Fool's Errand - Chapter 12

Urgency carried them swiftly over the sprawling plains ahead, driving the troop through slumbering sections of ranches and farmhouses that lay scattered out over the outstretched expanse. Desire though she did to find help among these hamlets, Myria knew there would be no respite for them here. A humble, country alchemist could do little for Milla’s current condition, and the common goodwife would accomplish even less. A higher-learned city surgeon was the best hope they had for nursing their comrade back to health, and the only chance they had for saving the woman’s leg. Their momentary stop after breaching the forest had allowed them to stem the injury’s flow of blood and bought them time, but the state of the woman’s health continued to decline. Every decision Myria made now was forced to be done with haste, and there was no telling just how much time they had purchased for Milla, if any. Tonight, only the lowing livestock and the household hounds took any notice of the company’s passing, for until they reached Neurial, they would not stop.

The vast city of Neurial was at the heart of an island, though it was apt to say that the island itself was the city. Lodged between the Triia River and two branches of an adjoining river called the Droka, there was no way to enter Neurial without first crossing over water, and afterwards, scaling the high cliffs that bordered it. An impressive wall rose higher still above those island cliffs, entirely surrounding the capital. A lasting relic of an age long passed, it was said that the bones of Neurial’s walls had been crafted from dragon plate, back when the city had been called by another name. No one dared undo the wall to prove if such rumors were true, but the claims lent Neurial power nonetheless. No creature on Ira was larger than the titanic dragons, and though none had been seen since the era of the last Fall, no material discovered before or since was considered to be of higher quality. That the city still stood fast lent truth enough to the stories, so much so that even Myria did not question their validity.

During her many years in Cambria, Myria had frequented Neurial often and each time found that simply entering the city proved its own hurtle. Few cities across Elequa were as highly regarded as Neurial, and approaching it now felt reminiscent of riding into the daunting shadow of a mountain. A spider’s web of immaculate stone bridges crossed over the river ahead, and though commonly congested and cluttered, each one would grant passage into the city. The fleets of assorted ships that thread the waters below were the same, though tonight, both passenger and merchant vessels bobbed upon the current in silence. The closer the company got, the clearer it became that the hour would proffer them little in the way of advantage for circumventing the city’s usual obstacles. Neither the current time nor the season affected Neurial’s unending operations it seemed, as even now those wishing entry lined the lower footbridges in number, having set up simple camps along their entire lengths. From shore to city fires burned in small braziers and basins, illuminating the shadows beneath the overlapping crossings of higher bridges. Such campfires could be easily moved when the need to proceed arose, though not even half of those gathered would make it through the gates before dawn. At night, the guardsmen were overly cautious with whom they let into the city, and though few were turned away, they were all thoroughly inspected just the same.

Fortunately, Myria had a plan to bypass it all.

The highest level of every woven bridge was the largest and most direct course into the city. In times of war it could be used to move soldiers and supplies, and was the easiest path to defend if besieged. As such conflicts were unheard of, the highest levels had been repurposed to move large quantities of goods, be it in the form of traveling caravans or giant beasts transported into Neurial for the Arena. Single travelers and even small companies of merchants were always turned away if they attempted to use these less-traveled routes to save time. But on occasion, the appearance of an emergency could bend these rules.

Above them the towering city blotted out the stars as Myria drove her companions across the open bridge, ignoring everything but the brazier fires in the distance. The clacking of the horses’ hooves alerted the nearest guards to their arrival long before they broke into the light, and sliding to a sudden stop over the smoothed stonework of the river crossing, they were coldly greeted with the deadly points of several spears. Myria had, of course, expected this manner of aggressive welcome, as it was customary to treat unexpected night arrivals with suspicion. But having already faced two lao this night, simple men with simple spears she considered nothing.

“We require immediate entry into the city,” she began sternly, coaxing her war mare unflinchingly toward the wall of steel. “One of ours has been—”

“Off with you!” The words came out with a snap as a brawny yet lanky male naviin dressed in a decorated uniform strode out from a hidden door beside the gate. As he walked, he fiddled with the shoulder cape draped over his right arm, seeming unused to wearing this symbol of his rank.

Myria glowered at the red-skinned male as he haughtily approached. Already her rage had flared simply by being cut short, but she held her tongue while the man came forward to stand before them. Silently she watched as he looked them over with a shallow glance, trying to guess at their intentions without asking. But his conclusion, whatever it was, she knew was wrong.

“Travelers use the lower bridges,” the man explained with a curt swing of the hand, a gesture clearly meant to disperse them. “You will have to wait like everyone else. No exceptions.”

“You will make an exception for us,” Myria poignantly replied, causing the dark stripes on the man’s face to disfigure with a frown. “Lao have denned within your forests and have attacked my party. One of us is gravely injured and needs immediate aid.” Withholding the growl—though not the regality—from her voice, Myria motioned to Cavi who rode just behind her and beckoned the man up to her side. “My comrade is a trapper by trade and will inform you of the creatures’ whereabouts in the event that you are needed. Meanwhile, I will seek help for my companion inside the city and report the attack to my guild.” She hardened her gaze then, speaking her next words as a command. “Am I understood, captain?”

The authority with which she spoke must have tempered the man’s fury, for his expression seemed to soften with her explanation. Or perhaps he had finally noticed the sheen of her black armor, realizing only now that she was a Slayer. Being a Slayer in this city gifted Myria certain liberties, and some rules meant for common folk did not apply to her. Though Myria had no intention of stirring up trouble or flaunting status, she refused to let her party be turned away at the gate. If she must, she would abuse those privileges profited to her by Neurial’s Arena to obtain exactly that which she desired. This guard captain no doubt knew regulations, same as she, and so knew that the appearance of dangerous beasts took precedence over most other matters. Such a threat would need to be dealt with swiftly to prevent further death and damage. Matters of daily routine simply no longer applied.

“Understood,” the naviin replied, sounding more agreeable than before. Now that the situation had been made known to him, the man seemed most willing to cooperate. Certainly it was good that he was not an unreasonable sort, as conflict would have only further harmed Milla’s chances.

Immediately the man commanded his spearmen to lower their arms, and called one of them over to ride ahead. This rider, they were told, would inform the other watchmen that Myria’s party was not to be stopped or questioned at the other side of the gate; that the situation demanded that they be let through swiftly. Promptly then they were directed toward one of the wall’s side channels; a faster route than attempting to proceed through the main road’s many layers of gates. Thus, after giving Cavi his instructions and conveying to the captain a proper thanks, Myria rode on with the others into the city.

The chosen side channel proved a precarious ride, as it was lit only by a few crude sconces. Unmeant to be used much, if at all, during the night, though there were several balistraria in one side of the tunnel, at this hour there was no sunlight to guide their way. Myria and her men thus rode all but blindly down the passage, until the lights from the city ahead began seeping through. The other side of the channel had been opened long before they were destined to reach it, and in a galloping blaze they exited the tunnel without pause. Just as the captain had assured, they were neither stopped nor delayed, and so Myria raced on ahead into the vacant streets.

The whole of Neurial’s lower quarter now lay open before them; dark yet lit by dozens of street lanterns, and quiet though not entirely silent. If they had come into Neurial with the day, they would have carried on toward the risers farther into the undercity, where a series of mechanisms and pulleys would have transported them up into the city proper. Unfortunately, such contraptions would not be running during such an odd hour, and so they would have to use the winding side streets to climb the cliffs. This was the only way to ascend into Neurial’s heart at this time, and was by far a longer and more dangerous route.

On a night like this, when the somber ambience was disarmingly calm, it hid a myriad of troubles within its silence. A wholly different atmosphere than the boisterous commotion of day, Myria knew how treacherous these lower quarters could be. This was a place where thieves and the like tended to prey on unsuspecting new arrivals, where the common crowds would conceal fiendish movements. A small band of night travelers would be considered easy targets without the daylight to protect them, and getting lost was a sure way to meet disaster. Fortunately, it took only a brief pause for Myria to regain her bearings of the city, and upon doing so she kicked her horse into another sprint.

Because she lived in the Scar, Myria always entered Neurial from the south and so had memorized those streets needed to move quickly. Her destination tonight was the same as it always was: an inn for aspiring Arena Slayers called the Claw and Scale. In Neurial, it was common for all manner of businesses to ride off of the Arena’s success, and so the Claw and Scale was hardly the only inn of its kind. Still, the tavern had inevitably become Myria’s favored location within the city, partially because it boasted the largest variety of local spirits, but also because it sympathized with the Valor. At the Claw and Scale, the Valor could house and train potential recruits without drawing attention, but more importantly, contacting both Nathaniel and a surgeon would be possible there.

“Brond!” Myria bellowed as soon as she burst through the large tavern doors, marching briskly into the low light of the common room. With a quick glance around the grand hall she saw that there wasn’t a single patron awake, and noticed too that the fire within the open hearth had nearly died. But surely Brond, the inn’s proprietor, was awake somewhere around the tavern; there would be too much work to do for him to be sleeping now.

Baine pushed in through the door behind Myria, carrying Milla in his arms, just as Myria made to barge into the back rooms. Before she could reach them, however, a burly, balding man came out from the lantern glow of the kitchens, his expression quite irate at the loud intrusion. Dressed in a plain shirt with his sleeves rolled up passed the elbows, the man had clearly been in the midst of working when Myria called. The flour strewn across his apron in the shape of smeared hands revealed that he had been kneading dough before being interrupted. Whatever pulled him away had better be well worth the distraction.

“Brond!” Myria began again, having no time for a proper greeting. “I have need of a surgeon. You must send for one quickly!”

“What?” The man blurted out when faced with the sudden demand, fumbling somewhat for words at her abruptness. “What’s all this abou—” He stopped when his eyes fell upon the pale Milla, and all anger went out of him like water drained. “Garret!” He roared with new urgency into the darkened rooms at his back. “Andalis curse you a hundred years, boy, if you don’t get your scrawny hide out here NOW!” Somewhere in the dark there was a tumble, then a scuffle, before a bleary-eyed young lad emerged from the adjacent hallway, half asleep. Rubbing at his eyes, shirt half tucked in, the child appeared better suited to return to sleep than run an errand. “Fetch the surgeon, boy!” Brond ordered, almost spitting with a snarl. “And be quick about it or you’ll not eat for three days!”

You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.

The threat was enough that it sent the boy scrambling, and Myria assumed that he would surely run—even barefoot through the snow—to retrieve a doctor now. Brond then went to Milla as soon as the boy vanished, and pulling out a pair of spectacles from within a breast pocket, got in close to examine the woman’s leg. “What beast?” He asked, lifting one loose edge of the bandage.

“Lao,” Myria stated. “Caught by the outer maw when it attacked our horses.”

“Woman’s lucky she’s a leg left at all,” Brond grumbled, and putting his lenses away, he signaled with his head for them to follow. Up a wide set of stairs Baine and Myria climbed as Brond led them to an empty room around the first corner. “Put her in here,” he told them as he lit a candlestick and stepped inside, placing it atop a stand to light the room. “When the surgeon gets here I’ll send him straight in.”

“You have my thanks,” Myria replied, placing a heavy blanket over Milla, “and I will compensate you appropriately for the trouble. But for now, I would prefer to wait until after my companion is taken care of. As long as this suits you, of course.”

“As you will,” Brond said, and with a nod he left the room, returning to those duties that needed completed before dawn.

Myria dismissed Baine not long after Brond left, telling the man to see to the others in her absence. Because Milla was her responsibility, Myria decided to remain here until she knew for certain what the woman’s fate would be. Time slipped by then agonizingly slowly, and in the dim light it was so quiet that the Slayer could hear her own heartbeat through her armor. Milla was barely breathing, but there was nothing Myria could do to help. How she loathed the accursed feeling of being helpless.

Eventually, hurried steps from the hallway pricked her ears in the silence as a pair of boots plodded up the stairs, moving closer. In through the door burst a wizened green naviin, a bit disheveled in appearance but wide awake and eager, with a bulging satchel of supplies slung over his shoulder.

“This is the right room, yes?” The surgeon asked, though he was already coming in. The man moved so quickly in fact that he nearly knocked Myria over, forcing her out of the way before she had the chance to move. “Lao bite, lao bite. Horrid monsters, the lot of them! You dragged the woman here bleeding? Are you mad?! It’s a wonder she’s still alive! Alandia help us all if she’s gone into shock!”

Myria grimaced at the chastisement, but kept quiet just the same. In all her experiences with green naviin she knew it was best to let them ramble, as interrupting always somehow hindered their work. Certainly, the green Human’kin were some of their kind’s most eccentric, but they were also some of the most effective in the field of medicine. Of course, being effective was the innate trait of most naviin, no matter their field. Frustratingly, they were simply born to be that way.

“It’s good you called me!” The surgeon continued as he pushed back the bed’s blankets, cutting open the old bandage to clean the wound. “There’s no alchemist within a mile that could patch this leg up as well as me. I’ll have her walking by the next tenday, you mark my words!”

Myria scowled at the man’s back as he continued to fiddle about, working. “Without magic?” She stated, her tone flat and cold. She watched the surgeon’s movements closely for any telltale signs of change, but he carried on just as swiftly as before.

“Magic?” He scoffed. “Only crooked souls use magic. My methods are far superior to such a wicked thing!”

But Myria’s eyes only narrowed. Something in her gut told her the man was lying, and it burned her to suspect him of being a caster. Though a healer was not nearly as dangerous as any Primal caster could be, that he was possibly a planesbreaker still made Myria uneasy. Of course, Myria could not prove her hunch about the naviin, nor did she wish to besides. Because she wasn’t truly Cambrian, magic did not as much bother her, and if used for a good cause she would even condone it. But any other Cambrian would sooner die than accept the otherworldly treatment, and would see the man exiled for his practice, if not publicly hanged. Magic was viewed as an abysmal thing here, and given her heritage, Myria could hardly disagree.

“I do not care how you save the woman’s leg,” Myria muttered, turning away, “just as long as she is still able to use it. Tonight, I care nothing for methods, just results.” Without another word Myria left the man to his work, relieved, at the least, to know that Milla would walk.

She began toward the common room then, descending the stairs, and there began scrutinizing her recent actions. Perhaps she would have been wiser to take the woman’s leg off from the start, to use her Arm to remove the limb and cauterize the wound. She had considered it, back then, at least once or twice, and if she had done so Milla certainly would have suffered less. As gruesome as it would have been to do so, she could have used the severed limb to better distract the lao too, waylaying the beast with the bleeding meat while they escaped. But her comrades would have likely little appreciated such a callous tactic, and she would have lost a useful soldier in Milla as well. No, her decision to ride had been the right one, even if it had carried great risk, and her men would surely remember what lengths she had gone to for the aid of one.

Such pondering helped put Myria’s tired mind at ease, allowing her to think more clearly on those things ahead. She still had other duties to attend to, and they awaited her in the tavern, as did the potential of a stiff drink to soothe her stress. It was still far too early for the other patrons to have risen, and so her own were the only others currently awake within the drinking hall. The fire in the hearth had been rekindled at some point, and its light now painted the tavern’s elaborate woodwork and décor with a golden hue. Baine and the others sat in front of the stone fireplace nursing ales, and the acrobat was there with them, though not drinking.

“The girl…” Myria mumbled, remembering now how they’d outpaced the lao. The acrobat still had some explaining to do.

When Myria approached them, she found the group unusually quiet, particularly when compared to the last few days. Though fire and drink were present, conversation and levity were nowhere to be seen, and even the jester seemed out of sorts from the night’s events.

“How is she?” Baine asked as he handed Myria what remained of his ale, daring to be the first to break the room’s somber silence. Myria considered the truth before drinking it down with the spirit, wetting her throat and choosing her next words carefully before replying.

“Though the injury is severe, our expedience proved adequate, and Milla is expected to make a full recovery given enough time.” The good news rippled through the group and eased the tension like a wave, and one by one their dismal faces broke into smiles. “The surgeon suggests that she’ll be walking upon the next tenday,” Myria continued, “so we will be leaving her to rest until then.”

“And the quarry?” It was Cavi who posed the question, having just recently returned. “Are we to continue on with the hunt as before?” Though he used selective words to convey it, Myria knew he spoke of the assassin. It was for the assassin that they traveled here after all, and all knew his successful capture was of significant importance.

“She will no longer be a part of it, but it will not matter. If need be, our allies here will provide support.” Myria placed the emptied tankard upon the table by Baine. “I will be speaking with the commander shortly, and will arrange rooms for us here. So for now, rest and regain your strength until it’s time.”

This was all she had to say, and so curtly she turned away, leaving her men to return to their spirits and relaxation. For a moment, she paused and considered interrogating the acrobat, but this hardly seemed the time to discuss trivial matters. Right now, there were greater things that Myria still needed to do, and it was far more important that she speak to Nathaniel.

Navigating her way through the city’s many side streets and gutters, Myria had located the Valor sanctum before the dawn. It had not been easy to do so under the cover of night, nor had it been simple to avoid the wandering eyes of any watching. She had discarded her Slayer armor to better blend in with the frigid night, but without it, she felt all the more vulnerable inside the city. Neurial had changed a great deal since Myria’s last visit, and even the night seemed to hold its breath as though expecting trouble. This consuming air of hostility had never been so prevalent before, and it made her wonder what had happened in recent days to spark the change.

She removed the hood of her cloak as she entered the underground room, one with wooden casks and thin candles on every wall. This was one of the many locations that the Valor elect could use to meet in secret, and Myria had already sent word ahead that she’d be here. In the quiet she thus waited, listening to the movements above, where the shopkeepers were already pacing about stocking shelves. The gloom of a storage room was truly a horrid place to wait, and she felt herself relieved when a hidden door within the masonry slid aside.

In from the dark beyond walked a tall and breathtakingly handsome akiri, dousing the lantern he had used to light his way as he came inside. His profile sharp and countenance dignified, even in the weak candlelight the man appeared rather regal. Standing with proper posture, his hair and beard cleanly cut and well cared for, the man’s elegant visage was the same as it always was. In this place, Myria noted that his brown hair took on more of a reddish hue, yet his hazel eyes still flickered with a charming light. In a stately stride he approached, the glow of the candles glistening off his metal armor, and Myria felt herself unintentionally hold her breath.

Myria could never find her words in circumstances such as these. Nathaniel was the only man who could steal her breath away. A thousand curses on Belphor that she loved this man so, for he was already bound steadfast to a wife.

“I am glad to see that you have arrived safely,” Nathaniel began, “though I am sorry to hear about your soldier. Will she recover?”

“Yes, she will,” Myria answered, taking in every word that he spoke. She was relieved to see that Nathaniel was the same as he always was; polite and thoughtful as she knew him to be. Neurial had changed, and she had been afraid that Nathaniel would too, and so was most glad to find him wholly unaffected. “But that is not why I am here. You read my message, did you not?”

“Yes. You said that the assassin is heading here, that he might be here already. That bodes ill if the man is indeed from Fangris as you suggest. The Honorbound’s moot is taking place directly after the Springtide, and there’s no telling what sort of damage an attack of that nature would cause.”

“Aye. Which is why I am hoping to seize the man before then: to find out what he knows. I have a plan, but I would feel more confident in proceeding knowing that it had your approval.”

Nathaniel gave Myria a strange look, and indeed, she rightly deserved the odd glance, as Myria was never one to be so timid. “Your judgment is the reason I chose you to lead the Scar. You’re hardly one that is in need of my approval.”

“Be that as it may, I would have it regardless. Even I am not entirely certain of my choice.”

Nathaniel paused a moment, his expression one of thought. “Is this concerning the girl in your letter?”

Myria nodded. “There is something about her that unsettles me, and yet it is largely on her that my plan relies. She is neither Valor nor Cambrian, and her perceptions of life are highly dubious. It is ill conceived to hinge one’s plans on such a person.”

“So you would have me give my approval of your tool?”

“If you would. I do not trust her, but I do believe she will be of use. If you believe that she is of little threat to the Valor, then I will carry on as intended. But if not, then I will come up with something else.”

The noise Nathaniel made was something between a tired groan and a sigh, and for just a moment, Myria saw the full weight of the man’s fatigue. “The city has become a most treacherous place,” he began tiredly. “Every day there is more fighting between the two factions, and with the approaching moot, antagonizers are becoming braver, more violent. There is little time to waste if we are to maintain the peace, and there is still too much we do not know to be effective.” He fell silent again, muttering something unintelligible to himself. “Very well, I will see to your request tomorrow.”

“Thank you, Nathaniel,” Myria replied, putting her fist over her heart in salute. “Be assured I will do all I can to protect our interests.”

“Then find the assassin, and protect the Mediator, as you have sworn to me you will do.” He put a hand on her shoulder, locking his gaze with hers. “I have faith that you can do this for us all.”

Myria felt a surge of emotions swirl suddenly within her, as they always did whenever her eyes met with his. Always she and Nathaniel looked at each other this way, if only because she stood at his same height. They were the same; both strong, both capable in their own rights, but only Myria felt the pangs of intrusive feelings. Sometimes she wondered if this gaze was the root of the problem, that it rendered her Nathaniel’s equal and nothing else. She was his comrade, certainly, someone to stand beside him in battle, but with this gaze, did he never once see her as something more?

“I will succeed, you have my word,” Myria responded dutifully, putting such evil thoughts out of mind. “With or without the girl, I will protect the Mediator.”

“As is our mission,” Nathaniel stated solemnly with a nod, turning then to depart from whence he came. “You look tired, Myria. You should go and get some sleep.”

Myria thought on this for a moment as she pulled up her hood, securing it more tightly than intended around her shoulders. “Of us two, you are the worse,” she replied before stiffly climbing the cellar stairs. “Do rest, Nathaniel. It will help.” Leaving through the door before anything else could be said, she bit her tongue and started back to the world above and her waiting duties. It would pain Nathaniel’s wife to see him haggard like this. Myria knew it would, if only because it so deeply pained her the same way.