Kayden
Dan Validor weaved his way through the heavy throng of the main thoroughfare,
his cloak billowing in the wind behind him. His heavy boots kicked up a cloud
of dust as he covered long stretches of the road in his usual brisk stride.
I should try to change the way I walk,
he chastised himself mentally, noting several pairs of eyes darting suspicious
looks at him. He retreated deeper into the shadows of his cloak and tightened
his grip on the dagger strapped to his belt. The smooth ivory hilt of the
dagger fit against his callused palm like an extended limb, giving him a measure
of comfort.
His
eyes roamed the crowded streets and secluded alleyways branching off from the
main road, alighting on several possible escape routes. He stopped in front of
a stall selling honey cakes, watching for anyone who seemed to be following him
out of the corner of his eye. The sweet and buttery aroma wafting from the
freshly baked honey cakes made his mouth water, momentarily distracting him.
“Why’s
a young man like yourself have silver in your beard?” the girl behind the stall
asked, her blue eyes wide with curiosity. Startled, his hand went to the short
beard lining his chin before he could stop himself. Demons take it! The dye must have faded. He turned toward the girl
and regarded her fully. Judging by her height and apparent youthfulness, he
guessed that she was no older than eleven or twelve.
His
lips twitched into a smile. “Why’s a young girl like yourself minding a stall?”
he retorted, mimicking her accent. “My ma’s sick. So, I’ll be minding the stall
until she gets better,” she said, leaning forward conspiratorially as if
imparting a secret. She drew back suddenly, aware of what she had just revealed
to a complete stranger. “I shouldn’t have told you that,” she murmured
fearfully, distress clear on her features.
Feeling
sorry for the girl, he drew a gold coin from his pouch and tossed it onto the
table between them. She stared at the coin as if she’d never seen one before. She likely hasn’t, he thought darkly.
She reached for the coin then hesitated, looking at him. “Go on. Your secret’s
safe with me,” he reassured her, taking a bag of honey cakes and tying it to
his belt. She snatched the coin from the table and grinned at him, revealing
two missing front teeth. “Thank you, sir!”
Looking
at the innocent joy shining from the girl’s face, he felt a pang as he thought
of what he had lost. He shook his head, determined not to wallow in the past.
“Take care, girl.” He gave her one last wave before returning to the hustle and
bustle of the main road.
Rian,
the capital city of Regaria, was not usually as busy and hectic as the scene
before him now. It was only because the Emperor was coming to visit did the province
teem with people from all over the continent. His target would be among the
Emperor’s entourage.
He
would have to study their route to the Great Palace and ascertain the perfect
vantage point for him to put an arrow through the First Minister’s foul heart. But
first, he had some other business to take care of. Grimly, he strode through
the crowd, slower this time but no less purposeful. It was time to collect what
he was owed.
*
Rian.
Zahara Re Natali let a sigh escape from between her lips. She never thought she
would ever step foot in her home province again, let alone the capital city
itself. She took in the familiar sights and smells of the port city, her hands
tightening around the reins of her horse as long suppressed memories assailed
her like waves beating against the shore.
Despite
the colourful banners and flags festooned across the roof of every building, it
hadn’t changed much. She could still detect the faint stink of fish in the air
that she remembered so well from her childhood. She gave her head an impatient
shake, not wanting to dwell on her past, especially not now.
Sensing
her agitation, her black mare pawed the ground and whickered nervously. “Easy,
Dhali, easy,” she murmured soothingly, loosening her grip on the reins. When
both rider and horse were calm once more, they set forth toward their intended
destination, a rundown building with a jagged wooden sign hanging above its
door that said ‘Shark Teeth Inn’.
She
motioned to a stable boy leaning against the grimy wall of the inn. “Feed him
and brush him down for the night,” she instructed, flipping him a silver coin
when he took the reins from her and led her horse into the stables.
The
welcoming warmth of the fire burning in the hearth enveloped her the moment she
stepped through the swinging double doors of the inn. The aroma of hot fish
stew and the sharp tang of ginger ale met her nose, causing her mostly empty
stomach to clench in hunger. The only meal she had consumed for the past two
days were two pieces of stale bread and water.
In
her haste to get to Rian, she had taken a shortcut through the forest and had not
stopped to hunt for meat or forage for edible plant life in order to shorten
the length of time the journey would normally have taken. She was determined to
reach her destination before the Emperor’s visit, wanting to catch her prey
before he could go underground to escape the clutches of the Imperial Guard.
A
few pairs of eyes flickered in her direction with dark intent, but they quickly
slid away when they noticed the scars marring the left side of her face and
running down her neck to criss-cross the length of her bare left arm. Most of
the patrons seemingly ignored her and continued on with their business, but her
skin itched at the furtive glances darted at her from the corners of their eyes
and her ears twitched at the whispers circulating among them.
“Witch.... Bounty hunter.... Mercenary....”
she caught a few indistinct hisses here and there as she made her way to a
table set against the back wall in a darkened corner of the inn. She tuned out
their dark mutterings and shrugged away her mild discomfort at their unwanted
attention.
For
most of her life, people had always stared at her and talked about her in
hushed voices as if she were a wraith or a spirit of legend. She was used to it
by now. It rarely bothered her any more. Instead, she encouraged it and honed
it until it became a weapon she could wield against her prey. Fear was as effective
as any blade or arrow, a poison that seeps into your soul and paralyses you. An
experience she was intimately familiar with.
She
waved for the innkeeper and brusquely ordered a bowl of fish stew and a pitcher
of apple cider. The pocked-faced innkeeper curled his lips into a sneer as he
took in her scars and her worn cloak with its torn, mud-splattered hem, but his
eyes glinted with greed when she took out several pieces of silver coins and
placed them on the table. “Well?” Her tone was low, menacing. Paling visibly,
he hurriedly accepted the coins and left to prepare her meal without saying
anything.
Weariness
washed over her as she thought about what she had to do later that night. Idris
Dan Hellor was a hard man to track down. It took her three long months of
painstaking information gathering and an obscene amount of bribery to finally
determine his most recent whereabouts.
She
had to endure sifting through the various rumours surrounding him to glean
whatever facts she could and piece them together to form a coherent picture of
him. Her resources had almost been depleted by her relentless pursuit of the
most notorious flesh trader in the Seven Provinces.
When
she found out that his main base of operations was in Rian, the capital of her
home province, she had burned with a rage so terrible that it spurred her to
throw all caution to the wind and ride all the way to Rian with little rest and
even less sustenance.
In
hindsight, she should have reined in her emotions and planned her actions more
carefully. She inwardly cursed her stupidity. Her carelessness could cost her
everything she had ever worked for.
Exhaustion
dragged at her limbs like lead weights, her sore and overworked muscles
throbbing dully with pain. Her vision blurred slightly at the edges as two days
of sleep deprivation pounded a persistent beat in her head. Her reckless
venture had certainly taken a toll on her.
Her
focus shifted to the present when the meal she had ordered was plopped onto the
table in front of her none too gently, causing some of the steaming contents to
spill over the rim of the bowl. The pitcher of apple cider fared no better.
“Enjoy
your meal,” grunted a ruddy-faced woman who she assumed was the innkeeper’s
wife. Her attempt at an obsequious smile seemed more like a pained grimace. Zahara
did not miss the flicker of disgust which crossed her expression when her eyes
strayed to the scars on her skin.
She
waited until the woman left her table to serve another customer before digging
into her meal. The fish stew left a thick coating of oil on her tongue and the
apple cider was so sour it brought tears to her eyes but her stomach had
finally ceased its insistent clamouring.
After
the pitcher was drained of every drop and all that was left in the bowl were
fish bones, she stood up and started to sway on her feet. She was reluctant to
waste whatever time she had left but she knew her limits. Her body desperately needed
rest to regain its full strength. She signalled to the innkeeper to prepare a
room for her.
While
he led her upstairs to show her to an empty room, her thumb unconsciously
traced the angry burn marks around her left wrist. The memory of pain broke through
the heavy fog of fatigue in her mind, anchoring her to the mission that had
brought her back on home soil. It burns.
She clenched her fist in determination, silently vowing to not let Idris Dan
Hellor slip through her fingers again. This time, she would make sure he paid
for his sins.
