Chapter 5
It was hard to believe that a city as beautiful and prosperous as Themis had something as regular as slums. But after the war with Plegia the city had needed to be rebuilt, and rather than build atop the ruins Themis was simply moved slightly to the side and its wall extended. The beautiful white stone buildings of the old city had fallen into disrepair, and shanty homes had quickly sprung up in the ruins where many of the refugees from the war had chosen to eke out a meagre existence. For a time life had been good, even for the refugees; work had been plentiful as the city had been rebuilt, and as long as they were willing to work there was work for the outcast and poor alike. Even now, nearly ten years later, construction still went on within the city, but since the majority of the city was done now the work had stopped being as plentiful, and the refugees had gone back to begging and thievery.
It was a common notion that, in the Themis Old City, one could find just about anything if they knew where to look. Stolen goods, the finest foods, wine fresh from the vineyard; if you knew who to ask and how much to pay, you could still live quite well in Old City.
However there was another thing that could be found in Old City; information.
That information being the sole reason that Arya had travelled east of the border. Although it was probably more accurate to say that she was in search of the truth.
The young girl slouched beneath her cloak, trying to be as inconspicuous as possible as she shuffled through the crowds on Old Main Street, the colonnade long having become a make-shift marketplace. Her eyes scanned the entire crowd in a glance as she moved, head still bowed. She ignored the merchants hocking their wares or the innkeepers offering her a room; it was late now, but that was when she was supposed to meet her 'contact'.
Ever since she had come to Ylisse this had been her life; skulking around in the shadows as she tried to make enough money to not starve. A few times she had almost given in to thievery, but the thought of having her hands cut off made her hold back.
Turning down a darkened alleyway Arya picked her way through the trash and refuse, arriving at the meeting point at exactly the same time as her contact.
"So?" she asked impatiently.
The contact, a man whose face she had never really seen, that had introduced himself with the name 'Lance', grinned at her beneath his hood.
"Still alive, huh kid?" he asked, purposely moving so that the coin purse on his hip jingled with the motion. "Got anything good for me tonight?"
Arya nodded, pulling a tattered piece of paper out of her cloak.
"The guards' patrol routes are going to be changing next month," she said, passing the ratty map she had drawn to him. "This is the new route that the Old Town guards are going to be taking."
Lance looked down at the paper before nodding once and digging a few coins out of his pouch.
"Good work, kid," he said, placing them in her outstretched hand. "And good timing. A new job's come up and it's right up your alley."
"No," Arya said instantly. "I don't want to play spy for you anymore."
"Then aren't you lucky it's legitimate work," Lance sneered, holding her out a new piece of paper. "House Rommel needs workers for their warehouses. They're so desperate they're even hiring Plegians. I figured you could go legit and get some juicy titbits of info for me, too."
Arya considered this a moment, crossing her arms and tapping her foot as she thought.
"And this is it?" she asked. "This one last job and I'm out?"
"Trust me kid," Lance laughed as he began to blend back into the shadows. "After this job, you'll have enough money to buy a whole village in that sandbox you call a homeland."
Idallia squinted a little as she stepped out of her carriage, her booted feet meeting the hard compacted dirt of the Southern Ylissean vineyard that Alvin called his centre of operations. Looking around her at the bustle of activity and movement she could easily see why it would hold such a title; even through harvest season was still a few months away the workers were moving with purpose, creating the casks and barrels to ferment the wine in, working out in the fields that stretched around the resplendent villa as far as her eye could see, not to mention the guards patrolling the perimeter of the warehouses fully armed and armoured.
"Lady Idallia, welcome to my home," Alvin said with a huge grin on his face as he stepped out of the carriage after her.
"It is most impressive," she admitted, glancing over her shoulder as the sound of hoof-beats finally caught up with the carriage.
Two knights wearing Rommel Clan livery pounded up beside the carriage, both wearing heavy armour and full-face helms.
"Let us not tarry," Alvin said, taking off toward the villa. "I'm sure you're eager to see why I called you out here."
Idallia nodded silently, signalling the knights. One dismounted, his heavy boots matching her pace as he followed the two merchants into the villa. All around the merchants curious eyes watched their progress across the yard; owing to the fact that Alvin wasn't a part of one of the larger merchant clans he rarely brought outsiders to the villa, so whenever a new arrival appeared it was a cause for the staff to take notice. A trio of servants in smart black suits met them at the entrance to the villa's main building, the oldest man, a dignified old man on the upper-range of sixty with long white hair and a drooping moustache, stepping forward and bowing low to them before silently opening the doors.
"Welcome back, sir," he said in a dignified tone. "The item is with the mages in the cellar."
"And our other project?" Alvin asked as he strode by the servants, barely sparing them a glance.
The head servant matched pace with Alvin, Idallia and her guard following behind them as the other two servants brought up the rear. The guard glanced over his shoulder at the two servants, his hand dipping slightly towards the hilt of the sword at his hip, causing the two younger men to pale and maintain extra distance from their guests.
"The mages have been working around the clock," the older servant said. "With the item in question as their catalyst there has been no further issue at all."
Alvin nodded, a satisfied grin on his face as he continued to walk. The older merchant spared Idallia a glance over his shoulder, his grin widening.
"I told you that you could trust me," he chuckled, before adding "partner."
Idallia rolled her eyes as they were led through a decadent receiving hall, much like that of any other successful merchant. Paintings and statues lined the plush carpets, the paintings mostly of vineyards from around the globe. A bust of the previous Exalt, Emmeryn, caught Idallia's eye for a moment before they were led through a doorway and into a comfortable receiving room. Alvin wasted no time blowing right through the room and out the other side, leading the group silently into the servant passages of the villa.
"And what of the harvest?" he asked his chamberlain idly as they walked. "Is there going to be enough hands this time, or are we going to have to bring in help from outside again?"
"If we are careful about rotating the shifts there should be no issue, sir," the chamberlain assured Alvin. "Although it would do to have a few extra hands on, just to be safe. Sir Abdul was kind enough to offer his services again."
"Bah," Alvin scoffed, turning another corner and descending a flight of stairs. "Leave the sand-rats in their desert. Every time we hire from across the border they eat more product than they pick. Worse comes to worse we'll send some people to go 'encourage' the southern islanders to sign up again."
"I shall make the necessary arrangements, sir," the chamberlain said with a bow before peeling off from the group at the bottom of the stairs.
Idallia hesitated as her feet touched the cold stonework of the cellar, the scent of wine pervading the air and everything around them. Of course one of the biggest Ylissean winemakers would have a giant cellar beneath his vineyard, but as she looked down the hallway running either direction of the stairs she was surprised to note that she couldn't see the end of either side.
"Impressive, right?" Alvin asked, instantly turning to the right and heading away from the villa. "These were all originally natural caverns. All we did to a lot of the deeper rooms was level out the floors. Makes a perfect place to let the wine settle. And to hide things that could potentially get us into trouble."
Idallia nodded as she followed him, the quiet chinking of her escort's armour the only sound echoing around them.
"What do you want to see first?" Alvin asked conversationally before letting out a chuckle. "Ah, it doesn't really matter when they're in the same room, does it?"
"What did you servant mean by 'with the item in question'?" Idallia asked suspiciously.
"It was what we were missing," Alvin said excitedly. "A catalyst for the mages to work with. A powerful… well, you'll see for yourselves in a minute."
They walked on in silence for another few minutes before coming into a large room, seemingly chosen at random, off the main hallway. Rough stone walls dotted with empty racks that would normally have held casks of wine covered the walls in their entirety, the ceiling in the low chamber held up by wooden posts. Clearly more racks had been removed from the centre of the room, judging from the scuff-marks all over the ground, but Idallia registered all of this as an afterthought as her gaze fell on the centre of the room.
Pushing past the excited Alvin the younger merchant stepped towards the knot of robed men in the centre of the room, between them…
"It worked," Idallia muttered, laying eyes on the full-grown gryphon chained to the floor.
The mages looked up, clearly exhausted from their efforts but satisfied as they stepped away from the creature.
"Excellent timing," the leader of the mages that Idallia had hired from Ylisstol's Mage Academy, Clarus, said with a tired grin. "We just finished."
The gryphon bristled as Idallia approached it, eyeing her warily. It was hard to believe that the creature, the size of a small horse now, had still been a juvenile when they had left it here. She moved without fear, though, as it was clear that the creature was securely chained down. Leather wraps held its great wings to its body, and thick chains and shackles secured it to the ground. A rough leather muzzle clenched its beak closed, but still it hissed through its nose at her.
The knight that had followed Idallia stepped past her suddenly, and began to roughly undo the straps on the gryphon's muzzle, much to the mages terror.
"Wait, don't!" Clarus warned. "It's not tame yet! You'll be-"
He stopped as the muzzle came loose and the gryphon lunged, its beak crunching down on the knight's gauntlet. The mages and servants flew into a panic, but Idallia and Alvin watched on with bemused expressions. Alvin actually chuckled a little. The gryphon continued to latch onto the calm knight's gauntlet as he tried to pull back, earning a harsh cuff upside the head from the man's free hand. Releasing the armour with a yelp the gryphon slunk back, clacking its beak and hissing menacingly.
"Do you have any idea how long it took us to get that muzzle on-" one of the younger mages started, stepping towards the knight angrily.
He never finished his question, falling back with his throat slit and gurgling as the knight lowered his dagger. The young mage tried to gasp, blood pooling around his form as the room went silent, the knight stepping over to the mage before stomping down in his ruined neck with one heavy armoured boot.
Maris pulled the full-faced helm he was wearing over his head, lank purple hair falling down into his eyes as he glared at the remaining three mages cowering away from him with sunken, black-ringed eyes. In the last year he had attempted to grow a rough beard to hide the brand on his face, but the top of the circle still protruded on his cheek through the thick purple hair.
"It's not big enough yet," Maris growled, tossing his helm aside with a loud clatter. "I'm heavy. He needs to be able to carry me."
The gryphon eyed Maris again as he approached, calmer this time in the face of his master. The knight reached up, running a gauntleted hand over the gryphon's crest.
"And don't muzzle my mount again," he added threateningly over his shoulder, glaring in particular at Alvin and Idallia.
Chrom let out a tired sigh as he ran his hand through his hair, the Exalt sitting up to stretch his back in the hard chair he used in his office. He had found that he didn't have a choice but to use the hardest, most uncomfortable chair he could find for the days that he dedicated to paperwork; otherwise he simply fell asleep at the desk.
With a satisfying pop Chrom's back snapped back into position, the Ylissean ruler letting out a tired yawn as he gazed out the window. There was a knock on his study's door, and with a disinterested grunt Chrom settled his chin on his hand and continued to stare out the window.
"It is still only mid-afternoon, milord," Frederick said, opening the door and stepping into the room.
Chrom snorted, grinning a little. Out of all of his servants, even his Wing-Commander Cordelia who had ridden against the dark dragon Grima at his side, Frederick was the only one brave enough to step into the study unless expressly bidden to do so. The grunt Chrom had given would have scared any others off, but Frederick had always seemed to ignore Chrom's not-so-subtle hints and warnings.
"What is it now, Frederick?" Chrom mumbled, still staring out the window. "You're the Knight Commander. Don't you have underlings to deliver your messages? Besides, I'm still trying to come up with a solution for the labourer shortage in the southern farmlands here…"
The Knight Commander, for such was Frederick's rank, crossed the small study in a few quick strides, the tall man's long legs eating up the space in seconds. Rather than the armour Chrom had come to associate the man with over the years he was wearing his crisp white and black suit, the same small black ribbon tied at his throat, holding his collar as always.
"Of course milord," Frederick nodded, placing a small stack of papers, reports most likely, on the table.
"And I do, in fact, make use of my 'underlings'," the bigger man went on. "However, considering that this information is something that you asked me to procure for you personally…"
Chrom glanced up, lethargically taking the papers and beginning to leaf through them.
"So rebuilding is going according to plan," Chrom stated, before sighing and tossing the report onto his table.
"Milord?" Frederick asked, somewhat perplexed.
"What the hell is he doing?" Chrom growled, planting his face in his hands.
"I assume you mean Robin, sire?" Frederick asked.
"Of course I mean Robin," Chrom snapped. "Do you know anyone else that can get under my skin like this?"
"I assume you mean besides myself?" Frederick deadpanned, quirking one brow on his otherwise serious face.
Chrom let out a haggard sigh, letting his head fall onto his desk.
"Why didn't he just come to us for help?" The Exalt asked at last. "He won't let me send labourers to speed the rebuilding, he won't let me send money to help him rebuild, he won't even let me send Vaike and the other Shepherds to keep watch over the rebuilding! What is going on with him?"
Unseen by his lord Frederick frowned slightly, the weight of the other report in his hands weighing a little heavier on his conscience now as he subtly moved it behind his back.
"Perhaps he does not want you to over-extend yourself, milord?" Frederick suggested soothingly. "Your popularity as a peace-time Exalt plummeted after the tax increase to rebuild Themis, and the labourer shortage in the agricultural areas is beginning to become a crisis, despite the over-population in the capitals."
"I know," Chrom groaned, falling for Frederick's diversion perfectly. "We just need to… incentivise the people still clinging to the capitals to go back out. We need to show them it's safe now, and they don't have to fear being attacked in their own homes anymore."
"These things take time, milord," Frederick said with a bow. "It may help if I increase the patrols of the knights for a short period."
"Then go do that," Chrom sighed, sitting back up and reaching for his papers again, the report Frederick had brought to him going unnoticed as it fell off the table. "I just need to figure out how to work this stupid incentive into the budget we have without making the palace go hungry… The girls already complain that we eat such Spartan food, and Lissa keeps giving me dirty looks at dinner."
Frederick nodded, the knowledge that the Ylissean Royal Family were on the same rations as the palace guard ate not new information to him, and subtly retreated from the room. As he reached the door, though, he was brought up short as Chrom called out to him.
"What's that other report, Frederick?" the Exalt asked tiredly.
"It is nothing, Milord," the Knight-Commander answered without hesitation. "Simply a troop disposition update that I am delivering to my beloved on my way back to my office."
Chrom nodded, clearly having lost interest again already, and Frederick slipped out into the hall. Once he had left the Royal Apartments Frederick let out a soft sigh of his own, glancing down at the report still in his hand. He was in the Knight's Wing now, which housed the Royal Guard, the Knight and Pegasus-Knight orders; it was also his home away from home, the place he felt most comfortable. Which was probably why he didn't notice the fact someone had snuck up on him until they were right behind him, he was so occupied with his inner turmoil.
"Frederick?" Cordelia asked, stopping a few paces away from him.
The Knight Commander glanced up at his wife in surprise. She was every bit as striking as she had been when they had first met nearly ten years ago; her silver armour had been cleaned to a mirror sheen, and her long red hair fell down her shoulders like a waterfall of flame, pinned back at the temples by her favourite little wing-patterned hair-clips as always.
"Ah, I was just coming to find you," he said, dropping his hands and subtly placing the report out of sight. "Lord Chrom wants us to increase our patrol presence in the Southlands for a time."
Cordelia smiled up at her husband, taking his free hand and walking side-by side with him through the halls.
"Then I suppose we had best get started on the rosters," Cordelia suggested. "Cynthia and the other Knights will be happy for the extra work, but Severa will be upset if we are home late again."
Frederick scoffed a little as they walked, subtly shoving the report into his pocket before anyone else could see it.
"I was hoping that the girl would lack her future-self's temper," he admitted in a low voice, causing his wife to chuckle a little.
"Well, that was almost a new record," Alvin sighed, sinking into a plush chair behind his desk. "What was that? Nearly half an hour before he killed something? That's progress, at least."
"I needed that man," Clarus muttered, shakily pouring himself a glass of brandy at the sidebar.
"We need every man!" Alvin snapped, losing his temper. "I can't have that psychopath running around our operation killing every person that looks at him sideways!"
Idallia chose to remain silent, crossing her arms as she looked at Alvin across his desk. They were in the merchant's office, a rather austere and simple room compared to the rest of the villa, but it was a wholly practical space that Idallia could respect. She sighed, moving to sit across from Alvin with Clarus as they moved to discuss the matter of the mystery 'item' that had been forgotten after the events that had taken place that afternoon.
"So then," Idallia decided to lead. "What was this 'item' that you were so excited about?"
"Right, right," Alvin sighed, dismissively waving towards Clarus as he took a deep and calming breath.
The mage, still pale and shaky, drained his glass before pulling a small lump of what appeared to be some form of ore out of his robes. The lumpy black mass, shot through with deep red lines that looked like veins in the weak evening light, made Idallia sick to look at, but her curiosity overcame the sense of unease that the thing instilled her with.
"This… this is but a small piece of what we've found," Clarus said, regaining his composure as he talked. "The ore has unique magical properties, but is incredibly hard to find. It is never buried deep in the earth, but once we find a deposit we know that the area will contain no more. Quite often a deposit is a small shard. This is the largest we have found so far."
"What is it?" Idallia asked, leaning forward to study the ore.
"We don't know," Clarus shrugged. "And there are no senior Dark Mages left to ask. None of the Druids we could find know either. But what we do know is that it's powerful."
Idallia nodded, opening her mouth to speak before another voice cut her off.
"Could it be turned into a weapon?" Maris asked, stepping into the room.
Clarus visibly gulped, trembling a little before shaking his head.
"Possibly," the mage explained, "But it would need to be forged with another metal. I'm no blacksmith, but the ore is very soft."
Maris stomped over, free now of his armour but still wearing his dark riding clothes, and took the lump of ore from the trembling mage. He held it up to the light, his expression softening for the barest of moments as he turned the lump over in his hands before hardening again.
"Use it to finish with Invincible and then forge it into a greatsword," Maris ordered, thrusting the ingot back at Clarus. "Use mythril. Spare no expense. If there's enough left I want it spread out in my armour."
"In… Invincible?" the mage repeated as the knight stalked from the room.
"It sounds like he's named his mount," Alvin chuckled, before looking lazily out the window and adding, "I'd be quick about finishing with that ore if I were you."
Clarus swallowed and nodded, practically leaping to his feet and fleeing the room, heading for the closest set of stairs to the cellar. Alvin shook his head before reaching beneath his desk and pulling a sheaf of papers out, tossing them towards Idallia.
"Here," he said, leaning back in his chair again. "Congratulations. We now own the city of Silva. Legally."
Idallia nodded and reached for the deeds, beginning to look through them with a sense of elation in her chest. They were getting closer. Now all they needed was for Maris to keep things together long enough to get to the next Khan-Meet, and their dream would become a reality.
Her gaze lingered on the door her unstable brother had left through, and Idallia couldn't help but wonder which one of them was truly in charge. Alvin chuckled, seeming to share her sentiments.
"He's still useful," the older merchant said in a light tone. "For now, anyway."
"And when he no longer poses any use?" Idallia asked in a low voice.
Alvin shrugged. "I'm sure you know what will have to be done if he can't be reined in. We've come too far for him to screw it all up now."
Idallia nodded slowly in agreement, her gaze never leaving the empty door.
Arya panted heavily as her feet pounded on the stone streets of Themis' Old Town, skidding a little as she took a turn into an alleyway to throw off her pursuers. She cursed under her breath as she stumbled on a loose stone in the darkened pathway, catching herself before she could fall face first. She cursed again, louder this time, when the sounds of pursuit followed her into the alley.
"There she is!"
"Don't let her get away!"
"Go 'round to the other side!"
"Get back here, desert-rat!"
With a show of dexterity that left the men pursuing her in complete awe Arya kicked off the ground, bouncing off one of the alleyway's more stable-looking walls onto the other before finding a handhold in the form of a loosened brick and clambering up onto the squat building's roof, a shower of dust and loose masonry marking her ascent.
"Some… someone go through the house! Hurry before we lose her again!" one of the men beneath her shouted indignantly.
Arya groaned and collapsed onto one knee on the rooftop, taking deep lungfuls of breath as she willed her heartbeat to slow. She only had a few minutes at best before her pursuers beat down the building's doors and climbed up to her, but she hadn't eaten in days, and she was getting dangerously close to collapsing.
With a pained grunt she pushed herself back up and into a run, leaping across the next alleyway to the adjoining building. That was the good thing about Old Town; the majority of the buildings around the Market Street were all the same height, and close enough together that you could hear your neighbour fart in the night. It was admittedly making Arya's life a lot easier now, but the tight alleyways were usually a pain; they were great short-cuts, but in the semi-lawless Old Town they were also the perfect places for muggers and thieves to hide, waiting for prey.
Judging from the shouting from behind and below her, the men were back on the trail of the girl, hounding her like animals. A few arrows whizzed by, shot by an inexperienced or rushed hand and missing her completely.
All of this over a few miserable shipping papers! Somehow word had made it to her employers, the Rommel Merchant Clan, that she had once worked for the information broker Lance; a man who had long-since been murdered by his competitors in just such a dark alley after Arya had severed ties with him when he'd refused to pay her. But 'once a thief, always a thief' was apparently a popular saying in Ylisse, and now she was being chased for 'questioning'. A few other labourers that she had worked with had gone for 'questioning', too, and had wound up being found in Old Town dead every single time.
It probably didn't help that she was Plegian, but that was another problem for another time.
Arya grunted again as she leapt across another gap, trying desperately to put distance between herself and her pursuers, her thoughts running wild as she forced her exhausted body to continue running.
However, because she was so tired she missed the warning signs as she ran heavily across the roof of the old building beneath her. With a loud crack the dilapidated roof gave out beneath her, and Arya felt a brief moment of weightlessness as she fell with the rubble into the building beneath her.
Everything went dark and close for a few moments, the world seeming to stop as Arya registered the fact she was still alive. With a shuddering breath that turned into a hacking cough she pulled herself out of the rubble, doubling over as her body fought to expel the dust from her lungs.
How long had she been running now, she wondered absently. And more importantly, how long were these goons going to keep chasing her?
Adrik growled as he leapt across alleyways, doing his best to keep pace with his smaller, nimble target.
He was having a bad day, that much was certain. The little desert-rat spy that was currently doing her best to out-run him was just the icing on the cake. In fact ever since the debacle in Silva a year ago his life had gone to hell in a hand-basket; Maris had got caught and subsequently gone nuts, merchant spies had popped up everywhere around the Rommel clan, and now even the Ylissean Knights were starting to nose around.
He grunted, landing awkwardly as he leapt across another gap. At least he could focus on the objective before him, rather than think big-picture. That was more the Captain and Maurice's thing.
He had his orders; the girl had stolen important information she had subsequently sold to an information broker, and while Maris was away Adrik was supposed to find out what she'd sold, and then disappear her.
Finally, though, some luck came his way and the girl fell through the roof of the next building.
"Darin! Erik! Go in through the ground floor!" he called out to his two men following her on the street before looking over his shoulder. "Ars, you're with me!"
There was no affirmative call from the street below them, but that would hardly be considered unusual during a chase; Ars just nodded behind him, the younger man panting as he struggled to keep pace with Adrik. They stopped just short of jumping onto the next roof like the girl had, carefully bounding across onto the sections of roof that seemed most stable. Adrik leapt carefully into the building beneath them, landing on the second story floor that the girl had apparently also fallen through. He blinked a few times as Ars dropped down with him, trying to force his eyes to adjust to the pitch black of the abandoned building.
"Remember," Adrik muttered, "We want her alive."
"Funny, I was just about to say the same thing."
Adrik and Ars both spun, raising their short-swords and desperately looking around. There was the sound of deep, animal-like chuckling, so quiet it was more like a whisper in the dark. Ars swallowed audibly as Adrik fumbled for his flint, striking the two pieces together to make a spark and-
Ars gave a throaty scream as he fell to the floor and was dragged away, leaving Adrik alone in the darkened building.
"What's wrong, little man-spawn?" the deep voice asked, almost purring.
Adrik didn't answer, starting to sweat as he desperately tried to light the small torch he kept in his equipment pouch.
"Too nervous to talk?" the voice asked from behind him. "That's cute."
Adrik finally managed to get the rags at the top of the torch lit, spinning and brandishing it like a weapon at the empty building behind him. He stared at it for a few brief moments in confusion before he felt something collide with his back, knocking him face first as a snarling something bore down on him. He kicked, managing to get it off of him enough to roll onto his back and look up at the giant talking wolf that was bearing down on him.
"Surprise," the wolf growled, baring its fangs at him.
With a wordless howl of terror Adrik ran from the building, colliding with Darin and Erik on his way out and sending the three of them sprawling.
"Adrik, what's-" Darin managed before Adrik screamed again.
"Run for your lives!" he shrieked. "Back to the Villa! Retreat!"
There was a low growl as the wolf stepped into the weak illumination of the moonlight streaming through the building's doorway, and the other two men paled as Adrik took off like a shot. With similar shouts of fear they followed after him, leaving the wolf to snicker in a very human fashion.
"Yes, very funny," a lower voice said from behind the wolf as a massive man stepped into the light, the unconscious form or Ars dangling from one of his meaty hands.
"You frightened the man-spawn," he went on, dropping the unconscious man at his feet. "But you let the girl get away."
The wolf shook its head, sitting back on its haunches. As it sat back the horse-sized wolf began to shrink, transforming into a tall woman with a mangy mane of auburn hair, blazing amber eyes and a wicked grin on her face. The man stepped towards her, his bare chest and face covered in old scars and his thick beard swaying with ornate beads and braids. Both of them wore barely any clothes; a simple leather loincloth on both, and the woman wearing a thin leather vest to hide her chest at her alpha's request.
"I don't care, let the other man-spawn deal with it," she shrugged, crossing her arms. "That was the most fun I've had since we were dragged across the ocean."
"The alpha was insistent on-" the big man started before the woman cut him off.
"I know what Robin said," she snapped, the tail protruding over the top of her loincloth swishing irritably. "I was there, you know. And I still don't like him."
Kowrowa rolled his eyes, crossing his own arms as he huffed a breath through his nose and glared at the smaller woman. Ita glared back up at him challengingly, her grin still in place.
"Come on, Kow," she goaded. "Tell me it wasn't funny."
Kowrowa sighed, shaking his head.
"Only a little," he admitted, a grin touching the edges of his fanged mouth.
Hin'rath wore a rare frown on his face as he strode purposefully through the Rommel Clan's villa, the other servants moving out of his path and refusing to meet his eyes when they spotted him for fear of earning his wrath.
It was late. He was tired. He still had a mountain of paperwork to take care of while Lady Idallia was away. And now…
"Idiots!" he roared as he stormed into the guard house.
Several of the assembled men looked up, the rest cowering from him, Adrik in the centre of the group pale and shaking as he faced down his employer's second in command.
"What part of 'capture the girl' was too complicated for you dirt-farming inbred hicks!?" the slight man continued to rage.
"Th-there were monsters in Old-Town, and-" Adrik started before Hin'rath cut him off.
"There are monsters in here, too," the Chon'sin native growled, his usually melodious voice low and dangerous.
The room went deadly silent for a brief moment before Maurice stepped forward, placing a protective hand on Adrik's shoulder.
"We'll get her, don't worry," the old man promised.
"If you come back empty handed again you die," Hin'rath stated simply, before turning on his heel and storming out of the guard house.
Adrik practically crumpled into the closest chair, one of the other men passing him a mug full of cheap wine to help take the edge off. Maurice turned around, looking at the rest of the assembled men. There were thirty warriors, all told, not including the villa's dedicated guard force of ten. That was what he had to work with. It would be more than enough.
"Right you lot," Maurice announced. "Get kitted up! All of you! It's all hands on deck for this one, 'cause I sure as hell don't want to listen to that nancy-boy yes-man talk to us like that again! Bring torches and light armour. We'll burn Old Town back down to the ground if that's what it takes."
Arya collapsed in the relative safety of another darkened alleyway, gasping for breath as she desperately hid herself behind a pile of refuse. Curling into a tight ball she closed her eyes and waited for her heartbeat to slow down.
What were those things!? She wondered, looking up again with wide eyes and tearing the hood off of her mousy brown hair.
They had been waiting for her in the darkness; beasts of some kind, like a wolf the size of a bear. But when the smaller one had locked eyes with her she had seen human intelligence behind its gaze. Grima, it looked like the beast had actually smiled at her.
She shuddered at the thought, pushing herself back to her feet, reminding herself that she wasn't safe yet.
How long had she been running now? Long enough for the Rommels to mount a more thorough search, in her mind. She needed to get out of the city, and soon. Make for the border, get back to Plegia and lay low in the desert. The Rommels had ties in Plegia, but they were supposedly tenuous at best, so Arya would make the best of that and lay low in her homeland for a while.
Glancing over her shoulder to make sure that there were no glowing amber eyes watching her in the shadows Arya tugged her hood up over her head again and stepped out onto the dimly lit street, angling for the closest city gate.
She moved quickly, trying to look inconspicuous as she watched all directions around her. She was rushing, though, so it felt like she was going to give herself away if anyone from the Rommel Clan spotted her… but the thought of those eyes in the darkness made her shudder and pick up her pace again. Arya glanced up, looking at the sky and the position of the stars to help her gauge how much time had gone by while she had been panicking, and let out a curse. She had spent more than an hour fleeing before collecting herself; more than enough time for the Rommel Clan to send out more men looking for her.
The usually boisterous streets of Old Town were deserted; even in the pre-dawn hours there were always crooks and thugs out looking to make a quick coin, or drunks stumbling home for the night. But the streets were empty. The people of old town knew that the Rommels were out for blood that night, and no one wanted to be caught in the crossfire.
Arya stumbled a little, righting herself and disappearing into another alleyway. She could feel their eyes on her back; the denizens of Old Town. They watched her, collectively breathing a sigh of 'better her than me'. She cursed the Ylisseans as cowards as she ducked her head low, scrunching her face up as frustrated tears threatened to spill out of her eyes.
She hadn't done anything wrong! She hadn't stolen anything! So why was she being hunted? Because she wanted to leave the Rommel Clan's employ? Hardly a reason to kill her.
She stopped suddenly, ducking into the shadows of the alley mouth as booted feet ran up the street outside of the opening. Arya watched as a blonde man in Feroxi clothes and two red-haired women rushed by, clearly looking for someone. She blinked as she watched them pass; they were unknown to her. Mercenaries, perhaps?
It didn't matter; soon the trio was gone around the corner, and Arya was left alone again. Taking a deep breath she darted into the street, making for the next alleyway, when a shout stopped her dead in her tracks, her terrified gaze snapping up.
"Hold, friend!" the blonde man called to her, rushing back up the street. "I, Owain Dark, mean you no harm! My sword hand lies still and-"
Arya didn't listen to the rest of his speech, darting down the closest alleyway and back into the shadows. From the street she could hear frustrated yelling from one of the women as their footsteps increased in pace.
"Gawds, Owain! You couldn't keep your trap shut, could you!?"
"Time is money, and you just cost us a lot!"
"It matters not!" the man cried in his defence. "For we've spotted her, and- gah, Severa stop hitting me!"
"Then run quietly! The whole town is gonna know what we're doing if you don't shut it!"
Arya had to resist the urge to laugh out loud at the mercenaries chasing her; there was no way they were Rommel employees. They were too unprofessional, too loud, and clearly too stupid. In fact it was almost like they wanted the others to know where they-
"There she is!" the familiar voice of one of the Rommel Clan's guards shouted from the other side of the alley.
Arya looked up, cursing the fact that she'd been tricked into another pincer move. More guards filled into the mouth of the alley, and with energy that the exhausted girl didn't know she had she kicked off the ground, leaping up to grab the window ledge of the closest building before pulling herself up to the roof again.
Once she was there Arya collapsed, rolling onto her back and heaving deep, exhausted breaths. She couldn't do that again. She just didn't have it left to do it again.
"Dammit all, not again!" the Guard shouted. "Into the buildings! Don't let her escape-"
"By the sealed sword I say nay!" the blonde man from before shouted, cutting the Rommel Guard off.
Arya glanced over the ledge of the building, still panting and gasping for breath, her exhausted limbs shaking, before her jaw dropped. The three strangers from the street had drawn their weapons and were running, sprinting, towards the Rommel Guards. The blonde man at their head was grinning ferally, his eyes wide and excited as he crashed into the Rommel Guards with what sounded like a guttural Feroxi war cry, the red-haired woman with the twintails right behind him, rolling her eyes as if she were used to such antics from the man. The other woman skidded to a stop, looking up to near where Arya was hiding. With a squeak she pulled her head back into safety, cursing herself as a fool for watching when she should have been running.
"If you can hear me, run!" the woman in the alley shouted. "We'll hold them here, but you need to get away!"
Arya's eyes widened, and she only hesitated for a moment before pushing herself back to her feet and taking off running again. She forced her exhausted muscles to move, propelling her along the rooftop again and across the gap to the next before sliding down a pole back to ground level. Arya looked both directions, deciding to keep going toward the Town Gate. Whoever the other guys were, they were giving her an out, and she was going to take it.
An hour later Arya collapsed again in the shadows of another alley, gasping for breath as she tried to hide herself from view.
"N-no more…" she whimpered, curling up again.
She couldn't take another step. She was exhausted, hungry, and scared. Arya was tempted to just let the Rommels take her, end her suffering and be done with it.
Keep going, a little voice said in her head. Keep running. Get to the gate. Get outside the city. You can still do it.
"I can't…" she groaned, leaning to the side and beginning to pass out.
She jerked awake as something dropped into her lap. A small vial, filled with brackish brown liquid sat in her lap. Arya blinked down at it before slowly lifting her gaze up and seeing three new faces. Or two new faces and a mask.
"Get up," the young man, clearly only a few years older than her, growled irritatedly.
The foreign woman, a beauty the likes of which Arya had never seen before, glowered at him silently, but held her tongue. She and the man were both wearing black coats, his hood pulled up over short dark hair while hers was back to reveal a long ponytail.
"Come on," the third, a man wearing a slit-eyed blue mask said encouragingly, his short blue hair swaying with his every motion. "Drink that, and it will give you strength. Make for the gate while we lead them off your trail. Find Robin. He'll protect you."
He stood from where he was crouching before Arya, offering her an encouraging smile before turning to the other two.
"She gets to that gate," the masked man declared.
"So we get to go play distraction again," the younger man sighed, rolling his arms around a little beneath his coat. "Great. Just great. I'm really starting to like this, you know?"
The woman simply nodded, casting a furtive glance over to Arya before the trio moved back out to the street and left Arya alone, lost for words and wondering just what in Grima's name was going on.
She looked down at the vial, giving it a quick glance before unstoppering it. She sniffed the contents, wrinkling her nose at the acrid stink. Arya sighed, deciding she had nothing to lose, and upended the vial's contents into her mouth. She coughed, the spicy liquid burning a trail down to her stomach, but energizing her at the same time. Within a few seconds Arya climbed timidly back to her feet, looking around the abandoned alley again.
"Who… are these people?" she wondered out loud, looking to the end of the alleyway that the two men and one woman had left from. "Who… is Robin?"
Arya shook the thoughts out of her head as the sound of more shouting reached her from the street as the mysterious trio met more of the Rommel Clan's thugs. Arya winced, running while others fought for her to escape for a second time. She was close to the city wall now, though, and the gate wasn't much farther away.
She stepped back out onto the street angling for the old city wall. The time to be cautious by taking the long way was over. Clearly the Rommels had moved out in force, and would be watching every approach. Arya just had to surprise them by taking the direct one and break through whatever they had waiting. She didn't doubt that she could, either, after that strange potion the masked man had given her. Arya rounded the corner onto the next street, full of confidence, and let out a sudden yelp as she collided with the man that had chased her across the roofs earlier, sending them both to the ground in a heap.
"Grah! Bloody sand-rat!" he roared, throwing the lighter girl off and climbing to his feet. "Let's see you get away now!"
Arya backed up a little, keenly aware that she couldn't risk doubling back again. Over the man's shoulder she spotted at least ten more Rommel men racing up the street. With a sinking feeling of resignation Arya drew the small dagger from the small of her back, stepping back into a fighting stance. She wasn't about to make it easy for them, despite her earlier fatalistic thoughts.
The man smirked, drawing his sword and signalling with his empty hand for the men behind him not to interfere.
"I only have to take you in alive, sand-rat," he growled, spitting the racial slur out with particular venom. "They didn't say just how alive, though. I'm going to enjoy this."
He raised his sword, Arya backpedalling and bringing up her dagger to fend off a blow that never came. Instead the man from before, the one in the black coat with short dark purple hair suddenly appeared between them, his arms and legs surrounded with a strange green glow that faded as he drew his fist back and the Rommel soldier staggered backwards, his face a bloody mess and his nose broken.
"Sand-rat, huh?" the man growled, a ferocious look on his face. "You just made this personal, dirt-farmer."
Arya watched, astonished, as the man in the coat lunged forward faster than her eyes could follow, the green glow returning to his limbs as he threw punch after punch at the Rommel soldier. Every blow was accompanied by a sudden gust of wind, throwing Arya's cloak around as she backed away.
The man, obviously another Plegian judging from his reaction to the racial slur that the soldier had used, danced between the soldiers, striking with his bare fists and that strange green glowing wind at weak points between armour plates, moving faster than the Rommel men could react. Arya jumped again as the masked man and the silent woman rushed past her, blades drawn as they rushed to their comrade's aid.
"Get to the gate!" the masked man shouted before he spun, his huge and beautiful greatsword forcing the Rommel men back again.
Arya watched in stunned silence for another second before spinning and running towards the comparative safety of the closest alleyway, ignoring the enraged shouts from the Rommel soldiers as the three strangers held them all at bay. Arya couldn't help but cast a glance over her shoulder and wonder, again, just who these people were, before she disappeared into the dark alleyway.
The sounds of men shouting were everywhere now; torchlight bounced off the walls of Old Town and reduced Arya's precious shadows to almost nothing. It appeared as if the entire Rommel Clan had shown up to hunt for her. Worse, it appeared that the entire Rommel Merchant Clan was congregated right in front of the broken old City Gate that was across the large square from Arya, open and inviting.
It had been a long night, but the sky was beginning to lighten. Arya shook the exhaustion she once again felt out of her head, focusing on escaping the city. If she didn't get out before the dawn she was as good as dead. There would be nowhere for her to hide in the daylight.
Arya looked forlornly at the gate over the heads of at least twenty armed soldiers and even more of the warehouse workers that had quite clearly been pressed into service. There was a wall of bodies between Arya and the gate, and she didn't know what to do. The houses and other buildings stopped almost two hundred meters back from the gates, and there was literally no cover between them and the massive wall. She couldn't go back, either; more Rommel men were stalking the streets, and their harsh voices and hurried footsteps were getting closer and closer.
She was trapped and out of options.
Arya stepped back from the corner, moving to the fading shadows and sinking down with her back against the closest wall, the harsh bricks scratching at her through her thin clothes and cloak.
What could she do? She didn't see a way through the crowd, let alone out of the city. Freedom and comparative safety was only two hundred meters away, but it may as well be on the other side of the planet for all the good it did Arya.
She let out a bitter laugh, pulling her dagger out from behind her back and looking at it in the weak pre-dawn light. She could always try to fight her way through and see how far she got. A life on the streets had taught her to fight quick and dirty, and she could probably take a few of them with her, but…
"It's hopeless," she sighed, hanging her head.
"Yeah, it sure seems that way," a strange voice answered her.
Arya looked up, coming face to face with an older man sitting across from her, against the opposite wall. He wore a similar coat to the other two, its hood pulled low over his face. She could tell he was old, though; long white hair the colour of snow hung out near his collar, even if the chin and smiling mouth she could see looked young.
Arya scoffed, twirling the dagger a little in her fingers. She wasn't even surprised anymore, after everything that had happened that night.
"So are you just going to sit here and wait for them to find you?" he asked, leaning forward slightly.
"Well what would you suggest?" Arya asked heatedly. "I'm sick of running. I didn't… I didn't even do anything!"
The man across from her nodded, grinning.
"So you're innocent, then?" he asked.
"Of course I am," Arya insisted, before bitterly adding, "they just hate me because… I'm Plegian. Everyone… everyone hates me."
The hooded man scoffed, smirking all the while.
"I don't hate you," he said kindly.
"Yeah, I'll bet you just want something from me," Arya said acidly. "Why else would you people be helping me?"
The man shrugged. "Well usually we do this kind of thing for free, but I could actually use your help."
"Uh-huh, sure," Arya mumbled, looking away.
"Tell you what," the man said, clapping his hands and standing before taking a few steps towards the city gates. "Why don't I get you clear of the city, and then we'll talk. You seem kinda tense sitting here."
"That is what you were trying to do, right?" he added, hesitating and glancing over his shoulder.
"It's impossible," Arya sighed. "There's got to be at least sixty or seventy guys out there. There's no way you can get me through alone."
The man stopped, turning to face her and frowning.
"Tell me," he said after studying her for a second. "How long did you out-run these guys alone?"
Arya glanced up at the man.
"About three days," she shrugged.
"How did you do it?" he asked her.
"I know Old Town," Arya admitted. "It is… was my home. I know its secrets, and I know its tricks."
"Superior use of knowledge and terrain…" the man muttered, stroking his chin in thought before perking up and looking at her beneath his hood again.
"Know how to fight?" he asked her nonchalantly.
"Yeah," she admitted hesitantly.
"Show me," the hooded man instructed. "Keep up with me. You get to the gate on your own two feet, you pass."
Arya shot to her feet as the strange man stepped out of the alley and towards the gate, seemingly oblivious to the men waiting for him. Arya rushed to the corner, expecting to see the Rommel soldiers descending on the hapless man, but instead was almost blown back by a blast of light and dust. She coughed a few times, blinking her vision clear and looked again.
The stranger stood in the middle of the seventy-odd soldiers, lightning leaping from his outstretched hand as the other spun a thin and elegant rapier around like it was a toy. The man ducked, dodged and weaved his way through the horde, throwing bolts of lightning and balls of fire at the Rommel soldiers or striking lightning fast with his blade as he went, his face never changing from the relaxed grin he wore. He looked back, noticing that Arya wasn't with him and waved his hand almost lazily, sending a ring of fire expanding around him until there was a circular wall of flames keeping the soldiers off of him.
"You coming?" he called back to Arya, snapping her out of her reverie.
The Plegian girl swallowed once before rushing forward to where the man was waiting for her. The flames separated as she approached, and he grinned down at her.
"Stay close and don't fall over," he instructed. "Rule number one of a battlefield; do not fall over. You fall down, you die."
Arya nodded as the strange man spun on his heel, dispelling the flames with another wave of his hand. They ran after that, the man occasionally parrying the weak blows of the soldiers brave enough to try and close with him, but whatever he had done in that second he had been out of Arya's sight had totally broken the enemy. A few times the soldiers went for her, but she managed to evade their blows and keep moving, dodging or parrying with her dagger.
It was almost anti-climactic when they emerged into the plains outside of Themis, the man glancing over his shoulder at Arya again as his pace slowed to an idyllic walk while the girl fought to catch her breath.
Arya wondered just what kind of monster she had gotten herself involved with now, but it didn't seem like he or his friends had meant her harm.
"Pfft, amateurs," the man laughed. "You'd think they'd never seen a Thoron spell before…"
"So what's your name, kid?" he asked flippantly, sheathing his sword when he was sure they weren't being followed yet
"A-Arya," she managed to gasp, close to collapsing.
"Well, hello Arya," the stranger said, drawing back his hood to reveal a young face, probably only in his late twenties at the most, framed by snow white hair.
"My name is Robin, and I could really use your help."