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—the current chief among distractions—and 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.
Saraya sighed at this and rolled her eyes. “I’m not abandoning it,” she replied.
“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.”
“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?”
“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 décor. 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.
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.
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.
Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.
“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.”
“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 façade. “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.
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.”
“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—
“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.
“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.”