Saeria sat on the balcony of Castle Silverwind. She rested her chin on her hand and watched the city below.
Thousands, perhaps tens of thousands, of people filled everything. They coated the castle grounds themselves, packed tightly around the outer walls, and massed in the streets beyond.
Every person had come to see The Lightbringer, The Stargazer, or both.
Usually, such a thing was a trifle. The dragoness knew from experience that all hero's, herself included, loved parading and showboating. This time they went unsated. One was deeply wounded, and the other was madly attempting to help.
Velwrith had refused several thousand offers of magical healing from Valtra, half the local clergy, a high bishop of The Goddess, his mother, and most offensively of all Saeria herself.
She couldn't even count the number of times she had clubbed or scorched him over the years and how many times Valtra or Oura had made her heal those wounds herself. But, when it came to scorched or blunt force, she was the most skilled healer he knew.
Scratching a scar on her breast, she remembered the sting of a thousand transferences. The first ones had been crude, always precisely where initially inflicted on her opponent, often manifesting much more severely and sometimes not entirely undoing the actual harm.
She could have taken that hand and transferred it to anyone else or several people. Or, with her finesse, she could have spread it so thin across his whole skin, then he wouldn't suffer any more than a regular sunburn.
But she knew Velwrith, and she knew he was immovable once he had some foolish notion in his head.
The door behind her clicked; she expected Valtra ready to send her on some chore, or Velwrith finally prepared to give up on this silly penance business. But, instead of turning, she patiently watched the city, not wanting to speak first in either case.
She nearly jumped off the tower at the sound of another man's voice. Well, don't you look entirely bored?
Turning to face her guest and fixing her ruffled dress, she said, "What, oh Valasta, yes I am. All these people about have the guards on their toes. You can't take two steps in the palace without getting poked with a spear. No better outside either, all the fun in the city is shuttered, with everyone here trying to gawk."
The handsome man laughed. "True indeed. Betsy and I were quite enthralled at the palace for the first night. But spending the last two days locked inside is far less impressive."
Swirling a fine black robe around a chair with one hand, he sat, smoothing his purple doublet tight with the other as he did so. "But that does bring me to the reason I'm here. Betsy and I plan to travel north to Silverport for a few weeks. I need to inform my other companions that I won't be continuing with them and to collect some of my things. I was here overseeing shipments for them after all."
She bit her lip, vexed at the implications. "I don't quite understand why you're telling me all of this. Do you want me to come with you or something?"
He smiled warmly, with devilish confidence. "Actually, yes, I very much do. Please forgive me for being so forward, but I am quite fond of your companionship."
Her first instinct was to refuse, to avoid being alone with such a handsome man, but somehow she couldn't. So finally, determining that she was just bored, she yielded to the offer of adventure. "Well, I suppose I don't see a reason not to join you, so long as you remember that I am a proper lady.
The devilish grin grew wider. "I would never imply differently, Saeria, my dear, never in any way at all."
#
The two set off northward the next day. They traveled without tents or need of many supplies. Silverport was only a day's ride away from Aldrey, and the entire route was a well-maintained cobblestone avenue.
Among the throngs of travelers, they were the only ones going away from Aldrey. The fact made them glad to have left when they had.
When they reached Silverport that evening, they found nearly every Inn and stable empty. Four of five innkeepers raced out their front door at the sound of hooves, shouting offers of complimentary amenities and discounts.
But the wizard had a specific destination in mind, for dinner at least. A bistro that served what he called authentic Myrmish food.
In all blacks, browns, and purples, the regal man guided her in her whites and red and golds through empty streets. Then, when darkness started to fall between the buildings, and still they urged their mounts onward, she found herself gripping her ax.
When they finally reached the waterfront, a crescent harbor stuffed with ocean vessels of every type, shape, and color, three smells crashed over her live tsunami.
The first smell was the water, nearly drowning out everything with its salted might. It was the most aromatic scent Saeria had ever smelled and somehow the most delicate.
The second was food, a spectacular spicey din of tastes and scents from lands she couldn't even imagine. Yet, without seeing the building, she could have followed that scent right to the door.
The third scent was something else, a sour smell she knew well, human sweat. Unlike the others, though, this came from corners all around them.
She took a breath, ready to offer the wizard a chance to tell his friends to back off.
Suddenly the psychic voice of the hat sounded all around. "My dears, I can see you're all quite lowly at the moment, but I highly recommend reconsidering your little plans. We three aren't just another set of nobles."
The thugs seemed to think the hat had been bluffing, leaping into sight all around.
Saeria pulled back of Daisey's reins, raised her ax in the air, and loosed narrow gout of fire from between her lips.
Two men dropped whatever they were holding and ran. Others cowered. One raised a crossbow and fired.
The bolt struck something intangible, rebounding to shatter a nearby window.
Nearby, Valasta had one hand on his reins, the other outstretched in her direction. Something that smelled like sterile emptiness wafted all around him like invisible steam.
Betsy spoke again, her stern grandmotherly tone booming in every nearby mind at once. "Stop this foolishness before someone gets hurt. All you'll get from us are scars."
More turned and ran, leaving the odds at three to one, counting Betsy, a combatant.
An older man stepped forward, drawing a sword, and speaking in a gruff, tired voice. "We shan't be fallin for any oh yer show tricks. Just give up yer gold, and we'll not need to hurt ya."
Another voice came from the direction of the Bistro. "Valasta, I can't let you out of my sight without you finding trouble now, can I?
A black-skinned adonis stood in the mouth of the alley, framed by the sea.
He wore an open blue admirals jacket with no shirt underneath, displaying his muscular chest and a conch shell necklace. He had a red bandana wrapping his bald head, with a blue tricorn overtop. His trousers were white, tied at the bottom, and held up by a tight-fitting sword belt. The blade at his hip gave him a swapper, but one far lighter than would be expected. He wore boots of incredible quality, made from the finest manta ray leather, with l silvery mithril studs and an adamantine toe.
Another black-skinned man appeared behind him, this one also handsome, if incomparable to the first. "Well, Theiass, love, he did say that something like this would happen. He always does have this sort of luck about him."
The first man studied the second, then laughed. Then, drawing a gleaming slivery cutlass, he turned back to the leader of the thieves. "Now, my friend, I'm going to offer you one more chance to leave our friends alone. Otherwise, you are going to have the three of us to deal with."
Saeria looked around. She could only see the two black-skinned men, the handsome one in his coat and the other with his seven-ringed staff and white bearskin cloak.
The thug leader stepped forward, waving his sword in the air. Saeria didn't hear what he said before the silver cutlass leaped at him. Somehow the man blocked with his sword, turning in an agile maneuver to bring the blade back around.
The man stumbled, slipped, and fell with a crash and a cry. A patch of Shiney ice was at his feet, and a foot of arrow was sticking from his leg.
Another arrow appeared in another thug, then another and another. Within a second, three more thugs were down and bleeding.
The black-skinned couple didn't sit idle; they both flowed through the crowd of men. The swordsman landed hamstrings and dodged cudgels and maces. The mage acted more conservatively, forced to use trickery to snare and trip his foes.
By the time Saeria knew what had happened, it was over. Eight men of various species lay on the ground around her, two smelling of death already. Valasta and the two black-skinned men were standing talking. A red-haired man, holding a longbow, had joined them.
Suddenly she realized the two black-skinned men were Myrmish elves, sea folk. The red-haired archer was a woodlander, a Teklem.
The sweetly grandmotherly voice of Betsy cooed in her mind. "Saeria, why don't you join us here while we wait for the guard. They will arrive any moment, and we need to ensure we have our story straight."
Without argument, she dismounted and joined her new accomplices with a smile.
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