Runaway Dragon – Chapter 10

All instances of executed justice looks about the same in Eyren’s eyes, across this continent. Maybe not the exact rites, the judges entailed, the terms employed or the ratio of crowds permitted, but should it be a public one that a township aspires to set up, they have a tendency of equaling each other in one way or another. In spite of that the scene here in Kambaresa is designed to be a trial and therefore guilt hasn’t been verified, everyone in attendance has knowledge of the result which will come from it, and subsequently this is not really an event associated with establishing fairness, but rather standing as a form of spectacle. Just as tons of cities and civilizations across this landmass, they have their hearts and minds set on humiliating their foes, letting the denizens vent their rage and affronts against a singular target, while simultaneously being leveraged as a means to unify and radicalize them against future action, should the city seek to take vengeance later down the line.

With hundreds of people assembled around a minor stage constructed in the market space, a woman – some form of lighter-skinned, black-haired and middle-aged lady in a light chainmail and leather armor – is escorted up to one of the podiums by four guards, arms fettered behind her back and dark eyes leveled downwards. She’s doing her utmost to stand proud while the inquiry commences, being interrogated by the local law administrators, and when she speaks, her Ahteron is quite obviously native. She’s an officer from a cell unknown to Eyren, but it likely isn’t anything she has to concern herself with for the moment. When this officer responds, the people shout or boo at her in varying measures and volume, and as a rule, the administrators don’t discourage this. What’s of consummate interest in this equation is perhaps how one can spot a man perched upon a chair somewhere in the back, in fine robes and with a hat adorned by a singular black feather along it, someone who Eyren would suppose is the Lord of the Talon himself. Hard to make out his features from here, but that he would be attending in person has to somehow accentuate the significance of this event.

Around this hour, three people are divided onto two spots in the neighborhood, only partially keeping their attention on what’s taking place in the center, for they’re mainly searching for the ultimate juncture where they might slip out without getting anyone moving on their heels. With Eyren positioned next to a stall of fruits, Razz standing behind her and Nivra mildly shadowed at her side, Eyren peeks up from one of the duplicate cloaks she and the Ahterilonan are donning, in order to peer across the street. By that end, her vision is oriented into the one of Osvij, who has his own borrowed raptor for the moment – a black and yellow-stripped male – and the duo’s eyes meet, sending each other solely a telltale nod. And thereby the signal is given, making Eyren tap Nivra’s shoulder, and the duo is off. Her faithful raptor persists in coursing behind them and sniffs Nivra gently on occasion, almost as if to reassure her.

As they pass along one street, Eyren observes as half a squad of local sentries are lined up, likely with the distinct orders to guarantee that the peace on the streets is not violated and thereupon to get rid of anyone who thinks to cause a bit of trouble. Although the plurality of these retainers pay little heed to them, Eyren locks onto the gaze of one fellow, who therefore lets his own tag her, wondering what she might be up to. Knowing what it’ll be about, Eyren endeavors to provoke a reaction out of him and she flicks her eyes sideways, as if to allude something for him. Arching his right eyebrow, the warder peers off to the vector she pointed out to him, but sees nothing of value…and when he looks back, the trio has vanished.

Through sneaking amid one of the proximate alleys, Nivra sticks to Eyren’s right, but there’s a regaled smile which presently adorns her lips.
“I saw that.”

“Hmm?”, wonders Eyren in pretended ignorance. “What?”

“Tsk, c’mon now, knighty. Didn’t reckon I’d miss your tricks, did ya? You’re pretty good at this skulking ’round gig, huh?”

Snorting and releasing her musings of disguising what she accomplished, Eyren shrugs evenly.
“It was part of my training back then, so this is not an act I’m unversed in.”

“Really? The Rittmark seriously conditions you guys for anything, don’t they?”

“In a manner of speaking. Every kind of terrain is vital to study and master traversal in, including cityscapes. And confrontations of any model is all about focus and social dominance, which can count for a lot when you recognize how to faze an opponent. A timely glance or a composed stride is quite efficient to drive an otherwise masterful individual to lose a step.”

Nivra’s smile tilts further to one end.
“Heh, looks like you aced your classes, then?”

Eyren breathes out from her nose.
“Doesn’t work every time, but yes, I won’t deny I’m good at what you’ve seen mostly as a result of their schooling.”
Continuing down they route and heading beyond a handful of houses, Eyren peeks to the second half of the road’s to the right, spotting how Osvij has skillfully kept pace with them and is already abiding along one wall over there with his raptor. Scratching one if his cheeks, he subtly points upwards, influencing the former knight to look towards the roofs.
“Hmm”, she expels and taps Nivra’s shoulder. “Up there.”

“Huh?”, goes Nivra, and listens to her request, only to spot a number of people above who’re clad in peculiar fur cloaks, with foreign helmets and weaponry in their belts. “Who’re they?”, she wonders in a hushed volume.

“Jogeden.”

“Those…northern warriors?”

“Mm. Built on that those two are posted on these housetops, guess they don’t wish to stick out too much.”

“Can’t be just two in the city, though, right?”

“Probably not. Wager the bulk of them are holed up elsewhere. Again, it’d be unwise to have big clutches of clumsy northern fighters clogging up the streets, so they must’ve assigned their top scouts to seats that’d give them an alright view. Come, let’s take a detour.”

“O…okay. You know best.”
Endeavoring to tread by a separate channel here in the rear sections, in order to avoid the sights of the northerners, they near an exit a little extra to the west and Eyren seems content with it for roughly five seconds. But abruptly, Eyren clasps Nivra’s arm and pulls her in behind some crates, where the two of them kneel down. This induces Razz to emulate them, being well astute to decipher when her human partner is on edge.
“What’s up?”, asks Nivra quietly, and Eyren first holds a finger over her own lips. Shortly thereupon, she aims this very digit outwards, and Nivra skims across the lid of the crate, where she out of nowhere distinguishes a discrete pair who traipses over the street beyond, decked out in foreign outfits which are mildly masked below cloaks, but Nivra can recognize the sky blue robes below. “Are they…?”

“From Dezasha, yeah. North River’s watchmen, no doubt.”

“Shit…so Osvij was on point with his findings…
Figured he was good, but he’s got his eyes open everywhere…”

“These guys are generally more the patrolling variation of guards. Even in their home city, they’re not as flagrant with their identities, and prioritize shifting around silently and sneakily. Then they arrest you while no one is the wiser.”

“…damn. Is this road out of reach too, then?”

“No no. We’ll just hold until they pass.”

On the far side of several minutes, they’ve eventually gotten nearer to the gates, being positioned in the final trail which shall take them up to it, albeit Eyren determines there could be one additional obstacle: they’d have to bypass the outermost guards that have been nominated to take the surveillance round that’s on right now. Even if they’re not exactly watchful, since there’s not a ton of people being let in today, it could amount to a faint hurdle if they elect to interrogate the pair. Then again, it’s better to just leap in and get rolling, to hope for the best.

It’s precisely upon the instant where Eyren considers steering them ahead that her senses flicker and she construes how several presences near them, both from above and behind.
“Wait…!”, she issues, but in this hour, her response isn’t sufficient to prevent what’s about to take place.

Dropping down in front of them or charging in from behind, the trio momentarily pinpoint how they’re entangled from two directions, and the first concrete reflection they take in is from one identical hallmark spotted on each separate person – their sand-yellow cloaks.
“Not so fast”, says one of those from the front, in native Ahteron.

The man who files into the center of four people that bar them out of this angle is someone with his head draped in a blue bandana, his skin paler and twin tusks protruding from his mouth. It doesn’t require an outstretched period for Eyren’s recollection to oscillate, and she looks back on her initial couple of days in Kambaresa. Was he not among those who ambushed her?
“You…”

“Hmph. We meet again, lone wolf. And it looks as if I made the right call in branding you a person worth targeting.”