Tallah

When she woke, the string of memory clung to her like the Olden’s sap. Confused at her surroundings, feeling out of place and adrift, it took a precious long time before she came fully to herself to rise from the depths of Sil’s bed. Instead of the tense season of running from the Protector’s domain, she was in a safe, soft bed, feeling very much like she did not deserve the sleep. Oh well.

The longer she played Tianna, the more her old memories and questions returned to plague her. Maybe she was slipping too far into her old self. Sarrinare laughed her braying laughter in her ear as Mertle splashed cold water onto her face.

She had intended for a quick nap to recover some of her strength before heading out, as would befit the haggard Tianna. Instead, she’d missed the day. Coffee waited for her, stone cold on the table. Still, shame to waste it.

The enchantment held, her armlet’s hot to the touch and its runes glowing faintly in the early-evening gloom. Three, maybe four bells left before the glamour began fading. With little heart for it, she dressed and headed back out into the cold. Every step forward helped Tianna reassert herself in her bones and the cobwebs of old memory fade.

Lucian… how to play Lucian tonight? A cautious snake at the best of times, the man could give an aelir’matar reason to be wary. Always poking. Always prodding. Always bloody inferring secrets from every little thing she said or did. And that infuriating half-smile of his that neither confirmed or denied a single word coming out of his mouth.

How Sil could deal with him and not punch the sleaze, Mertle couldn’t begin to imagine.

And now she had little time for his games. To give in and play them altogether was to tumble headfirst down a very steep incline with a lot of jagged bits at the bottom. If she allowed him a moment’s control of the conversation—

Someone grabbed her arm and roughly yanked her sideways. A kick to her feet scythe them out from under her and she found herself down in dirty snow, in a foul smelling alley. A knife pressed to her neck and a hand covered her mouth. Calloused. Rough. Smelling of soap.

“Search her,” a hushed voice—a man’s hushed voice—commanded to someone to the side.

Other rough hands dug under her coat and cloak to grope at her and ransacked her pockets. Her arms, however, they left free.

Sloppy work.

A knife slipped into her palm from her sleeve. The man atop her was too confident that a blade at her throat was enough to keep her docile. She’d been too involved in her own thoughts, too drawn out and fuzzy with poor sleep, or else some common thieves wouldn’t have gotten the drop on her.

If she cut this oaf’s throat, that would lead to questions when she showed up covered in blood at the Guild. It might give Lucian some pause, now she thought of it.

Cut a throat in Valen, and sooner or later the city’s constabulary came around asking questions and looking very interested at a lot of things they shouldn’t be interested in. She’d need to kill all of these men. Unfortunately, she doubted there were only the two on her.

One slash upwards cuts the hand’s tendon. A second slashed the man across the face as he reeled back. A kick out got her out from the second’s attention. If they’d wanted her dead, they would’ve cut her throat prior to stealing her valuables.

No, this was well-thought out, so she had some heartbeats before their intentions turned bloody.

In a scrabble, she got to her feet and kicked out the bleeding man. Her boot caught him in the mouth just as he drew breath to shout. It toppled him back, at least some teeth knocked down his throat.

A glance around showed two… no, three more men. They’d dragged her into the narrow gap between two buildings, grabbed off the side street she’d been using to move easier between Valen’s layers. Thuggish. Large and brawny. One of them pulled back his bleeding friend.

Entrance covered expertly by two of them. The one groping her had pulled out his knife but hadn’t come forward. Stumbling slightly, the bleeding man came to his feet and brandished a cudgel in his good hand. Odd that. They were all slow to cuss at her and demand she hand over her weapon. If anything…

They were waiting for something different.

There was none of the bluster of thugs cornering and outnumbering prey. If anything, they were more wary of her now, much more than warranted.

Her eyes met hard, disciplined stares. No panic or hesitation there. She’d ran with plenty of thugs and bandits to know when something stank. Either she’d run into into the most brazen thieves in Valen, or these men weren’t what they appeared to be.

I’m being tested, she realised with a jolt. For what?

…For fire.

Mertle broken into cold sweat as realisation dawned. They were spread out and advanced on her cautiously, expecting fire and ready to react to it. They’d known exactly who and, more importantly, what they were assaulting.

“Do you have the barest idea of who you’ve laid hands on?” she blurted out, bluster trying to hide the growing panic she felt. She drew herself out of the half-crouch, mimicking a pyromancer’s straight-backed stance. “Of what I could do to you?”

Far chance of them backing down. If anything, now they leered. These weren’t thugs. These were soldiers, now growing confident that she wouldn’t be able to back up her threats.

Maybe she could take all four with two knives. Maybe. A quick glance up showed they were hidden completely beneath the interlocking eaves of the buildings, in the rain gutter. If someone were observing, it couldn’t be too closely. If she cut their throat and set them ablaze somehow, then maybe it could pass for a pyromancer’s work.

Even she knew that wouldn’t be the case.

Her second knife dropped in her off-hand. Nothing for it then. Her cover would be as good as blown now that she’d failed the most basic test for a pyromancer. Best to kill the oafs and then see if she could manage the passage to the shop. From there, she and Tummy could probably make it out of Valen before the Guard came in force for them.

So much for the captain’s assurances and apologies. How she’d wish she could knock out that flint-eyed cunt’s teeth.

No reason to fear for her life. If she were an impostor, then their orders would likely be to bring her in for some real questions. She could fight, at least for a time, with no care for life or limb. She could down one before they judged her dangerous enough to take seriously.

In the gutter there was only room for two of them to advance at once. And they were unimpressed of her bluster. She would at least make them regret the temerity.

Before either of the two made up their mind, she lunged at the closest. One knife flashed up towards his wrist, the other aimed at the throat. A clean, quick kill if he were careless.

The man exploded before her knife rose in the killing arc. In the dark of the alley, the explosion blinded her and the backwash of searing heat sent her reeling. The soldier was blasted off his feet and thrown bodily against the wall to slide with a wet crunch of snapping bones.

Her eyebrows were singed off and her face hot and tender.

The second tried rushing her. Or maybe he was trying to get to his companion. Mertle reacted on instinct and kicked out, aiming through the blobs of after-flash for his groin. Fire erupted beneath the man to throw him out of the alley with a detonating crack like thunder. He crashed through the eaves above. A torrent of debris rained down on Mertle’s head.

Before she fully regained her sight from the flashes of light, the other two were gone, melted out into the night. Only the burned ones were left behind, both crumpled against walls, moaning in pain. The stench of burnt hair hung in the air.

Fire had kissed her as well and she could feel skin blistering on her fingers where the blast had been closest. People crowded at the mouth of the gutter, drawn by the spectacle.

Mertle drew herself up as the first muttered questions arose. Concerned voices. Someone calling out for a healer. Others for the constabulary.

She patted down the smoking patches of her dress and hair and stumbled out of the dark to meet the onlookers.

“Will someone get the guard, please?” she asked in her best and most annoyed Tianna voice. “Before I get a mind to finish these scum off?”

Someone from the gathering crowd peeled quickly away, without raising any alarm or calling out. Mertle got a glimpse of them rushing away without a glance back. In the direction of the elevators, towards the Fortress.

Others asked if she was alright. She shrugged away their concern and sneered.

“Perfectly fine. Get away from me.” She spat some blood on the ground. Must’ve bit the inside of her cheek when knocked down. “I expected Valen be more civilised. Filth dragging respectable women in the gutter? Disgusting.” A well aimed kicked at the first man got him stirring. “See to them, will you? I don’t need their kind of blood on my hands.”

After all, they were only soldiers doing their job.

With another sniff of annoyance, she pushed through the crowd and walked away, still aware that she was smoking from some smouldering patch of her dress. It would leave an impression.

She’d been seen. She’d been heard.

Best she were somewhere else before anyone came through asking unpleasant questions that would eat up whatever time she had left of the enchantment.

And best she tried to figure out why two men exploded out of the blue. She suspected Sil’s bracelet, but that made very little sense. If anyone could figure out how to trap offensive channelling into an item, they’d buy an empire.

She threw one final glance over her shoulder and thought she recognized a face in the crowd, half-lit by spritelight. No, not the face. The knot where the stranger’s arm was missing. It was gone in a moment, onlookers rushing to help the hurt thieves.

Maybe she’d imagined it. The prickling on the back of her neck assured her she hadn’t.