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.
“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.
“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.
“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.
“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—those accursed eyes!—that 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—” 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.
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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.
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.
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.
“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.”