89th of Dusk, 102

Kael had two ideas of what to do when he entered the Maiden’s Wing. The first was simple; walk in, approach the innkeeper, Draven Vale, and restrain him. Kael didn’t have a second idea in the beginning, however, once he considered the potential sympathizers or allies that could be seated—or working—in the Maiden’s Wing, he decided an alternative idea would be intelligent. Rather than restrain Draven at once and risk being swarmed, he would instead lead him outside to a quiet place and restrain him there. 

He chose the latter. Especially at this time. The sun was almost down, most people would be gathering at inns like the Maiden’s Wing for the amenities, booze, and vino. Not a good time to make a public scene.

The Sentinel pushed the door open and entered. The smell of sizzling grilled meats hit his nostrils. He walked past the tables of drunkards and commoners, keeping his head high and eyes fixed. Draven Vale stood at the counter, taking coins and wooden cups from one of the maids. He went to the back wall where barrels filled with booze lay, setting the tray of cups down on a table beside them. 

Before he could touch the spigot, Kael called out, projecting his voice over the common chatter. “Innkeeper.”

Draven jerked his head around, noticing the Sentinel standing at the counter. “Oh,” he said, putting the cup back on the tray and walking back towards the counter. “How may I help you, sir?”

“I would like to speak to you in private,” Kael said.

“Oh, of course,” Draven said, furrowing his brow. “Would the cellar work?”

“Outside would be more suitable.”

“That…that’s fine. One second.” The innkeeper scanned the room. “Eva!” he called out.

Seconds later, a young blonde woman, maybe of Hjofgardian descent, came rushing over. “Yes, sir?”

“Take over the counter for me,” Draven demanded.

“Oh, should I get Alfon?” the maid asked.

“No,”—the innkeeper glanced at the looming Sentinel—“I won’t be gone long.” You will.

“Of course, sir.” Eva glanced up nervously at Kael before averting her eyes and passing Draven as she made her way behind the counter.

The innkeeper stood in front of Kael. He had to have been at least a head and a half shorter than the Sentinel, yet held significantly more muscle. “Shall we, sir?”

“After you,” said Kael.

“Good evening, gentlemen. Would you like to come in?” Baron Vale said to the Sentinel and the Archbishop.

Marcus adjusted the collar of his cloak. “No, out here is better. Let’s have a walk.”

Baron studied Marcus. “Very well.” The leader of the Merchant’s Guild walked past him, then turned his head expectantly. Marcus and Ovince walked toward him. “No,” Baron hissed, eyes on Archbishop Kallo, “not you. You can return to the Hall.”

Marcus was struck, for one, that he appreciated how venomously the blood mage regarded the awful Archbishop; however, Ovince Kallo was still a point of leverage he had over Baron, and he did not want to lose him. Though…I know where to find him.

As though noticing Marcus’ internal strife, Baron spoke. “Don’t worry, Sentinel, I won’t be trying anything. I simply believe that if I stay in the presence of this blabbering oaf any longer, I will lose my temper.”

Marcus considered Baron, then cast a look at the waiting Archbishop. “Return to the Hall…and don’t you dare try anything.” If the Archbishop were to run off, he would be Archbishop no longer. “If you act out of line again, Evalor will hear of this.”

“Yes of course…you know where to find me,” the Archbishop responded. His eyes danced between Marcus and Baron before he turned around and left the two of them.

Marcus directed his attention at the blood mage. “Let’s go.”

Baron walked down the steps and met the Sentinel on the cobblestone street. “Lead the way.”

“Here,” said Kael, stopping. He had led Draven out of the night bustle that was the Main Street of Tairos, into the northwestern section. It was a docking district, and they had stopped at the riverfront. Kael figured an open space like this would be better. Night had fallen upon Valdora. Several warehouses sat by the docks, adding an unnatural glow to the water in front of them. Taverns for sailors could be seen upstream, smoke rising out of their stone chimneys. The slight smell of fish ran through the air. He figured a more open space, like the riverside, would be better in case there was a struggle.

Draven stopped and turned around to face Kael. His demeanor had shifted slightly, from the beaming young innkeeper to a more defiant frown. “If you don’t mind me asking, sir,” he said, “why have you brought me out here?” His tone was questioning, yet strangely flat and monotone, as if he already knew the answer.

“I brought you here to ask you questions,” Kael said. 

Draven took a slight step backward, closer to the flowing river. “What would you like to ask?” Should I just charge him? Kael considered his options. They weren’t too far apart from each other, but Draven seemed to be instinctively putting distance between the two.

“Why are you backing up?” Kael asked.

A defining silence ensued. Neither man spoke. Kael frowned, confused as to why Draven’s demeanor grew colder. Was that confrontational?

Draven opened his mouth, hesitated, then spoke. “Because I should be careful around a Sentinel…seeing as I’m a redsoul.”

Kael didn’t bother to speak. He could tell from the way that Draven was posturing towards him where this encounter was headed. Coupled with the fact that Draven had admitted his guilt, Kael realized it was time to restrain the man.

The Sentinel’s blade came out of its sheath, just in time to deflect Draven’s bounding strike. His enemy had covered the distance between them shockingly quickly. Kael took a step back, but the blood mage didn’t stop.

He was forced into a defensive position, blocking multiple blisteringly swift strikes in rapid succession with his sword. I can not follow his movements. However, he knew the limitations of blood magic—most did; he knew that Draven could not keep this up forever.

The second the knife strikes, wained in speed, Kael planted his back foot, took a step forward, and moved in, clearing the air in front of him with a wide strike. It fell short of grazing the blood mage, however, that was never the intention.

With Draven’s eye on the blade, Kael took another step forward, switching his stance, then sent his knee crashing into the red soul’s sternum. As his knee made contact, the pressure lifted as Draven separated himself from the Sentinel. The distance, once again, was open.

The blood mage quickly reached into the fold of his tunic with his free hand, pulling out two more daggers, each resting between his fingers. The second Kael stepped forward, Draven whipped the blades in his direction. Each one arced away from the other, symmetrically gliding through the air as they arced back towards each other—more specifically, towards Kael.

The Sentinel ducked down and rolled, hearing the metallic clang of the two daggers striking each other above him. Kael sprinted towards Draven, readying his blade by his hips for an upward strike.

Draven extended his hand outwards, then hesitated, opting to nimbly evade the diagonal strike by rolling to Kael’s side. The blood mage lunged at the Sentinel’s hips, attempting to tackle Kael to the ground.

Sloppy. The Sentinel hooked both arms under Draven’s armpits, slowly prying the monstrously strong blood mage off his body.

Draven, perhaps realizing he wouldn’t get Kael to the ground, separated from the Sentinel, throwing a strong right hand off the break.

Expecting a return punch, Draven leaned to his side, only to be met with a vicious kick snapping his head back the other way. The blood mage stumbled back, legs shaking below him. It’s over.

Draven extended his hand forward, as if asking for mercy, mercy Kael would not give. The Sentinel slowly marched towards the dazed blood mage, preparing his blade to cut the man—not kill him, but cut him. His lip curled up.

“Will you answer my questions now?” Kael asked. 

Draven, still wobbly, smirked in response. “You didn’t win.”

Two distinct sounds slowly rose over the sound of the rushing water. Two sharp whistling sounds.

Kael didn’t need to turn around to know what was coming. He side-stepped to the best of his ability, but not quickly enough to get out of harm’s way. The knives whistled by him, slicing through his armor and into his tricep, before falling to the ground in front of Draven.

A searing burn slowly rose in the Sentinel’s left arm. The clothes under his cloak began to soak as blood oozed out of the wound. Kael instinctively eyed the wound, but when he turned back to Draven, he was not there.

Suddenly, he lost his footing. Seconds later, he was on his back, Draven’s arm firmly pressed against his collarbone, pinning him to the ground.

The blood mage looked down on his constrained foe, smiling from ear to ear. “I win.”