Eyes In The Ember

Taldris Nox'Ryn

The city breathed differently here.

Taldris adjusted the hood of her cloak, stepping out from the shadow of the warehouse. Zadale stretched before her like a serpent of stone and smoke, its spires reaching hungrily toward the sky. The air smelled of iron and incense, burnt offerings from shrines nestled between merchant stalls, the faint tang of forge-smoke curling out from smithies, and the warm, heady aroma of spices. Once, spices had made Zadale famous. Now, they were a faint echo of a city at war.

Zadale was beautiful in the way that a blade was beautiful: sharp, polished, and deadly.

She moved with purpose, her boots soft against the cobbled streets, every sense alert. Around her, the others followed at staggered intervals, each blending in as they’d planned. Alric walked with a limp now, shoulders hunched like a traveling laborer. Brina had donned a tattered cloak and carried an empty basket on her back, a pious herbalist returning from the countryside. Kael and Caelen posed as private guards. Taldris herself wore the look of a city-born courier, cloak tight, stride brisk, eyes downcast but wary.

They had changed behind the warehouse, leaving their damp, reeking clothes behind along with the stench of the undercity. The new garments were plain, more believable, and had been provided by Terin.

Their plan was simple. Each would drift through the marketplace, watching and listening. After exactly two hours, they would regroup at The Dying Ember, an old tavern Terin’s father had once trusted, nestled between a tannery and an old brick wall.

Taldris wandered deeper into Zadale’s winding streets, letting the city swallow her.

The sun filtered down in long beams through high archways and canvas stalls. Colorful awnings fluttered overhead, casting patchwork shadows across the cobblestones. She passed a trio of street performers juggling fruits, their laughter sharp and exaggerated for the crowd. A spice-seller called out nearby, waving a handful of red-orange powder with stained fingers. Further ahead, a butcher shouted prices over the thud of cleavers.

She walked past stone courtyards where soldiers rested in partial armor, their helmets off but blades never far. At a small shrine to Aureus, god of order and justice, she saw a young man kneeling in prayer, his hand trembling as it hovered over a silver offering coin. The incense made her eyes sting.

Every so often, Taldris would pause, blending in with a cluster of onlookers or ducking into alleys to study the patterns of patrols. She was looking for signs: not just of danger, but of unrest. Whatever Zadale was building, it was doing that within these walls, and she needed to know where his shadow stretched.

Near the city’s northern edge, she spotted a line of wagons awaiting entry into a warehouse. A pair of soldiers with red falcon crests stood watch, inspecting documents. Taldris watched from a fruit stall, feigning interest in the bruised apples. However, nothing looked out of place. She moved on.

Eventually, she found herself on a quieter street, where an old fountain trickled beside a cracked mural of the goddess Ethra. Taldris sat on its edge, hood still drawn, watching the people pass by: nobles in red-trimmed coats, barefoot children running after carts, and priests in white silk with downturned eyes. Zadale looked alive, but she knew better.

As Taldris sat next to the mural, her thoughts turned towards the stone, the hidden crates, and the secrets this city hid. These thoughts had been on her mind for a few days. She had seen enough arcane components in her time to recognize when something wasn’t just basic military logistics. That stone wasn't being used for swords or even spellforged armor. She remembered the uneasy feeling it gave off. It was unstable. Dangerous. That was the only comfort she allowed herself: that something so dangerous wouldn't yield easily. She could only hope Zadale took its time trying to tame it, because once they did, time might be the last thing Lucia had.

She stood again, checking the light. It was best if she made her way to The Dying Ember. She approached a dwarf walking by for directions. As she moved, the market quarters began thinning: vendors packing up their wares, beggars settling near lamp posts, and watchmen beginning their quiet patrols. She kept her head low as she moved, weaving through narrow alleys and past shuttered stalls. The scent of roasting meat and stale ale began to thicken the closer she got. A slow hum of drunken laughter reached her ears, blending with the creak of wooden signs swinging in the wind.

She turned around a corner and at last, she spotted it: The Dying Ember.

It's a sign painted in deep red and gold, depicting a single ember glowing in a nest of ashes. The wood was polished, the windows clean, and the warm murmur of conversation drifted through the open door. It was a respectable place, welcoming enough for merchants and well-off travelers, but modest enough to avoid the eyes of officials.

She stepped inside.

The tavern walls were lined with old oak beams and shelves of books and what might be the owner's hunting trophies. A fireplace crackled steadily near the far wall, giving off a soft heat. Locals sat at tables nursing drinks, playing quiet games of dice, or trading gossip with one another. Behind the counter, the barkeep, a middle-aged man with neat silver-streaked hair, served with a practiced ease.

Her eyes swept the room, catching the familiar shape of Alric seated in a corner booth, his posture relaxed but his gaze alert. Brina sat beside him, hands folded in her lap, her traveling cloak wrapped close. Caelen was across from them, a tankard in hand

Taldris approached with a nod and slid into the booth beside Caelen.

“Sorry,” he muttered as he reached their table. “It wasn't easy finding this place without any major direction."

Alric set down his tankard with a soft clink. “Good. Everyone’s here.”

He leaned in, his voice dropping low. “We split again at dawn. The city’s too wide to cover together, and moving as a group makes us a target. We each follow different leads. I’ll try to get closer to the military quarter—watch for odd patrols or movement.”

“I’ll check the merchant routes,” Brina offered. “If Zadale’s moving supplies, someone in the trade hubs will know.”

Taldris frowned. “No. Splitting up is too dangerous. One mistake, and no one will be there to cover it.”

Kael glanced at her. “Then what do you suggest?”

“We stay together, at least until we’ve found solid ground. First, we need a place to lay low that doesn’t look suspicious,” she said.

“The warehouse district we came from had a few empty-looking buildings. They could work.” Alric replied.

Caelen nodded. “Yeah, some of them looked half-abandoned. Quiet enough.”

“That’s exactly the problem,” Taldris said. “Hiding in an empty building draws attention if anyone sees us go in. Locals know what’s lived in and what’s not.”

“Then what?” Alric asked.

“We stay here,” Taldris said simply. “Rent rooms at the tavern. Keep our heads down. No one suspects people who act like they belong.”

“But then they’ll know where we’re staying,” Alric countered.

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“Maybe. But it’ll raise fewer questions than sleeping in ruins,” she replied.

“And it’s more comfortable,” Kael added.

As the others spoke, Taldris’ gaze drifted toward the tavern door, then slowly swept across the crowded room. Her eyes lingered a second too long on a cloaked figure hunched near the hearth. Just a traveler, perhaps, but something in the way he hadn't touched his drink, or how his eyes flicked toward them when he thought no one was looking, made the hair on the back of her neck rise. She shifted in her seat, the familiar weight of her shortsword reassuring her.

Alric hesitated, then nodded. "Okay, that's sorted, but what's our plan ahead?"

“I heard there’s a chamber in the North Ward where the higher-ups meet,” Caelen said, his voice low. “If they’re building something, there’s a chance we’ll find proof there.”

Kael gave a dry laugh. “And how exactly do you suggest we pull that off? That’s not just any place, that’s the heart of the wolf’s den.”

Alric leaned back, arms crossed, as he considered Kael's words. The others watched him closely, waiting. “We won’t break in. Not right away,” he said finally, voice calm but resolute. “First, we learn their patterns.”

Caelen arched a brow. “You mean, stake it out?”

Alric nodded. “Exactly. We’ll observe the chamber for a few days, taking note of the guards, staff, and routines. Every building has a rhythm, and we’ll find theirs.”

Brina frowned. “Even if we learn the pattern, how do we get inside? We’re not nobles, and that place is likely sealed with more than just steel.”

“That’s where you come in,” Alric said, glancing at Taldris. “Illusion magic, right? We’ll need disguises. You can pass us off as staff, clerks, messengers… something?”

But Taldris didn't reply. There it was again. That quiet, creeping sensation prickling along the back of her neck. Like the air itself had grown too attentive. She didn’t look directly, but her posture shifted subtly, her shoulders turning just enough to give her a wider view of the room.

She leaned slightly toward Alric, her voice low and measured. “We’re not as invisible as we think. Someone’s eyes are on us.” He gave a faint nod, not looking at her directly. The illusion of safety was already fraying.

Alric’s fingers drummed once against the wooden table, a silent signal. Then he stood, stretching his arms with a casual grunt, as if the tankard and conversation had simply run their course. One by one, the others followed suit. Caelen tossed a few coins onto the table, enough to avoid suspicion. Kael gave a short, tired yawn, playing the part of a traveler looking for rest more than trouble.

They left in pairs, staggered. Alric and Kael went first, their pace slow, drifting toward the tavern’s back exit. A moment later, Brina and Caelen followed, slipping into the narrow street beyond like shadows caught on the wind. Taldris waited a few breaths longer. Then she stepped out, her stride steady, cloak brushing the tavern door behind her.

Taldris kept her pace even. The group moved away from the tavern, leaving behind the murmur of low voices and the occasional creak of shutters being drawn closed for the night.

Then a faint shift.

She caught it at the edge of her hearing: the creak of old hinges, soft but deliberate.

Her hand brushed against the hilt of her concealed shortblade as she angled her gaze toward the tavern’s side entrance, just enough to catch movement without drawing notice. The door she’d exited moments ago eased open again.

Two figures stepped into the alley.

This time, she got a clearer look. One was an Avian, feathers dark and cloak drawn close. The other, a tall human, broad-shouldered, with a deliberate stillness in his movements. Both wore the same muted cloaks, hoods low, and the red falcon of Zadale's military.

They were too careful to be ordinary patrolmen.

They might have recognised her or someone else from Ironwood. This was bad.

The human stepped forward, voice level but firm. “You there. Drow. We're with the city's military. Just a few questions, we won’t take much of your time.”

She stopped.

She caught the subtle shift of Alric’s hand inching toward the hilt of his blade. Tension crackled in the air; this was dangerous. A fight here, in the heart of enemy territory, would be suicide.

Her eyes flicked to the others. No time for hesitation. “Run. Now,” she whispered, barely audible, before quickening her pace, her cloak snapping behind her. The others didn’t need telling twice. In perfect sync, they ran down the closest alley like shadows fleeing the sun. Behind them, footsteps pounded against the cobblestones. The man’s voice rang out, sharp and commanding. “Hey! Halt!”

But none of them looked back.

The alley narrowed as they ran, stone walls closing in on either side, echoing every footfall like a drumbeat of urgency. Taldris led the way, her boots light against the uneven ground, cloak drawn tight to avoid catching. Behind her, Alric kept close, his movements precise, scanning every branching path.

Behind them, the clamor of pursuit grew louder. Maybe they were getting closer; maybe more men were joining the chase. She had no time to look back and check.

“Left!” Taldris hissed, cutting through a narrow passage barely wide enough for one. The group slipped into it like snakes, just as a pair of cloaked figures burst into the wider street behind them, squeezing through the gap in pursuit.

Now Alric and Caelen had the lead, and Taldris followed, as they twisted through a back corridor, vaulted a low fence, and entered a market square now empty in the late hours. Their boots splashed through shallow puddles from a recent wash, scattering rats and sending the scent of damp spices into the air.

Alric slowed only slightly to shout, “There, behind the tanner’s! Another alley!”

Taldris gritted her teeth, heart pounding as they careened around another corner into a tighter alley choked with hanging linens and half-rotted crates. She could hear the footsteps getting closer. They weren’t going to outrun them much longer.

Then, in the chaos of limbs and motion, she saw it.

A flicker of violet.

A small object tumbled from Caelen’s coat as he vaulted a broken barrel: smooth and crystalline, no larger than a clenched fist. It struck the cobbles with a dull clack and rolled against the base of a wall.

Taldris skidded, nearly tripping. Her breath caught. A shard, unmistakable in its hue and faint pulse. Even here, even now, she could feel the subtle hum of unstable arcane energy vibrating faintly off its surface.

Time seemed to slow, and for a brief moment, it was as if her arcane senses sharpened, every pulse of magic inside her humming with clarity.

The stone thrummed, its arcane energy seeping through her skin like a current searching for a channel. A sharp zapping sensation jolted up her arm, and with a gasp, her grip broke. Reflex forced her hand open, the shard slipped free, clattering to the ground again.

Behind her, the footsteps pounded louder. Closer.

No time.

With a sharp grunt, she shoved a stack of crates behind her. They toppled with a splintering crash, scattering produce across the alley and colliding with clay pots next to the wall. The pursuers came to a momentary halt.

But she wasn’t done.

She skidded to a stop just beyond the wreckage and drew a sharp breath. She closed her eyes and whispered a sharp incantation. Black smoke bled from her arms and fingertips, spiraling outward in thick, curling tendrils that swallowed the alley in magical darkness.

Shouts erupted behind her in panic and confusion.

She didn’t wait. Spinning on her heel, Taldris bolted, the edge of her cloak trailing smoke as she caught up with the others, veering down a narrow turn and disappearing into another twisting alley.

They ran for quite a while, as the twisting alleyways of Zadale blurred together in streaks of grey stone and dark shadow. Taldris turned sharply around a corner, her boots skidding slightly on damp cobblestone, nearly colliding with Kael as he slowed.

Then, nothing.

They halted in a narrow gap between two buildings, the world suddenly quiet. No shouting. No footsteps. Only the distant murmur of city life.

Taldris pressed her back to the cool wall, chest heaving, listening hard.

Nothing.

Alric scanned the mouth of the alley, blade halfway drawn. “They’re not following.”

“Lost them,” Caelen said, panting.

Taldris' spell might have just done the trick. There was a moment of silence as her eyes drifted back down the path they’d taken, where the smoke had cleared and the stone now lay somewhere abandoned in the dark.

Taldris turned sharply, her cloak swaying with the motion, her gaze locking onto Caelen. The tension in her shoulders hadn’t eased since the chase. “What were you doing with that stone?” Her voice was low, but there was steel beneath the words.

Caelen blinked, surprised by the sudden question. “What stone?”

“The one that fell from your coat,” she snapped. “The one we found at Ironwood.”

His brow furrowed. He reached into his pocket, fingers patting down the inner lining. Then the other side. Slowly, a realization dawned across his face. “Shit.”

Alric stepped closer. “You were carrying it this whole time?”

Caelen raised both hands defensively. “I didn’t know what it was. Back at Ironwood- I saw it in the crates while we were investigating. Thought it looked rare, valuable. I figured... maybe I could sell it later. I didn’t think it would fall-”

“You didn’t think,” Taldris cut in, her tone clipped. “You carried an unstable magical artifact with you, and now it’s lying in the open for anyone to find.”

Taldris turned away from him, muttering something under her breath in Elvish. “That thing was a mistake the moment it left that crate.”

“We can’t go back. Not now, not while they’re actively hunting us,” Alric said, his voice steady but firm. “That stone… It’s not our priority. We have orders, and we can’t risk compromising the mission over something we were never meant to recover.”

Taldris drew in a slow breath, steadying the churn of frustration building in her chest. He was right. As much as it grated her, they had a mission to see through, and it had already started going south the moment they were recognised in the tavern. They couldn't afford more mistakes.

The group fell silent again, only momentarily, before Kael broke it. "Well… at least we know we’re not staying in the tavern anymore.”