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—even directly she supposed—they 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—typically those of fights taking place inside of the Arena pits—to 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—as well as her own selfish desire to be liked—simply 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.
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.
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.
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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—likely because it was meant for someone taller—but 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.
“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?