"So how did you come to be a Seeker? You were always a rum archer and blade-woman. I thought you'd train for the guard." Rory's inquiry broke through Blayre's intense concentration. Familiar as she was with tuning out her Sense, it was an adjustment to actively use it for such a long period of time to detect danger. She felt more like the hunted than the hunter - a feeling both unwelcome and unusual.
The trees whispered around them, a cool breeze rustling through the budding leaves. Blayre shivered, gripping doves reigns a little more tightly.
Rolling the tension out of her shoulders she considered her answer. "The usual way, I suppose, though probably sooner than most. I broke my arm when I fell from a tree hiding from Seaver." Blayre smiled, thinking of her brother. "The local medic mage was useless and by the time I was of age for the twelve-year tests, I was basically impervious." Most Seekers had considerable resistance to magic, but the degree to which Blayre was unaffected by mage-power was unusual. "Sure I'm good with a knife and a bow, but those skills are still useful to me now." She adjusted her hands on Dove's reins.
"Besides, not many can completely resist magic as I can." She threw a pointed glance toward Ripley. A challenge. You can't get me with your charms and spells.
The Rogue mage's gaze fell on her for a brief moment, before he jerked away again.
"I am flattered that you recall me from so many years ago." Blayre added.
"I always admired you." Rory flashed a white smile. "Fierce determination and drive. Certainly traits to be desired in anyone serving the Crown."
Blayre flushed slightly. She was slowly getting used to Rory's generous compliments. Very slowly.
Before leaving she had repaired the small damages done between herself and Ainslee, who was still thoroughly convinced that Blayre had done more than offer innocent help to the duke those two nights prior at the Three Archers.
Ainslee had always been an impossible romantic.
Ripley squinted up at the sky through the dense trees that surrounded them. "I think a storm is brewing."
Blayre followed his gaze skeptically. "The sky is blue as can be in all directions, so far as I can see." The wind wasn't more than a caressing breeze, nor could she smell the damp air that was a tell-tale sign of oncoming rain.
"Not anytime soon, but by this evening I'm certain."
Blayre shivered again despite herself.
"Blumore the Fearless, afraid of storms?" Rory grinned wolfishly.
"Yes sir." Blayre said. "They come about in the mountains quicker than a rabbit trailed by a fox. There's nothing worse than being caught in one."
"Well lucky for us, Ripley is a skilled weather forecaster."
Gee I wonder why? Blayre thought sardonically.
"It will only be lucky for us if we can make it ahead of the storm," Ripley pointed out, ever the realist.
Pshaw. A rogue mage who's impossibly realistic. What are the odds?
It was only the three of them. Ripley and Lord Darach had decided Blayre would be sufficient protection against any magical attacks - and the least conspicuous way to travel. The larger the group, the more attention that would be drawn.
Of course they would agree on that front. Both of them knew her secret to some degree.
"You're scowling again, Blumore." Rory's husky voice interjected.
"Sorry, just thinking about the storm." She glanced at Ripley, hoping that the weather wasn't the only storm she had to worry about. They each had their secrets, but would that be enough to keep hers safe?
Miserable and shivering, Blayre peeled off her thoroughly soaked stockings with an audible suctioning noise. She cringed, tossing them into a pile of clothing by the fire. The storm still raged outside, torrential rain pummeling the windowpanes of the rented room. Her saturated clothing removed, she moved on creaking joints to properly hang it the currently unceremonious pile of damp clothes to hang in front of the fire. She glanced dubiously at the door that connected hers to Rory and Ripley's. Rory had insisted she have her own room. Itching from the caked on mud, Blayre decided that a bath was in order. She hoped Ripley and Rory could behave themselves without her for a few minutes.
The public bath was located on ground level down a back staircase that took Blayre somewhere behind the common room and kitchen area. She entered the women's bath, stripping off her fresh clothing and sinking into the mage-heated water with an audible sigh. The steam rose off the water like the fog over Blumore and Blayre submerged herself so that only her head was above water level.
Relaxed and feeling cleaner than she had in days, she exited the baths wrapped in a robe and made her way back up the staircase to her room. She could hear muffled voices on the other side of the connecting door. It sounded as though Rory and Ripley were arguing over something.
Blayre dressed and knocked softly on the door before letting herself into their room.
"You are absolutely not going to sit in the common room and risk exposing yourself more. We will order your supper and bring it up to you." Ripley was saying.
Rory ran fingers through his hair, letting out his breath in a huff. "Ripley, it is not your place to make that decision for me. It is not your place to make any decision for me." The duke's usually steady demeanor had been replaced by agitation.
Blayre leaned, one knee bent and foot against the wall beside the door, playing with the end of her braid, hoping to make herself as inconspicuous as possible - and regretting her decision to come into their room before the bickering had resolved itself.
"What do you think?" Rory asked abruptly, his gaze resting heavily on her.
Blayre glanced blankly between Rorrick and Ripley "What do I think?" she asked, her voice incredulous.
"What she thinks hardly matters, Rory." Ripley growled. "I'm the one trying to keep your frustrating ass alive." He was nearly yelling.
How close were Ripley and Rory that the rogue mage was so comfortable speaking out against the Duke? Blayre wondered, not for the first time.
"You recommended recruiting her to help protect me, if I recall correctly." Rory shot back, running a hand through his mess of copper curls again. Soon they would be mussed beyond repair. "It stands to reason that her opinion does matter."
Blayre decided that she did not want to be on Duke Rorrick's bad side. He remained calm and poised but lethal - like a mountain cat.
"Well, first of all, I think the two of you bicker like a married couple." She let that sink in for a moment as the two men eyed each other dubiously. Rory's mouth twitched ever so slightly.
"But to the point, I think the best hiding places are in plain sight." Blayre added, ignoring Ripley's deepening scowl - it wasn't as if he ever made a pleasant face where she was involved. She returned his gaze coolly. "Rory, If you hide up here, it will be easy for someone to come looking for the reclusive man. Staff like to gossip about the different ones, not the ones who blend in with everyone else. I'll do my best to stay on high alert while we're down there." She fingered the crystal in her pocket - the one that had been lodged in Rory's arm. It gave off a faint trace of the magic that had been imparted into it from whatever mage had laid the curse. She knew soon it would be devoid of magic and she was doing her best to commit it to memory like a bloodhound retains the scent of a criminal.
"Well that settles it," Rory gave one of his crooked smiles, and gave Ripley a loud thump on the back. The mage flinched, gaze still resting on Blayre.
He's probably thinking of all the magical things he can't do to me. She thought irritably.
They made their way down to the common room, and Blayre was acutely aware of the contrasting gazes of the men who followed her down - Rory's warm and Ripley's cold enough to freeze the underworld twice-over. She shivered despite the warmth of the inn.
She selected a table for them with easy access to both an exit and the staircase. Most of her packs and supplies were in the stable with Dove in case they needed to make a hasty escape. It seemed safe here, but she wanted to leave nothing to chance.
They sat and Blayre opened up the channel of her Sense, searching for any familiar magical traces. Unfortunately she likely wouldn't notice the magic unless it was being used or she were touching the mage. Neither situation was preferable. She caught the imprint of an extremely weak mage - barely enough to even be considered a mage really. He or she probably couldn't do more than spark a fire.
This inn was slightly higher end than The Three Archers, located in a town that experienced a higher amount of traffic due to it's proximity as a way-town between other destinations and the capital city. The atmosphere was warm and though it certainly had its share of drunken travelers, there were none of the rough edged mountain town traders and natives.
Their server was a pretty young woman with her golden brown tresses pulled away from her face into a braided bun. Her pretty blue eyes rested on the duke too long for comfort as far as Blayre was concerned. She slouched over her food, stabbing the tender beef and root vegetables with her fork. She wanted to make herself believe it was for his protection and not jealousy over a man she barely even knew that drove her expression into a scowl that matched Ripley's.
"She's giving you too much attention,"
Blayre glanced up at Ripley, who had addressed Rorrick.
Rorrick gave one of his crooked smiles. "Eh? Ye think so?"
"Enough with the Islander accent," Ripley hissed "You'll draw even more attention to yourself."
"I'm a bloody redheaded giant! My mere existence draws attention!"
Blayre leaned back in her chair, surprised by Rorrick's outburst. It seemed he had finally cracked beneath his carefully finished venir.
Ripley fumed "Well if this whole ruse is so damned useless, then you can find me in our rooms where I'd much prefer to be anyway!" He stood with a screech of his chair and swept away. Even without his magic use, he had the air of a wizard,Blayre observed - all drama and arrogance.
Blayre watched the exchange with equal degrees of horror and amusement, one hand hovering carefully over her the upward curve of her mouth.
When the rogue mage was presumably down the back hall and out of earshot, Blayre finally risked a glance at Rory who was glowering where he sat. The serving girl came back to check on him and briefly rested her hand on his shoulder, before catching his dark look and scrambling away.
Blayre snorted.
"Amused?"
"As I said earlier, the two of you squabble like an old married couple."
"Aye. We do at times." He rested his eyes on her.
"And it seems you've scared the serving girl away. Shameful." Blayre feigned nonchalance, cleaning the underside of her nails with her knife.
"Perhaps you scared her away." Rory said pointedly.
"As if a girl of her position has never seen a blade." she waved it in front of him.
"Let's get out of here."
Blayre raised an eyebrow. "You want to leave already?"
"No, I just want some fresh air. And now that it seems I'm off my leash. . ."
"It's raining."
"Your point, Blumore?"
"I just dried off." Blayre whined, arms folded across her chest.
"Perhaps it's tapered off. We won't know unless we check." His ocean eyes glittered.
A glance out the window told them that the storm had indeed passed over. Blayre hugged herself, staring out the windowpane, listening to the murmuring of voices behind her in the common room. Any satisfaction she had felt at Ripley's departure moments ago, was replaced by uneasiness. She didn't want to remove Rory from the security of the inn.
It wasn't as if she had a choice in the matter. How did you protect someone who outranked you? She knew the guards did it on a daily basis. But she wasn't a guard. And most people who took on guards wanted to ensure their own safety.
Not Duke Rorrick apparently. She looked up to see a flash of broad shoulders and copper curls out the window, leaving her with no choice but to follow after him, pushing through the small crowd of patrons between her and the exit.
She burst out of the front door in a panic, met by the rosy half-light that comes just after sunset. Glancing about, she nearly jumped out of her skin when a throat cleared beside her - a deep rumbling sound belonging to a certain giant redhead. With his red locks pulled messily back and his eyes crystal clear in the dim light, he looked like some dark golden god.
Blayre let out a stream of profanities, and much to her indignation, Rory began to laugh heartily. "I'll not let Ripley know that he took on a guard who allows me to sneak up on her."
"Most of the time when people are being protected they don't try to escape." Blayre said pointedly raising an eyebrow.
"Come on." Rorrick said, jerking his head in the direction of the road leading to the various shops and stands.
"The day market has to be closed by now." Blayre said warily, already suspecting where the duke was leading.
"Ah yes the day market." Rory said, his eyes glinting. "But a wolf can become a creature of the night, can she not, Blumore?"
Sun and Moon help me. Blayre thought, following dutifully behind him.
He led her to the market stalls, recovered from the rainstorm and setting up for the night market. Mellow music drifted languidly from somewhere near the central fountain. "Rory, we shouldn't be -"
"You know, I'm tired of being told what I should and shouldn't do, Blayre." Rory said plainly, "Just come on."
Clenching her teeth together, Blayre continued on beside him, nervousness wracking her form, and wondering not for the first time how she had managed to get herself into this. Not. Part. Of. The. Job. Except now it was part of her job.
They came upon a stall setting up with various handpainted instruments. Rory spoke briefly with the shopkeeper who was eyeing Rory appreciatively, probably deciding, after an assessment of Rory's well-made accoutrement, that the redheaded man could afford quite a bit. Tracing a running wolf design on one of the ocarinas, Blayre wondered how the black-bearded shopkeeper managed to paint such delicate designs on the instruments with such large hands. Perhaps he wasn't the one doing the work.
Another large but freckle-skinned hand moved over hers to pick up the ocarina. "How much for this one?" Rory inquired, raising it to his eyes, expertly looking and feeling for imperfections.
The artisan scrutinized Rory again and then glanced back at the ocarina. The man named a price and Blayre wrinkled her nose. Rory turned to her "Too much?"
"Far too much." Blayre laughed, turning to the seller "Thank you, sir, but we'll be moving on."
The man quickly reneged his first offer and lowered it to something more reasonable, if only slightly so.
Blayre was about to object again, but Rory pulled out his purse and gave the man the requested money before she could say otherwise.
As they walked away he handed it to her. "For you,"
She laughed nervously, "I have many talents but music is not one of them, Rory."
He waggled his bushy red eyebrows, eyes alight. "Well it is one of mine." And proceeded to play a bawdy tune on the strange mountain instrument.
"You're ruining the peacefulness of the night!" Blayre laughed, taking in the scrutinizing gazes around them. And drawing attention to yourself besides. But he looked so happy, and she imagined that he did not often have this kind of free-spirited fun.
A young boy appeared in front of them, dancing a jig to the lighthearted music as Rory played. The boy's feet tapped expertly on the cobblestone in a carefree mountain dance. Before long others had joined with both dancing and instruments. Blayre remained back at first, but Rory soon dragged her forward and convinced her to at least clap along.
"It's been a long while since I've felt this liberated," Rory said as they walked side-by-side back to the inn. Blayre glanced at him in the lamplight to see him grinning from ear-to-ear. She touched a finger to her cheeks, sore from grinning. It had been fun. She was glad that she hadn't denied him that, even though her instincts told her to be stuffy and keep him out of sight. No doubt there had been a couple of weak unmarked mages there - but she wasn't about to concern herself with that. Not with a real criminal on the loose.
A real criminal. She almost laughed aloud at the thought. Leave it to the attempted assassination of a royal to change her opinion of which type of unmarked mage was a criminal and which was not.
As they came within sight of the inn, Rory pressed the ocarina into Blayre's hands. "Whether or not ye can play it, it's yours." The lilt of his accent belied his islander heritage, and there was a gruff undertone to it.
"Thank you," Blayre said genuinely, moving the ceramic instrument from hand to hand. "Perhaps one day you can teach me."
Rory's eyes crinkled and he bared his teeth in a grin. "I'd like that." He was looking at her thoughtfully, they were nearly at the door when he opened his mouth to speak.
And then she felt it.
Panic swelled up in her and everything was in slow motion. She grabbed his arm and yanked it away from the door before he could open it, and give his presence away to the mage inside.
The mage who had placed a curse somewhere nearby.
The ocarina fell from her hands when she grabbed Rorrick. Some distant part of her took note of it, shattered on the ground, the running pack of wolves split into two halves. Two wolves in front, and the one in back.
"Get to the stable!" She hissed.. She doubted the mage had noticed them - they hadn't actually interacted with the curse he'd placed somewhere on the other side of the door, but his magical imprint had been indisputable to her.
"We don't have time to go get Ripley, hopefully he can figure it out himself." She whispered as they moved into the dark stables, the horses stomping restlessly around the two humans that had interrupted their sleep.
Rory nodded mutely though there was a questioning look in his eyes. He grabbed his gelding's tack and moved into the stall, much to the horse's disdain.
Blayre entered the next stall, moving lithely to the gray mare's side. "I'm sorry for disrupting your peaceful evening. I hope you got more rest than I did." She murmured to Dove, the calmness in her voice belying the racing of her heart. She expertly cinched her saddle and made sure everything was just right. It wouldn't do to risk her horse in the rush.
A sudden thought crossed her mind- what would Ripley think had happened? He was more likely to assume Blayre herself had kidnapped the duke. Hoping he would be reasonable, she reached into her pocket for the crystal and placed it in care of the drowsy stable lass who blinked and nodded blearily at Blayre's instructions to give the crystal to Ripley and Ripley only.
She met Rory in the stable aisle. Masked by darkness and the deep cowls of their cloaks, they led the horses out of the stable yard and mounted once they were clear of the inn. Her Sense on high alert, Blayre felt the magic of the would-be assassin drift away as they moved further and further away from the inn and the center of the town. She assumed and hoped that Ripley could hold his own. Reaching the town's limits, Blayre urged Dove into a canter, with Rory's horse matching strides alongside her - two cloaked figures melting into the moonless night.