Asrael II
After what happened in Diyehu, Asrael had opted to travel inconspicuously from then on. He'd gathered half a dozen of his best men, and in the dark of the night they'd gotten themselves, the girl and her handmaiden on the road to Gora; the fewer the eyes, the better. Mehmet would lead the rest of the Circle until they were reunited in the near future.
Even though he could never admit it to his brothers, Eshkil's death had left him badly shaken. Still, he kept his grief to himself and dared not express it out in the open. Every other night in his tent he grappled with the mystery of how the assassin had so deftly snuck into their company; for it was not the Duma of Ongan's household on which he had imposed himself upon, but within Asrael's own ranks for several weeks.
He was the Circle of Hoshnu's Chosen but he had fatally erred, a mistake which had cost Eshkil his life and one he had vowed never to repeat again. Regardless of Archmage Yisril's displeasure, the little princess needed not an escort other than the one he currently provided her; the seven of them were more than enough.
However, it could not be denied that the plan was risky. Izhera dy'Tefizha was unquestionably a Paleblood, and her kind were rare in Beys as they were elsewhere on the continent. She could not pass off as a Donnish woman either - her frame was too willowy, skin too pale and sensitive under the sun, eyes too red to be any other color than that, she was just too everything to be anything else other than herself.
The road was full of travelers; merchant caravans that stretched as far as the eye could see, slavers and their long trains of human goods, Shamir* herders on long journeys searching for greener pastures, refugees and the occassional group of bandits.
He had resorted to using glamours and illusions but due to the fickle nature of that kind of magic, more often than not they were forced to travel after dark across increasingly arid landscape where the sun burned high and hot during the day and a dark, miserable cold shrouded everything once dusk had arrived.
It wasn't just about appearances. Qhin was everywhere, and it would only take one other adept Mandi assassin to sniff out the Tayta's among hundreds of people on the road.
He only hoped that by the time they arrived at their destination, he would already have figured out who wanted Izhera dy'Tefizha dead, and why.
Izhera IV
"Benne must eat," said indigo-haired Irelei, pushing towards her a plate of dried meat and nuts.
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Izhera did not feel like eating. Dawn had already peeked over the horizon, and after a few hours' rest they would be back on the road again. She did not cherish the thought.
"You are paler than usual." The girl remarked, "if my lady continues like this, I'm afraid she will be too exhausted to continue with the journey."
She raised her hands to her cheeks. They were cold, like mountain river water early in the morning. Just a fortnight ago, they had been warm and red with Eshkil's blood. She could still hear the wet squelch that accompanied the dagger sinking into the man's chest thrice, a dagger meant for her. Eshkil had not had the chance to fight; not to utter even a single spell, or draw his own weapon. She could hear whispers in the back of her head, of a shadowy figure following her steps everywhere she went, searching for her...
Face the light, Golemei said, the moon beaming above her veiled head. The man with the golden hand reaching out to her once more. The whispers...
"My lady?" Her handmaiden's hand shaking her shoulder brought her out of her stupor.
Moon Maiden, give me strength, she said to herself.
Your gods are dead, said Asrael in turn, piercing silver eyes shining in triumph.
"Fuck him!" She said aloud venomously and snatched a piece of meat, not oblivious to Irelei's flinch. She very well knew who Izhera meant.
She was too tired to worry about the girl's discomfort or the fact that all she did would duly be reported back to the monster in human skin with heavy detail. It was not like he didn't know the hate she bore for him.
He's a complicated man, Eshkil had said, but Eshkil was dead now and she wasn't sure if she should be taking advice from a pyromaniac serial murderer, kin or not. She knew not where they were going, and the Chosen had not deigned to inform her.
What she did know was that someone was after her life, and her enemies were the only things standing between her and this mysterious figure.
It was a puzzle to her, as it was to the war god's herald, or else he would not have stolen away with her into the night like a thief. He was… afraid was not quite the right word, but he was certainly deeply worried. It made her wonder how important she was that a man like him would go to such lengths to protect her, even if the morbidly hilarious concept made her nauseous. Her father's killer, protecting her.
She had no claim to the Tayta throne, and the Beyish had all they wanted without any help from her. If they thought she could be used as a bargaining chip to be dangled before what remained of her family, that ship had long past sailed - by all accounts, she was the Moon Maiden's child, not Seja Razhai's. Why, then?
It was with these thoughts that sleep found her with and as she drifted off, she saw the golden-handed man again, Eshkil beside him. They stood amongst the dunes like giants from stories of old, and her bloodkin whispered a word she did not hear but made the earth tremble with fear.
Darkness claimed her.
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Shamir - a long horned goat bred for its fur.