Fool's Errand - Chapter 17

In the hours that followed, Saraya explained herself fully, in particular how she had come to the conclusions that she had. Myria listened intently to all the girl had to say, and after hearing Saraya’s reasoning, she couldn’t deny the logic behind what she had first assumed to be a desperate guess. Already they knew that the assassin was working for the Honorbound in some way, even if they did not yet know the man’s true purpose. The acrobat had apparently built upon that knowledge, and given what she had witnessed, she was certain that the man meant to infiltrate Dragon’s Teeth. Saraya could not give a clear reason for such a move, of course, but she remained adamant about the assassin’s intent. Her time among criminal circles had provided her with such insight, or so she said, and Myria was reminded of Nathaniel’s wish for this very wisdom.

Now that there was credence behind the acrobat’s assumptions, Myria had to consider next what to do about it. Fortunately, the girl had already contemplated their position, and was able to put forth the beginning groundwork for a plan. At length they discussed what Saraya proposed: a surprisingly simple tactic given whom they chased. The girl wished to lay a trap, surrounding the assassin before he could move into action, as doing so would render the need to know the man’s true goals unnecessary. When asked how they would accomplish this, the acrobat assured Myria that, given time, she could locate those places best suited for the assassin’s purpose. Once found, the Valor would need only to hide in those places until the man showed, whereupon they could capture him as desired.

Indeed, the plan was simple, too simple in Myria’s eyes, and she voiced her worry that the assassin would see through such a rudimentary ruse. But the acrobat simply smiled that disarming jester grin, and added a twist to the plan that made it more feasible. She explained how she meant to fight the assassin again, using herself as a distraction while the Valor closed in. Myria innately knew how exceedingly dangerous such a task would be, and quite frankly, she was not convinced that the girl could handle it.

“Are you sure?” She asked the acrobat once they’d discussed it a little more.

“More than anything,” Saraya responded with a purr. “We’ve always meant to settle our score.” Such an answer did not ease Myria’s worries.

Truth be told, Myria did not like this last addition to the girl’s plan, if only for the risk it presented to her men if Saraya wound up choosing the wrong haunt. An armed distraction would indeed buy time for the Valor to move in and surround the man, but the girl was the only one who’d ever faced the assassin and returned unscathed. If the acrobat didn’t face him, then one of Myria’s soldiers would have to do so in her stead, and it was very unlikely that they would possess the girl’s same luck.

And yet, the plan was sound on all accounts save this, and so for the sake of success and time, Myria argued the point no further. Instead, she started into sculpting the finer workings of their plan, firstly by providing the acrobat with the full details concerning the upcoming Springtide. Saraya was sure that the assassin already knew how best to use the chaos to his advantage, and so insisted that she too must know all she could in order to properly deduce how he intended to proceed. Thankfully, Myria knew a great deal concerning Neurial’s Springtide event, and so passed all her knowledge on to Saraya.

She explained how the opening ceremony of the Springtide always consisted of a grand parade, one that the Arena financed every year. During that event, greater beasts would be paraded down the main streets with Arena Slayers, both current and aspiring, marching and riding mounts alongside the giant creatures. Myria had personally witnessed the spectacle on a few occasions, and could confirm that “chaos” was an apt way to describe its procession. The pinnacle of the event would take place at the Founders’ Square, the very place where she and Saraya had caught their first glimpse of the assassin. Myria told Saraya how the fountain there was a treasured part of the city; a commemorative piece dedicated to Neurial’s founding. It alluded to those Slayers of old who’d helped tame and build the city’s foundation, and assured that the parade’s peak always happened here no matter what.

Upon learning this, the girl started into a series of careful questions, and grew more confident with each answer Myria divulged. With the help of the Valor captain’s lengthy descriptions, the acrobat determined that the assassin would strike during the climax of the event’s opening ceremony. Given the girl’s reasoning, Myria came to agree, with both concluding that their window for securing the assassin’s capture would be small.

Once they’d finished conversing, they set out immediately thereafter, fully aware that they had precious little time to make this work. In what few days remained to them, Saraya thus scoured the city, picking and choosing the best places for the Valor to lie in wait. Myria meanwhile worked with her men to swiftly and ceaselessly do whatever they could to prepare for any contingency. With the acrobat’s help they covered all possible means of escape that they could imagine, setting eyes at every angle and at every chosen ambush. This net they together laid was a wide one indeed, and so they took extra measures to weave it tightly. As long as Saraya’s hunch was right, and with a little luck, the assassin would be in Valor custody before the parade’s end.

Inevitably the first day of Snowsbloom came, and with it, an overwhelming atmosphere of excitement. The streets were suffocated by a thick aura of energy, with the whole city plunged beneath a sea of celebration. Up on the rooftops, however, they’d been spared from the stress, as the airs of jubilation had come to wane within the heights. Myria was certainly glad to be out from under that pressing force, but found that she did not like being up so high on such smooth footing much better. Neurial’s central buildings were built of fine stone after all, and that same stone continued up to every structure’s peak. Unfortunately, this meant that the grip underfoot was dismally light, and made navigating these lips and ledges quite precarious.

In fact, treading such rooftops was nothing like walking on rooftops at all, and instead was more akin to traversing over a mountain worn smooth by countless rains. Though Myria oft enjoyed trekking over wild, expansive bluffs, this was nothing compared to those grassy climbs. The only saving grace she had upon these uncertain grounds was that Neurial’s skyline possessed many jutting steps and angles cut into their slopes. Such reliefs, be they for chimneys, perches or hideaways, aided with her progression, but even with these the path ahead was still treacherous.

Unlike the Slayer, however, who was wary concerning their chosen course, the acrobat was in her element completely. Bounding like a mountain goat over the cityscape stretched before her, the girl was threatening to outpace Myria and leave her well behind. Myria understood why the girl had insisted on taking this trek, for it would allow them to approach their vantage point undetected. Still, the Slayer would have much preferred arriving by a safer route. Nevertheless, she followed as quickly—and as safely—as she could. Clambering over the rooftops with as much grace as she could muster, Myria’s skills in hunting prey over similar terrain kept her near enough to the acrobat that she never lost sight of her. Even if she did, Myria knew the place where she and the girl were to perch, and the shelf was not too far off from them now.

Unsurprisingly, the acrobat reached their assigned location long before Myria did, and was waiting for the woman to catch up crouched upon the peak. Already she was glancing out across the rooftops for signs of movement, making sure to stay out of direct sight of the alley. Myria mimicked the girl in this when finally she reached her, and for now it seemed they were alone at this altitude.

Eventually, when Saraya moved into a different position to keep watch over the alleyway, Myria joined her in silent vigilance. Currently the road was empty, though both believed that this would change, as both were confident that the acrobat had chosen to guard the correct locale. This place was one of five locations that Saraya had selected near the main street, but here was where she was convinced that the assassin would appear. Myria did not distrust the girl’s intuition in this, and was well prepared for her part in the assassin’s capture. Saraya, however, appeared anxious by comparison; hardly unexpected considering the acrobat’s self-given role.

“The parade will soon start,” Myria spoke softly, this seeming to break the girl loose from the grip of her internal struggle.

“The Arena hunters will be there, won’t they?” Saraya asked, sparing a glance toward the main street. The girl had stopped calling such people Slayers for Myria’s sake, but the childlike admiration she held for them still remained.

“Yes. The most accomplished of them will lead the procession,” Myria explained, “as has always been their way.” The girl relaxed visibly, distracted by the conversation. It was what Myria had hoped for as she needed Saraya calm and at her best.

“Will Meredith be there?” Saraya questioned next.

“Meredith Drow?” Myria scoffed. “You favor that self-obsessed barbarian? She is the worst of the lot to receive your adoration.”

Saraya smiled and chuckled lightly as she looked back toward the alley. “Doesn’t change the fact that she fights like a beast, and that makes her the most fun to watch.”

Myria rolled her eyes with a sigh and stopped herself from continuing on. Already she could tell that Saraya deeply wanted to watch the Arena’s parade, and knew better than to risk dividing the girl’s attention further. Instead, Myria slipped into a slightly more comfortable position and gazed into the empty street below. In the distance, she could confirm that the festival was now underway. The cheers of the crowd and the roars of the beasts were enough to prove it. And as it drew nearer, a grand array of music began drifting up to their rooftop abode, its boisterous notes turning somewhat eerie for their echoing off so many walls. No doubt it was even more confusing down beneath them at street level; the acrobat was right to think that the assassin would potentially take advantage of all this noise.

“As soon as the parade reaches the fountain, he’ll move,” Saraya said as she sidled up beside Myria, having to be nearer so that she may speak softly and still be heard.

“To use the impending chaos, I know,” Myria replied with a nod. They had gone over this portion of the plan several times already, but the Valor captain still looked to the acrobat with some concern. “Are you certain you will be able to do as you said? Did he not nearly kill you last time?”

The girl frowned deeply at being reminded of it. “The last time we fought, he caught me off guard. That’s not going to happen again.”

Myria went to speak, but fell silent and looked out to the distance as a great cacophony of music, voices and roaring erupted from the streets beyond their sight. The parade had reached the fountain square. Finally, it was the moment they’d been waiting for.

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Quickly, Myria turned back to the alley below and spotted there a cloaked figure, walking where once none had been. The sudden appearance of the shadow almost startled her, as she had only glanced away for a few short seconds. Given what she knew of the assassin however, she supposed she should have expected nothing less. After all, the man had been successfully avoiding her for so long that it stood to reason that he always stalked thusly.

Myria looked over to Saraya as the girl stood up beside her then, and watched as she released a self-calming breath into the air. “And now, the show begins,” she mused, speaking it to herself. And then, with a wink to Myria, she leapt off of the roof.

The noise at street level was deafening indeed, just as Lon had anticipated it to be. But while it was bothersome being unable to pick out fine noises, those sound that would clue him in to possible ambushes or shadows, he did not feel compelled to need them. Of course he was being hounded—he’d been that since he’d arrived in Neurial—but the Valor was nothing if not predictable. Always their soldiers proceeded in the same way: stiffly, inexperienced, and untrained in the more delicate arts of stealth. Lon had had more than enough time to learn and memorize their patterns, and certainly he would see anyone well before they could approach. If, by some miracle, the Valor did manage to find him in this mess, then he’d simply lose them in the crowds and be on his way. Really, there were few things that could waylay Lon now, and those few things did not concern the Valor in any respect.

He chuckled to himself, almost unable to hear his own voice for the clamor, and remembered then the one thing he’d forgotten. He recounted the wonderful surprise—a last resort manner of plot—that he had waiting in store should the Valor unlikely prove itself competent in its hunt. Ah, that he would only be around long enough to see it unfold! Especially if the red-haired captain was the one ensnared!

Lon couldn’t stop himself from grinning at the thought, the image of that potential confrontation playing out in his mind. Quickly he threw it away however. It was better that he focus on the main goal of his mission. The assassin may not have spoken to Amelia in some time, but he knew that the woman would be expecting results soon. Today was the best chance Lon had to obtain that which the Honorbound desired, and for the sake of his reputation, he would not disappoint. The peacekeepers would be too distracted by the Springtide hoards and parade to notice him slip into the highly-guarded Blue Passage. That secret route was the best way into Dragon’s Teeth, and he’d already deduced the most effective method of getting in.

Yes, everything was going just as Lon had envisioned; even down to the Valor being on his tail. The cheering and roars of the Springtide festival would be his shroud, and a certain friend his very means of escape.

Perfect. It was all too perfect, just as he had planned, and silently Lon congratulated himself for his cleverness. How long had it been since last he’d had a full night of revelry? Perhaps tonight he would dare indulge himself after a job well done.

“Ah, but the job must first be done,” the assassin reminded himself coolly. He had a bad habit of getting ahead of himself when pleasure was involved, and he needn’t the distraction given the delicate and timely nature of his scheming. The parade had already reached the Founders’ Square after all, and thus now was the time to begin. He needed only head out into the street and disappear into the masses, and once there, the Valor would never find him again.

But just as Lon made to quicken his steps, a figure dropped into the alleyway from above. Bounding from the lowest of the surrounding window eaves, a young girl flipped off the stone ledge and into the street. Instinctively Lon’s hand snapped to his knife, but he relaxed upon realizing that this wasn’t a Valor scout. He knew too well how their sort would never deign use—let alone accomplish—such a grand entrance. Though this did beg the question as to who had arrived. Whoever it was, once they’d finished performing a most graceful landing, they turned to Lon with a low-swooping bow.

“Fancy meeting you here,” the girl before him began, her lips grinning charmingly as Lon had seen performers do.

All at once Lon’s momentary confusion disappeared as he recognized the girl’s painted hair and violet stripes, and his befuddlement was replaced by utmost disbelief. Immediately the assassin felt a wry smile spread across his face, feeling both amused and amazed that she was here. “You truly are insane,” he sneered at the acrobat. “That, or exceedingly foolish.”

But the girl simply straightened, her smile faltering not at all. “A good bit of both, I think,” she happily admitted, taking no offense. “And, perhaps, a bit too stubborn for my own good. You never paid your bill back in Meridia, you see, and I’ve come to collect that which I am owed.”

The outrageousness of the statement caused Lon to laugh out loud, a sound he hadn’t made in quite some time. “You would hound me for gold?” He barked to the air. “Please, even a stage fool cannot be so utterly foolish!” Curious of her reply, Lon watched as the girl’s smile only brightened with his remarks, taking on an innocence that he expected the jester had spent years rehearsing.

“For gold, no,” the girl conceded. “In truth, we’ve come to kill you. And I should like to do it quickly so that I may watch what’s left of the parade. It interests me far more than you do.”

As expected, the acrobat’s words were no less absurd, but this time, Lon didn’t feel like laughing. Instead, his wry smile twisted into one of malicious glee, while his eyes took on the feral glint of murderous intent. To any who knew him, they would have recognized this as a sign that the assassin was greatly offended, and know, too, how grave of a mistake had just been made. Under normal circumstances, and perhaps at a different time, Lon would have never taken such petty threats to heart. But there was something about the jester’s manner Lon found egregiously insulting, though he couldn’t rightly put his finger on just what. When he considered it, he believed that it was the way the girl spoke her intentions with such confidence; as though her victory was assured and the only outcome that awaited them. No lowly rogue or founding thief had ever dared speak to Lon in such a way before, and the notorious assassin simply couldn’t stand hearing something so…irritating.

With blades in his hands before he’d made his first step, Lon crossed the distance between them in a flash. His dirk and knife rang out loudly as they hit against opposing metal, for the girl had unsheathed a pair of daggers to intercept his own. Lon was suddenly reminded of their fight within the tavern, and was not surprised that the acrobat had anticipated his attack.

“This will not end the same way,” Lon growled coldly, pressing down on her blades.

The threat had been meant to frighten her, but the girl merely chuckled, responding with a wicked sneer. “Fool, that’s precisely what we’re hoping for!”

Shifting both footing and balance into a different position, the clever girl used Lon’s own strength to slip away. Like sliding over ice, the acrobat skated into a new stance, deflecting Lon to her side as he pressed forward in advance. The assassin was not fooled by the smoothness of the transition however, and too stepped around to keep the girl inside his range with footing firm. He struck out once with a feint and came back around with a sideways strike, keeping the girl on her toes as she fought to dodge and parry his attacking blades. With knife and dirk whirling, Lon went on a deadly assault, looking for openings in his opponent’s defenses as he drove her back. The girl was remarkably adept at keeping her distance though, and Lon saw how his every strike fed her every action. A step from him elicited a counter step from the jester, and his every swing was met with deflection rather than a solid block. Like a dancer this girl was keeping just beyond harm’s reach, never once attacking, but creating instead the most optimal defense comprised of footwork and spinning blades.

Against Lon’s desires their battle grew long, and he realized now that he’d forgotten just how this girl had managed to escape from him before. He remembered how odd he’d thought it then that a simple jester possessed such exemplary fighting skill. He thought the same now, but was less surprised, and believed that he’d figured out what the girl was trying to do. Much like in Meridia, where she was biding her time, the acrobat’s tactics seemed to hinge on stalling their battle. He recalled how, in the inn, her strike had come only when she could secure escape, though here it was far more likely that she was luring Lon into making a mistake.

Lon grinned to himself; this time there would be no mistake, and increasing his tempo, the assassin started into a faster, more precise series of blows. Just as he’d intended, the girl was driven onto her heels and forced to move backwards, where soon her back was pinned to the wall by his advance. Trapped as she was, and with less space to move, Lon came on relentlessly with a dizzying mixture of terrifying blows. Having little room to dance about, the acrobat struggled to block each strike, and though it was draining, Lon kept up the assault without pause. Now forced to stand and fight, the jester’s deflections were far less effective, and the advantage she once held was vanishing quickly. Being the larger and stronger of them, Lon knew it was only a matter of time before he overcame her, and better yet, he was certain that the acrobat knew it too. The last time this had occurred, the girl had made a desperate gamble for escape, and he wondered just how she would attempt to flee from him this time.

It was this error in judgment that undid him, Lon came to realize eventually, but only after it was too late to amend it. Like a switch the acrobat pressed forward with no warning, no longer on the defense, but advancing with the sole purpose to attack. Lon backed off quickly when he saw the inexplicable change, cursing himself for falling into a purely offensive rhythm. Now struggling to defend himself against the girl’s pinpoint strikes, Lon shuffled hastily backwards in retreat. The acrobat was proving to be as well versed in combat as any criminal he had ever faced; aiming for every vital point on the body and in such quick succession that Lon found himself flustered at the sudden emergence of such killing intent.

She’s been trained for this! He concluded as he slapped the girl’s blade away from his heart, the gleam in her eye cold and dead set to take his life. Lon tried to right himself, to get his feet back beneath him, and attempted to slip his dirk over the girl’s arm to buy him time. She countered him, again deflecting his stab harmlessly away, and when his second knife came around she threw her arm out wide to hold him back. Lon came in once more, aiming at this new opening at her chest, hoping that a feint into an arcing stab would reach its mark. The ruse worked, with the girl bringing up her blade to parry the false strike, allowing Lon to reroute his dirk downward toward her ribs. The acrobat’s defending dagger came down after him too late; Lon’s blade would glance off its steel and still hit her flesh. Or it would have, had the dagger not twisted then, where it somehow wrenched Lon’s dirk sideways and very nearly pulled it from his grasp.

Bewildered, Lon looked closer at the dagger the girl held in her hand, seeing clearly that it was a dagger no longer. It was a swordbreaker, with one edge wholly lined with metal teeth and Lon’s dirk trapped soundly within its clutches. Lon’s offense had been rendered useless by the appearance of the clever tool, and the assassin hadn’t even seen the acrobat switch to it!

While Lon struggled to recompose himself, the girl unexpectedly flipped backwards, ripping the assassin’s blade from his hand and planting a snapping kick into his jaw. Lon was knocked completely off balance, and try as he might to catch himself, he felt something wrap tightly around his ankles and steal his movement. Unable to move his feet properly, he fell, but instinctively rolled onto his shoulder so to get up quickly. As soon as his gloved hand hit stone he immediately began to rise, but the acrobat was there to kick his arm out from under him. Lon lost his leverage, and collapsed onto his stomach, whereupon he felt the girl’s weight drop hard into his back at the chest. Having used her knees to crush him, the force drove all the air from Lon’s lungs, leaving him stunned upon the ground, gasping.

Thoroughly dazed, Lon’s eyes swam in his skull during his futile attempts to move, but his limbs had yet to recover from the blow to his spine. Rough hands had him then, and he felt his arms and legs being tied, and it dawned on the assassin that he wasn’t being killed, but captured. Lon remembered in his haze that something had grappled his feet, something that hadn’t come from the jester, but rather from somewhere behind him. He looked up, seeking to know who it was that had intervened, and was surprised when a red-haired woman entered his vision.

Lon laughed, or attempted to, as his breath had not yet returned, and so it came out as a guttural wheeze within his throat. His greatest error, he realized now, was one he had made long ago by not killing the Valor captain, and his second was in thinking that the acrobat had run away. Never would he have ever expected the two bitches to work together.