Dragon (S)Layers Ch. 53

Sure enough, bloody boot prints lead from the torture chamber up the stairs. A second set from a helper had joined them at the landing and so painted a picture that the body had been moved, hopefully buried. If Lostariel was afraid she'd be plagued with a spirit following her, she didn't show it as she strode through the blood stains. When she got to the bottom of the stairs she looked back up at Felicia and shook her head.

Felicia stopped her before she crossed the threshold into the community room proper. "Wipe your feet."

"Why?"

"Because, a man died there." Wasn't it obvious to her? Judging by her blank look, apparently not. "You carry things. With you when you take someone else's essence."

The woman rolled her eyes and stepped past her, motioning to follow. "What do we know?"

"That you don't respect the dead." Felicia said without thinking. "Uh– They moved him. W- Which probably means more guards know."

"Good, what else?" Lostariel started rummaging through the nearest desk. "Quickly."

Felicia took her own que from the woman's actions and followed suit with another desk. "We're probably going to be hunted–"

"A given. More."

What the hell did she expect– Oh. "It could be that the other guards are in on whatever is going on."

"What's your counterpoint?"

They moved on to different desks, finding more useless nicknacks and trophies. Felicia stopped when she found one of the dragon themed coins she'd been carrying. She held it up for Lostariel to see. "They have my gold."

The woman didn't even glance up. "Probably getting drunk on it."

That chapped her ass. She'd sold her own family's farm for that coin and– "Son of a bitch."

"We have a lead, keep looking. Stay focused."

"Right, sorry." Felicia finished up her desk and moved on to the last in the row, coming away with a piece of charcoal and some parchment with words she couldn't read. She crawled over to her mentor and showed it to her only to be rejected out of hand.

"It's elf-language."

"Can you read it?"

"Why would I–"

"It's a lead. That's what we're here for, right?"

Lotariel gave her a dirty look, eventually relenting from her search to read through the document. "It's a shipping order to a city in the east– no. North. To a place called Beson." She pondered it over a moment. "They're requesting mercenaries and–" she halted, glanced up at Felicia. "Where did you get that Nightshade?" She nodded to the coin in the girl's hand.

"S- Sarah gave it to me. To buy my farm. . ."

The woman looked back to the parchment. "Unless she's been investing in the area, it seems someone else has been hard at work; the order is for three thousand soldiers to be paid in the currency. It's all been funneled through here. . ."

"Huh. . ."

A flicker of doubt crossed Lostariel's eyes before she rolled up the parchment and handed it back, her professional mask was firmly in place. "Whoever spent that money has connections even I don't. Maybe we should meet them."

"The guard had mentioned that the sheriff had a guest. Maybe it's the person with the money?"

"Mmm. Why didn't you mention it earlier?" before Felicia could answer Lostariel held a finger to her lips. "We start with the tavern."

"Well yeah, but–"

"We have a lead, they have your gold. Which do you want more?"

She went quiet at that and the two of them stalked out of the office, Lostariel 'borrowed' some dresses from a drying line and they changed in the shadow of a tree alternating out between watching for danger and making the stolen clothing fit right. It was almost insane, but the practical side of Felicia kept her from objecting too much; she needed to get her horse and gold, and more than that they were actually working as a team, surely that would've bought her some forbearance when it came time to convince Lostariel not to hurt Sarah. It really was for the best.

When they entered the tavern at the back of the trading hall, they were strangers to the world; modestly dressed with their hair bound in something resembling a gardener's braid and tucked under a flimsy bonnet. They still caught a few looks from the drinking patrons who'd arrayed themselves around a game of dice. The air was full of music and alcohol and cheap sex, just like the inns of Sorash had been; reminding Felicia how different this world was to her own. People danced and laughed with strangers and lovers alike, they drank and gambled and got fat off the work of hunters and farmers without giving anything back for the privilege.

She followed Lostariel's lead, acting appropriately coy when some drunkard tried to make a pass at her and giving smiles she didn't believe in. It was awkward and stilted, and every time she was stopped with a friendly 'hello' or lap pat she was sure someone was going to recognize them. Her heart slammed all the way up to the bar where Lostariel ordered a couple tankards of mead before they claimed a spot in the rear of the dining area just to the right of the dance floor.

"So," Felicia whispered as she leaned towards her mentor. "What's the plan exactly?"

"You haven't figured it out yet?" She arched a fine brow. "I find that hard to believe."

"Well, uhm– we're going to look for guards? Like them?" She nodded at a couple of men in the leathers she'd seen on the man who'd punched her.

Lostariel glanced at her disapprovingly, sipped her mead. "Never do that again. You describe, you indicate, you don't advertise your intentions." After another drink she added. "Yes, we're going to find out what they know and then we're going to find out where our things are."

Score one for paying attention. "Okay, so what happens–"

"Ladies!" A rather fat man said as he lumbered towards them. Felicia stiffened and shrunk in her chair but Lostariel plastered on a smile and gave him a polite 'Sirrah' in a thick accent she'd never had before. As he trundled on his way they both glanced back after him while he made his way to join a table of other comfortable looking patrons for some laughs and more cards.

"He startled you," Lostariel murmured accusingly and downed another sip.

"Yeah. . . .well, someone's gonna notice we're here the longer we are."

"Mhm. So what are we going to do about it?"

Felicia had no ready answer for that, she stared at her mead for a few moments trying to put together some ideas. Everything Lostariel had taught her up to this point involved misdirection and leading people away from her true intentions, that and getting away without being seen. She pondered for a few more seconds before she said, "We follow them when they leave?"

"Simple."

"Effective."

"Sometimes you need to take risks," Lostariel glanced at the teen out of the corner of her eye. "Surely you understand that."

Felicia dampened her lips. "I mean, I think I understand, but you're always saying how we can't be seen."

The woman took another deep drink from her mead and casually took her elbows, leaning against the table with her gaze focused vaguely on her pupil. She was still clearly paying attention to the goings on of the room but her attention and focus was somehow split to the rather innocent query Felicia had made. "You cannot break the rules until you know them, do you think these people understand how to survive in the ways we do?"

"Of course not," the girl admitted quietly. "But they don't have to deal with the things we did. . ."

"Which is why we do not abide by their rules, we walk the edge of the blade because of who and what we are. The elves have a word for it; the transcendental and ethereal– a line between the rules of the world and the necessity of breaking them. It translates to 'Growing'. Those who 'grow' well master their domain, and those who do not are mastered by it." The woman gave her a dry smile saying she probably didn't buy into the whole thing but was ready to let Felicia do so.

"Do they have a word for being really full of yourself, too?"

"They do." She emptied the rest of her drink. "It's called being human."

Felicia chuffed into a laugh. It felt good to laugh after what'd happened through the day and for just a moment she forgot about the slurry of crap that'd come their way since they arrived. She smiled to her mentor and friend only to find the woman surveying the crowd with a lazy expression. Felicia reached out to touch her but someone's approach stopped her.

An older man with hands etched by time and sun touched her shoulder and smiled kindly at her, crouching down to her level he whispered. "May I say, you and I are a lot alike– you've the look of someone not comfortable, lost in their own skin."

"Uh. N- Not really."

"Oh? Are you so sure?" His dark brown eyes turned down slightly, going faintly distant. "Maybe I'm just hoping for a kindred spirit, hm? Maybe."

It was at this moment Lostariel got up from her chair and wandered over to the gambling table where the guards were busy spending Felicia's gold– at least she thought so. The assassin quickly integrated herself into the crowd with a few kind words and some practiced, empty smiles.

"I know, maybe you're looking for something you haven't found yet. Oh, yes, look at that face. . ." he smiled sadly. "You look so much like my daughter. She was the beauty of the village before that a– ah, sorry, such language isn't fitting a maiden such as you."

Felicia's brow furrowed as she considered the old man. Something in him seemed wary and fearful, as though the very walls could hear his prayers. "No, it's okay. . . .um, drink?" She offered the mead.

To her surprise- and relief- he shook his head, muttering something about it not being good for old joints as he eased himself into the chair Lostariel had occupied. "Thank you, miss– I, don't want to burden you with my tale of woe, but. . ." he leaned in conspiratorially. "But I can see you're not from around here, so it'd be only fair I warn you."

"W-" What gave it way? Felicia suppressed her first instinct and instead took the path of a clueless skeptic. Not that far from the truth, really. "Warn me from what?"

"Mmhhh, whatchya know of the Lord-Sheriff, hn?" He squinted at her as though he could read her expression. When she shook her head he let out a sigh. "He's a terrible, terrible man; he takes money from our esteemed landlord here." He indicated the man behind the bar. "And just about everyone else with a copper to their name, if you'd seen the guard's office you'd know what I mean. Luxurious, op– op . . . .fancy. Very fancy, yes, yes. But he takes whom he wants too."

Felicia tensed slightly, already getting an idea where this was headed.

"He likes pretty things, like you. Yes, yes indeed, so exotic and soft?" He leaned forward to share the inner workings of the conspiracy. "He does things in his manner 'top the hill, things that'd make any righteous person furious– and no one can touch him! Gods, if my daughter is even still alive she. . . .oh I shudder to think what she must be going through." He wiped his face, sighing. Eventually he looked over his hand at the young teen, brow knitted in concern. "Just promise me you'll stay away from them guards, miss. They know his tastes and they'd think nothin of bringin you up there to meet 'im. A lot of people pass through here, and if no one's going to ask after you, well. . ."

"I- what about. . . I mean, surely they can't all–" She already knew she was lying, though not intentionally, when she spoke those words. "I'm so sorry about your daughter." At least that much was true. "I- I'll be careful, thank you for the warning."

He gave her a satisfied nod though his gaze lingered a moment in that way she'd seen the tribal elders do when considering someone's worth. She straightened a little self-consciously and tried her best not to be offended when his gaze drifted to her chest; he chuckled weakly and smiled. "Y'just be careful, he'd take a real liking to you if he knew. . ."

"I- I will, elder. Thank you." Felicia rose when he moved to stand, torn between her sudden desire to help the frail man and the part of her that told her doing so was an offense to an elder's longevity. It was a sign of acknowledging weakness and frailty, a spectre of death. Still, this wasn't the plains and he was safe for the most part; she helped him rise as best he'd allow. Before he turned away it occurred to her to ask, "Ahm, Elder? Do you think he'd take horses there if he was interested in that kind of thing?"

"Horses? Well, I suppose so if he was interested in it. Once confiscated a whole ah. . . .what would you call a group of cows, now?"

"A herd, I think?"

"Right! Well there you have it, he took a herd of cows from some poor rancher trying to sell them off in Popi. Real gods damned shame, if I tell you the truth. So yes, I suppose he'd do it." He sighed lightly. "Now don't go spreadin this around, but I hear it on good word that your best bet is t'just not come here. Or if you happen to be so unfortunate, to spend as little coin as you can and getting out as soon as you can. Sound about right?"

Felicia glanced after her mentor who'd somehow wound up with one guard's arm around her waist. She was leaning against him murmuring as the dice were thrown back and forth. "It does sound pretty familiar. . ."

#

It wasn't long before Lostariel had smoothed her way into the guard's pocket and desires; Felicia watched them head out not long after the old man had wandered off leaving her to stew. Not that it did any good– she hadn't been able to speak to her mentor about the lead she'd picked up and it seemed that the woman had other ideas about the most effective way to get information. . .

Dejected and irritated, she made her way outside and went looking for the short woman and her 'companion' for the evening. She was drawn by the sound of feminine giggling and an uproarious male follow through nearby the tavern. Carefully she edged up to the lip of the building to see Lostariel and the guard trundling towards a squat little one story home looking very drunk and oblivious to the stares they were getting from some of the mercenaries milling about their camps.

It vaguely occurred to Felicia that she was small enough that she could've been a 'lightweight' drinker; that sway and lumbering stride made her look every part the slob her father had been. . . .but the nuance wasn't there. The stumbling sickness and forsaken pride weren't part of her body language, she was still herself, still firmly in control.

Felicia trailed them at a decent span, sticking to the shadows as she'd been trained 'heel toe, heel toe. Outsides of your feet. . . .careful.' In any sane world she'd have looked suspicious as all hell stalking along as she was, but mercifully people seemed more interested in their war preparations than they did in paying attention to her. Her luck held all the way to the man's house. As he and Lostariel slipped inside for what he probably assumed was to be a night's pleasures, Felicia ducked to the side. Her heart was pounding, breath short, gods what'd happen if she got caught? What'd happen if Lostariel failed– or worse, succeeded in what she set out to do. . .

She was careful, circling the house between the changes of light that filtered through the window as they went from room to room. An occasional giggle or laugh would make its way through the little windows giving her cues to work off where they were and where they might be headed to next. Instead of feeling empowered though, Felicia felt somehow betrayed by the assassin's casual nature in taking these kinds of things into her own hand; some part of her felt that a friend wouldn't have abandoned her in hostile territory and another part said that they were slightly more than just casual friends.

Irritation bubbled to the surface as she rounded the lip of the building and nearly into the hands of a group of soldiers who were on their way by. She slid back carefully instead of jerking back. Lostariel had taught her about how quick movements grabbed attention. It seemed to work, the men continued on without a glance her way.

Gods dammit this woman was going to get her killed. Or worse.

Another giggle.

She didn't realize it at the time but as she took cover alongside the building she found the spot she'd be camped at for the next half hour or so. She was careful, deliberate, patient– such as she could be hearing the pleased groans of a complete stranger being brought about by her own lover; she grit her teeth and waited like a good pupil, silently promising herself that this was for the best.

In the end, they'd all get what they wanted.

Maybe Felicia more than anyone else.

When she heard another groan echo through the window above her head Felicia stood to peek. Probably at the worst time she could have. The man had a hand full of Lostariel's hair and they were perched on his bed with her hands wrapped around what she had to assume was his cock. She was stroking him off and valiantly ignoring his attempts to get her to use her mouth to the same effect.

The little bitch. . .

In the flickering lantern light Felicia caught more than enough of a glimpse to see what was going on, disarming or not, Lostariel was getting into her work. Smiling as she worked him up and down with both hands, laughing gently with ever groan she pulled from the man. She was enjoying it!

Felicia shouldn't have been surprised, but something primal in her felt betrayed more by that look than anything else the woman could've done to her. What in the hell was she doing enjoying this? How come she hadn't cleared this with Felicia, or even told her? The young plainswalker clenched her fists.

But what could she do?

She looked to the window that lead to the other room, wondering just how much her 'training' had prepared her for what was to come. . .

#

Felicia ran her finger around the edge of the window as she'd seen Lostariel do, she almost hoped she'd find something to dissuade her from the ideas bouncing between her ears but the anger was too fresh and she, too young to know better, found what she'd been looking for. In a way.

Her finger bristled across a wax seal that ran the entire outline of the window and while her first instinct was to wipe it off on her skirt, the implication hit her a moment later; it was a way in. She squinted at the frame of the window– there was a tiny gap between the frame and the wood that held the glass in place sealed in with the cheap fatty wax. A thrill of discovery and triumph washed over her as she carefully drew the elder's kukri from her hip and glanced around.

"Land forgive the use of your bounty in such a way," she murmured before stabbing the tip of the sunless steel weapon into the dirt. Dusted with the natural element, she then used the tip to dig out the wax seal around the frame, edging up and down the glass until she had it loose. Next were the corner blocks, and then finally the tiny overhanging piece of wood that retained the glass itself.

As she wedged her blade into the space between she heard Lostariel burst into a rather air headed laugh. Her companion for the evening let out a terrific groan of release which lanced Felicia's ears far more than it should have; a wave of irritation and revulsion lent her strength and speed. With a satisfying 'clack' the block gave way and the plate glass started to fall– Felicia caught it with her palms, set it aside and carefully eased herself through the window.

The place was small for it's exterior size but it was every bit as lavish as the guard's office had been. She'd found herself in a sitting room plastered with trophies and polished wood that gave the place an air of gaudy supremacy, as though the man knew beyond the shadow of a doubt anyone who saw the atrocious display of wealth would likewise know enough to keep their mouth shut about how tacky it looked. Felicia mulled over her choices as she crouched low to sneak under the beaded curtain that separated the sitting room from the rest of the building.