Extra 17: Infiltration of the Afraid

Retlafeh’s joints were aching and sore from having to stay still for so long, his stomach equally protestant. For nearly the whole night he had been lying sandwiched between two buildings and a fence, completely covered by darkness and unknown to any man. He would only have one shot to enter the mansion, if he was caught, him, and likely his companions, would be doomed. He had to have the perfect opportunity, the streets had to be empty, the moons covered by clouds, the guards changing shift.

That was what he told himself.

But in truth he already had had ten such chances throughout his long stakeout, and each time he made up a reason why he wasn't ready.

He was too stiff, he would make too much noise, the guards were too awake.

No matter the opportunity he couldn't bring himself to make the move, but neither could he return to his compatriots empty handed after he put so much emphasis on his plan. He was being selfish and childish, something that a man of his age and experiences had no excuse for being. But despite knowing that, he still couldn't walk out of the alley.

This trial should have been a simple affair, Orsha knows he did far more dangerous things in his youth. But the reality was he was scared, not of dying or being caught, but scared of seeing Taresh again after so long.

He berated himself for the mere thought every time it came up, but in truth he had not seen him in over twenty years, and in truth, just the thought of speaking with him felt like dying. But despite that he jumped like a hatchling at the slightest chance of talking to him, putting his whole group in danger and at risk of defying the will of Orsha. It was stupid and dangerous and downright unforgivable, and now he couldn't even work up the courage to make the move now he was here.

He turned his attention back to his mark, he was too old for this rekraraksha.

He would do it, now, it was almost morning and he had to be back out of the city by the time the night lifted. As if by providence, a chance presented itself at that very moment. The street was quiet, its people all asleep, the guards either half asleep themselves or patrolling different areas.

Retlafeh squeezed his fist around the Andromio coin in his hand, feeling as if its glimmer could provide the slightest smidgen more confidence. He stepped out into the cloud-smothered moonlight. Before he even realised it himself, he had jumped the wall and was standing solidly in the middle of enemy territory, there was no backing out now.

He dove behind a nearby fence painted in white and blue before jumping shadow to shadow in an effort to stay hidden. The garden of exorbitant luxury, complete with decadent statues and false imitations of nature’s ordered beauty passed by in brutal silence, every scuffle of the intruder's feet seeming to echo throughout the mountains, despite his best efforts.

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He was certain that a guard or resident would see his approach at any moment, but no one ever did, no shouts ever reached his ears, he had made it. But the most dangerous part of his plan was still to come, he had reached the walls but now he had to get inside.

Every door was locked, every window was glass, forcing either open would attract attention without doubt. There was only one reliable way to get in, one which he had confirmed from his long stakeout.

Throughout his long existence as a slave, Retlafeh had been sold to a hundred different masters, it being Earliag tradition to never hold onto one man for too long. He had found in his times working for those exceptionally wealthy that their mansions only truly came in three forms. The first was long, thin mansions with branching straight paths, the second similar, yet split into two or three buildings connected by gardens and walkways. The last kind however, the ones reserved for the truly powerful, were built around a central spire from which each room and wing radiated from in octagonal symmetry.

This spire allowed residents to walk to the roof and stare out at the world from above, a statement to the owners power, it would be bad taste to let such a pinnacle of design be boarded up by doors. Few Earliag saw this as a fault and there was a very simple reason why, because no one would be stupid enough to use it to break in.

The manor had three floors of stark white stone and more windows and guards than sense, getting to the wall was hard but possible, but scaling it was going to be an entirely different struggle to do unnoticed. It was for this reason that Retlafeh had to be sure his plan would work.

Putting away his thoughts of what he would find inside, the former-slave kept to the wall and got as far from his little safe space as he dared, coming up behind a guard who was in the process of nodding off. Retlafeh grasped the coin in hand and began to create his simple fire spell off gestures he had long since committed to memory.

He wondered if Taresh still had the old book, the one that had taught him this spell, despite all the suffering it had caused them all.

As the spell weaved itself into existence, more and more heat gathered and more and more light followed, beginning to draw attention from those responsible for the building's protection. Before any of them could see the cause of the problem, the spell completed, placing a blazing rune one hundred times more powerful than anything Retlafeh had made before, scorching him even as he jumped back with all the force he could muster. He ignored his burns and sprinted as stealthily as he could back to his place of entry, hiding himself away as barks of curiosity turned to yells and shouts as the garden lit ablaze.

Retlafeh, despite the urgency, sat and watched the result of his actions for a moment, in awe of the improvement caused by the coin. Without it, he wouldn't have even been able to light a particularly green bush on fire, but now half the garden was being incinerated in blazing glory and the rune showed no signs of fading. He was lucky that the stories did not lie about the power of the metal, and a million times luckier that they had gotten their hands on an amount as large as the Golem’s gift.

His plan was such that the Earliag would see that the fire was caused by magic and as such, if he got out in time, they would never connect it back to a group of lowly slaves.

Wasting no more time, Retlafeh began his ascent up the wall, wedging himself between a pillar and solid marble bricks, slowly pushing his way up. He managed to scramble onto the balcony above him just in time to dodge the gaze of two residents who came rushing around the corner, the tips of his feet escaping behind the platform just in time. He stayed there to catch his breath for a moment but he dared not stay long, from here he was in full view of anyone in the house, glass doors leaving him fully exposed to any malevolent gaze.

Once he was certain he was safe, Retlafeh began his accent again, this time using the various decorative reliefs and ledges as holds for his infiltration. Where before he was at least partially hidden by the pillar he was climbing on, now he was fully exposed on the wall for two full floors until he reached the roof. Second by agonising second he climbed, the work easy if not for his sweating hands.

Then, when only a meter away from the top, calamity struck as one of the fingers of a man inlaid into the wall snapped off in Retlafeh’s hand, once delicate sculpture now ruined. The scare of nearly being flung off the wall was a mild problem, what was far worse was the solitary finger clicking and clacking its way down to the floor. All it would take was a single person to trace the source of the sound and he would be doomed, a single person to look away from the flames.

And in blessing of Orsha, no one did.

Not one soul reacted to the sound, not one guard dared to see the slave’s dark skin on the alabaster walls, no resident cried out in alarm or warning at the intruders presence. And in one last move, Retlafeh had made it, he was one step closer to securing the life and mission of him, his companions and his god.

One step closer to seeing Taresh again.