraya watched her opponent closely, attempting to spot even the slightest hint of movement that would reveal a potential attack. But the longer they circled, the more it became clear that neither of them wished to be the first one to engage, and only Alter¡¯s expression of boredom prompted Saraya to finally move. Uncommitted to any singular form, Saraya pressed forward with a feint into a thrust, desiring to test the man¡¯s defenses more than to land a hit. Her opponent saw the move rather easily it seemed, and after dodging the feint, he parried her attack with a sharp smack to her blade. Saraya felt the vibrations pulsate through her hand, the pain of it dampened by her gloves, and unable to turn the parry into her advantage, she fell back. With the stalemate between them broken now, the man stepped forward next, coming in with a strong three-round strike that threatened to knock Saraya¡¯s sword clean out of hand. Saraya noticed what the man was doing as the battle continued on in this way, with her gentle, nimble strikes proving useless against such a heavy-falling blade. The formations Saraya had been taught relied on the swordsman¡¯s ability to subtly redirect their opponent¡¯s blows, for their sword to move as flowing water while the swordsman danced as wind. Saraya could do none of this against such brute strength, especially when it was to the man¡¯s advantage that he was simply born the stronger. He had surely watched her previous fight, and was determined to keep her from using the same tricks she had before. There was no redirecting a blade that threatened to simply smash through her defense, and while such powerful moves would normally wind their user extremely quickly, Saraya¡¯s need to block them was proving nearly as tiring. If she failed to block a single strike she would take a devastating hit, and Saraya knew that if she did, this battle would be over. ¡°Ashen blood,¡± Saraya growled as she was once again retreating. Her arms were burning by this point and starting to go numb from having stopped so many powerful hits. She wasn¡¯t even sure that she could feel her fingers anymore. The man had picked the perfect counter to her typical fighting style, and she was frustrated by being unable to overcome such a rudimentary tactic as simple as raw power. Alter started to say, but Saraya cut her off with a snarl. ¡°I¡¯ll beat him myself!¡± She fumed, batting away yet another hit. ¡°I will not lose!¡± Launching forward into a hard attack, she struck with a powerful swing of her own to break her opponent¡¯s flow, and used the change of pace to start into an aggressive flurry of pinpoint strikes. The man was forced back onto his heels, abandoning his prior offensive so to deflect her wall of blows. But by the time he was able to bat away one, Saraya was already weaving into another, and this prevented the once heavy hits from taking their full effect. Though she could still feel their impact, she forced herself to endure each sting, and took a stab at any opening she could see no matter how small it was. Even though she was always blocked, the strain of prolonged speed after such heavy-handed combat was starting to take its toll on her opponent. The man¡¯s moves were slowing in trying to keep up with such a rapid pace, and by suddenly snapping her sword upwards into a singularly powerful slash, she batted the man¡¯s blade out just wide enough to create an opening. Swiftly Saraya snatched her mother¡¯s dagger from the sheath always present at her back, and dove in so quickly and close to the man that she nearly leaned upon his chest. ¡°Do you yield?¡± She growled at her opponent, the shining edge upon his neck. A fair few jeers and bitter shouts erupted from the crowd standing around them, but Saraya ignored them all. The only thing she wanted to hear was the man admit defeat. ¡°You would dishonor the duel by pulling steel?¡± Her opponent asked, clearly angered yet calm despite the dagger at his throat. ¡°You may have won the match regardless.¡± ¡°Yes. But with this, I ensure it.¡± Saraya narrowed her gaze and pressed the dagger in a little harder. ¡°You have made your point,¡± the man replied, dropping his wooden blade to the ground. ¡°I will yield, but I want to know why.¡± ¡°Why I would pull steel?¡± Saraya began while placing her knife away. ¡°I have always considered my skills in combat a matter of survival. Someone like me cannot afford to get into the habit of losing fights. I¡¯ll do whatever it takes to win because it¡¯s necessary that I do so.¡± ¡°Is that how you view every conflict then? As a matter of survival?¡± Saraya paused at the question, pondering upon it for a moment as she considered her opponent¡¯s words. ¡°Yes, I suppose I do,¡± she answered. ¡°Street performers, especially females, have few chances to view interactions so leisurely. I¡¯m sure you can imagine why.¡± ¡°I can indeed,¡± the man answered curtly, his tone still a little irate. ¡°Though, if you care so much for your continued survival, I must wonder why you would willingly enter an accord with an assassin.¡± Saraya furrowed her brow at hearing the assassin so casually mentioned. The only ones who knew of him were Myria and her men, which could only mean that this man, too, was someone from the Valor. ¡°When you spend your life upon the roads you meet many unsavory sorts,¡± Saraya told him flatly. ¡°Some of which you do not intend nor ever wish to meet again.¡± The man seemed willing to accept her answer, but said nothing in reply. Instead, he merely reclaimed his weapon from the dirt and calmly walked away. Saraya likewise left the ring though took a different, less crowded route. She had no desire to confront the crowd she had just so sorely offended, and she would rather not hear the word ¡°Crystarian¡± slung at her like an insult. After taking a long, wide walk out around those still watching the rings, Saraya returned her badly-chipped practice sword to its place. It gnawed on her to know that the man she¡¯d fought had surely been from the Valor, and she wondered what would happen now that she¡¯d pulled a knife on him. So much for befriending Myria now, she growled at herself in a curse. How was she always so damnably apt at making such critical mistakes? Fools Errand - Chapter 14 Having no sooner made it inside, Saraya made to leave again. Too many had witnessed her dishonorable duel, there was no escaping that, and if she wished to avoid any impending trouble she had no choice but to run away. Sneakily she ducked into her room just at the top of the tavern stairs, and hurriedly snatched up her cloak and belts of knives before slinking back through the drinking hall. Fortune had not completely abandoned her yet, it seemed, for her oblivious protectors were too distracted by their breakfasting to notice her attempt to leave. It was all too easy for her to press through the tavern door and escape, and really, Saraya could have wished for nothing better. The tavern goers she¡¯d left behind would need time to let their tempers settle, and more than that, Saraya now needed time alone to think. There was no doubt that Myria would be furious with her after pulling a knife on a Valor ally. It didn¡¯t matter that Saraya couldn¡¯t have known who that man was; Myria simply wouldn¡¯t care. She would have to think of a good excuse before seeing the captain again, and she risked running into the woman less if she was outside in the city. Pulling her hood up over her hair the acrobat slipped into the passing crowds, allowing herself to be pulled along with its rapid flow. The streets seemed quite busy today, at least to Saraya¡¯s eyes, as everywhere she looked the roads were positively brimming with people. Thankfully, the Claw and Scale was not inside the city¡¯s center, and so the multitude here was neither suffocating nor boisterous enough to be too uncomfortable. It was the perfect sort of crowd Saraya could easily get lost in, and, willingly, she did just that. By permitting the whims of the road to guide her otherwise directionless course, she wandered aimlessly in a meander, eavesdropping on whatever mundane conversations she could overhear. To her disappointment though, most were still talking about the Springtide¡ªthe current chief among distractions¡ªand spoke of nothing that she hadn¡¯t already heard about before. Any other news she managed to glean concerned personal matters of which she had no context, and with nothing of interest to listen to, she quickly gave the endeavor up. Saraya¡¯s mood was not improving, and it did not help that her thoughts and focus were still aflutter from the duel. That her opponent had been of the Valor, was she more intertwined with them than she originally thought? If this was true, it was possible then that they were keeping her closely watched. The last thing she needed was the Valor to consider her so important, but then again, by being so, she could get that much closer to Myria. Alter said, repeating the same warning she¡¯d given before. Saraya sighed at this and rolled her eyes. ¡°I¡¯m not abandoning it,¡± she replied. Alter spat accusingly. ¡°But it might take two to reach him. Myria likely knows everything we need in order to do our job.¡± ¡°She will if she trusts me, and she¡¯ll trust me more when I get her the assassin.¡± ¡°To us, yes, but not to the Valor. I think it¡¯s for the best that we work with them, for now at least.¡± Alter scoffed, appalled by the suggestion. ¡°I thought you wanted to kill him?¡± Saraya spoke, remembering well how much ranting and raving she¡¯d had to endure because of Alter¡¯s desire for revenge. Alter fell silent when presented this fact. She couldn¡¯t deny that this part of them existed still, especially in her. she admitted slowly, ¡°I refuse,¡± Saraya sternly stated. She would not be moved on this. ¡°If we run now, then we¡¯ll be running from the Valor on top of everything else we¡¯re already hiding from the entire time we¡¯re here. I have no doubt that they¡¯ve got the Mediator watched, so we¡¯ll have to deal with them eventually, and I¡¯d rather not have to fight my way through more people than we ought.¡± She paused then with a silent chuckle. ¡°And besides, what kind of jester would I be if I can¡¯t even make my guardian smile?¡± Alter growled, her exasperation thick. ¡°Moronic murderer,¡± Saraya huffed back indignantly. ¡°This is why you¡¯re in my head and I am not in yours.¡± As she spoke this last, she noticed the man nearest to her give her an awkward glance, and promptly she increased her walking speed to leave him well behind. I must refocus, she told herself while releasing a heavy sigh. This jaunt into the city was supposed to clear her head, but it had only brought about more bickering that she didn¡¯t want or need. At least she¡¯d managed to determine what she could do while waiting to carry out Veil¡¯s request. The assassin was the assumed reason why she was here after all, and whether Saraya believed him a threat or not, Myria brought her along to find him. There was no better way to earn the woman¡¯s trust than by doing what she wanted, which meant that before anything else, Saraya had to find the assassin first. But finding the assassin would be a challenge in a city as large as Neurial. This place was so large both in scale and in culture that it felt more like a private nation than a city inside of one. Even after all her walking she¡¯d yet to reach its center folds, though her changing surroundings would suggest that she must be getting close. Unlike the shorter, wider buildings that had surrounded the Claw and Scale, the structures here stood much taller. They were made of better-quality stone as well, in assorted greys and whites, with crevices housing countless shops, stalls and auction houses each lined by budding flower gardens. The look of it reminded Saraya of something like a giant quarry; one carved into naturally-formed rock to accentuate an organic sort of beauty. No doubt the city would look wonderful if she could witness it in full bloom. Crossing into a wider road, the area opened up so suddenly that Saraya felt as though she had stepped into a different world. Gone was the prior ambience of private conversation, as this had been abruptly replaced by a slew of louder things. Bombarding her from everywhere was the constant chatter of commerce in motion, with hawkers and criers yelling out the most recent news and sales. Underneath their garbled talk and the constant bouts of shouting thrummed the low hum of wagon wheels and the clopping hooves of beasts of burden. There were countless murmurings of stock animals as well, corralled within various fences and cages, and the clanging of forge hammers, of tools, of mechanisms that Saraya couldn¡¯t see or recognize. But more than the noise was the sudden influx of people that the jester found most alarming. Her senses assaulted on every side, Saraya felt like she¡¯d fallen into a canyon river and was caught up in the rapids, with the stone constructs that made up Neurial¡¯s cityscape stretching skyward like mountain peaks. Only in the open sky high above did there seem any real reprieve from all the clamor, where flying mounts were dipping freely between the wide gaps of distant roofs. At lower heights too, though well above the street, large, feathered raptors had found some peace by perching atop the ornate archways that stretched overhead between the buildings. Set at measured distances apart, each arch was decorated with an assortment of long, hanging banners, and Saraya assumed that these were meant to mark Neurial¡¯s primary roads. But banners and signs of every size had been raised everywhere in truth. The signs, she noticed, were to notify travelers of the city¡¯s various stores and stands, while most of the banners bore the insignias of craftsmen guilds and clans. There was other ornamentation too, but these looked relatively new. Given the brightness of their colors, Saraya guessed that these flags and streamers were some manner of Springtide d¨¦cor. The assortments of greens were each emblazoned with a rainbow of other colors, and pictured so many flowers and springtime themes that they could be for little else. Feeling a bit overwhelmed by it all, Saraya stepped up onto the venue of the nearest shop to escape from the city¡¯s bustle, and pulling off her hood, she breathed in deeply from the safety under the eaves. The streets were packed by a gargantuan herd of stampeding feet, and if she wasn¡¯t careful she would be swept up and lost within those masses. Everything here was suffocating, and the gloomy overcast of clouds didn¡¯t help, and yet Neurial felt more alive to Saraya than anywhere else she¡¯d been so far. There was an abundance of energy here that stemmed from more than just the sheer number and diversity of people. The city possessed an atmosphere of pent up feelings of every form, but the strongest was a potent, giddy excitement for the coming holiday. It was almost enough that it caused Saraya to forget about her own dilemmas, for she found herself surprisingly content just absorbing the city¡¯s airs. Eventually, she smiled, and feeling lighter on her feet she started down the cobbled path running alongside the stone-laid street. Along the way she amused herself by looking into every window and brightly-painted store front she saw, stopping at few though observing every one of them regardless. In the alleyways between the shops she traipsed among the street peddlers with as much curiosity as ever, weaving between small carts and stalls of assorted goods of every kind. After a time, Saraya stumbled upon a journeyman¡¯s shop and was reminded suddenly that she still needed to visit one. Being unexpectedly forced to join up with the Valor meant that she¡¯d failed to restock her spent supplies as originally intended. It was inevitable that she would be traveling alone again eventually, and so restoring the goods she used in transit was not an errand she could long put off. Certainly a journeyman¡¯s store was precisely the place to help her as such stores were known to offer their services to every traveler, no matter their size of purse. Though money was not a worry for her, Saraya was confident she could haggle down any prices she disliked. The biggest failing of a journeyman¡¯s shop was their lack of quality after all, and the caravan had taught her well how to take advantage of such flaws. Firewood for the cold nights ahead was Saraya¡¯s top priority, and upon stepping closer to the storefront¡¯s window she could see a healthy stack within. Between a rack of ugly traveling cloaks and barrels of hardtack, the firewood sat layered up to chest level looking freshly cut and considerably wet. Saraya would have to inspect them closer, but she suspected that the logs would prove particularly difficult to get burning, however, there was potential in using that knowledge to talk them down to a lower price. Meaning to strike at this while she could, Saraya made to go inside, though paused when a sudden, creeping feeling snaked its way up her spine. Something wasn¡¯t right. Alter warned, revealing what it was Saraya felt. Cautiously the acrobat glanced around through the corners of her eyes, but saw nothing that immediately stood out to her as dangerous. Slowly then she turned and left, pretending that she¡¯d changed her mind about entering the shop, and instead continued down the cobbled sidewalk as she had before. Wordlessly she passed by every store thereafter, feigning ignorance of the awkward feeling still keenly upon her back. Andalis take it, she was being followed. Alter asked, knowing they needed some sort of plan. Normally it fell to Saraya to think up the best ways to solve their problems, particularly when the use of violence wasn¡¯t the immediate answer. Saraya took a deep breath, and, retaining her calm, she pondered all the while she walked, acting like naught had changed. They couldn¡¯t very well confront their stalkers in the middle of a busy street, and they didn¡¯t know who it was that followed them besides. An idea struck the acrobat though, when spotting beggars in the next lane nestled between the street peddlers¡¯ stalls. Casually she approached them, and dipping into a pouch upon her belt, she dropped two copper coins into the wooden bowl of a crippled man. With the time she garnered by doing so she scanned the street from whence she came, but she saw nothing, and so bought herself a few moments more by giving two more coins to the second beggar. Alter growled when spying a trio of young men. Saraya gave an affirming nod, passing it off as a goodbye gesture to the two grateful beggars, and started off deeper into the alleyway. Certainly her pursuers didn¡¯t look like thugs, not the type she was used to seeing anyway. In terms of clothes and general looks, they didn¡¯t stick out at all, and in fact appeared to come from a generally well-off upbringing. Why, then, were they following her? Saraya intended to find out. Already her hands were fingering the hilts of her daggers as she passed beyond the remaining carts and mats that clogged the alley space. Submerging herself within the shadows then, she walked deeper, trekking between piles of long-forgotten refuse and continuing until the sounds of the streets were a fair distance behind her, muddled and hard to hear. Saraya had to be well out of the way if she wanted her stalkers to show themselves, and if things came to blows, as likely they would, the deep alley would serve as a suitable place to defend herself. And, indeed, it wasn¡¯t long before the loud plodding of boots resounded out above all other noise, and so plainly did her pursuers wear their foul intent that the acrobat had no trouble sensing it. Cautiously Saraya turned to face them, her hand still secretly upon the blade concealed beneath her cloak. ¡°Can I help you, gentlemen?¡± She began, causing the men to come up short when realizing they¡¯d been caught. ¡°Actually, miss,¡± the first replied, pausing while he fixed the collar of his long, emerald coat, ¡°we¡¯re here to help you.¡± Saraya forced an unreadable expression, though she could have just as easily balked at such an obvious farce. In all her years working the streets she knew a shakedown when she saw one, and had lost count of how many times she had been so confronted, always forced to endure the lies. Likewise was she always forced to procure escape, and so knew that, until she found a way out of this mess, it was best she play along. Unauthorized reproduction: this story has been taken without approval. Report sightings. ¡°Oh?¡± She thus asked innocently. ¡°And how is that?¡± The man¡¯s charming smile widened, falsely assuming she had taken the bait. ¡°There is a new law in Neurial,¡± he began, his explanation one well rehearsed, ¡°one that applies to Crystarians and Aerimen in particular. Things have become quite dangerous inside the city, you see, and your safety can no longer be guaranteed. According to the law, people like yourself are encouraged to seek protection from Neurial¡¯s local factions, to prevent any ill befalling you during your visit. We are from one such faction.¡± ¡°And since you¡¯re alone,¡± one of the other men quickly interjected, ¡°you are particularly vulnerable.¡± Alter mused with a silent cackle. ¡°You are too eager,¡± Saraya chided with a light shake of her head, disappointed, not by Alter¡¯s desire for violence, but by the men. These here were opportunists, she realized, not simple thugs like she¡¯d originally thought. This lie the men had fabricated, though possessing no small thread of truth, was evidence enough as to the reason why they had followed her here. Myria had warned Saraya prior of this very thing, of trouble brewing inside of Neurial because of its unrest. Having already experienced firsthand the trouble being a Crystarian could bring, it made sense that these conmen would seek to take advantage of the locals¡¯ hate. Unfortunately for the men however, Saraya needn¡¯t any help. ¡°I¡¯m sorry,¡± Saraya told the three as kindly as she could, ¡°but I have no need of such protections. Your worry is appreciated, however.¡± It came as no surprise that this answer did not sit well with the lot, for a small, smiling scoff of disbelief sprang up from throat of the man in green. ¡°It is good that you feel safe within our city,¡± he told her, attempting to maintain his gentle fa?ade. ¡°It means that we of Neurial have managed to ensure a continued peace.¡± Discreetly then, with a slight nod of his head, he signaled for his friends to move. ¡°However, it is only through necessary precautions that such civilities are maintained. It would be irresponsible of me to leave a young, female Crystarian alone and unprotected, you see, as you are the most likely of candidates to come to harm.¡± As he spoke, the man¡¯s companions fanned out along the alley, giving Saraya a wide berth as they moved passed to cut her off from an easy escape. Saraya slightly shifted her stance as she watched them go, and put her back toward the nearest wall so to keep all three of them in sight. This maneuvering was a subtle threat, one that she¡¯d seen before; an unspoken way of saying that she wasn¡¯t allowed to leave. Saraya¡¯s hand grew tighter around her blade as she watched them take up their new positions, and readied herself to draw up arms at the first sight of anything untoward. The men had not fully surrounded her yet, but given a few more steps they could, though already their movements had lent effectiveness to their efforts to intimidate. Alter chastised from within. Saraya grimaced at the truth of this, but there was nothing for it now. In wanting to keep a low profile she had opted to be passive, a mistake she would not have otherwise made if not for the Valor and her mission. Saraya knew full well that civility was often viewed as weakness by those of ill intent, and that she should have made a threat in turn if she had truly desired to be left alone. But how was she to know that these men would press her so hard so quickly? Perhaps there was more to the conmen¡¯s lies than she had realized, for it was a brazen plot indeed to conduct such criminal business in broad daylight. Running his hand over his emerald coat so to brush it smooth, the man¡¯s smile grew genuine again now that he believed himself to have the upper hand. ¡°I am sure you understand that I have only your best interests in mind,¡± he spoke, walking forward while doing so to complete the encirclement. ¡°I¡¯m sure you do¡­¡± Saraya uttered, her dagger halfway out of its sheath. In all her effort to not cause trouble, trouble had found her regardless. Hardly could she be surprised given how often these things happened, especially to her. Fortunately, she was well used to defending herself with a blade, and could already see how she might emerge from this encounter unscathed. Forcing her manner calm again, Saraya released a slow exhale. ¡°How much would it cost me to get your protection?¡± She asked, subtly eyeing the arming sword upon the leader¡¯s waist. ¡°Four silver scales each,¡± the man replied, his crew raising no objection to the price. ¡°If that is too much for you, then three each will suffice.¡± Alter angrily scoffed, her words nearly slipping out through Saraya¡¯s tongue. ¡°As if I¡¯d know,¡± Saraya muttered under her breath in reply. She then responded to the men, pretending to accept their terms. ¡°I have the coin, and if it¡¯s fine with you, I¡¯d prefer to pay up front.¡± ¡°That suits us,¡± the man agreed, suppressing his grin of triumph with a smile of appreciation, and gestured then for Saraya to come nearer so that he could take her coin. Purposefully drumming her fingers against the pouch holding her purse, Saraya allowed the jingling of metal and her own footsteps to mask the subtle unsheathing schink of her blade. With a quick glance at their faces, she was assured by the arrogance of their grins that the men were completely unaware of what she was planning. Not once had they viewed her as a threat, and it appeared they wouldn¡¯t be starting now. This would make dealing with them easy, and if she struck quick, Saraya could put down all three before even the first had fallen. A sense of excitement surged through the jester, this at Alter¡¯s behest, and made the grip around her dagger tighten. Ahead, the man had opened his hand, waiting to accept her payment. How surprised he would be to receive her steel instead of the promised coin. With the swiftness of Nox Saraya stepped into a lunge, her blade perfectly aimed yet completely hidden. To the unsuspecting men, it would appear as though she¡¯d merely tripped. Everything was going according to plan¡ª ¡°What is going on here?¡± The words bounced in harsh off the alley walls, hitting them with its echo off the stone. Startled, Saraya drew up short, cutting off her attack, and before anyone became privy to what she was doing she swiftly slipped her knife away. Like herself, the fledgling conmen made quick to bury their nefarious agendas, floundering briefly in their attempt to smooth over this frankly damning situation. However, the newcomer seemed to have no interest in whatever the men could possibly say, and much to the surprise of everyone present, unabashedly cut straight through the lot and marched straight up to Saraya. What excuses the men had ready on the tongue were painfully swallowed when the back of the noblewoman brushed them by, and even Saraya was beset by sudden confusion that a vest would approach her first. Certainly a dingy back alley was no place for the wealthy, especially one with as refined an air as this woman possessed. She was tall and fair, and dressed in a long, finely-tailored coat of a mid-hue, faded blue. The coat was plated with etched steel upon the forearms and shoulders, typical of fine Cambrian fashion, and underneath this coat was a pure-white tunic with shimmering gold embroidery and trim. Over a pair of blackened breeches was pulled a pair of boots up to her knees, and these were plated on the shins with the same polished, metal etchings as her coat. Surely this vestess had no reason to be strutting around here, but when finally Saraya looked up at the woman¡¯s face, she became painfully aware of why she would. Recognizing the tied back red hair and the beautifully stern facial features, it took everything Saraya had not to let out a defeated groan. ¡°Two short hours I left you alone,¡± Myria snapped at her in a hush, ¡°and immediately you find trouble. Granted, I am not surprised.¡± Already Myria was scowling, which was hardly unexpected. ¡°You act like I did this on purpose,¡± Saraya grumbled back with a frown, yet her saying this only caused the captain¡¯s gaze to narrow further. ¡°I am not convinced you didn¡¯t,¡± the woman growled beneath her breath, and then turned to face the men who still stood silently around them. ¡°Has she given you trouble?¡± Myria asked the trio, posing the question as a demand. ¡°N-No, ma¡¯am!¡± The green coat stammered hurriedly, momentarily losing his poise. He remembered himself quickly though, and coughing into his hand, he forced himself to stand a little straighter. Alter scoffed, annoyed. ¡°It¡¯s fortunate that she did,¡± Saraya corrected in a whisper. ¡°This very well could have turned into a disaster.¡± Saraya sighed and started to say that Alter didn¡¯t really have a choice, but when Myria cast the jester a loathsome glare for her muttering, Saraya bit her tongue and obediently fell silent. The situation had shifted, Saraya knew that, and Myria would be far better at handling things now than she could. The men had turned docile now that someone uninvited had arrived, and it hardly took so much as a stern word from the captain to send the men seeking some way out. Myria¡¯s commanding presence, accusations, and demands thus put a swift end to all the trouble, but no sooner had the lot been sent upon their way did the woman turn her ire upon Saraya. ¡°My commander insisted that I not be angry with you, but you seem determined to make such orders impossible.¡± Saraya frowned and folded her arms across her chest, bearing the intensive heat of the woman¡¯s stare. ¡°You do know that I don¡¯t go out with the purpose of finding these people, right?¡± Given the current situation, Saraya had assumed that Myria was referencing the conmen. It took her a long moment to realize she was wrong. ¡°Oh¡­you mean what happened at the inn.¡± ¡°Just so,¡± Myria confirmed while putting her arms behind her back. ¡°He was quick to forgive your disrespect. Too quick, in my opinion.¡± Saraya scoffed and wasn¡¯t fast enough to stop her eyes from rolling. ¡°I just knew you¡¯d be this way. Gods know it¡¯s why I left. But what I¡¯d really like to know is how in the five hells you found me. I didn¡¯t have any intentions of being followed.¡± ¡°You forget I am a Slayer,¡± Myria stated, her expression hard, ¡°and thus have a keen eye for tracking quarry.¡± ¡°Ha!¡± Saraya barked. ¡°If that¡¯s true, then why can¡¯t you find the assassin yourself?¡± Again Myria¡¯s gaze narrowed, but she explained it evenly. ¡°Because even the most skilled of hunters must first have knowledge of their prey. The assassin has left us precious little concerning himself. But you? You I have had days to study, and you are not someone my eye would easily miss.¡± Saraya snorted defiantly, seeing how Myria¡¯s eyes traced over the color of her hair. ¡°I could say the same thing about you. Even without your Slayer¡¯s armor you still stand out, and the assassin won¡¯t be fooled by a change of clothes anymore than me. Your oppressive presence is more telling than my painted hair could ever be. And since it¡¯s what led me to you in the first place, you¡¯d be better off hiding that.¡± Myria nearly growled her answer, her brow furrowing under repressed rage. ¡°Do not think I removed my armor to merely disguise myself from the assassin. And I hardly need advice from you on how to conceal myself. As it were, if not for you, the assassin wouldn¡¯t know my face at all.¡± ¡°Correct,¡± Saraya stated back, saying it with a smile. ¡°Which is exactly why I promise to catch him for you.¡± The sudden levity in the acrobat¡¯s tone caught Myria by surprise, and Saraya made quick to take advantage of this drop in the woman¡¯s guard. Brandishing her cloak just enough that it kicked up a slight gust, Saraya bowed theatrically and flashed Myria a mischievous grin. ¡°I¡¯ve told you more than once that I¡¯ll make up for what I¡¯ve done, and in spite of your efforts to stop me, I¡¯ve actually come to like you a fair bit.¡± Pausing a moment then, Saraya chuckled. ¡°If nothing else, rest assured that I like the assassin far less than I could you. And though it¡¯s true that I may not be the most experienced when it comes to these sorts of things, I said I¡¯ll find him, and so I¡¯ll find him. You have my word.¡± Myria nearly laughed at Saraya¡¯s sudden show of absurdity, but it came out as something more akin to a judgmental scoff. ¡°Do jesters often make such grand promises?¡± She chastised with condescending disbelief. ¡°Performers are always expected to make lofty promises,¡± Saraya told her with a smile, ¡°just as we are likewise expected to keep them. After all, such promises are what give our performances their flare.¡± Flipping out her cloak again, Saraya stepped around Myria with a gentle twirl. ¡°Just consider it a part of my nature to take on seemingly impossible tasks. Though, you should know that I expect to be applauded when I inevitably succeed.¡± Again Myria scoffed. ¡°Such arrogance, but you get ahead of yourself. If indeed you do succeed, it will not be by you alone. You¡¯ve proven to attract far too much trouble for that.¡± Saraya shrugged; she couldn¡¯t deny this. ¡°But that¡¯s what you¡¯re here for, isn¡¯t it? To keep me out of trouble until the assassin is caught?¡± A disdainful grimace passed over Myria¡¯s face, and Saraya couldn¡¯t help but laugh. ¡°Fret not, captain. I won¡¯t abuse this power too often. Only inasmuch as what it takes to help you.¡± ¡°I find that hard to believe,¡± Myria grumbled doubtfully. ¡°Believe what you want, but remember, I want the assassin caught, same as you. And the sooner we catch him, the better for us all.¡± Pulling her hood back up over her head, Saraya turned away with the intention of walking back toward the mouth of the alley. ¡°Now,¡± she began, ¡°since you¡¯re here, I would like to go and find the Arena.¡± Myria paused for a moment at the sudden change in topic. ¡°And what does the Arena have to do with locating the assassin?¡± She asked. It was clear from her tone that she wasn¡¯t actually interested in Saraya¡¯s reason, but only compelled to know simply for the sake of keeping an eye on her. ¡°Absolutely nothing!¡± Saraya confessed, chuckling when Myria sighed. ¡°In truth, ever since we reached Neurial I¡¯ve been wanting to see it. Neurial is the birthplace of the Arena Guild after all, and I¡¯m a huge fan of their fights. Plus, if local rumor is to be believed, then something grand will happen soon and I¡¯m curious to know what.¡± ¡°You refer to the Springtide tourneys,¡± Myria informed her flatly, seeming put off by this answer. ¡°The Springtide tourneys?¡± Saraya questioned, confused by the woman¡¯s underwhelmed reaction. ¡°But is that not the grandest event of the year for the guild? Why look so disappointed?¡± ¡°That you think it so proves you a spectator indeed,¡± huffed the woman. ¡°Such tourneys are of little import; hardly more than pointless games to attract the next batch of selfish fools. They exist solely to raise funds for the guild, nothing more.¡± ¡°But you¡¯re a Slayer!¡± Saraya exclaimed, her mouth having fallen slightly agape in her shock. ¡°How could you think of it that way?¡± The frown Myria shot at her caused Saraya¡¯s mouth to snap tightly shut. ¡°It is because I am a Slayer that I think of things this way.¡± Her words were laced with a toxic venom, burning like dragon¡¯s breath. ¡°True Slayers do not look at those of the Arena with much fondness. They are not true Slayers. They do not possess our resolve nor hold to our statutes. Their sort fights for gain, for personal fortunes and fame. They do not know the Hunt. In fact, they all but taint it. There is a gulf of difference between their ilk and mine. I am a Slayer. They are hardly more than hot-blooded showmen.¡± ¡°There is naught wrong with showmen,¡± Saraya defended. ¡°And I should know, being one myself. I don¡¯t know what makes you so different from them, but I think you judge Arena Slayers far too harshly.¡± No sooner had the words left Saraya¡¯s mouth did she feel a harsh shift in the captain¡¯s demeanor, and realized then that what she¡¯d just said had apparently struck a nerve. ¡°I would not expect a jester to understand,¡± Myria cruelly stated with the narrowing of her gaze. ¡°Why?¡± Saraya snapped back in retort. Now it was her turn to take offense. ¡°Because playing the fool upon a stage makes me a fool in all I know? Seeking to merely entertain is not a sin, not by any virtue of any Kayll. You¡¯ve no reason to belittle me¡­to belittle other Slayers so. From everything I¡¯ve seen of you, you¡¯re no different than they are.¡± A hard silence overtook the alley, anger hanging over it like a cloud. Too much had simply happened today for Saraya to cool her tongue, and Myria, though remaining silent, was likewise fuming deep within. ¡°As I said, you understand nothing,¡± the woman eventually told Saraya with a gentle hiss. ¡°But regardless, you desire a guide to the Arena, and I refuse.¡± ¡°Because I disagree with you?¡± Saraya quipped, her own anger potently burning. ¡°No,¡± the woman stated then, speaking it lowly like a threat. ¡°You truly think me so petty? You do not understand, but you soon will. We¡¯re going on a hunt.¡± Fools Errand - Chapter 15 The day smelled of freshly fallen snow and possessed a crisp, rejuvenating air that chilled the lungs with every breath, stirring the body into waking. Yet this sharp air was tinged with something else: an ashen scent of singeing mud and grass that tickled the nose fiercely when breathed. The source was that of a light wind, one that was proving strong enough to cause Myria¡¯s Arm to glimmer. The giant, black blade, stirred to life by the gentle gale, was giving off heat enough that it had begun to dry and then scorch the sodden ground into which it had been impaled. Myria could feel this heat strongly upon her face, for her head was bowed before the blade, mere inches away from its veins of flame. ¡°Father of the great drake and beast, High Father of the Dragon kin, grant us safety upon this hunt, and success should we have strength enough to obtain it. May we ne¡¯er pervert thy statutes, and follow fully thy instruction. May we bring honor to the Hunt, honor to its Father, and honor to the noble beasts. All glory and praise be to Takar, the Father god!¡± Myria lifted her head as she recited the last and pounded her fist against her breast, the obsadus plating of her gauntlet resounding with a clank against the identical plating upon her chest. With the prayer offered, Myria stood from her kneeling position and pulled herself up from the imprint her armored knee had left within the muddy field. Her burning Arm she then pried out from the muck at her feet, where she had stabbed it point-down in reverence. ¡°Is this what all Slayers do before a hunt?¡± Myria¡¯s companion, the young acrobat, asked while looking up at her from the ground. Myria hoisted her greatsword over her shoulder and returned the girl¡¯s glance with a slight grimace. ¡°All real Slayers,¡± she stated coldly. ¡°The Kayll, Takar, is god of both drake and the Hunt, so it is only fitting that we seek both his permission and protection before we begin.¡± The girl nodded, accepting the simple logic of Myria¡¯s answer, and stood up from the place where she too had been kneeling. Dressed as she was in her usual attire, the jester had been using her cloak to keep her knees from getting wet, and pulling it up, she began shaking loose the clumps of mud from the fur. ¡°You don¡¯t think Arena Slayers offer up such prayers in private?¡± She wondered. ¡°Nay, I don¡¯t,¡± Myria all but spat as she returned to her horse to clean her blade. ¡°Requesting Takar¡¯s blessing is required of a Slayer, and if those in the Arena were truly aiming to please him, then they would conduct their ceremonies in public. As it stands, their kind hunt not to protect or survive, but to gain glory. The Hunt is sacred, but to them, it is naught but sport.¡± The acrobat fell silent, and seemed to ponder as she too stepped to her stallion¡¯s side. Taking the horse¡¯s reins in her hand, she stroked the creature¡¯s neck to soothe him. ¡°You¡¯re probably right,¡± she admitted, ¡°but is it really so wrong to call them Slayers regardless? They still slay the greater beasts as you do.¡± ¡°Being a Slayer is about more than just hunting greater beasts,¡± Myria explained, swallowing her offense before it took root in her voice. Always it was this way when she needed to explain such things, and often she was forced to remind herself that most knew nothing about Slayers except for what the Arena had taught them. ¡°It is a way of life,¡± she continued then. ¡°A religion, if you will. There are rules to be followed and traditions to uphold. If these things are ignored, then the title of Slayer is falsely claimed, and the essence of what makes one a true Slayer is diminished, even forgotten if allowed to continue.¡± ¡°You make it sound so serious,¡± the girl replied thoughtfully. ¡°Something you devote your life to always is.¡± Again the acrobat went silent, though this time she recovered quickly from her strangely-long internal musings. Vaulting up then with an impressive leap, she effortlessly mounted her stallion¡¯s high saddle, and pulling her horse around with a click of her tongue, she looked to Myria, waiting for the woman to do the same. ¡°So, where to now?¡± The girl questioned as her horse shifted restlessly beneath her. ¡°We cross the tree line,¡± Myria answered, finished now with the cleaning of her Arm. ¡°The wolf¡¯s trail appears to lead deep into the wood. We can ride the horses for a short while more, but we will eventually have to leave them.¡± ¡°You think the brood wolf is that close?¡± Myria noted the tempered excitement within the acrobat¡¯s tone, and the very notion of it nearly made her scoff. Poorly equipped for a hunt, and by Slayer standard, unarmored, the girl should have been anything but excited for what lay ahead. Of course, having witnessed it herself on multiple occasions, Myria knew how prone her companion was to making bad decisions. That the fool had agreed to go on a hunt so suddenly and so underprepared was proof enough of this, and yet the acrobat¡¯s insistence on going regardless had been nothing less than expected. A resigned sigh left Myria¡¯s lips as she hefted her Arm up into its saddle sheath. ¡°If the farm is within its domain, then likely its den will not be much farther from here. Brood wolves tend not to stray far from a consistent source of food, and the farmstead has supplied it with that aplenty.¡± ¡°And here I thought brood wolves were more the wandering sort,¡± the jester said. ¡°They can be. It takes a true hunter to know the difference.¡± With a heave, Myria pulled herself up onto Argosia¡¯s back, the saddle straps pulling tight with the added weight of her heavy armor. Tugging the mare¡¯s bridle, Myria turned them around just enough to spy the farmstead in the distance. By her guess, the grand estate was nearly three miles behind them now, though could still be seen out over the flat of the Middleway plains. Even without the Slayer¡¯s prayer, Takar¡¯s favor seemed to be with them, as an hour or so before they had arrived the brood wolf had spirited away one of the farm¡¯s great-horned goats. The bloody mess left by the slaughter had proved an easy trail to follow in the dust of snow, and the mud of the plains was quick to keep any paw prints left behind. ¡°It should be found within two hours,¡± Myria estimated, looking after the blood trail and into the distance where the trees appeared to have been forced aside. ¡°Though if it is mothering, we will be forced to leave it.¡± ¡°Is that another rule?¡± Asked the acrobat with a frown. ¡°I¡¯d hate to have come all this way for nothing.¡± ¡°It is a statute,¡± Myria sharply corrected, ¡°one aimed to prevent overhunting and ensure the species¡¯ survival.¡± Immediately the girl turned sheepish and sunk into her saddle. ¡°Oh¡­¡± she muttered, glancing slightly away. ¡°Sorry, I didn¡¯t know.¡± ¡°Your brazen lack of understanding is precisely why we are here, but hopefully you¡¯ll have learned a thing or two by the time we¡¯ve returned to Neurial.¡± Pulling again on Argosia¡¯s reins, Myria pointed the mare toward the forest. ¡°But we¡¯ve talked enough. The longer we tarry, the more time the beast has to wander off. Now come, and be sure to keep up with me.¡± With a sturdy kick to Argosia¡¯s sides the mare took off at a run, sprinting headlong toward the trees just beyond the field. The girl¡¯s stallion kept up easily, galloping a few paces behind them, though just before they reached the forest¡¯s edge Myria signaled for them to slow. At a trot they pushed on into the overgrown path together, where the trees and brush attempted to obscure Myria¡¯s vision of the brood wolf¡¯s trail. No amount of thorn or fern could hide the telltale signs of the beast¡¯s passing however, nor deer, fox and rabbit prints fully cover the giant paws of their quarry. It was nothing for Myria to spy every sign left in the wolf¡¯s wake; every partial print, every drag mark, every snapped branch. The beast had not been subtle, and even the acrobat would have been able to track it if asked. However, only Myria would be able to read the trail and know how close they were to danger. Thus, maintaining their pace, they followed after the wolf, and trailed it for another mile into the thicker woodland. After some time, the path diverged sharply from their current course and Myria motioned for the acrobat to stop. She dismounted, jumping down into the mud to search the trees for a new direction. The prints were gone, as too was the upturned mud from where the wolf had dragged its prey. A veritable wall of thick briar and underbrush had completely overtaken this stretch of wood, and though the brood wolf had clearly come this way, none of it had been disturbed. Crouching down for a better look, Myria studied the last set of tracks, noticing how they sunk in deeper here than anywhere else so far. It jumped, she realized, and so looked to the branches hanging overhead. There she spotted the brood wolf¡¯s trail cresting over the bramble wall, for though no bough had been bent or broken, the sprouts and buds of flower and leaf had been completely torn away. Taking Argosia by the reins then, she pulled the horse after it, instructing the acrobat to do the same. Traveling by foot was the only option afforded to them now, and if the terrain remained so thick, even the horses would soon prove a hindrance. With a brush knife Myria cut their way through the thickest of the foliage, doing her best to follow after the brood wolf¡¯s trail. It was difficult for the horses to walk such a precarious route, as their cumbersome packs oft became caught on thorns and twists of vine. Finally, Myria decided to leave them, as the two were slowing their progress far too much. She and the jester thus tied their horses at the foot of a small cliff, where claw marks had been scratched into the stone above. Myria insisted they follow after these marks, but rather than upward, she led them forward into the crevices running through the crags. Hidden within the stone was a thin shelf of rock above a large stream, and though slick underfoot, it brought the two of them out directly on the other side. It took a few moments for Myria to regain her bearings, as the brood wolf could have jumped from the cliff out in any direction, perhaps even remained atop. She thus sent the jester out around to the right in search of fresh signs of the beast, while she herself proceeded left to do the same. Fortunately, after only a short walk, Myria plucked a tuft of navy fur from the branches of a young pine, and whistled then for the girl to come back to her. Reconvening, they followed the wolf¡¯s trail anew and much faster now that they¡¯d left the horses. The distance they had to travel now would not be agonizingly long, and though they would have to retrieve their mounts later, it was better that they proceed this way. By choosing to progress by foot, it was possible now to surprise their prey, and this would only increase the hunt¡¯s chance for success. Myria was well versed in how the greater beasts regarded Human¡¯kin, and the brood wolf was unlikely to run from them when confronted. Greater beasts often reacted this way when approached, assumedly because human kinds did not pose a sizable threat. With only herself and the young acrobat present, it was almost certain that the brood wolf would chose to chase them off rather than run away. It would, perhaps, even try to kill them if the goat had failed to sate its appetite. Myria recalled a common saying among Slayers: that it was never the strongest that were best among them, but always they who were most clever. And indeed, today would certainly force Myria to be clever, especially since she expected the jester to be of little help. Nevertheless, they trudged on, doing their utmost to proceed quickly through the muck and underbrush; an easier feat said than done within so thick a wood. And then it came, the slow change that Myria had been expecting, and silently she motioned the girl over to her side. ¡°There,¡± she muttered, sniffing the softly blowing breeze. At long last the air had taken on an acrid scent, minute, but detectable by those trained to notice it. It was the scent of the brood wolf, of the poison that dripped from its teeth when it salivated. That the creature had recently hunted would evoke it to leak poison, and that the scent was strong enough to be smelled indicated that it was near. ¡°We¡¯re close,¡± Myria told the jester, keeping her voice somewhat low. This fresh scent of the wolf¡¯s passing was a good reason to be cautious, as they could very well be within earshot of the beast. The girl nodded, taking the news in a calm stride. ¡°So, what¡¯s next?¡± She asked, mimicking the captain¡¯s low speech. Myria reached into one of the packs hanging from her three belts, retrieving a metal cylinder from within. ¡°Take these,¡± she instructed, handing it to the acrobat. ¡°I assume you know how to use them.¡± ¡°Cinder flashes?¡± The jester gaped. ¡°You¡¯re actually giving me a Slayer¡¯s tool?¡± If you encounter this story on Amazon, note that it''s taken without permission from the author. Report it. ¡°Just this once,¡± Myria replied. ¡°When we find the brood wolf, I want you to sneak around to the place opposite of me and drive it in my direction. Think you can do that?¡± ¡°Don¡¯t think light of us,¡± the girl scoffed, giving the cylinder a light toss. ¡°We keep telling you we¡¯ve hunted creatures like this before.¡± ¡°Don¡¯t do that,¡± Myria scolded, narrowing her eyes. ¡°They may be well cushioned, but the cinders are still sensitive to heavy jostling.¡± The girl did stop, though only shrugged as she slipped the tube into her own belt. ¡°Fine, fine. You still needn¡¯t worry though. We¡¯ll see it done.¡± Dismissing the abnormality of her speech, Myria gave the acrobat a nod before continuing down the path toward the wolf. Just as she had said, the beast was incredibly near, and it took but minutes to spy the creature in the clearing ahead of them. Housing in between the trees, the wolf was busy ripping through what had once been the farmers¡¯ goat, its teeth snapping through the thickest of the bones like twigs. It was a magnificent specimen, nearly eight feet in height, and boasted a dark navy blue colored coat with a white muzzle and underbelly (though both of these were currently dyed red with blood). The hard ridges along both sides of its back, cresting over its shoulders, were in pristine condition and pointed in places where they had grown out with age. The pale golden horns on the wolf¡¯s head were long as well, thick, but had yet to begin curling upwards like those of its elders. The wolf was in its prime, which would make it formidable, but at the very least, it was male and thus had no pups to consider. Myria nodded to her companion and pointed across the way, signaling for her to get into position. Leaving her fur cloak behind, the acrobat moved swiftly as instructed and disappeared into the trees without a sound. Myria kept an eye on her as best she could while watching over the brood wolf, yet in the dense of the foliage she eventually lost sight of the jester. She would be in position soon however, and so Myria grabbed her Arm to prepare. Reaching over her shoulder, she pulled hard on a loose bit of strap, and the two knots holding her blade across her back came undone. This particular holster, made up of only a few obsadus leather strips, was more of a sling rather than a sheath, though worked just as well. It was of Myria¡¯s own creation, and always she chose to carry this over the blade¡¯s real sheath, for it was better for use out in the field and allowed her to draw her Arm at a moment¡¯s notice. Too was the sling quieter, requiring less movement for arming, and thus Myria could prepare for battle without alerting her quarry. With Arm now in hand, Myria slowed her breathing, calming her nerves and releasing the tension that would only work to slow her movements. Patiently she waited then, though she needn¡¯t wait for long. Like a bolt of lightning without thunder or crash, the forest exploded with a blinding flash of light behind the crackling of a slight snap. This light disappeared just as quickly as it had come, but a second, then third, replaced it. The brood wolf panicked, blinded by the flash, and the urge to flee overpowered its will to fight. It ran, barreling in the opposite direction of the lights, and directly into Myria who was waiting. Taking advantage of the confusion, the Slayer leapt out from the trees with a yell, causing the stunned animal to come up short and her blade to arc down toward the creature¡¯s head. But the wolf¡¯s sudden stop had forced it to slide across the mud and spin sideways, causing Myria¡¯s blade to miss its mark at the last moment. Instead, the Arm cut into the creature¡¯s shoulder, where the ridges along its back soaked up most of the swinging force. Though the blade had still cut, it was only a shallow wound and so was easily shrugged off by the startled beast. Myria cursed her luck and quickly pulled her Arm free, bracing herself for the wolf¡¯s retaliation. It came instantly, the beast spinning its tail around so that the bony plates along its length struck the flat of her blade. The blunt force alone nearly took Myria off her feet, but she found her center and regained her balance with a well-placed step. Countering the Arm¡¯s heavy weight with her own, she then spun about on her heel and used the wind of her movement to heat the blade and make it flame. She caught the wolf in the flank as it tried to move around her, the heat cutting through its flesh like a hot knife through butter. The brood wolf howled and leapt backwards, sporting a gaping wound now and several patches of singeing fur. It staggered, and pressing in, Myria advanced on the injured creature in a run. In response, the wolf reared up, bearing teeth and foot-long claws, and prepared to pounce as soon as Myria came into range. Knowing she couldn¡¯t get the point of her Arm up in time to impale it, Myria instead slid to a knee while spinning her blade down low. The Arm cut into the mud, lodging there, point down before her, and allowed Myria to support it with her shoulder like a shield. The blade wide enough to protect her head, when the wolf fell on both Slayer and sword, its deadly claws scraped against the sides of her armor that were unshielded. The hide of the obsadus proved the stronger however, and holding fast, Myria waited to see where the wolf¡¯s teeth would fall next. But surprisingly, they snapped elsewhere, the wolf having suddenly turned away toward something else. It was the girl, Myria realized as she saw the jester slip out from around the beast¡¯s back, her daggers bloodied from having cut into the creature¡¯s hind legs. Now ignored, Myria slid backwards and jerked her Arm free from the ground, using the movement to start into a forward thrust. The fiery blade burned as it sunk into the wolf¡¯s chest, cutting deep between its shoulder and ribs. Growling, salivating, panicked and in pain, the beast retreated with a giant leap across the clearing. Green, gemlike drool was billowing out of its mouth now, and instinctively it started chewing upon its front paws. ¡°Don¡¯t let it coat its claws!¡± Myria shouted out in command, this meant as a warning to her hunting party. But it was then that she remembered that she had no hunting party, only one girl who had no way to stand up to the brood wolf¡¯s poison. One scratch would be enough to numb half the body of even the strongest of Slayers; it was a mistake to give such instruction to an unarmored child. Myria went to retract her order, but it was already too late; the jester was well on her way to obeying her command. Myria watched helplessly as the wolf struck out with a half-coated claw, wholly expecting the girl to fall victim to the strike. It thus shocked the woman when the acrobat vaulted over the poisoned paw, pushing it beneath her to then spring off from the wolf¡¯s forearm. With a twist the girl caught hold of the nearest of the wolf¡¯s horns, using it to swing herself up over the beast¡¯s head. When she landed, the acrobat sat straddling the wolf¡¯s neck, her ankles locked together beneath its throat. Bringing up her daggers then, one in each hand, she plunged a blade into each of the creature¡¯s eyes. The wolf screamed a shrill yelp and bucked wildly in a frenzy, throwing the girl from its back after a few seconds¡¯ struggle with a sharp spin. But the acrobat merely twisted, catching herself in the midst of falling, and landed with such grace that one could believe that she had planned to dismount this very way. As impressive as it looked however, there was no time for compliments. The wolf was now blinded, thrashing about in madness, driven by fear and intense pain. The creature was suffering; Myria needed to put it down quickly. She thus whistled, loudly, drawing the erratic beast to her call. It heard her, and turning, it raced toward her in a rage, blind and unable to see what was waiting ahead. Myria easily sidestepped this frontal assault, and bringing down her Arm, she cut straight into the back of the wolf¡¯s neck. The creature stopped dead, its head now half severed off, and ceased moving not long after it fell. Myria breathed a sigh of relief, and dropping to her knees, she took a moment to offer up a prayer of thanks to Takar. The jester walked over to Myria just a few moments after, her blades already put away, and stood next to the woman smiling with her hands upon her hips. ¡°Well, that was fun,¡± she beamed, trying her best to not sound winded. But it was obvious that the girl had exerted herself a fair bit. ¡°You are a reckless fool,¡± Myria stated, deflating the acrobat just a little, ¡°but I will admit that what you did was quite clever.¡± ¡°I have to be clever,¡± the jester replied. ¡°I don¡¯t have your fancy armor. I¡¯d have been dead if that thing managed to hit me even once.¡± Striding over then to the wolf¡¯s side, she ran her hand over its fur. ¡°Brood wolf fur is poison resistant, isn¡¯t it?¡± She began. ¡°Do you think I could get a cloak made from it?¡± ¡°Absolutely not,¡± Myria said, climbing back to her feet. ¡°The brood wolf is my prize to make use of, not yours.¡± ¡°What?!¡± The girl exclaimed. ¡°But I worked to kill it too!¡± ¡°Less than I, and it was my blade that dealt the killing blow.¡± Myria motioned to her Arm, which was still lodged in the beast¡¯s neck. ¡°Or do you mean to tell me that you could have slain it with your tiny daggers?¡± The jester visibly flinched. ¡°Probably not,¡± she admitted, ¡°but I did help, so I should at least get a cut of this thing.¡± ¡°And you will,¡± Myria assured, ¡°for by participating in the hunt, you have earned the right of negotiation.¡± ¡°Gods below,¡± the girl groaned, ¡°is this another Slayer rule?¡± ¡°It is, and another thing that sets us apart from the Arena.¡± The acrobat gave the woman a look that meant she didn¡¯t understand, and so Myria continued on to explain. ¡°As you are aware, Arena hunters are granted all of that which is brought to them, which is how they possess such a vast array of both Arms and armor. But right to the carcass truly belongs to those who first captured the beast, as that right is how a Slayer builds up armory, proof of skill and reputation. In the field, right to the carcass belongs to the Slayer who slew it, and those who aided petition the beast¡¯s slayer for appropriate compensation in accordance to the extent of their help.¡± ¡°So you¡¯re saying I have to ask your permission for my fair share of the kill, and I don¡¯t have a choice because the whole point of me coming out here was to learn about Slayers.¡± The jester sighed deeply and kicked a tuft of grass at her feet. ¡°You would keep bringing up rules that seem to make sense. It makes it awfully hard to argue with you about anything.¡± ¡°Then you understand how it is possible for our guild to maintain order, and why Slayers are considered such honorable hunters.¡± ¡°I suppose. But, by your guild¡¯s logic, I wouldn¡¯t be rewarded a whole lot. So, if I can¡¯t have the pelt¡­then¡­can I at least keep a fang?¡± ¡°That sounds a meager prize,¡± Myria began, confused by the choice. ¡°I would grant you more than that if you asked.¡± ¡°It¡¯s okay,¡± the girl said. ¡°I¡¯m a traveling acrobat, so I can¡¯t carry much anyway. If it was too heavy, I¡¯d just have to sell it and couldn¡¯t keep it. So I¡¯ll be happy with one of its fangs as long as I also get a portion of the bounty.¡± ¡°You will,¡± Myria confirmed, ¡°as is just and in accordance with guild law.¡± ¡°Then just the fang,¡± the girl replied, ¡°if you please.¡± Myria gave her a nod. ¡°As you wish,¡± she said, and approached the drooping head of the wolf¡¯s corpse. Pulling out her hunting knife, she pushed back the beast¡¯s lips and cut loose the longest fang from the wolf¡¯s maw. From her belt she then retrieved a fresh linen cloth, and wrapped the fang within it so that both venom and tooth would be preserved. ¡°This is your first trophy,¡± Myria stated as she returned to the jester, respectfully putting the parcel into her hands. ¡°Treasure it, just as an apprentice would.¡± ¡°Does this make me a Slayer now?¡± The girl asked, her voice curious though doubtful. ¡°Not in the least, but I do believe you could be one, given time.¡± The acrobat paused a moment. ¡°That¡¯s¡­quite the compliment coming from you,¡± she said, and, smiling slightly, added, ¡°I think I¡¯ll treasure that as well.¡± Reaching behind her, she tucked the wrapped fang into the largest pouch on her belt; the only place the tooth could feasibly fit. ¡°I give compliments when deserved,¡± Myria told her matter-of-factly, ¡°and you appear to have a keen eye for the Hunt. By my guess, you are as skilled as any novice apprentice at the least, even if I did not expect it of you.¡± ¡°Most people tend to not expect a lot of me,¡± the jester sighed. ¡°It¡¯s how I keep ending up in so much trouble.¡± The exasperation in those words caused Myria to smile softly, and, sympathetic, she put her hand on the girl¡¯s shoulder. ¡°You did well, Saraya,¡± she told her, and truly she meant it. The gesture took the acrobat aback, as did the usage of her name. Now that she considered it, Myria had never once said it before. ¡°Thanks, Myria,¡± Saraya replied. ¡°Maybe someday we can hunt again?¡± ¡°Perhaps,¡± Myria began, ¡°but our hunt is still far from over. In order to claim the bounty, we must return the carcass to the guild. We¡¯ve hours of work yet before we¡¯re done.¡± With no time to waste, both hunters moved quickly to fetch the horses and prepare the brood wolf for travel. Myria had expected things to be difficult with only the two of them, and indeed it was an arduous thing to make themselves ready for the haul. Affixing the wolf to a sledge proved its own fight to win, and even worse was locating a sufficient path for leaving the woods. Having no need to follow a predetermined trail this time, finding thinner sections of forest helped speed their progress along, as did stumbling upon a path worn down by the daily passing of other large beasts. Though somewhat risky to take given what they now carried, Myria chose to walk it for as long as they needed, namely for the sake of their remaining daylight. Fortunately, it took hardly more than an hour to successfully break away from the woodlands, and then, at long last, did their journey ease. The flat of the plains offered far more preferable roads than those of the wilderness, yet by the time they reached Neurial, the sun had set. A cold was settling in now with a warning of frost from the river, biting at the two as they guided their horses across the bridge. With a brood wolf pulled behind them and Myria adorned in Slayer¡¯s armor, they needed only show the guardsmen the bounty slip to be granted entry. It was a painless process compared to that day they¡¯d first arrived, and as the main gates opened, the horses plodded through, dragging the sledge. Upon reaching the other side, Saraya immediately leapt down from her horse to stretch her legs. ¡°Ashen blood,¡± she lamented with a deep and tired groan, ¡°you never warned me how bloody long this was going to take!¡± ¡°A hunt always takes as long as it needs,¡± Myria told the girl coolly, reciting to her an age-old hunter¡¯s mantra. ¡°Rushing the hunt only leads to poor decisions and easily avoided mistakes. It was better we took our time than risk something going wrong.¡± Saraya snorted in defiance, though Myria could tell she didn¡¯t mean it, and then opened her mouth to say something in comeback. But the girl¡¯s words caught in her throat as a large man ran out towards them from the shadows, and instinctively both reached for a weapon, suspecting trouble. Both were thus surprised to see that it was Baine who was approaching, for the man had been left in charge of the others back at the tavern. ¡°Captain!¡± Baine exclaimed as soon as he neared, though did so in a whisper so as to not draw attention. ¡°Finally, you¡¯ve come back!¡± ¡°Baine?¡± Myria questioned, unsettled at seeing her second here. ¡°Why are you here? Did something happen?¡± ¡°Indeed so, captain,¡± the man affirmed, still speaking in a hush, though even the shadows could not hide the beginnings of his smile. ¡°Well, out with it,¡± Myria pressed, having no use for Baine¡¯s dramatics, though her insistence only seemed to make the man smile more. ¡°Good news, captain,¡± he beamed, and then glancing to the acrobat, he continued, ¡°Our lookouts may have located the assassin.¡± Fools Errand - Chapter 16 ¡°So is it true?¡± Nathaniel asked, his face aglow with candlelight. ¡°Have we found the assassin?¡± This morning was the first opportunity he and Myria had had to meet since her ill-timed hunt, and the Valor commander appeared most eager to learn of any progress she made since they last spoke. Despite having had little contact with him, it seemed rumors of her team¡¯s actions had reached the commander¡¯s ears regardless. Myria hadn¡¯t wished for that to happen until she was fully certain of who it was they¡¯d found, but it was clearly out of her hands now. Myria paced the other side of their cramped meeting place, her boots resounding heavily upon the neglected stone. Movement often helped her think, and aided in putting her thoughts in order. It helped her now. ¡°Based on the description our lookouts gave, the girl confirmed it,¡± she informed. ¡°She still wishes to see the man in person of course, just to be absolutely sure. But she appears convinced.¡± ¡°And you believe her?¡± Such a question made Myria pause abruptly in her steps. It was an appropriate thing to ask, really, and she had expected something like this to be brought up eventually. ¡°I do,¡± she replied. ¡°She was exceedingly thorough when questioning the reports, and the descriptions appeared to match her memories of him.¡± ¡°That¡¯s not what I¡¯m asking.¡± Again Myria hesitated, momentarily confused by her commander¡¯s vague correction. Thankfully, she knew Nathaniel¡¯s mind well and so was quick to realize what he had meant. ¡°I believe her,¡± Myria responded confidently. ¡°Our hunt together proved a lot to me. I trust the girl in this.¡± ¡°I see.¡± Nathaniel¡¯s words came out with a small breath of relief, and stroking his bearded chin, he relaxed. ¡°I¡¯m pleased to see that something good came from your untimely excursion. It is most unlike you to abandon your post without reason; I was surprised to learn of it.¡± ¡°It was a mistake made in the heat of a moment,¡± Myria adamantly confessed. ¡°It will not happen again.¡± ¡°As long as an action works toward our cause then I will not consider it a mistake,¡± Nathaniel said. ¡°Though I failed to mention this to you before, I still had my doubts concerning the girl and was not wholly convinced that she and the assassin were not in league. My duel with her had been inconclusive, and so I remained suspicious. That you could further test her in your own way relieves me of those troubling thoughts.¡± ¡°Your duel ended with her treachery,¡± Myria reminded her commander with a frown, ¡°and still you defended her afterwards regardless, claiming to have a reason. Yet now you admit to having doubts?¡± ¡°I did have a reason,¡± Nathaniel assured, ¡°though, perhaps, I should have explained it to you back then. You have my apologies for that.¡± ¡°I would hear such a reason now,¡± Myria urged, ¡°lest I begin questioning those things I ought not.¡± Nathaniel nodded approvingly. ¡°A fair point. Well then, tell me, do you know what it¡¯s like living on the streets, Myria? To grow up in poverty?¡± Myria was taken aback by the unexpected question, and remembered rather suddenly to what Nathaniel was alluding. Myria was one of the very few who knew the history of the Valor¡¯s commander; of the young street thief who clawed his way out of destitution that he may change his ways and do better for himself. Though Myria knew only a sparse few details of what had transpired in his younger years, she knew that, in time, the young Nathaniel had come to desire better for those around him and not just for himself. Eventually this birthed a desire in him for the betterment of everyone. Such was the reason why Nathaniel founded the Valor, and why he worked so hard to help his kinsmen. The man was the most altruistic Myria had ever seen, and this was one of the most damning reasons she¡¯d come to love him so. ¡°So you sympathized with her?¡± Myria reasoned after remembering Nathaniel¡¯s past. ¡°In some way, yes,¡± Nathaniel confirmed. ¡°She was afraid, Myria; afraid that someone was able to match her in strength. On the streets, if you¡¯re not better than your opponents, then you will be robbed or worse. I once held such a fear within me, and so was able to recognize it in her.¡± Nathaniel paced a few steps away, putting his back toward their singular light. ¡°But my doubts did not stem from her lashing out in fear. No, that girl¡¯s abilities, that¡¯s what truly concerned me.¡± ¡°How so?¡± Myria pressed. In truth, she too had been curious about such things ever since she¡¯d first met Saraya in Meridia. That a meager acrobat had survived an assassin¡¯s attack; there had to be a good reason for that. ¡°That girl fights like the Whinnari,¡± Nathaniel explained, turning to face Myria again. ¡°It is that secretive race that developed the fighting style she uses, a style that turns the foe¡¯s attacks into the defender¡¯s own. It is an elegant fighting form and extremely difficult to learn, but highly effective if used correctly. I was never able to use it myself; I lacked the required spirit, or so was told. But I did have the rare opportunity of learning a good way to counter it.¡± ¡°Required spirit?¡± Myria balked. ¡°What Whinnari nonsense is that?¡± Nathaniel smiled. ¡°I did not understand it either, but I did not question it at the time. To have a Whinnari teach someone outside their race anything is already gift enough, and not wanting to lose the chance, I didn¡¯t think to argue.¡± Pausing then, Nathaniel chuckled. ¡°Although, I think what he meant at the time was that I was simply too rigid.¡± ¡°Your teacher may have been correct,¡± Myria commented offhandedly. ¡°You became a soldier after all.¡± ¡°That is true. But the reason I¡¯m telling you this is not because of me, but of what it means for the girl. I told you that learning this fighting style is difficult and rare, so I find it odd that a self-proclaimed street performer has mastered it so well. This is what originally led me to think her an assassin like the one you chase. I could fathom no other reason for someone like her to possess such skill other than for nefarious purpose.¡± ¡°But you no longer think this the case?¡± Myria questioned, thinking Nathaniel¡¯s reasoning sound. Given how little they truly knew of the acrobat, such assumptions could well be correct. ¡°I trust your judgment when concerning a man¡¯s character,¡± Nathaniel answered evenly. ¡°You have never failed with such advice before and so I believe you now. Even if the girl is indeed a criminal, she has done nothing we are aware of and seems unlikely to do anything while still with us. Truth be told, I have hope that she is indeed a criminal in some respect. Malevolent circles are the hardest for the Valor to breach after all, and if one of their own can advise us on how to proceed against them, then I will welcome the help.¡± Such an admission caught Myria by surprise, and all at once she found herself conflicted. Surely the Valor was not so desperate that they would seek out the help of villains, even if there was indeed merit in using the guile of the one they had. With the Honorbounds¡¯ moot swiftly approaching and something foul likely to occur, it was true that they were pressed for time to protect the Mediator and their interests. Using the girl to undermine dark affairs would indeed give them an edge, and Saraya had proven herself trustworthy to Myria in as much as it concerned the Valor¡¯s cause. But Myria did not take comfort in knowing that her hunting partner was in actuality a low-life thug. In fact, she deeply despised it. ¡°I pray the girl is more like you, if indeed your suspicions are correct,¡± she stated. ¡°But I stand by what I said: I believe in her.¡± ¡°Then we will proceed as intended,¡± Nathaniel informed her with a nod. ¡°You are heading out with her soon, I take it?¡± ¡°We¡¯ve had two more days to pinpoint the assassin¡¯s location since he was first spotted, and we believe we have discovered a place he often frequents. The girl and I will wait for him there and decide how to proceed if he shows.¡± ¡°Then I wish you the luck of Iialu that your quest proves successful,¡± Nathaniel said. ¡°I will await your report upon return.¡± Myria saluted Nathaniel with the customary hand over her heart. ¡°As you command,¡± she replied. She then turned to leave through the way she came: through a drainage tunnel on the other side of the room. ¡°You look happier, Myria,¡± Nathaniel commented suddenly, causing Myria to stop. ¡°I thought to mention it earlier, but I think time with the jester has done you some good.¡± ¡°Has it?¡± Myria answered thoughtfully, considering if this was true. ¡°If so, then perhaps it is because the girl respects me as a Slayer. I had thrown away that prestige for anonymity long ago, back when I first joined the Valor. The girl reminds me of what it once felt like to be looked at in such a way, and how much I miss it.¡± ¡°Do you ever regret leaving it behind?¡± Nathaniel asked, his voice sympathetic and sincere. ¡°No,¡± Myria told him honestly. ¡°I do not regret it, because I know I¡¯ll have it again. I just need to attend to the Valor¡¯s mission first. It is the more important for us all.¡± Nathaniel nodded. ¡°Your resolve is truly something to be admired, Myria. Be sure to let the men see that shine within you. It will give them hope.¡± Myria nodded once and saluted again before she excused herself. Truthfully, she would have been happy to spend more time with Nathaniel, but she couldn¡¯t afford to linger here. There was still somewhere important she had to be. Saraya awaited Myria¡¯s return within the drinking hall of the tavern, lounging back within a chair balancing precariously on two legs, with her feet propped up high on the back of another. She could recline like this now that a few days had passed since her duel with that Valor man, and because she had returned from a real hunt with a trophy to prove it. Hunting a brood wolf, it seemed, had earned her a little respect, but only enough that it helped erase her prior offense of a dishonorable battle. The way it appeared, most now considered her past transgression a simple show of arrogance from an inexperienced upstart, and though untrue, the assumption served Saraya¡¯s purpose nonetheless. If nothing else, Saraya could at least show her face in the common room again, and this suited her well enough. After all, as much as she may have wanted to, Saraya couldn¡¯t allow herself to perform here in the tavern, as that would only attract unnecessary attention. This meant that she had to play the role of young hunter instead, and so it was all she needed to be able to come out of her room and sit in peace. Alter asked with a sneer. She always did wear her foul intentions on her sleeve. ¡°Of course not,¡± Saraya replied, her voice hushed so to not be overheard. ¡°If we approach this wrong, we¡¯ll lose our chance to actually confront him. If he¡¯s truly a professional, then his agenda will be more important than any personal vendetta, and something¡¯s going on here that we don¡¯t yet know about. Besides, trying to kill him outright will betray Myria¡¯s trust in us, and we need that right now more than anything else.¡± Alter remarked with a scoff. ¡°I assure you I will carry out our mission one way or another,¡± Saraya replied evenly in a whisper. ¡°I¡¯ve just¡­got to do it in a way that feels right.¡± Alter grumbled under her breath like a growl, but she said nothing more after having uttered it. Saraya ignored Alter and glanced toward the doors of the Claw and Scale as they swung open then, looking to see if it was Myria who had returned. A hearty cry of greeting went up from one of the distant tables instead, where those there had recognized the small group of arriving hunters. Saraya watched the companions combine with an exchange of typical greetings: slaps on the back, punches to the arm, rib-crushing hugs, and handshakes. She then sighed to herself and looked up at the ceiling. After what she had to do for Veil, she hoped the circus would welcome her back just as warmly. This content has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere. Several more minutes rolled by, and the next time the door opened the red-haired noble made her entrance. Upon notice, the acrobat jumped up immediately to welcome the woman back, something she¡¯d gotten into the habit of doing ever since their hunt. ¡°Did everything go well?¡± She asked once the Slayer was near enough to speak, knowing that their affairs were meant to be kept private. ¡°It did,¡± Myria answered, ¡°and we¡¯ve been given leave to proceed as planned. If you¡¯re ready, then I intend to leave promptly.¡± ¡°I¡¯ve been ready,¡± Saraya sighed, making certain to sound as exasperated as she felt. ¡°I want nothing more than to get this guy off my back. It¡¯s the whole reason I came with you in the first place.¡± ¡°Then let us be off,¡± Myria said. ¡°I should like to be there well before the appointed time.¡± ¡°That would be good,¡± Saraya agreed, ¡°but you should relax a bit before we get there, or the assassin will be able to sense your tension.¡± Myria frowned, but seemed to take Saraya¡¯s advice seriously this time, as she didn¡¯t scoff or glare like she normally would have before. This recent change within the Slayer had come as another result of their hunt together, as the woman had been more inclined to listen to Saraya ever since that day. Of course, the acrobat wasn¡¯t sure if this was because Myria was learning to trust her, as it could simply be that the woman wanted to capture the assassin and so was finally resigned to listen. Either way, Saraya was glad to be receiving less of the Slayer¡¯s scorn, and talking with Myria had also become a more pleasant experience of late. ¡°I still think you give the assassin too much credit,¡± Myria stated, ¡°as such a level of perception seems beyond his reach. But if you advise it, then I will attempt to do as you say for our success.¡± ¡°Then we¡¯ll be fine,¡± Saraya assured, pulling the hood of her cloak up over her head. ¡°After all, you tracked him all that time before without being caught.¡± ¡°I did, yes, but I doubt it is what you think.¡± The admission made Saraya pause, and she furrowed her brow, now slightly concerned. ¡°Maybe not,¡± she began, ¡°but it really doesn¡¯t change what I said regarding today. If you keep your intentions hidden as well as your face, then you¡¯re far more likely to move about undetected. He may know what you look like, but he doesn¡¯t know you, so don¡¯t give him any hints that could give you away.¡± ¡°What about you then?¡± Myria replied. ¡°You stand out far more than I do in every possible way.¡± Saraya smiled devilishly and tugged her hood a little lower. ¡°You vastly underestimate my ability to vanish when I need to.¡± Myria gave Saraya a strange look that the acrobat couldn¡¯t quite discern, before doing as Saraya had done and pulling up her hood. Unfortunately, the woman possessed only a high-collared white cloak to match her current attire, and Saraya knew that it would make Myria stand out a bit within a crowd. But given Myria¡¯s noble visage, anything less would have only made her stand out even more, and so they had no choice but to make it work. Thankfully, their appointed place of contact was within the city¡¯s high quarters, where noblemen and rogues alike would often mingle in large quantities. Tarrying no longer, the two left the tavern together and made straight for the quickest route to their location. Myria¡¯s knowledge of the city was a boon for such traversal, and not too many minutes into their journey were they pulling away from Neurial¡¯s towering buildings of stone and into a clearer space. This place where they intended to hover was a spacious intersection, a wide area between the spires where a number of Neurial¡¯s main streets converged. Within this widest of Neurial¡¯s roads many a cart and carriage were being led, guided though by tethered beasts and their accompanying coachmen. Surrounding them like crisscrossing streams were several unending lines of foot traffic, the people sometimes pressing so close that they nearly missed being trampled. Several brazen souls had chosen to set up shop in the middle of all this madness, and an open market of collapsible stands had sprung up in a heap wherever there was room. Saraya and Myria avoided these, pressing through as best they could without drawing too much attention from the surrounding hawkers, and made instead for the grandiose fountain at the very center of it all. This centerpiece of the commercial square was a colossal dragon spewing water into a surrounding basin, with four figures standing at each of the fountain¡¯s four cardinal directions. Each of these statues was a Slayer, for each carried an imposing weapon and adorned a chiseled set of rugged armor. At the foot of the fountain several people had gathered to sit upon the basin¡¯s ledge, and the children there were dipping fingers into the rippling pool. With a relaxed sigh, Saraya spun on her heels and plopped down on a clear bit of the basin¡¯s edge. Unlike the chilly weather of a few days prior, today was balmy with a brilliant, blinding sun, and that sun could hit them now that they¡¯d left the cover of the tallest towers. It was warm enough that Saraya would have preferred to leave her heavy fur cloak back at the tavern if she¡¯d had the choice, but alas it was all she had to hide her performer¡¯s stripes. At least with the fountain at her back she felt a little cooler for the running water, but beneath the direct rays of the sun she was still uncomfortable. ¡°I¡¯m going to melt in this thing,¡± Saraya muttered under her breath, and silently she wished that she¡¯d thought to pack a lighter cloak like Myria had. ¡°Complaining already?¡± Myria quipped as she too approached the fountain, her gaze going from Saraya to the tall stone figure she sat beside. ¡°Only in as much that I may die from this heat,¡± Saraya exaggerated. ¡°I wouldn¡¯t normally wear this cloak in weather like this.¡± Expecting Myria to have some witty retort, Saraya waited, but it never came. Instead, Myria only gave her an understanding nod before going back to observing the people surrounding the fountain. ¡°There is something I¡¯ve been meaning to ask you,¡± she then started suddenly, ¡°and now that I¡¯ve seen you to possess some hunting skill, I no longer consider what happened a mere fluke.¡± Turning her eyes down, Myria gazed thoughtfully into the swirling water within the basin. ¡°The lao; what did you do to make it retreat?¡± ¡°Ashen blood,¡± Saraya breathed as memories of that horrid event came flooding back. ¡°I¡¯d nearly forgotten all about that! I¡¯d just assumed that you didn¡¯t realize it was me.¡± ¡°I knew,¡± Myria confirmed, ¡°I just hadn¡¯t the time to ask, nor a situation where it felt appropriate to discuss. I am curious, however, to know what happened then.¡± ¡°Nothing that special,¡± Saraya admitted casually. ¡°I just happened to have a bit of powdered venom from a peppered frill-neck. Dangerous stuff if it hits you in the eyes and nose.¡± ¡°That does certainly explain the lao¡¯s fierce reaction. But such a substance is hard to come by, so how did you possess it?¡± Alter warned, but Saraya chose to explain regardless. ¡°I pinched it off a Hound,¡± she informed, receiving Myria¡¯s frown thereafter. ¡°Don¡¯t look at me that way. You know how vile those people are, and he deserved far more than that for what he tried to do to me.¡± She purposefully didn¡¯t conclude her tale, leaving Myria to deduce his crime. ¡°I¡¯ve seen enough to know what that powder does to people, so I figured it would work just as well on a lao.¡± Saraya watched Myria¡¯s face as she puzzled on this a moment. ¡°You should not have wasted the resource,¡± she said eventually. ¡°Yes I should have,¡± Saraya countered. ¡°If I¡¯d not, you would have broken your arm. And I think you¡¯ll deal with the assassin far better if you have two good arms instead of one.¡± Again Myria stopped to consider something, though Saraya couldn¡¯t guess as to what. ¡°Yes,¡± the women eventually concluded, though spoke her admission slowly. ¡°Yes, I suppose I would.¡± ¡°You see?¡± Saraya teased, flipping her hand out in jest. ¡°I don¡¯t always make bad decisions. You just happen to keep showing up when I do.¡± Myria scoffed at the joke but said nothing to deny it. After having been through so much together, it was possible that the woman agreed. Of course, Saraya would never expect to hear Myria admit it. Chuckling to her herself, Saraya jumped up from her place on the basin and turned about to look at the statues towering overhead. She was certain that there was some story here, given Cambria¡¯s love of history. ¡°So,¡± she began, curious to know it, but her words failed her suddenly. Alter uttered then, her growls filling in for Saraya¡¯s silence. There, far across the way, beyond the fountain and nearer the shops walked the cowled assassin. In the heat of the day he wore no mask, and so Saraya recognized him instantly. She was certain it was him, even at this distance, for she remembered that arrogant swagger all too well. The memory brought a tension to her hands as they curled into angered fists, and the desire to see the traitor dead coursed through her anew. Quickly, though, she recalled her advice to Myria and forced herself calm again, where then she reached up and grabbed the woman gingerly by the sleeve. ¡°He¡¯s here,¡± she muttered quietly while stepping straight into pursuit, her eyes tracking the assassin as he moved blissfully along. Thankfully, Myria was quick to understand and so followed the acrobat¡¯s lead. Though she hadn¡¯t yet seen the assassin, given the reports they had both heard, Saraya was certain Myria would figure out who they were following soon enough. Thus, with Saraya at the front, they paced around to the far edge of the fountain, walking at a brisk though casual pace that matched the gait of those nearby. But the further on into the crowds they went, the more a distance began to slowly grow between the acrobat and the Slayer. Saraya couldn¡¯t afford to worry about Myria however, not if she wanted to successfully follow her mark. Knowing this, she ducked her head slightly and started wading through the thicker streams of traffic, allowing herself to focus only on tailing while too remaining unseen. Light on her toes and nimble in her steps, Saraya weaved between the sea of countless bodies, melding into the shadows of those taller than herself so to better hide her form. The assassin she could glimpse easily enough through the crowds beyond her position, well enough that she wouldn¡¯t lose sight of him as long as she kept going. It would have been easier to keep up without the added weight of her cloak, as she had to account for its bulk whenever attempting to slip from place to place. Fortunately, this impermanent market square was loud, packed and terribly busy, which gave Saraya a great amount of leeway for mistakes. Of course, she had no intention of making such mistakes. Her pride would not allow it. Myria, however, would not have it as easy as Saraya did, and the acrobat had no idea how well the woman would fare slinking through such close quarters. In the small amount of time she¡¯d been tailing him, Saraya had not risked taking her eyes off the assassin, fearing that he would escape from her if given half the chance. As a result, she¡¯d lost track of Myria, and had no way of knowing without looking if the woman was near or not. Saraya spared a glance to know, and spotted her partner not too far back. But the Slayer was not nearly as agile as Saraya was within the shifting bustle, and it was clear that her attempts to move cautiously were also hindering her pace. Saraya looked ahead again, relocating the assassin in but a moment, and noticed that he had moved away from the center street and out to its distant edge. Out there, the number of people had greatly thinned, allowing for swifter passage, and now unhindered by the crowds, he started moving quicker. In but a minute, the assassin successfully put a fair distance between himself and his pursuers, and without possessing the need to hide, was slowly getting beyond their reach. Saraya had to move faster if she intended to keep up, and without thinking, she instinctually began pressing on at a greater speed. ¡°Wait,¡± a whisper came down from behind as a hand fell to Saraya¡¯s shoulder and held her firmly in place. ¡°You¡¯ll leave me behind if you move any faster.¡± Saraya paused, glancing away from the disappearing assassin and back to Myria, where then she pulled the woman¡¯s hand gently from her arm. ¡°If I don¡¯t,¡± she began, ¡°we¡¯ll lose him altogether, and all this will have been for nothing. Please, Myria, trust me with this. I can do it for us both.¡± Holding tight to the woman¡¯s hand, she hoped Myria would understand. If they allowed the assassin to escape them now, she feared there¡¯d be no other chance. Myria said nothing, only exhaled softly, and squeezed Saraya¡¯s hand in return before letting go. She nodded, releasing Saraya to do as she needed, and the acrobat moved swiftly to fulfill her role. Without anyone to hover her, Saraya fell into her element completely, skating through those surrounding her as little more than a passing breeze. She guessed at the assassin¡¯s direction and quickly found him again, where then she watched his every motion and reaction while observing him from afar. It took only a short time for Saraya to recognize what he was doing, as it was something she herself had done so many times before. Stepping under the canopy of a nearby stall, Saraya hid herself in the cloud of consumers while the man conducted his work. The assassin was studying his surroundings, taking in every detail, and when he had finished making his rounds he walked back into the crowded street. Saraya noted where he was going, but chose not to follow after. She had been trailing him for so long already that following him into those empty streets would only further raise his suspicions, and her gut was telling her that the man was wary and that she shouldn¡¯t press her luck. Alter lamented for them both. Even she knew it was unwise to follow the assassin now. Saraya waited for a while then within the tumult of the crowd, making sure that the assassin had ample time to get away. Once certain that the man was gone and that she could emerge undetected, Saraya made her way slowly over to the place where he had been standing. This place was at the edge of one of Neurial¡¯s busiest streets, where all other buildings and shops had fallen away. In their place loomed a large cluster of formidable fortresses keeps, all erected on the other side of a grand moat. Saraya didn¡¯t know where she was, and so simply waited here until Myria finally caught up. ¡°What is this place?¡± Saraya asked the woman as soon as she approached, knowing that it would be best to explain things immediately. ¡°This?¡± Myria began, glancing in the same direction Saraya was. ¡°It is Dragon¡¯s Teeth, the Mediator¡¯s fortress, and the place the Honorbound reside when they come to meet.¡± Saraya rolled this information over in her head, and though several thoughts came to her, one stood out above the rest. ¡°Then I know what he¡¯s doing,¡± she stated flatly. ¡°He was scouting out this place before he headed back into the city.¡± She turned toward Myria before next she spoke, making sure that woman would be the only one to overhear. ¡°He¡¯s going to make his move on the Springtide, Myria, and he¡¯s going to do it during the opening ceremony.¡± ¡°How could you possibly know that?¡± Myria pressed, skeptical and rightly so. ¡°Because,¡± Saraya answered frankly, ¡°that¡¯s exactly what I would do.¡± Fools Errand - Chapter 17 In the hours that followed, Saraya explained herself fully, in particular how she had come to the conclusions that she had. Myria listened intently to all the girl had to say, and after hearing Saraya¡¯s reasoning, she couldn¡¯t deny the logic behind what she had first assumed to be a desperate guess. Already they knew that the assassin was working for the Honorbound in some way, even if they did not yet know the man¡¯s true purpose. The acrobat had apparently built upon that knowledge, and given what she had witnessed, she was certain that the man meant to infiltrate Dragon¡¯s Teeth. Saraya could not give a clear reason for such a move, of course, but she remained adamant about the assassin¡¯s intent. Her time among criminal circles had provided her with such insight, or so she said, and Myria was reminded of Nathaniel¡¯s wish for this very wisdom. Now that there was credence behind the acrobat¡¯s assumptions, Myria had to consider next what to do about it. Fortunately, the girl had already contemplated their position, and was able to put forth the beginning groundwork for a plan. At length they discussed what Saraya proposed: a surprisingly simple tactic given whom they chased. The girl wished to lay a trap, surrounding the assassin before he could move into action, as doing so would render the need to know the man¡¯s true goals unnecessary. When asked how they would accomplish this, the acrobat assured Myria that, given time, she could locate those places best suited for the assassin¡¯s purpose. Once found, the Valor would need only to hide in those places until the man showed, whereupon they could capture him as desired. Indeed, the plan was simple, too simple in Myria¡¯s eyes, and she voiced her worry that the assassin would see through such a rudimentary ruse. But the acrobat simply smiled that disarming jester grin, and added a twist to the plan that made it more feasible. She explained how she meant to fight the assassin again, using herself as a distraction while the Valor closed in. Myria innately knew how exceedingly dangerous such a task would be, and quite frankly, she was not convinced that the girl could handle it. ¡°Are you sure?¡± She asked the acrobat once they¡¯d discussed it a little more. ¡°More than anything,¡± Saraya responded with a purr. ¡°We¡¯ve always meant to settle our score.¡± Such an answer did not ease Myria¡¯s worries. Truth be told, Myria did not like this last addition to the girl¡¯s plan, if only for the risk it presented to her men if Saraya wound up choosing the wrong haunt. An armed distraction would indeed buy time for the Valor to move in and surround the man, but the girl was the only one who¡¯d ever faced the assassin and returned unscathed. If the acrobat didn¡¯t face him, then one of Myria¡¯s soldiers would have to do so in her stead, and it was very unlikely that they would possess the girl¡¯s same luck. And yet, the plan was sound on all accounts save this, and so for the sake of success and time, Myria argued the point no further. Instead, she started into sculpting the finer workings of their plan, firstly by providing the acrobat with the full details concerning the upcoming Springtide. Saraya was sure that the assassin already knew how best to use the chaos to his advantage, and so insisted that she too must know all she could in order to properly deduce how he intended to proceed. Thankfully, Myria knew a great deal concerning Neurial¡¯s Springtide event, and so passed all her knowledge on to Saraya. She explained how the opening ceremony of the Springtide always consisted of a grand parade, one that the Arena financed every year. During that event, greater beasts would be paraded down the main streets with Arena Slayers, both current and aspiring, marching and riding mounts alongside the giant creatures. Myria had personally witnessed the spectacle on a few occasions, and could confirm that ¡°chaos¡± was an apt way to describe its procession. The pinnacle of the event would take place at the Founders¡¯ Square, the very place where she and Saraya had caught their first glimpse of the assassin. Myria told Saraya how the fountain there was a treasured part of the city; a commemorative piece dedicated to Neurial¡¯s founding. It alluded to those Slayers of old who¡¯d helped tame and build the city¡¯s foundation, and assured that the parade¡¯s peak always happened here no matter what. Upon learning this, the girl started into a series of careful questions, and grew more confident with each answer Myria divulged. With the help of the Valor captain¡¯s lengthy descriptions, the acrobat determined that the assassin would strike during the climax of the event¡¯s opening ceremony. Given the girl¡¯s reasoning, Myria came to agree, with both concluding that their window for securing the assassin¡¯s capture would be small. Once they¡¯d finished conversing, they set out immediately thereafter, fully aware that they had precious little time to make this work. In what few days remained to them, Saraya thus scoured the city, picking and choosing the best places for the Valor to lie in wait. Myria meanwhile worked with her men to swiftly and ceaselessly do whatever they could to prepare for any contingency. With the acrobat¡¯s help they covered all possible means of escape that they could imagine, setting eyes at every angle and at every chosen ambush. This net they together laid was a wide one indeed, and so they took extra measures to weave it tightly. As long as Saraya¡¯s hunch was right, and with a little luck, the assassin would be in Valor custody before the parade¡¯s end. Inevitably the first day of Snowsbloom came, and with it, an overwhelming atmosphere of excitement. The streets were suffocated by a thick aura of energy, with the whole city plunged beneath a sea of celebration. Up on the rooftops, however, they¡¯d been spared from the stress, as the airs of jubilation had come to wane within the heights. Myria was certainly glad to be out from under that pressing force, but found that she did not like being up so high on such smooth footing much better. Neurial¡¯s central buildings were built of fine stone after all, and that same stone continued up to every structure¡¯s peak. Unfortunately, this meant that the grip underfoot was dismally light, and made navigating these lips and ledges quite precarious. In fact, treading such rooftops was nothing like walking on rooftops at all, and instead was more akin to traversing over a mountain worn smooth by countless rains. Though Myria oft enjoyed trekking over wild, expansive bluffs, this was nothing compared to those grassy climbs. The only saving grace she had upon these uncertain grounds was that Neurial¡¯s skyline possessed many jutting steps and angles cut into their slopes. Such reliefs, be they for chimneys, perches or hideaways, aided with her progression, but even with these the path ahead was still treacherous. Unlike the Slayer, however, who was wary concerning their chosen course, the acrobat was in her element completely. Bounding like a mountain goat over the cityscape stretched before her, the girl was threatening to outpace Myria and leave her well behind. Myria understood why the girl had insisted on taking this trek, for it would allow them to approach their vantage point undetected. Still, the Slayer would have much preferred arriving by a safer route. Nevertheless, she followed as quickly¡ªand as safely¡ªas she could. Clambering over the rooftops with as much grace as she could muster, Myria¡¯s skills in hunting prey over similar terrain kept her near enough to the acrobat that she never lost sight of her. Even if she did, Myria knew the place where she and the girl were to perch, and the shelf was not too far off from them now. Unsurprisingly, the acrobat reached their assigned location long before Myria did, and was waiting for the woman to catch up crouched upon the peak. Already she was glancing out across the rooftops for signs of movement, making sure to stay out of direct sight of the alley. Myria mimicked the girl in this when finally she reached her, and for now it seemed they were alone at this altitude. Eventually, when Saraya moved into a different position to keep watch over the alleyway, Myria joined her in silent vigilance. Currently the road was empty, though both believed that this would change, as both were confident that the acrobat had chosen to guard the correct locale. This place was one of five locations that Saraya had selected near the main street, but here was where she was convinced that the assassin would appear. Myria did not distrust the girl¡¯s intuition in this, and was well prepared for her part in the assassin¡¯s capture. Saraya, however, appeared anxious by comparison; hardly unexpected considering the acrobat¡¯s self-given role. ¡°The parade will soon start,¡± Myria spoke softly, this seeming to break the girl loose from the grip of her internal struggle. ¡°The Arena hunters will be there, won¡¯t they?¡± Saraya asked, sparing a glance toward the main street. The girl had stopped calling such people Slayers for Myria¡¯s sake, but the childlike admiration she held for them still remained. ¡°Yes. The most accomplished of them will lead the procession,¡± Myria explained, ¡°as has always been their way.¡± The girl relaxed visibly, distracted by the conversation. It was what Myria had hoped for as she needed Saraya calm and at her best. ¡°Will Meredith be there?¡± Saraya questioned next. ¡°Meredith Drow?¡± Myria scoffed. ¡°You favor that self-obsessed barbarian? She is the worst of the lot to receive your adoration.¡± Saraya smiled and chuckled lightly as she looked back toward the alley. ¡°Doesn¡¯t change the fact that she fights like a beast, and that makes her the most fun to watch.¡± Myria rolled her eyes with a sigh and stopped herself from continuing on. Already she could tell that Saraya deeply wanted to watch the Arena¡¯s parade, and knew better than to risk dividing the girl¡¯s attention further. Instead, Myria slipped into a slightly more comfortable position and gazed into the empty street below. In the distance, she could confirm that the festival was now underway. The cheers of the crowd and the roars of the beasts were enough to prove it. And as it drew nearer, a grand array of music began drifting up to their rooftop abode, its boisterous notes turning somewhat eerie for their echoing off so many walls. No doubt it was even more confusing down beneath them at street level; the acrobat was right to think that the assassin would potentially take advantage of all this noise. ¡°As soon as the parade reaches the fountain, he¡¯ll move,¡± Saraya said as she sidled up beside Myria, having to be nearer so that she may speak softly and still be heard. ¡°To use the impending chaos, I know,¡± Myria replied with a nod. They had gone over this portion of the plan several times already, but the Valor captain still looked to the acrobat with some concern. ¡°Are you certain you will be able to do as you said? Did he not nearly kill you last time?¡± The girl frowned deeply at being reminded of it. ¡°The last time we fought, he caught me off guard. That¡¯s not going to happen again.¡± Myria went to speak, but fell silent and looked out to the distance as a great cacophony of music, voices and roaring erupted from the streets beyond their sight. The parade had reached the fountain square. Finally, it was the moment they¡¯d been waiting for. Find this and other great novels on the author''s preferred platform. Support original creators! Quickly, Myria turned back to the alley below and spotted there a cloaked figure, walking where once none had been. The sudden appearance of the shadow almost startled her, as she had only glanced away for a few short seconds. Given what she knew of the assassin however, she supposed she should have expected nothing less. After all, the man had been successfully avoiding her for so long that it stood to reason that he always stalked thusly. Myria looked over to Saraya as the girl stood up beside her then, and watched as she released a self-calming breath into the air. ¡°And now, the show begins,¡± she mused, speaking it to herself. And then, with a wink to Myria, she leapt off of the roof. The noise at street level was deafening indeed, just as Lon had anticipated it to be. But while it was bothersome being unable to pick out fine noises, those sounds that would clue him in to possible ambushes or shadows, he did not feel compelled to need them. Of course he was being hounded¡ªhe¡¯d been that since he¡¯d arrived in Neurial¡ªbut the Valor was nothing if not predictable. Always their soldiers proceeded in the same way: stiffly, inexperienced, and untrained in the more delicate arts of stealth. Lon had had more than enough time to learn and memorize their patterns, and certainly he would see anyone well before they could approach. If, by some miracle, the Valor did manage to find him in this mess, then he¡¯d simply lose them in the crowds and be on his way. Really, there were few things that could waylay Lon now, and those few things did not concern the Valor in any respect. He chuckled to himself, almost unable to hear his own voice for the clamor, and remembered then the one thing he¡¯d forgotten. He recounted the wonderful surprise¡ªa last resort manner of plot¡ªthat he had waiting in store should the Valor unlikely prove itself competent in its hunt. Ah, that he would only be around long enough to see it unfold! Especially if the red-haired captain was the one ensnared! Lon couldn¡¯t stop himself from grinning at the thought, the image of that potential confrontation playing out in his mind. Quickly he threw it away however. It was better that he focus on the main goal of his mission. The assassin may not have spoken to Amelia in some time, but he knew that the woman would be expecting results soon. Today was the best chance Lon had to obtain that which the Honorbound desired, and for the sake of his reputation, he would not disappoint. The peacekeepers would be too distracted by the Springtide hoards and parade to notice him slip into the highly-guarded Blue Passage. That secret route was the best way into Dragon¡¯s Teeth, and he¡¯d already deduced the most effective method of getting in. Yes, everything was going just as Lon had envisioned; even down to the Valor being on his tail. The cheering and roars of the Springtide festival would be his shroud, and a certain friend his very means of escape. Perfect. It was all too perfect, just as he had planned, and silently Lon congratulated himself for his cleverness. How long had it been since last he¡¯d had a full night of revelry? Perhaps tonight he would dare indulge himself after a job well done. ¡°Ah, but the job must first be done,¡± the assassin reminded himself coolly. He had a bad habit of getting ahead of himself when pleasure was involved, and he needn¡¯t the distraction given the delicate and timely nature of his scheming. The parade had already reached the Founders¡¯ Square after all, and thus now was the time to begin. He needed only head out into the street and disappear into the masses, and once there, the Valor would never find him again. But just as Lon made to quicken his steps, a figure dropped into the alleyway from above. Bounding from the lowest of the surrounding window eaves, a young girl flipped off the stone ledge and into the street. Instinctively Lon¡¯s hand snapped to his knife, but he relaxed upon realizing that this wasn¡¯t a Valor scout. He knew too well how their sort would never deign use¡ªlet alone accomplish¡ªsuch a grand entrance. Though this did beg the question as to who had arrived. Whoever it was, once they¡¯d finished performing a most graceful landing, they turned to Lon with a low-swooping bow. ¡°Fancy meeting you here,¡± the girl before him began, her lips grinning charmingly as Lon had seen performers do. All at once Lon¡¯s momentary confusion disappeared as he recognized the girl¡¯s painted hair and violet stripes, and his befuddlement was replaced by utmost disbelief. Immediately the assassin felt a wry smile spread across his face, feeling both amused and amazed that she was here. ¡°You truly are insane,¡± he sneered at the acrobat. ¡°That, or exceedingly foolish.¡± But the girl simply straightened, her smile faltering not at all. ¡°A good bit of both, I think,¡± she happily admitted, taking no offense. ¡°And, perhaps, a bit too stubborn for my own good. You never paid your bill back in Meridia, you see, and I¡¯ve come to collect that which I am owed.¡± The outrageousness of the statement caused Lon to laugh out loud, a sound he hadn¡¯t made in quite some time. ¡°You would hound me for gold?¡± He barked to the air. ¡°Please, even a stage fool cannot be so utterly foolish!¡± Curious of her reply, Lon watched as the girl¡¯s smile only brightened with his remarks, taking on an innocence that he expected the jester had spent years rehearsing. ¡°For gold, no,¡± the girl conceded. ¡°In truth, we¡¯ve come to kill you. And I should like to do it quickly so that I may watch what¡¯s left of the parade. It interests me far more than you do.¡± As expected, the acrobat¡¯s words were no less absurd, but this time, Lon didn¡¯t feel like laughing. Instead, his wry smile twisted into one of malicious glee, while his eyes took on the feral glint of murderous intent. To any who knew him, they would have recognized this as a sign that the assassin was greatly offended, and know, too, how grave of a mistake had just been made. Under normal circumstances, and perhaps at a different time, Lon would have never taken such petty threats to heart. But there was something about the jester¡¯s manner Lon found egregiously insulting, though he couldn¡¯t rightly put his finger on just what. When he considered it, he believed that it was the way the girl spoke her intentions with such confidence; as though her victory was assured and the only outcome that awaited them. No lowly rogue or founding thief had ever dared speak to Lon in such a way before, and the notorious assassin simply couldn¡¯t stand hearing something so¡­irritating. With blades in his hands before he¡¯d made his first step, Lon crossed the distance between them in a flash. His dirk and knife rang out loudly as they hit against opposing metal, for the girl had unsheathed a pair of daggers to intercept his own. Lon was suddenly reminded of their fight within the tavern, and was not surprised that the acrobat had anticipated his attack. ¡°This will not end the same way,¡± Lon growled coldly, pressing down on her blades. The threat had been meant to frighten her, but the girl merely chuckled, responding with a wicked sneer. ¡°Fool, that¡¯s precisely what we¡¯re hoping for!¡± Shifting both footing and balance into a different position, the clever girl used Lon¡¯s own strength to slip away. Like sliding over ice, the acrobat skated into a new stance, deflecting Lon to her side as he pressed forward in advance. The assassin was not fooled by the smoothness of the transition however, and too stepped around to keep the girl inside his range with footing firm. He struck out once with a feint and came back around with a sideways strike, keeping the girl on her toes as she fought to dodge and parry his attacking blades. With knife and dirk whirling, Lon went on a deadly assault, looking for openings in his opponent¡¯s defenses as he drove her back. The girl was remarkably adept at keeping her distance though, and Lon saw how his every strike fed her every action. A step from him elicited a counter step from the jester, and his every swing was met with deflection rather than a solid block. Like a dancer this girl was keeping just beyond harm¡¯s reach, never once attacking, but creating instead the most optimal defense comprised of footwork and spinning blades. Against Lon¡¯s desires their battle grew long, and he realized now that he¡¯d forgotten just how this girl had managed to escape from him before. He remembered how odd he¡¯d thought it then that a simple jester possessed such exemplary fighting skill. He thought the same now, but was less surprised, and believed that he¡¯d figured out what the girl was trying to do. Much like in Meridia, where she was biding her time, the acrobat¡¯s tactics seemed to hinge on stalling their battle. He recalled how, in the inn, her strike had come only when she could secure escape, though here it was far more likely that she was luring Lon into making a mistake. Lon grinned to himself; this time there would be no mistake, and increasing his tempo, the assassin started into a faster, more precise series of blows. Just as he¡¯d intended, the girl was driven onto her heels and forced to move backwards, where soon her back was pinned to the wall by his advance. Trapped as she was, and with less space to move, Lon came on relentlessly with a dizzying mixture of terrifying blows. Having little room to dance about, the acrobat struggled to block each strike, and though it was draining, Lon kept up the assault without pause. Now forced to stand and fight, the jester¡¯s deflections were far less effective, and the advantage she once held was vanishing quickly. Being the larger and stronger of them, Lon knew it was only a matter of time before he overcame her, and better yet, he was certain that the acrobat knew it too. The last time this had occurred, the girl had made a desperate gamble for escape, and he wondered just how she would attempt to flee from him this time. It was this error in judgment that undid him, Lon came to realize eventually, but only after it was too late to amend it. Like a switch the acrobat pressed forward with no warning, no longer on the defense, but advancing with the sole purpose to attack. Lon backed off quickly when he saw the inexplicable change, cursing himself for falling into a purely offensive rhythm. Now struggling to defend himself against the girl¡¯s pinpoint strikes, Lon shuffled hastily backwards in retreat. The acrobat was proving to be as well versed in combat as any criminal he had ever faced; aiming for every vital point on the body and in such quick succession that Lon found himself flustered at the sudden emergence of such killing intent. She¡¯s been trained for this! He concluded as he slapped the girl¡¯s blade away from his heart, the gleam in her eye cold and dead set to take his life. Lon tried to right himself, to get his feet back beneath him, and attempted to slip his dirk over the girl¡¯s arm to buy him time. She countered him, again deflecting his stab harmlessly away, and when his second knife came around she threw her arm out wide to hold him back. Lon came in once more, aiming at this new opening at her chest, hoping that a feint into an arcing stab would reach its mark. The ruse worked, with the girl bringing up her blade to parry the false strike, allowing Lon to reroute his dirk downward toward her ribs. The acrobat¡¯s defending dagger came down after him too late; Lon¡¯s blade would glance off its steel and still hit her flesh. Or it would have, had the dagger not twisted then, where it somehow wrenched Lon¡¯s dirk sideways and very nearly pulled it from his grasp. Bewildered, Lon looked closer at the dagger the girl held in her hand, seeing clearly that it was a dagger no longer. It was a swordbreaker, with one edge wholly lined with metal teeth and Lon¡¯s dirk trapped soundly within its clutches. Lon¡¯s offense had been rendered useless by the appearance of the clever tool, and the assassin hadn¡¯t even seen the acrobat switch to it! While Lon struggled to recompose himself, the girl unexpectedly flipped backwards, ripping the assassin¡¯s blade from his hand and planting a snapping kick into his jaw. Lon was knocked completely off balance, and try as he might to catch himself, he felt something wrap tightly around his ankles and steal his movement. Unable to move his feet properly, he fell, but instinctively rolled onto his shoulder so to get up quickly. As soon as his gloved hand hit stone he immediately began to rise, but the acrobat was there to kick his arm out from under him. Lon lost his leverage, and collapsed onto his stomach, whereupon he felt the girl¡¯s weight drop hard into his back at the chest. Having used her knees to crush him, the force drove all the air from Lon¡¯s lungs, leaving him stunned upon the ground, gasping. Thoroughly dazed, Lon¡¯s eyes swam in his skull during his futile attempts to move, but his limbs had yet to recover from the blow to his spine. Rough hands had him then, and he felt his arms and legs being tied, and it dawned on the assassin that he wasn¡¯t being killed, but captured. Lon remembered in his haze that something had grappled his feet, something that hadn¡¯t come from the jester, but rather from somewhere behind him. He looked up, seeking to know who it was that had intervened, and was surprised when a red-haired woman entered his vision. Lon laughed, or attempted to, as his breath had not yet returned, and so it came out as a guttural wheeze within his throat. His greatest error, he realized now, was one he had made long ago by not killing the Valor captain, and his second was in thinking that the acrobat had run away. Never would he have ever expected the two bitches to work together. Fools Errand - Chapter 18 Myria emerged from the deep shadows of the alley, from one of the many hiding places granted to her by the numerous outcroppings overhead. It had been an easy thing to conceal herself within these dark corners, and had allowed her to bide her time while the acrobat did her part. And indeed, Saraya had performed her role beautifully, so beautifully in fact, that the assassin had been wholly unaware of the captain¡¯s presence. Of course, part of this was simply due to the clamor of the nearby festival, as this likely prevented the assassin from hearing Myria move into position. But even if he had taken notice, the battle between him and the girl had been fierce, the intensity of it terrifying, and the woman had little doubt that the assassin could have ill afforded to look away. Because of it, Myria had been able to aid the jester just as they¡¯d days ago discussed, and had chosen the bolas she used for ensnaring small game to fulfill her duty. This choice of hunter¡¯s tool had proved most effective for the assassin¡¯s capture, and with the acrobat as her decoy, the mission had concluded exactly how Myria had desired. In truth, it was more than what she had dared allow herself to hope for, and the relief that came with their success even caused the captain to smile. Making her way toward the fatigued acrobat, Myria passed nearby the assassin, watching as her men fully bound his limbs. Earlier she had given explicit instructions to be extremely thorough regarding these final steps of their target¡¯s capture, and was pleased to see that her comrades were using more binding than what was likely necessary for the restraining of one man. Myria didn¡¯t know how proficient the assassin was at slipping free of such ties and bonds, and so had stressed precaution so to mitigate the chances of his escape. After all the work they had put into catching the man this time, Myria simply would not risk allowing him to elude her again. ¡°Well, I¡¯m glad at least one of us can smile,¡± Saraya grumbled as the Valor captain made her approach. ¡°A job well done oft leads to such things,¡± Myria coolly replied. ¡°I am surprised to see you not doing the same.¡± The acrobat scowled slightly, the beads of sweat still visible upon her brow. ¡°Maybe I would, if the fight had been easy, but I¡¯ve rarely faced people who are that good.¡± She drew in a deep breath, still attempting to recover from the deadly spar. ¡°What took you so long to help me?¡± ¡°I aided you as soon as I was able,¡± Myria calmly assured. ¡°I do not possess your skill for descending these awkward climbs, and so it took me a short while to reach the street. I too had to wait for an opportune time to throw the bolas. Otherwise you would have been entangled along with him.¡± She gestured back to those behind them, to the mess of ropes and weights that still dangled from the assassin¡¯s legs. Frowning still, Saraya muttered something unintelligible at the ground, but, eventually, she relented. ¡°I see¡­¡± she said, trailing off in thought. Given her disgruntled expression, Myria could only assume that the girl was rethinking her recent brazen course of action. Kayll know that Myria had considered the acrobat¡¯s plan incredibly reckless, but had accepted it due to their lack of time, lack of resources, and the plot¡¯s high likelihood of success. Perhaps now that she¡¯d experienced it, Saraya had come to realize just how foolish her vendetta against the assassin had truly been. Myria hoped that this was so, if only to prevent the acrobat from doing something else as equally stupid in the future. ¡°At the very least, you were successful,¡± Myria reminded the jester kindly, ¡°and because of that, the assassin is finally in our hands.¡± ¡°And I guess that¡¯s what really matters,¡± Saraya concluded with a nod. ¡°So, does this mean my debt to you is finally paid?¡± The abruptness of the question took Myria slightly aback, for she had come to forget about the girl¡¯s debt over the past few days. ¡°Yes, I suppose it does,¡± she said slowly, ¡°though if it suits you, I would like to continue speaking with you on other matters.¡± ¡°That¡¯s fine with me,¡± Saraya replied with a casual shrug of her shoulders. ¡°I intend to see what I can of the festival first, but I¡¯ll go back to the tavern once I¡¯m done. We can talk about whatever you want to then.¡± Myria nodded. ¡°Very well, though one thing before you go.¡± Again she turned to the assassin, his chest now pressed into the ground beneath the boots of her men. ¡°The assassin, how did you manage to confuse him? You drew him into a misstep at the last, but I was unable to see how.¡± At this, Saraya smiled. ¡°Juggling,¡± she answered, and chuckled when Myria gave her a confused look. ¡°I juggle,¡± she began anew, ¡°and when you juggle you can¡¯t long afford to take your eyes off the balls. Focus and rhythm are key to the performance, which makes the need to multitask that much harder to achieve. Just adding another ball to the routine can be tricky if not done right, so if you can do something without looking away from your target, then all the better. I spent a long time applying that concept to my fighting: of changing weapons without the need to break my focus. The assassin didn¡¯t notice me switch my blade because I didn¡¯t look away to do it, and because of that, he had no way of knowing what I¡¯d done until it was too late.¡± ¡°Clever,¡± Myria complimented, indeed impressed by the cunning trick. Having been involved in, as well as witnessed, many clashes in her time, Myria knew that switching weapons was difficult, if not impossible, in the heat of battle. That Saraya could use such sleight of hand even during intensive combat was remarkable, and once again proved that there was far more to this girl than what she had first believed. ¡°Is that all you wanted?¡± Saraya asked then, lazily draping a wrist over the hilt of her sheathed dagger. ¡°For now, yes,¡± Myria answered. ¡°We can speak of other things tonight.¡± The jester nodded as she turned to leave. ¡°Then I¡¯ll see you then,¡± she said, and flashing a mischievous grin, she added, ¡°and do try to not let him escape this time.¡± Myria grimaced slightly, and though she made to respond, she was unable to get her words out before Saraya scampered away. The Valor captain merely sighed in the wake of the childish jest. Never would she get used to these carefree interactions. Now that the acrobat had gone Myria made her way to the assassin, preparing herself to face the inevitable conflict that was waiting there. As she walked, her men preemptively pulled their captive up onto his knees, knowing that Myria intended to use the fresh wounds of the man¡¯s defeat to coax him into speaking. And indeed, how pitiful the cur now looked, wholly restrained and beaten; it was hard to believe that this man had given the Valor so much trouble. But he had, and Myria thus held no delusions that the man¡¯s subdual would incur his cooperation. She knew plenty already regarding the assassin¡¯s vile nature, and so too knew that his interrogation would be long and arduous. If the man even bothered speaking to her at all, it would undoubtedly be with little more than cruel sarcasm and wanton insults. Fortunately, Myria was well prepared to face off against such spite, though his acrid tongue was not the thing that most concerned her. No, it was how remarkably composed the man seemed to be. Rather than fighting or cursing as other brigands did when caught, the assassin was remaining strangely calm. This detail Myria found to be inexplicably unnerving, and she began to wonder if there was something important that she had missed. Dismissing the notion for now, the captain searched her mind for a proper greeting. It was essential that she be the first one to speak, otherwise the assassin would likely control the entirety of their conversation. Myria couldn¡¯t allow that to happen if she meant to learn anything, yet she had to be careful that her words didn¡¯t reveal too much. ¡°So, we finally meet,¡± she began, stoic in her tone, ¡°though I suppose you knew of me well before.¡± The assassin slowly glanced up at her in response to the accusation, his golden eyes flaring with a cold, unspoken hate. Both were silent, and slowly a growing tension crept between the harshness of their gazes, weaving in among the noise of the distant festival clamor. Then the man bowed his head, and glowering at the ground, he spoke. ¡°Late,¡± he growled in burning agitation, the word falling from his lips like a heavy stone. ¡°Late?¡± Myria repeated, obviously not understanding, but the man appeared in no mood to further explain. Instead he simply turned away, purposefully ignoring the woman, displaying that stubbornness that Myria had been expecting. But mere riddles would not suffice to her as an answer and, wordlessly, the Valor captain passed a small nod to her men. The larger of the two yanked the assassin up by his silvery hair, wrenching his head back painfully. Like this, the man could no longer avert his gaze, and a snarl formed upon his face as he stared ahead. ¡°You were saying?¡± Myria prompted, her voice level and firm. She knew, just as the assassin did, that he had no choice now but to speak. ¡°Valor bitch,¡± the assassin spat, a sneer stretching his lips. ¡°You think this your victory? No, you will merely share in my mistake.¡± ¡°Being cryptic will only make things harder for you,¡± Myria warned, but the assassin only smirked and maintained his silence. Growing vexed by his arrogance, Myria paused to rethink her approach. From the beginning she had expected to receive naught but this avid resistance, having known that the man would never willingly submit himself to her whims. Yet there was something about the assassin that was making her uneasy, something specifically within the words that he chose to use. Though the man could simply be planting doubt where there was none to be had, Myria was unwilling to take the chance given their exposed position. For the sake of caution, she decided to consider this interrogation a loss, and would retreat for now back to one of the many havens that the Valor possessed. But before she could relay the order, a shrill whistle echoed out through the winding depths of the backstreets, clear as a bell in spite of the Springtide noise. An anxious recognition lit the eyes of her men, and Myria too perked up at the sudden signal. It was the sign that their scouts had spied someone approaching, someone unknown. They needed to leave now if they wished to avoid any potential trouble. This novel''s true home is a different platform. Support the author by finding it there. ¡°To the rendezvous,¡± Myria commanded, acknowledging their new need to be swift. Then she gestured to the assassin. ¡°Make sure he does not see where we go.¡± Upon hearing that his captors intended to retreat, the assassin finally dropped his dismissive demeanor. Channeling a wild beast, he suddenly launched himself into a violent fit of twisting contortions, cursing, snarling and flailing against those who held him. It was a resistance short lived, for a few hard blows quickly put an end to the chaotic tantrum, and allowed for a blind to be secured over his head. ¡°Be sure to hold him tightly,¡± Myria advised once they¡¯d pacified their captive, ¡°and do whatever you deem necessary to return him to the others.¡± Gesturing then for her men to move, she allowed her comrades to take lead, and had no sooner done so when three strangers appeared at the far end of the alley. Hanging back, Myria immediately recognized that two of the three newcomers were soldiers, clad head to toe in light, steel armor with the crest of Highloft emblazoned prominently upon their breastplates. A short woman, lithe, with vibrantly blonde pigtails hanging low over her breasts stood between them, and was clothed in an expensive dress of dark blue with spiraling patterns. As soon as this woman spotted Myria and those retreating behind her, she spat an order and motioned for her companions to give chase. These soldiers jumped into action, racing after the departing Valor, and drew up swords as they converged upon the captain. ¡°Go!¡± Myria barked to her men, spurring them into a run. ¡°Ensure that he reaches the commander!¡± She turned back then, inhaling a steady breath as she moved, and pulled a greatsword out from the sheath upon her back. Without pause, the two soldiers struck at Myria together, having meant to defeat the woman in a single, synchronized blow. What they failed to realize, however, was that Myria was no simple combatant, for the weight of meager blades wielded by mere men was nothing at all against the strength of a veteran Slayer. Myria parried their blows, knocking the swordsmen aside, and rammed her shoulder into the one nearest to unbalance him. As he stumbled, she deflected the slashing swing of the other man¡¯s sword, turning it away from herself and toward the stumbling soldier who was nearly cut. Their initial attacks having failed, the two men fell back in retreat, but Myria pursued them so to prevent them from regrouping. She brandished her sword in whirling arcs then, keeping both men at a distance, but did not advance more than what she deemed was necessary to distract them. Harm was not her intention, but rather stalling these men long enough for the others to escape. Securing the assassin was the goal of her mission, not the fighting of battles. Eventually, the two soldiers realized her unwillingness to press her offensive, and both began looking for a safe way to use that to their advantage and surround her. Thankfully, in the smaller size of the ally, Myria needed only wide, cutting swipes and long strides to keep the men from making such maneuvers, and thus she successfully kept them at bay with little effort. Their stalemate continued, though it wasn¡¯t long until Myria heard footsteps at her back, and she feared that more Highloft soldiers had circled around and gotten behind her. But a familiar call rang out instead, identifying the approaching party as her allies, and suddenly two more blades joined in the battle on the Valor¡¯s side. It was her rear guard, she realized upon seeing her comrades¡¯ faces; the two who had been meant to secure their escape should the plan fall through. That they had come could only mean that they had performed their duty as instructed, and had now arrived to lend Myria their support. ¡°Captain,¡± one began as soon as he¡¯d drawn near enough to speak. ¡°We were attacked by unknowns, but were able to dispatch them. The others have made it to the passages. The assassin¡¯s been secured.¡± ¡°Good work,¡± Myria responded, though was deeply troubled to hear this. She couldn¡¯t let her face show her inner thinking however, for in truth, something like this should have never happened. How, then, had it come to this? Who had sold them out? And were their other haunts in like danger? Myria couldn¡¯t know any of this until they¡¯d managed to escape from here, and with the assassin secured, she could confidently command the retreat from this pointless battle. It was then that a silver streak flashed suddenly into sight, striking like a small ballista into Myria¡¯s right shoulder. The impact nearly took the Valor captain off her feet, spinning her around with such a force that she had to drop to a knee to keep herself from falling completely. Pain exploded through her arm following a short delay thereafter, her body taking an extra moment to realize it had been struck. The attack had happened so quickly that she¡¯d barely the time to comprehend it, and she was slightly dizzy for the whiplash garnered from the spin. Myria glanced to her shoulder as it started to throb, seeing that the pauldron there had been badly dented and very nearly torn away. She swallowed the sudden panic that threatened to overwhelm her then, and quickly she clambered back up onto her feet. The attack had been devastating, she could feel that much in her shoulder, but experience told her that this had only been a glancing blow. Assuming that she¡¯d been struck by some manner of drake-felling bolt, Myria looked beyond the two swordsmen and further down the alleyway. The enemy¡¯s unknown third, the slight woman from before, had surely been the source of that deadly strike. But Myria couldn¡¯t fathom how such a woman had possibly wielded the weapon necessary to unleash it. She hadn¡¯t, as Myria soon came to realize, for when the woman raised her arm, she held nothing. Instead, from a silver bracer upon her forearm stretched a long, slithering strand, no thicker than the girth of a sturdy rope. In the air the thing hovered, shifting about weightlessly, and coiling as it posed ready for another strike. At the whip¡¯s end there glistened a leviathan¡¯s face, its jeweled green eyes glowing brightly. ¡°Planesbreaker!¡± Myria exclaimed with a silent hiss to herself. Never could she have anticipated such a grim turn of events, especially in Cambria where the use of magic was all but forbidden. Both Myria and her comrades were woefully under-equipped to face a caster, but they must, for the woman would not let them leave here knowing her secret. ¡°Damned fools!¡± The woman snarled, anger reddening her pale and placid face. ¡°Develli escaped?! I should have known better than to rely on you useless Cambrians to do the job!¡± She lifted her other arm, revealing there another bracer, one with the same serpentine metal whip as the first. She then swiped her hands forward sharply, willing the enchanted weapons into action, and they shot through the air, striking straight into the hearts of Myria¡¯s men. The strength of the impact stole the breath from their lungs, and dropping as though dead, the soldiers gasped as their shirt fronts bloomed crimson with blood. And the snakes, they merely hissed, sliding across their victims¡¯ bodies, curling up while awaiting their mistress¡¯s next command. ¡°Why must I always do everything myself?¡± That mistress grumbled as she pushed between her guardsmen, waving them away with a dismissive impatience. Now that she¡¯d stepped closer, Myria could finally get a more detailed look at the woman, and was alarmed to see just how young this accursed caster appeared to be. She was hardly older than Saraya, if Myria had assumed correctly; to think that a single child could already possess this much strength. ¡°If I can¡¯t have Develli,¡± the girl continued in annoyance, ¡°then I will at least have the Valor captain. Surrender, woman, and I promise not to finish killing off your two comrades.¡± As she said this, her leviathans sunk their fangs into the necks of Myria¡¯s soldiers, puncturing the shallow layers of their flesh. ¡°Wretch,¡± Myria spat, ¡°you would have me believe the words of a Planesbreaker? All know your kind spew naught but deceit.¡± ¡°Oh how Cambrian of you,¡± the young woman sarcastically mocked. ¡°And yet it still profits me nothing to simply kill them. I hate wasting time, and wasting my energy even more. I came for you and the assassin, so that¡¯s all I want.¡± Myria hardened her gaze; how was it that this girl had come to know who she was? No one except the Valor and a small select few knew that Myria was one of the Valor¡¯s captains. That this child, this stranger, knew something so important bode ill, and not just for Myria, but for the Valor as a whole. It was the assassin, Myria realized, frowning as she did. After all, he had said that she would be sharing in his mistake. The pained groans of her men drew Myria out from her thinking. They were in need of aid, but the serpents were still poised ready to bite deeper. ¡°Do decide quickly,¡± the caster threatened, propping her palms up on her hips. ¡°I¡¯ve no time to wait, and I would prefer not to drag your bloodied body through the streets.¡± This passive threat revealed a lot to Myria, as the girl and her men were allied with Highloft and not Neurial native. Being mere guests of the Mediator, the young woman could not openly meddle in the city¡¯s local affairs, and if caught doing so, then severe punishment would be meted out upon the Honorbound whom she served. Certainly this explained why the caster hadn¡¯t attacked Myria like the others. The girl was brash, but not entirely careless, or so it seemed. She needed the captain in good health so to attract as little suspicion as possible; it was the only way she could get away with breaking the law as she was. Myria breathed in deeply, and gathering her courage, sheathed her weapon. ¡°Don¡¯t,¡± her companion breathed, struggling to lift himself from the ground. ¡°Leave us, captain,¡± the other begged, disregarding the fangs within his throat. ¡°It is better that you escape than we survive.¡± But Myria shook her head. ¡°No,¡± she corrected. ¡°It needs to be this way, even if you do not understand why.¡± She then turned her gaze to the caster, frowning back at the girl¡¯s smile. ¡°I yield,¡± she announced. ¡°You have my full surrender.¡± ¡°Smart woman,¡± the enchantress sneered, and as promised, she retracted her whips. ¡°Take her, men. Kross will be most delighted to receive this gift.¡± From high above, Saraya watched as the strangers escorted Myria away, binding her hands and leaving the others to writhe in the street below. Originally, she had been drawn back by the shrill whistle from the scouts, and though thinking to ignore it, had decided to adhere to it on the off chance that she was needed. Her return had left her to witness much of what transpired after she¡¯d gone, but alas, she had come too late to intervene or stop it. The sudden appearance of the blonde woman had changed everything, and now, Saraya¡¯s every plan had to follow suit. Veil¡¯s desires would have to wait; Myria needed Saraya now, even if there was nothing she could do to change the outcome of what had happened. Unfortunately, Saraya was still fatigued from her last battle, and so rushing in now¡ªand winning¡ªwas beyond her. She would have to think of something else, it was the only thing she could do. And, perhaps, there was indeed something she could do to gain an edge. Alter grumbled, reading Saraya¡¯s thoughts as she plotted. ¡°I am,¡± Saraya admitted, but it hardly mattered. She¡¯d heard the caster mention the assassin, even mention him by name, and if they were linked, then maybe it was possible to use him to get to Myria. It was a long shot, but the acrobat didn¡¯t have time to figure out how to get to the Slayer on her own. If the assassin knew anything that could help her, then she would learn it. She had no choice. Alter growled. ¡°Because she¡¯s my friend!¡± Saraya snapped. She would hear no more of this. ¡°And Fawln take me if I ever willingly abandon one of my friends.¡± Fools Errand - Chapter 19 The air felt damp against his face, turning his skin cold and clammy. The oppressive dank had permeated into every corner of Lon¡¯s lonely prison, and the musty odor that surrounded him provided the assassin with clue enough to deduce whereabouts. Undoubtedly he was underground, far beneath the city and its celebration, lost now within the maze of an old system of watery caverns. Lon had traipsed the shallow levels of Neurial¡¯s countless catacombs many times before, but never once had he gone so low as to explore where he presumedly was now. Perhaps he should have taken the time, given the current state of things. The cave system under Neurial was a veritable labyrinth, said to have formed around the ribcage of the dragon slain by the city¡¯s founders. It was only by the strength of those old bones that the city could stand on its otherwise weak foundation, and gods know that with a dragon¡¯s size, the caverns were immense. To blindly search these passages for an escape would take untold days to accomplish, days that Lon simply didn¡¯t have, and if he lost himself within this place, he may well never get out. Thus he was forced to wait, wait and ponder within the silence of an aged and neglected cage. He felt at home within these folds however, almost completely swallowed by shadow, for within them his mind was clear. So often did he work in darkness that he considered it his quiet partner, always there to comfort him and push him on to greater things. The blackness calmed him, shrouded him, and all the while disquieted those who would mean to do him harm. The only light that threatened him here was borne by a solitary lantern burning somewhere outside the room, but its glow was distant, weak, and failed to illuminate even the most removed of Lon¡¯s prison bars. This was how he preferred it. But as comforting as such darkness was it could not console the assassin concerning the matters of his fate. True that it eased his mind, but there was no denying that Lon¡¯s situation was rapidly growing grim. Already he had ascertained that the Valor had sequestered him off inside a long-forgotten underground keep, this being the worst of every possible outcome Lon had accounted for in the unlikely event that he was caught. Originally he had believed that the Valor would stash him away within a weakly defended hide should their plans be unexpectedly upheaved, and so Lon had prepared to use only a minimal amount of effort to secure escape if the need arose. That his contingency plan had in fact secured this route proved that he had not been wrong in his thinking, but rather negligent in his considering of the Valor¡¯s trained response to emergencies. Fortunately, though he never meant to make use of it, Lon had prepared for this poor turn of events and so was not without some measure of hope. After all, he was among the most talented of his colleagues, something of which he¡¯d been known to boast, and so in spite of this untimely setback he would be able to get free. The Valor had taken his pouches and belts of course, ridding him of his most obvious and useful tools, but in being flustered by unforeseen events they had bungled a thorough search of his person. Their mistake had left the assassin in possession of several well hidden trinkets; each one useful for helping Lon find a way out of his cell. The only problem with this plan was the finagling it would take to ultimately reach his things, as from the first moment he¡¯d been imprisoned here, Lon had only been more securely tied. Where ropes had once been his sole restraint, heavy cuffs of iron now took their place, these chafing both his wrists and ankles with their vice-like bite. Lon¡¯s hands, too, were raised and chained up onto the wall he slouched against, with his legs tethered out straight ahead leaving hardly an inch to bend his knees. Sore and uncomfortable, Lon could garner little room to move shackled as he was, and if indeed he meant to get at his hidden compartments, he could do naught but bide his time until his hands were free. Thankfully, Lon was patient, as he must be at times like this. If his assumptions were correct, then he would be waiting for quite some time before having the chance to make his move. The Valor would not permit him to eat or relieve himself until things had settled down, and these were the only instances that Lon foresaw allowing for the releasing of his hands. And even during those potential few moments he would remain closely watched. He was their enemy after all, there would be no show of lenience, and thus anything the assassin intended to do had to be carried out with utmost care. And there yet existed one chance more to wrest away the Valor¡¯s advantage. Though he did not relish the thought of interrogation, given the nature of his work, Lon had endured his fair share of such questionings and tortures before. Though these instances more often occurred during the fledging years of his career, the assassin¡¯s cryptic tongue had always faithfully aided him in avoiding injury with vague admissions and misdirection. Certainly he could use such tricks now to manipulate the current situation to his gain. Luring the Valor into divulging information was unlikely to be difficult, and it helped that the only thing he truly needed to learn was the conclusion of the confrontation above. Upon knowing, Lon could piece out information, be it half truths or lies, and maneuver his way back into a more favorable position. Once the Valor became distracted with chasing the fables he would concoct, Lon could use that time ignored to work at freeing himself. This plan would work, but it would take time, and so Lon¡¯s mind fell to other matters. In truth, the assassin¡¯s pressing need to escape was never what worried him. It was the afterward. There would be no hiding his new bruises from Amelia when he and the Honorbound next spoke, and more than this, he would never convince those of his guild that his latest injuries had all been planned. To bear the physical marks of such failure would surely tarnish Lon¡¯s nearly spotless reputation, and the setback of his being captured was also costing him valuable time. Finishing his mission now was going to be far more difficult than before, especially since it was unavoidable that he would have to deal with her. ¡°Damn that Fairwater,¡± Lon grumbled, cursing beneath his breath. If not for the Honorbound¡¯s absurd stipulations he would have killed the Valor captain back in Meridia. If he had, then his capture, his embarrassment, would have been wholly avoided. And how much the easier it would have been for Lon to do things his own way! Accursed luck that politics were never a matter so simply solved. ¡°My,¡± came an unknown voice, whispered from the dark, ¡°I never expected you to be the sort to sulk.¡± ¡°Indeed, the haughty bastard always seemed much too full of himself for that.¡± The sudden sound of a stranger¡¯s voice took Lon by surprise, and whatever thoughts he once held escaped him instantly. Instinctively his gaze snapped up toward the dreary shadows beyond his cage, where there he spied a new-come figure leaning with a hand against the bars. Engulfed for so long in the dungeon¡¯s gloom, Lon¡¯s eyes had become well attuned to the deep darkness, and so it was almost nothing for the assassin to recognize both the stranger and her voice. ¡°You¡­¡± he growled quietly, his words potent with his loathing. The acrobat chuckled, no doubt pleased at having successfully snuck up on Lon without his knowing. Even the assassin would begrudgingly admit that it was impressive she had done so, especially within such a quiet place. But, of course, this only made Lon hate her all the more. ¡°Surprised to see me?¡± The girl coyly teased, flashing Lon a smile. He nearly scoffed at her audacity, though was hardly shocked by her confidence. Given how their last encounter had ended, she had every right to be so smug. ¡°I am scarcely surprised by anything a woman does, sane or not,¡± Lon answered bluntly, though in hearing the vitriol upon his tongue he took a brief moment to find his calm. ¡°I presume you¡¯ve come here to gloat?¡± He asked, satisfied that his voice was smooth. This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere. ¡°Perhaps a little,¡± the acrobat admitted, ¡°though that¡¯s not the reason I followed you. In truth, I came here for your help.¡± The statement hit Lon like a bolt and he nearly choked upon his breath, taken so impossibly aback that he found himself at a loss for words. He wanted to scoff, wanted to laugh, wanted to yell all in a single second, and being unable to decide on which to do, he simply remained quiet. If this girl truly meant to ask him this, Lon could scarcely comprehend it, and it boggled him even further to think that she believed it possible he could comply. ¡°My help?¡± Lon said eventually once he had weathered his initial shock. ¡°You aid to put me inside this cage and then dare ask for my help?¡± ¡°I had guessed that you would feel this way, but I only did what needed done at the given time. I¡¯m sure you would have done the same if in my position.¡± The acrobat brushed her fingers through her bangs, flipping them aside. ¡°And besides, it¡¯s not as though I came to you without some sort of offer.¡± At this Lon balked, but in spite of himself, he was harboring an unexpected and growing interest. That the girl intended to bargain; therein lied an opportunity. In the realm of bartering Lon was certain that he would fare far better than the acrobat ever could. Obviously he would settle for nothing less than his total freedom, and this granted Lon the goal he needed to properly direct their conversation. ¡°I¡¯m listening,¡± the assassin thus spoke, urging the jester on. ¡°First I must know how much you know of Dragon¡¯s Teeth,¡± the girl began. ¡°Have you been there before, and if so, do you know the directions to its dungeons?¡± Lon raised an eyebrow at the question. ¡°Why do you need to know?¡± He asked. ¡°You don¡¯t know?¡± The acrobat replied, honestly surprised. ¡°I¡¯d thought it would be obvious, given what you¡¯ve done.¡± Lon fell silent in response to this, taking a few moments to consider what the girl was getting at. He came to realize soon enough just what the jester had implied, and when doing so, newly amused, he chuckled to himself. ¡°Ah, the Valor captain,¡± he mused. ¡°You wish to save her, I suppose. Which means that whatever happened above did not go in your favor.¡± ¡°As if you had any doubt of that,¡± the acrobat accused. ¡°You arranged the meeting.¡± But Lon only smiled. ¡°You presume much.¡± ¡°But I presume correctly,¡± the girl shot back. ¡°Or tell me that I¡¯m wrong, Develli, and prove yourself a liar.¡± Though normally able to keep his expressions in check, Lon found himself frowning deeply. That this girl could utter his name¡ªand to his face!¡ªwith such disrespect¡­again her manner was infuriating. Quickly though, the assassin reminded himself that such a thing was not worth his time correcting, as for the moment, it was more important that he haggle himself free. ¡°Dragon¡¯s Teeth,¡± he thus began, shifting the flow of conversation. ¡°I have been there, yes, and too know how to navigate it.¡± ¡°I thought as much,¡± the jester said. ¡°Then this is my proposition: I will release you and then lead you back up to the surface. In exchange, you will take me through the Blue Passage and once we¡¯re inside Dragon¡¯s Teeth, you¡¯ll direct me toward its dungeons.¡± Lon didn¡¯t stop the huff of disbelief that rolled reactively from his mouth. The girl was willing to offer him his freedom from the very start, and not only that, but also save him the trouble of navigating these damnable caves. And for what? A promise of help that he had no intention of keeping? It seemed all too convenient for him, too much in his favor, and this alone was enough to stop Lon from dismissing her too quickly. Twice already this acrobat had proven herself capable of undermining him, and so he was not fully convinced that this time wouldn¡¯t end the same. ¡°You know of the Blue Passage?¡± Lon questioned then, surprised to hear the girl speak its name. ¡°I stumbled upon it in my search for you. It let me know exactly where you would strike.¡± This admission caused Lon to grimace; was he really so easily read? No, surely not. It was merely that the girl was working with the Valor, and though few knew of that secret route, it was likely that the Valor would. Even if not an entrance that they would use, to know about it meant that this child had but to ask to be informed of its existence. This notion frustrated Lon; that he¡¯d allowed himself to grow this careless and underestimate his enemies. ¡°You would betray your allies so easily?¡± He said then, looking to distract away from this realizing of his mistake. Too he meant to probe the girl for some hidden catch as well, for though he did not believe she lied, he had no wish to be wrong again. ¡°Do not speak to us concerning scruples,¡± the acrobat harshly hissed in smart retort. ¡°Kayll know that you have none.¡± Only by having dealt with her before did Lon recognize this outburst as the manifestation of the girl¡¯s madness, a diseased counterpart to the acrobat with which he had no desire to mingle. ¡°That¡¯s enough,¡± the jester snapped in self rebuke, speaking as to the air, and only after regaining herself did she turn back toward the cell. ¡°The Valor are no more my allies than that caster is considered yours. As I said before, I only do what I must during the moment it needs done. If you¡¯re worried about me betraying you, rest assured I have no reason.¡± ¡°None other than our own hatred of you,¡± her alter ego once more muttered. But this time, rather than inducing disgust, Lon found himself once more amused. ¡°In this our feelings are mutual,¡± he said, sneering at his would-be savior. ¡°So, what is it then? Why are you really here? You do not truly expect me to believe your tale concerning the rescue of the Valor¡¯s captain, do you? You have just admitted that you do not consider them your allies. So, why, then, do you seek my aid?¡± ¡°My friendship with the Valor¡¯s captain and my partnership with the Valor itself are two completely different things,¡± the acrobat calmly explained. ¡°You are just a means to an end for me and, unfortunately, the only one I have.¡± ¡°And you expect me to take you at your word? You speak in contradictions and spout betrayal in another voice. I will not agree to a bargain that has no intention of being fulfilled.¡± The jester scoffed. ¡°Unlike you, I keep my word. And besides, I risk more by releasing you than you do by trusting me. We both have duties we must fulfill and shouldn¡¯t be wasting time. I need you, and you need me. It¡¯s as simple as that. So, just this one more time, I think it best we work together.¡± Silently the assassin listened to the acrobat as she spoke. ¡°Again you presume too much,¡± he said, unwilling to let this girl believe that he was as desperate as she thought. ¡°But again I presume correctly,¡± she insisted, just as unwilling to back down. ¡°Don¡¯t take me for a fool, Develli. I know you need into Dragon¡¯s Teeth, even if not the reason why. I read your actions, I know your desire, for I have done them before.¡± ¡°Impossible,¡± Lon spat aloud, unable to stop himself. ¡°You are a worthless street performer. We are not of the same league.¡± In response to him, the girl merely shrugged. ¡°I am a worthless street performer, but one trained in¡­certain ways. In fact, I¡¯m likely just as good as you, and in some ways, even better.¡± Such arrogant cheek set Lon¡¯s teeth grinding behind a tight expression. Truly the acrobat must be insane to so boldly speak this way! But what was worse than her blunt arrogance was that he felt he must agree. Lon had witnessed firsthand how she fought and moved, and it was clear that she had been well trained. If such training was granted by another assassin, he wanted to know who. ¡°How?¡± He asked with a growl, his desire for vengeance upon her teacher now outweighing his injured pride. ¡°How could some lowly soul like you come to learn our ways? Who is it that taught you?¡± ¡°I¡¯ve no reason to tell you,¡± the girl replied, ¡°but I will, if indeed you help.¡± Immediately then she stooped down so that Lon could better see her hands, and pulling a lockpick out from a pouch, she held it up before the door. ¡°So what say you, assassin Develli? Do I have your aid or not?¡± The question twisted Lon¡¯s face to frowning, his answer caught between his ego and his earnest need for escape. If there had been another way, then perhaps he could have risked rejecting the jester¡¯s ¡°generous¡± offer. But the girl was right, he hadn¡¯t time to waste. He needed to be free. ¡°Yes,¡± he conceded, hating himself, ¡°you will have your accord.¡± ¡°Swear by Nox,¡± the jester insisted, causing Lon¡¯s frown to deepen. That she knew this trick of the assassins too, she must have been taught by them. ¡°I swear, by Nox,¡± Lon relented. ¡°But you must never say my name again. This you must promise me.¡± ¡°You have my word,¡± the acrobat stated, moving to unlock the prison door. Lon slouched back against the wall, waiting while the jester worked. In the returning silence he allowed himself to quietly fume at yet another accursed fate. If nothing else, he vowed to ensure that the girl would come to regret this new alliance, and the best way he knew how to make this so was by enlisting that whore, Lucille.