The world ached. Torana tensed her muscles as she became aware of her consciousness. Testing each section of her body by gently tensing her muscles, she could feel the fatigue deep within her. The tissues of her thighs protested every command from her brain.
Slowly, she released her breath and opened her eyes. She was in the room she had been renting with Osran. Without moving her head, she glanced to the side. Sure enough, Osran was there. His head lay slumped on the writing desk as his chest rose and fell. Struggling, she managed to sit up, the noise stirring the man from his sleep.
“Tor’?” he mumbled as he stirred. “You’re alright.” His sigh of relief seemed as if it had been held for days.
Torana smiled weakly, “Did you bring me back here?”
“I did,” Osran sat up and nodded. “It was really the least I could do after you saved me again.” Moving over to the bed, he sat next to her. “How are you feeling?”
“Like an Initiate who’s overextended themselves. Everything hurts. How do I look?”
“Younger than you did last night,” Osran picked up a hand mirror from a side table and handed it to her.
Torana looked at her reflection and sighed, “Well, it could be worse. I think I’ll be alright in a couple of days.”
The face that looked back at her possessed a greater number of lines than she was used to. The bags under her eyes and the slight mottling of her skin provided her with a glimpse into her future. “Wait,” her head snapped towards Osran. “Last night? What time is it?”
Osran looked uncomfortable “It’s morning. You’ve been asleep for a good while.”
The sheets flew back as Torana swung her legs out of bed, forcing Osran to stand. “We need to go,” She said quickly. “My Father will be bringing his men and-”
Osran placed his hand on her shoulder and with a pained expression, gestured towards the window with the other. Legs protesting, Torana found her feet and gingerly walked to the window. She could feel her strength slowly returning, but it would be a long time yet.
Slowly, she moved aside the blue curtain just enough to peer outside. From their room, armoured men could clearly be seen marching through town flying her Father’s colours as a light drizzle fell over them.
“I see,” Torana clenched her fist, pulling the fabric taut. “Well, let’s be about it then.” Dropping the curtain, she turned to face the door.
“Wait,” Osran caught her arm. He could see the tension in her stance and the anger in her eyes. “I think we can still get out. We just need to get the papers from Skerret’s place, and make it to the boat.”
“If he even has them and if we can even get there, Os’,” Torana sounded exasperated. “The town is crawling with people who know our faces.”
“My face, perhaps.”
Torana ran her fingers down her cheek, “Well, now,” She smiled. “Who’d have thought there’d be an upside to this?”
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Dressed in clothing liberated from the room of another patron at the inn, hoods up against the rain, Torana and Osran walked arm in arm towards the richer part of town. The density of her father’s guards had not made the trip easy so far. Osran had occasionally received an elbow to his ribs as he was unexpectedly pushed into a side street, having to stifle his alarm each time.
Skerret’s workshop, such as it was, was situated in the basement of his lavish home. Torana had been here once before when commissioning the forged identity papers. Timing it carefully to avoid any patrolling guardsmen, Torana and Osran crossed the square to the front of Skerret’s home. slipping quietly through the gardens, they used the large, beautifully manicured topiary to mask their approach.
The two-story building loomed over them in the dreary rain, a balcony on the upper level providing them some relief from the drizzle. “The documents will most likely be in the workshop. If he’s even made them at all. Either way, I’m going to burn the place once we’re done.” Torana’s eyes were hard under her hood.
“Tor’, that will bring everyone towards us. We still need to get out of town.” Osran met her gaze and she let out a quiet, but exasperated sigh.
“Fine,” She said pointedly. “But I’m keeping the option open.” Osran nodded, knowing it was best not to push the matter any further. Torana led them around the perimeter of the house, using the elaborate shrubbery to help mask their passing once more.
At the back of the property, they approached a basement window, peeking out above the lawn. Torana drew tools from the inside of her belt. “Keep a lookout” She instructed.
Osran put his back to the brickwork, trying to peek around the corner without exposing himself too much. In moments, Osran heard a small pop as the window was forcibly opened. Turning, he was beckoned back to the window by Torana, who promptly ducked inside.
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The workshop was dark. The oil lamps set into the walls were unlit, and very little sunlight made it through the one window. Keeping low, the pair moved around the two workbenches, softly stepping along the stone floor, scattered with paper and smudges of ink.
Atop these benches sat many sheaves of paper, many of which contained identities and pasts both stolen and fabricated. One of the benches held two small boxes with a glass lens on one side. To their right, wooden shelves lined the walls containing sheaf after sheaf of documents. To their left, stone stairs lead upwards to the ground floor. “Tor’,” Osran whispered. “What are we looking for?”
Torana paused for a moment before replying, “The documents will have our faces on them, but they’ll only show up using these.” She retrieved one of the small boxes from the bench, holding it up, she depressed a small section on the opposite side to the lens. As she did so, the box began emitting a pale green light.
“Scryer’s lamps,” She extinguished the light and tossed the box to Osran before retrieving the other lamp for herself. “It’s why I had to pay so much. We wouldn’t get far without it.” With that, they promptly set about searching through the stacks of documents, passing over each one with the eerie green glow of the Scryer’s lamps.
Before long, Osran had found the documents buried amongst the other papers on the shelves. “Looks like he’d finished them before your Father got to him.” Osran’s relief was evident. “Let’s go. We can lay low in the Hook before the boat arrives.”
Torana nodded and they made for the window. Osran carefully folded the documents, tucking them away inside his jacket. After clambering out onto the lawn, he turned and reached back to help Torana through. As he did so, the noise of someone shouting reached their ears.
“Tell the Duke I will visit him shortly, but I am not responsible for his daughter escaping him once again.” Quickly followed by the slamming of a door.
Osran saw Torana’s face harden in the gloom of the workshop. “Tor’-” He began.
“Sorry, Os’,” Torana raised her hood. “Wait for me in the Hook.” She turned, disappearing back into the workshop.
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At the top of the stairs, Torana found a sturdy wooden door. Pressing her ear against it, she could hear Skerret’s voice ranting and grumbling, punctuated by the occasional slamming of furniture. Cautiously, with knife in hand, she opened to door and peeked through the small opening.
The room beyond spoke to the forger’s wealth. The floors were covered in rich carpets and strewn with plumply upholstered furniture. With no sign of the owner, she stepped out into the room, using the carpet to help conceal her footsteps.
She found Skerret at the end of a trail of shunted and toppled furniture, staring out of the front window of his property. He was breathing heavily and clutching the window frame in a white-knuckled grasp, the other hand on his cane.
“Nice of you to save me the trouble of finding you,” Torana spoke calmly and clearly.
Skerret tensed. “I should have realised you’d come here,” He turned to face her. “But you’ll not get out alive. Your Father has men posted all over town. He knows about the boat as well. Killing me will achieve nothing.”
Torana brandished the knife in front of her, “Who said anything about killing you?” she asked. “You can’t feel pain when you’re dead.”
The large man pressed himself against the wall as if he hoped he could escape through it, “Torana… Let’s be reasonable.” He was fighting to control his voice, “I have your papers ready. Perhaps I could give them to you and help you escape.”
“Osran already has the papers,” She stated flatly. “Clearly my Father has only recently gotten to you.”
Skerret’s face sank with the realisation he was out of resources with which to bargain. “He came to me only last week,” He uttered the words so softly that Torana could barely hear them. “He came as a Father wanting his wayward Daughter returned to him.”
“He came with a fat purse.”
Skerret looked away, “Yes.”
The young mage paced across the room. Skerret shied away as her arm went back, closing his eyes to hide from the sight of his end.
“Tor’,” Osran grabbed her arm before she could swing.
“Let go, Osran,” In her normal state, she could easily have pulled herself free. Even so, Osran still struggled to hold her, weakened as she was.
“No,” He replied. “Killing him does nothing but make you more like him.”
Torana stopped struggling. She turned to face Osran, his eyes full of pleading and concern. Closing her eyes, she breathed out slowly. Through clenched teeth, she spoke, “Skerret, Osran, and I will be leaving now. If I ever see you again, I will not be kept from exacting the full fury of the Void upon you. Am I understood?”
The forger nodded. He skirted the wall to fall heavily into one of the chairs that had remained upright. “Good,” Torana shook Osran’s hand free of her arm. “Let’s go.”
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The pair left Skerret’s estate through the front door. The rain was now coming down heavier than it had been previously and they made their way back to the bridge, crossing the Berkobell to the Hook.
“Do you think he’ll be waiting for us?” Osran asked, raising his voice slightly to be heard over the rain.
“Of course he will,” Torana glanced sideways as she replied. “He knows that’s how we’re leaving.”
“So how are we getting past him?”
“We’re not,” Torana smiled grimly inside of her hood. “We’re going through him. I’ve had enough of running, Os’. He needs to understand he can’t take me back.” She stopped and looked him in the eye, “With me?”
Osran nodded, “Of course.”
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The Hook looked even drearier under the wet, grey sky. Rivulets of water flowed over partially collapsed ceilings and sloshed into muddy puddles before finding their way across the cobbles to the Berkobell.
Still, the labourers toiled, hauling crates and barrels onto gently bobbing cargo ships, their hair and clothes plastered to their hard faces and bodies. From the bridge, the pair needed to descend down several staircases to reach the docks. From their vantage point, they could clearly see a cadre of people vigilantly waiting near the edge of the quay.
Together, they made their way down past the warehouses and mouldering buildings, emerging onto a wide, paved area bustling with activity.
Torana approached the stoic gathering of armoured individuals, the emblem of her father’s house now clearly visible on their chests. She stood several paces from them and removed her hood. “Father,” she called into the rain.
From within the armoured crowd emerged a man in finery wholly out of place in the Hook. A thick, gold chain lay about his broad shoulders, and the crushed velvet of his cape ran stripes of green and black down his back. Either side of him, a servant held an oilskin attached to a framework, protecting the Duke from the worst of the downpour. To his right, Pedrik stood scowling, a face to match the dour weather.
“Ah, daughter,” The Duke’s voice was deep and resonant, only mildly afflicted by age. “It is about time you arrived. Come, we leave immediately.”