There’s something about running from a predator you can’t see yet but know is coming. It’s like being on a bus and hearing the brakes slam down even though you can’t see what’s ahead. This gut-wrenching feeling that something horrible is inevitably about to happen and there’s nothing you can do about it. Liam knew exactly what was hunting them, and how it would be impossible to outrun or hide from them.

Drakaras, for all their fluffy glory, were able to hunt someone’s breath, to snatch it from the wind and trail it to its source.

And yet, despite running for what could very well be his life, Liam’s face was split into a manic grin. He should… no, he was terrified; his heart was clenching between every beat as his feet hammered the dusty street. Cold sweat drenched his scratchy new shirt, and breathing was laborious, eyes darting every which way in a scramble to look for either a way out or their pursuers.

But dammit, he wanted to throw his hands into the air and shout out, settling into a cackle.

Umira also happened to be there, her shorter legs scrambling in a mad dash to keep up. Her beige scales looked paler, eyes filled with frantic panic, mouth open as she panted heavily. The draxani kept looking upwards, the mad desire to climb to the rooftops an ingrained instinct of her species, a safety mechanism that might have been useful against a different kind of predator in a different kind of environment.

They ran as if their lives depended on it.

Which it really did in Umira’s case. Liam was mostly sure he’d only probably maybe be used as a scapegoat for the Sultan. That is if the Yulenvir riders didn’t brutalize him first; people could sometimes take it personally when their beloved head honcho gets nearly murdered.

Maybe that was the sane response to their situation. Liam didn’t care; he was way overdue on sleep and he couldn’t reasonably expect to have a proper response to things.

A trumpet blared out somewhere behind them, four others responded on either side. They weren’t caught yet, but the walls were closing in. Brown mud bricks and sandstone blurred as they took the most uncomfortable narrow alleyways they could find, hoping it would slow down the riders.

Liam didn’t know the layout of the city exactly, but he did know they only had one hope to get out of this.

At its core, the drakaras pursuing them were using one of their special abilities: to summon air currents that would chase the target and bring to the drakara pack the scent. It was the tiny whirlwind that even now swirled around their feet, the same wind that would become a deafening gale to lock them in place once the pack got close enough.

He stumbled, caught only by Umira’s quick reaction as she kindly shoved him against the nearest wall for him to find support. The two of them shared a glance, hearing another blast of trumpets that was closer. Liam could faintly make out the clanking of chainmail against armor; the wind grew more intense.

“This way!” He was looking for something very specific, a breach in the monotony of the labyrinth-like households. Specifically, he was following a dip in the terrain, moving downhill.

And then he found it, the faint scent of sulfur and waste.

It was a nose-curling thing, but to Liam, it was salvation.

The whirlwind that followed their every step began to tug at their clothes, the breeze buffeting their faces and kicking up a storm of dust and sand. Umira’s shorter height proved a boon, the draxani taking the lead again, pulling on the half-blinded Liam as she seemed to realize his plan.

The monotony of wooden doors and sandstone walls broke into a square that had a large well with a lid on it. The place almost looked unassuming if not for the increasingly horrid stench. They ran for the well, Umira tearing off the piece of wood that covered the hole. Liam couldn’t see the bottom, and suddenly all enthusiasm for the plan died.

With the sound of trumpets, the wind abruptly kicked up. There was a sudden influx of air that sped up and rose around them, becoming a fully-fledged tornado. All sound was drowned out by the wind, Liam felt like shoving himself to the ground to avoid getting ripped off the ground.

Umira yanked them both into the hole.

One hand gripped Liam’s arm with iron might, the other slammed flat against the wall of the well, stopping their drop cold for half a second, just enough for him to smash against the wall. He tried to find purchase, the walls were slippery with things he’d rather not think about and offered nothing for him to grip. But it was no impediment to Umira, who kept slamming her free palm against the wall. Their drop became an intermittent series of falls where Liam was hammered against the wall each time.

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Something whistled from above, flying past them with the sound of metal clanging against stone. This was followed by a “blurp” and a splash slightly further below.

“You missed!” Liam shouted at whoever had just thrown their spear down the well.

Then another spear whistled past. Umira chose to drop them the rest of the way rather than test their pursuer’s luck.

The good news was that nothing at the bottom was sharp, pointy, or solid enough to hurt them. The bad news was that it was gooey, slimy, and every aspect of a horrible disgusting experience without being immediately life-threatening.

Umira summarized their situation succinctly through the use of a very long stream of words that, though Liam could not understand, were very clearly expletives of the highest caliber.

They thrashed for long enough to get out of the potential “dropped a spear” area and past the revolution their guts tried to impose upon them. Neither happy about it but unwilling to stay put and wait to die from inhaling the worst the city had to offer.

In the end, they settled into Liam being the beanpole and support, while Umira clung to him as if she were a breathing backpack. Standing in chest-height filth, Liam waded his way forward. They were blind, and in a hurry to get some distance before the riders figured out a way to get down there. Liam used the spear their pursuers had very thankfully donated as a way to “feel” his way forward.

There was one aspect of Al-Zahra that Liam was thankful for: underground rivers.

The three aqueducts brought an insane quantity of water into the city, carrying it all to the central area. Once it got there, it would make its way down the tepui at the center of Al-Zahra and be split into dozens of underground rivers that radiated outwards.

Some of these rivers were used to carry the waste out to the fringes of the city where the farmland would gather it and put it to use.

So all Liam had to do was to keep on waddling through muck, following the current.

Eventually, they reached an area that had a walkway at the side of the muck. Liam couldn’t get out on his own, his hands unable to find purchase on the smooth bricks, but Umira had all the grip either of them needed. The draxani’s capability to just glue her hands to whatever she touched was remarkable, and Liam made a mental note to get a closer look at it when the chance presented itself.

Of course, his current list of priorities had “get dunked in detergent” at the top.

Neither of them spoke as they continued moving down the tunnel, blind save for the spear. They kept trying to figure out if there was any sort of pursuit, but the only noises down there were those of their own breathing and the slush of the… river.

Umira kept her hand firmly glued to his free arm. Liam wasn’t entirely sure whether it was to keep him from falling over or potentially distrustful that he’d run away. Whatever the case, she was tense and jumpy, and the only way he figured he could reassure her was to slow down to keep a more comfortable pace for her.

Every time they found a fork or alternate paths, they’d use the stick to figure out what direction the river was going and follow it.

With nothing but exhaustion and determination to find a clean water source to jump into, Liam’s mind began to wander over what was to come. The city was on high alert; the Sultan knew Umira was "out there" unaccounted for, and the Yulvenir were gunning for them. Were there any factions that might grant them some measure of protection if just to stick it to either of the other two factions? Not any that would be caught dead helping would-be assassins…

They couldn’t stay and pretend they were dead or had vanished; there were too many magical ways to narrow down their location. The sewers wouldn’t be any safer, just safe from drakara riders. Not that running out of the city was an easy task; the only ways in or out were through the heavily patrolled roads, anything else meant having to venture through a desert.

What did that leave them with? A bunch of coins and what would undoubtedly become a bounty on their heads.

“I guess we’ll have to tackle things as they come, probably sneak our way into a caravan or somesuch…” He mumbled to himself, trying to break the monotony of silence.

After what felt like hours in absolute darkness, they spotted a glimmer of light off in the distance. Wariness and hope stirred within them as they made their way cautiously forward, trying to spot anything that might look dangerous.

But nothing of the sort was waiting for them, only a gust of dry hot air. Compared to what was inside the sewer, it smelled like heaven. It appeared their tunnel had come to an end near the inner area of the city’s outer walls. It was a swampy field of some sort, the purpose and function of which they were not familiar.

“Liam Carter, Umira Dalimor.” The voice was soft, serene, and instantly made them both jump. Liam raised the mucky spear, certain it would kill whoever it cut by virtue of the infection alone.

There, standing slightly further up the hill, was a woman, human or human-adjacent race; it was hard to tell when the only visible thing was her dark-skinned face. She wore rich blue robes devoid of any flourishes save one: a three-point Celtic knot.

The woman was a priestess of Thalgrim, Goddess of Fate.

“I suddenly prefer my chances in the sewer,” Liam muttered to himself, remembering the other name he used for the Goddess: the meddling bitch.

Not that it looked like they had a choice in the matter, at least judging by the silver-armored soldiers flanking the priestess.