The Calm

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.