Fool's Errand - Chapter 10

The irony of Myria’s statement was not lost on Saraya, and she wondered if this was the gods’ idea of a cruel joke. For the sake of Veil’s request she’d donned the role of assassin and was heading to Neurial herself, so the notion that she’d become intertwined with another assassin doing same was almost too ridiculous of a coincidence to be believed. Surely her would-be killer was not after the same goal as well; now that would truly be outrageous. Regardless, the remainder of her journey had grown infinitely more perilous now, and though seeing it as a burden to be taken in under the wing of this Valor, perhaps it was a blessing in disguise.

Myria had spoken little before they’d momentarily parted ways, but the woman had stressed that the man who had tried to kill Saraya was no ordinary assassin. The acrobat couldn’t get much of an explanation as to what she had meant by that, but it confirmed her suspicions of lingering danger nonetheless. Of course, Saraya wanted no part of this sudden, shaky alliance, if only because the Slayer was admittedly hunting assassins. For all intents and purposes, even if she did not know it, Myria was Saraya’s enemy and so would surely turn on her if ever she discovered the reason behind the jester’s journey. And yet, though it was going to be difficult to keep her true intentions a secret, it remained in Saraya’s best interest to stay in Valor custody. The protection of one enemy was better than the murderous plans of the other, and as long as the acrobat could keep her mission silent, then she would be fine.

Still, being effectively held captive left her in a most contemptible position. Her freedom to maneuver had been completely stripped away, and so it would remain for an indeterminate amount of time. To run from this would invoke suspicion and leave herself open to danger, but to stay meant that Saraya would risk the discovery of the truth. Within one evening everything had beginning spiraling out of her control, and now she was trapped, a prisoner of someone else’s machinations. She would have to bide her time and wait to find her footing again, if only because she had no choice but to somehow reverse all this.

For now though, she was stuck under Myria’s judgmental eye, and thus she followed the woman’s order and prepared for travel. Though it saddened her to leave Mathias behind without a goodbye or explanation, her only option was to comply with whatever it was Myria had her do. The Valor captain had demanded that they leave the city quickly, and so leave they did, with five others accompanying them from the inn. Saraya was told that these others were soldiers, each well suited for combat, but the acrobat wasn’t convinced. Compared to a painted harlequin and a highly decorated Slayer, their companions appeared exceptionally plain. They may have had swords at their waists and spears strapped to their saddles, but did they honestly know how to use either?

Saraya sized them up as they passed out of Meridia, riding beneath the city’s north-facing gate. Though they were not formal military, she decided that this boring lot was likely well trained enough, yet would bet crowns to crumbs that she could take every one of them. Thinking about it though, there were only two reasons why Myria would have revealed that her companions were soldiers, and Saraya couldn’t decide which of them had been the woman’s motive. Did she mention this fact so that the acrobat would feel safe? Or did she speak it as a threat to keep her from running away? Honestly, Saraya wouldn’t have been surprised if the answer was a bit of both. After all, Myria wanted the acrobat’s aid, given freely or taken, and it was clear that the woman would have her way no matter what. For some reason, the assassin was simply that important to find, though Saraya couldn’t fathom why.

Thus Saraya silently pondered her position in all of this, keeping quiet as their horses plodded sleepily along the vacant road to the north. They were still near enough to the city that the path was laid with stone, and in the dead silence of night, the clacking sound of many hooves on rock sounded irritatingly noisy. Talon had proved a horror to raise so late into the night, and the black giant had thrown a sizeable tantrum before allowing himself to be saddled. Saraya could hardly blame the beast for his temper when she felt cranky too, though unlike Talon, she knew it wasn’t going to get better for either of them any time soon.

After a mile or so, once the horses had been properly paced, the group kicked into a gallop for the tree line. Fields that would be ploughed and planted come spring and the farmhouses beside them disappeared behind their backs as they plunged into the forest. Just as Saraya had guessed, the night was unbearably frigid, and the wind clawed at them constantly as they rode. Whistling through pines and shaking the canopy of black branches laden with spring buds, it threatened the weary travelers with promises of snow. The cloud cover had dissipated, blown apart by the winds, but the small sliver of a waxing moon did little to offer light. Small saddle lanterns jangling upon tiny hooks provided the only means by which the company could truly see. And though the oil-fed flames offered sight enough within the dark, they had to proceed along carefully nevertheless.

Footfalls and hazards of a road spurned in winter grew infinitely worse after nightfall. But such simple traps and threats were not the true reason for the group’s quick procession through the woods, nor the reason why they watched to roadside with such care. Used to travelling all year round, Saraya was likely the most aware of the risks they were taking by choosing to ride this late. Too she knew how lucky they were to have a Slayer along, as it was possible that they would need Myria’s skills before their journey’s end. Deep mud and pits were trouble in their own right, true, but they paled hopelessly in comparison to snarling jaws of dagger-sized teeth.

Creatures starved by a hard winter or newly awoke from hibernation were known to stalk well-travelled roads when growing desperate, and night provided a perfect cloak for all varieties of fanged things. Without the circus’s dracon about to act as their protectors, Saraya found herself putting a great deal of faith in Myria’s finely-crafted plate armor. If the woman was truly worthy of the trophies she wore, then perhaps the group could avoid any significant trouble.

But even if so, none of this accounted for the other numerous terrors of the road, as more than just wild animals were known to prowl the night. Bandits and highwaymen would soon be crawling out from their dens, eager to refill their drained coffers with spring coin. Desperate men were as watchful as any beast for signs of easy pickings, as too were those bloodthirsty dracon clans fresh out on the wing. A new spring never arrived without its fair share of disaster, and there was a good reason why the hiring of sellswords and Slayers picked up this time of year. The faster their procession made their way through the woods, the far safer their company would be, though they would have plainly been safer still just to not be travelling at all.

It wasn’t until hours later that they finally stopped to make camp, just as the signs of the morning sun became visible through the trees. Behind the wall of their countless limbs one could just make out the distant sky, where the dawn was tinted comforting shades of lilac, pink and gold. In so early a morning, stars still twinkled overhead in the lingering black, and at ground level everything was still beset by the darkened dead of night. By lantern light the group scrounged about for dry wood for a fire, and once a sizeable blaze was set to burn, bedrolls were laid out upon the scattered patches of dry grass. Being thoroughly exhausted, in mere minutes nearly everyone among them was asleep, with the quiet only broken by the sounds of the wind and the occasional grumble of soft snoring.

“Why Neurial?” Saraya asked after several long minutes had passed, being unable to drift off like the others for having caught a second wind.

Acting as their watch, Myria was the only other left awake, this being nothing short of a miracle. Saraya remembered how much ale the woman had ingested back at the tavern, and knew that the Slayer should have been the first of them to succumb to sleep. And yet, there she sat, solitarily brooding over the campfire while the rest were rent unconscious at every side.

“The assassin is a tool with which one may shift power, and there is much power to be had in Neurial right now. That man is allied to Honorbound Fairwater, and she is on her way to Cambria’s capital to attend the nearing moot. The assassin will go with her there. Even if not now, then soon. I cannot comb every corner in Meridia for him with what little manpower I currently possess, and so we will seek him in Neurial. He hunts us both now, after all, and thus it would do us well to enlist more eyes.” Myria spoke these words grimly as she poked a branch into the fire, forcing the logs to roll aside and release their heat. The wood crackled loudly at the introduction of fresh air, and an array sparks swirled upwards with the smoke.

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Saraya flicked away an ember that popped out from the flames, it having fallen too closely to her blanket for her comfort. Unlike the others, she had put her bedroll right next to the blaze, willing to risk singeing the fur of her cloak for the sake of getting warm.

“Do you know anything of Cambrian politics?” The question came unexpectedly.

“I have been in Cambria for only a short while,” Saraya said, “so, no, I don’t really know much of anything.” This wasn’t a lie, or at least Saraya didn’t believe it so. While Veil may have told her some things regarding Cambria’s current problems, it hadn’t meant that she fully understood it. Politics was a subject on which Saraya was particularly daft, though this was mostly because it was a topic that she chose actively to ignore.

Myria mulled this answer over as she peered into the blaze. “Then you should know this much at least before we get to Neurial. It will help us avoid unnecessary trouble.” Tossing a branch into the fire then, she began to explain. “Currently there exist two factions in Cambria: those who support the normal order, and those who don’t. Since the beginning, Cambria has been overseen by a Mediator, someone who settles disputes between the Honorbound who govern each region. But Cambria’s Mediator was recently found dead, and his original replacement was killed some years before. The current Mediator is thus one young and untested, and has been unable to earn the Honorbounds’ backing a result.”

“Because of this, there has been an uprising of sorts; led by the Honorbound who wish to govern without a Mediator’s input. There are many people who lobby support behind this idea, believing that the Honorbound are themselves governance enough. Those opposed to this are the ones who believe that the Mediator is necessary, that he is key to maintaining power and preventing civil war.”

Saraya rolled the information around inside her head, trying her best to absorb it. Now that she was forcing herself to pay attention, it was sinking in a little deeper now how important her mission from Veil truly was. If she was to succeed in what her mistress had planned, what would it do to Cambria and its people? “And where do you stand in all this?” Saraya wondered aloud.

“On the side of stability,” Myria stated matter-of-fact. “On the side that knows how much Cambria needs its Mediator. Those who wish for change do not realize what it is they seek, or what they will end up sacrificing to obtain it. They do not realize that having such power corrupts, and that the Mediator is in place to prevent this from happening. Or, worse, they choose not to see it, and ignore the possibility of a future where the exchange of power will only commence through the spilling of blood.”

“You speak of the future like you’re certain it will happen,” Saraya replied with some doubt. “Is it because you’re from Caedis?”

Just speaking the name caused Myria to straighten, as if she’d been struck by some unseen blow, and when she looked at Saraya now her expression was dark and cold. “I suppose you, being a Crystarian yourself, would fully understand what that means.”

Saraya nodded thoughtfully. She did indeed know. Though she had a tough time remembering certain historical events, she knew the tales of the Arcane War. In fact, At the Sides of Gods, the song she and Mathias had performed last evening, pertained to this very battle. The war had been one so great and so bloody that it had brought about the Fall of the last age, and had left half of the continent uninhabitable with a curse. The war had been between planesbreakers wielding Godsends and magic, and the gods who were forced to intervene as only they had the power to stop them. Supposedly, the province of Caedis held the descendents of those who had begun that horrid war, and their blood-red hair was a permanent mark of their shame. Even now, over five centuries later, some still considered those from Caedis with unspoken contempt, and likely Myria was familiar with such treatment, especially here in Cambria.

Fire danced in the grey of Myria’s eyes as she stared absently into the fire, thinking thoughts of which Saraya could only guess. “Sometimes,” she began, leaning her chin onto laced fingers, “I believe Cambrians think themselves immune to Cairvalis’s folly. Perhaps, even too noble to misuse so great a power.” She shook her head roughly then, and rubbed her hand over her face with a heavy sigh. “Gods below, why am I speaking of such things to you?”

“Because a good jester always has an ear ready to listen,” Saraya said, “and a Wanderer a smile and a helping hand.”

Myria scoffed at the line that was so clearly rehearsed before shooting Saraya the fiercest scowl she could muster. Her newly acquired glare she then turned back toward the fire, no doubt chastising herself for having possessed so loose a tongue.

Glumly Saraya sunk into the folds of her blanket, letting the fur bury her up to her lips. “What is the Valor?” She asked, her words muffled by the cloak. By changing the subject, she hoped that Myria would still be willing to converse in spite of the foul turn of her mood.

“An army for the Mediator,” the woman stated flatly, “made up of those that support him. Normally, in times of conflict, it is the Honorbound who lend their soldiers to the Mediator for use. But without that support, he is defenseless. The Valor has risen up so to fill the role of the Mediator’s protector, and it has earned us a great many enemies doing so. Some of the Honorbound themselves do not agree with our purpose, and for this reason, the Valor conducts all its operations in secret.”

“Is that why the assassin had such trouble finding you?”

“Perhaps, though it was the appearance of his kind that forced us into secrecy to begin with. The Valor nearly paid too high a price once before, so we will not risk such carelessness again.” Myria turned back to Saraya, but her eyes had not regained their prior warmth. “It is for this reason that I have you along. The man who tried to kill you is more important than you realize. Now tell me, what do you know of him?”

Saraya shied away from the Slayer’s icy, indifferent stare. She hadn’t intended for their talk to become an interrogation. “Nothing, other than his face,” the acrobat answered sheepishly. “He was willing to pay handsomely for me to find you, but other than that, that’s all I know.”

“Desperation, perhaps,” Myria stated, a guess that Saraya could neither confirm nor deny. “Have you had any other such dealings with his ilk?”

Alter suddenly snapped. Up to this point, Saraya hadn’t realized that Alter had been listening this whole time, though wasn’t surprised given that her other ego was ever present. Likely it was simply that Alter had nothing to say until now, and indeed, her observation seemed quite on point. Though Saraya hadn’t considered the question out of place at first, what did her prior dealings have to do with finding the assassin now?

“Why do you ask?” Saraya wondered curiously, fishing for some manner of clue.

“That is something you do not need to know,” Myria told her coldly. “You need only supply me with an answer.”

Saraya felt herself grimace, and unhappy with where this conversation was going, she peered up at the stars. “I’m a wandering entertainer,” she told the woman honestly, “I have dealings with his kind all the time.”

The truth only caused the frown of Myria’s hard expression to deepen. “That you speak it so plainly means you have either no regret or no fear, and I cannot decide which is the worse.” After saying this, she fell silent and slipped back into brooding, staying this way for a long while. So long did the silence last that Saraya thought their conversation concluded, and so she began to curl up for sleep.

“For the sake of my honor,” Myria began then suddenly, “I will protect you, as I said I would. But cause trouble for the Valor as you did last night, and I promise I will not lift a hand to help you.”

Saraya stopped for a moment, caught completely off guard by the threat. It seemed such a cruel thing to say. “That’s fair,” she replied once considering Myria’s point of view. “But if you must know, I want the assassin caught same as you.”

Alter corrected within Saraya’s head.

“Then there should be no trouble between the Valor and you, but regardless, consider yourself warned.” Pushing herself up from her place on the ground, Myria stood and turned as though to head off into the forest. “Get some sleep, girl,” she advised as an emotionless command. “We’ll be on the road again in a few hours.”

The Slayer then walked off, perhaps to check around the camp for signs of danger, departing just as snow began drifting down through the trees in large bundles of flakes. Saraya curled tightly away as one lighted upon her cheek, and she shivered as a chill shot through the entirety of her body. But it wasn’t truly the weather that was making her feel so cold; it was the callousness of her self-appointed protector. The Valor were not her allies, Saraya needed to remember his. They were just another party with which to do business. To them she was a tool and nothing more, to be discarded when her usefulness reached its end. That’s how it should be, she supposed, as they were the same to her, though Saraya felt little better for thinking of it this way. Tighter she curled up into a ball, trying to sleep as Myria had said, but only found herself plagued by thoughts and dreams of deeper longing for the circus.