Myria emerged from the deep shadows of the alley, from one of the many hiding places granted to her by the numerous outcroppings overhead. It had been an easy thing to conceal herself within these dark corners, and had allowed her to bide her time while the acrobat did her part. And indeed, Saraya had performed her role beautifully, so beautifully in fact, that the assassin had been wholly unaware of the captain’s presence. Of course, part of this was simply due to the clamor of the nearby festival, as this likely prevented the assassin from hearing Myria move into position. But even if he had taken notice, the battle between him and the girl had been fierce, the intensity of it terrifying, and the woman had little doubt that the assassin could have ill afforded to look away.

  Because of it, Myria had been able to aid the jester just as they’d days ago discussed, and had chosen the bolas she used for ensnaring small game to fulfill her duty. This choice of hunter’s tool had proved most effective for the assassin’s capture, and with the acrobat as her decoy, the mission had concluded exactly how Myria had desired. In truth, it was more than what she had dared allow herself to hope for, and the relief that came with their success even caused the captain to smile.

  Making her way toward the fatigued acrobat, Myria passed nearby the assassin, watching as her men fully bound his limbs. Earlier she had given explicit instructions to be extremely thorough regarding these final steps of their target’s capture, and was pleased to see that her comrades were using more binding than what was likely necessary for the restraining of one man. Myria didn’t know how proficient the assassin was at slipping free of such ties and bonds, and so had stressed precaution so to mitigate the chances of his escape. After all the work they had put into catching the man this time, Myria simply would not risk allowing him to elude her again.

  “Well, I’m glad at least one of us can smile,” Saraya grumbled as the Valor captain made her approach.

  “A job well done oft leads to such things,” Myria coolly replied. “I am surprised to see you not doing the same.”

  The acrobat scowled slightly, the beads of sweat still visible upon her brow. “Maybe I would, if the fight had been easy, but I’ve rarely faced people who are that good.” She drew in a deep breath, still attempting to recover from the deadly spar. “What took you so long to help me?”

  “I aided you as soon as I was able,” Myria calmly assured. “I do not possess your skill for descending these awkward climbs, and so it took me a short while to reach the street. I too had to wait for an opportune time to throw the bolas. Otherwise you would have been entangled along with him.” She gestured back to those behind them, to the mess of ropes and weights that still dangled from the assassin’s legs.

  Frowning still, Saraya muttered something unintelligible at the ground, but, eventually, she relented. “I see…” she said, trailing off in thought. Given her disgruntled expression, Myria could only assume that the girl was rethinking her recent brazen course of action. Kayll know that Myria had considered the acrobat’s plan incredibly reckless, but had accepted it due to their lack of time, lack of resources, and the plot’s high likelihood of success. Perhaps now that she’d experienced it, Saraya had come to realize just how foolish her vendetta against the assassin had truly been. Myria hoped that this was so, if only to prevent the acrobat from doing something else as equally stupid in the future.

  “At the very least, you were successful,” Myria reminded the jester kindly, “and because of that, the assassin is finally in our hands.”

  “And I guess that’s what really matters,” Saraya concluded with a nod. “So, does this mean my debt to you is finally paid?”

  The abruptness of the question took Myria slightly aback, for she had come to forget about the girl’s debt over the past few days. “Yes, I suppose it does,” she said slowly, “though if it suits you, I would like to continue speaking with you on other matters.”

  “That’s fine with me,” Saraya replied with a casual shrug of her shoulders. “I intend to see what I can of the festival first, but I’ll go back to the tavern once I’m done. We can talk about whatever you want to then.”

  Myria nodded. “Very well, though one thing before you go.” Again she turned to the assassin, his chest now pressed into the ground beneath the boots of her men. “The assassin, how did you manage to confuse him? You drew him into a misstep at the last, but I was unable to see how.”

  At this, Saraya smiled. “Juggling,” she answered, and chuckled when Myria gave her a confused look. “I juggle,” she began anew, “and when you juggle you can’t long afford to take your eyes off the balls. Focus and rhythm are key to the performance, which makes the need to multitask that much harder to achieve. Just adding another ball to the routine can be tricky if not done right, so if you can do something without looking away from your target, then all the better. I spent a long time applying that concept to my fighting: of changing weapons without the need to break my focus. The assassin didn’t notice me switch my blade because I didn’t look away to do it, and because of that, he had no way of knowing what I’d done until it was too late.”

  “Clever,” Myria complimented, indeed impressed by the cunning trick. Having been involved in, as well as witnessed, many clashes in her time, Myria knew that switching weapons was difficult, if not impossible, in the heat of battle. That Saraya could use such sleight of hand even during intensive combat was remarkable, and once again proved that there was far more to this girl than what she had first believed.

  “Is that all you wanted?” Saraya asked then, lazily draping a wrist over the hilt of her sheathed dagger.

  “For now, yes,” Myria answered. “We can speak of other things tonight.”

  The jester nodded as she turned to leave. “Then I’ll see you then,” she said, and flashing a mischievous grin, she added, “and do try to not let him escape this time.”

  Myria grimaced slightly, and though she made to respond, she was unable to get her words out before Saraya scampered away. The Valor captain merely sighed in the wake of the childish jest. Never would she get used to these carefree interactions.

  Now that the acrobat had gone Myria made her way to the assassin, preparing herself to face the inevitable conflict that was waiting there. As she walked, her men preemptively pulled their captive up onto his knees, knowing that Myria intended to use the fresh wounds of the man’s defeat to coax him into speaking. And indeed, how pitiful the cur now looked, wholly restrained and beaten; it was hard to believe that this man had given the Valor so much trouble.

  But he had, and Myria thus held no delusions that the man’s subdual would incur his cooperation. She knew plenty already regarding the assassin’s vile nature, and so too knew that his interrogation would be long and arduous. If the man even bothered speaking to her at all, it would undoubtedly be with little more than cruel sarcasm and wanton insults. Fortunately, Myria was well prepared to face off against such spite, though his acrid tongue was not the thing that most concerned her. No, it was how remarkably composed the man seemed to be. Rather than fighting or cursing as other brigands did when caught, the assassin was remaining strangely calm. This detail Myria found to be inexplicably unnerving, and she began to wonder if there was something important that she had missed.

  Dismissing the notion for now, the captain searched her mind for a proper greeting. It was essential that she be the first one to speak, otherwise the assassin would likely control the entirety of their conversation. Myria couldn’t allow that to happen if she meant to learn anything, yet she had to be careful that her words didn’t reveal too much. “So, we finally meet,” she began, stoic in her tone, “though I suppose you knew of me well before.”

  The assassin slowly glanced up at her in response to the accusation, his golden eyes flaring with a cold, unspoken hate. Both were silent, and slowly a growing tension crept between the harshness of their gazes, weaving in among the noise of the distant festival clamor. Then the man bowed his head, and glowering at the ground, he spoke.

  “Late,” he growled in burning agitation, the word falling from his lips like a heavy stone.

  “Late?” Myria repeated, obviously not understanding, but the man appeared in no mood to further explain. Instead he simply turned away, purposefully ignoring the woman, displaying that stubbornness that Myria had been expecting. But mere riddles would not suffice to her as an answer and, wordlessly, the Valor captain passed a small nod to her men. The larger of the two yanked the assassin up by his silvery hair, wrenching his head back painfully. Like this, the man could no longer avert his gaze, and a snarl formed upon his face as he stared ahead.

  “You were saying?” Myria prompted, her voice level and firm. She knew, just as the assassin did, that he had no choice now but to speak.

  “Valor bitch,” the assassin spat, a sneer stretching his lips. “You think this your victory? No, you will merely share in my mistake.”

  “Being cryptic will only make things harder for you,” Myria warned, but the assassin only smirked and maintained his silence. Growing vexed by his arrogance, Myria paused to rethink her approach. From the beginning she had expected to receive naught but this avid resistance, having known that the man would never willingly submit himself to her whims. Yet there was something about the assassin that was making her uneasy, something specifically within the words that he chose to use. Though the man could simply be planting doubt where there was none to be had, Myria was unwilling to take the chance given their exposed position.

  For the sake of caution, she decided to consider this interrogation a loss, and would retreat for now back to one of the many havens that the Valor possessed. But before she could relay the order, a shrill whistle echoed out through the winding depths of the backstreets, clear as a bell in spite of the Springtide noise. An anxious recognition lit the eyes of her men, and Myria too perked up at the sudden signal. It was the sign that their scouts had spied someone approaching, someone unknown. They needed to leave now if they wished to avoid any potential trouble.

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  “To the rendezvous,” Myria commanded, acknowledging their new need to be swift. Then she gestured to the assassin. “Make sure he does not see where we go.”

  Upon hearing that his captors intended to retreat, the assassin finally dropped his dismissive demeanor. Channeling a wild beast, he suddenly launched himself into a violent fit of twisting contortions, cursing, snarling and flailing against those who held him. It was a resistance short lived, for a few hard blows quickly put an end to the chaotic tantrum, and allowed for a blind to be secured over his head.

  “Be sure to hold him tightly,” Myria advised once they’d pacified their captive, “and do whatever you deem necessary to return him to the others.” Gesturing then for her men to move, she allowed her comrades to take lead, and had no sooner done so when three strangers appeared at the far end of the alley.

  Hanging back, Myria immediately recognized that two of the three newcomers were soldiers, clad head to toe in light, steel armor with the crest of Highloft emblazoned prominently upon their breastplates. A short woman, lithe, with vibrantly blonde pigtails hanging low over her breasts stood between them, and was clothed in an expensive dress of dark blue with spiraling patterns. As soon as this woman spotted Myria and those retreating behind her, she spat an order and motioned for her companions to give chase. These soldiers jumped into action, racing after the departing Valor, and drew up swords as they converged upon the captain.

  “Go!” Myria barked to her men, spurring them into a run. “Ensure that he reaches the commander!” She turned back then, inhaling a steady breath as she moved, and pulled a greatsword out from the sheath upon her back. Without pause, the two soldiers struck at Myria together, having meant to defeat the woman in a single, synchronized blow. What they failed to realize, however, was that Myria was no simple combatant, for the weight of meager blades wielded by mere men was nothing at all against the strength of a veteran Slayer.

  Myria parried their blows, knocking the swordsmen aside, and rammed her shoulder into the one nearest to unbalance him. As he stumbled, she deflected the slashing swing of the other man’s sword, turning it away from herself and toward the stumbling soldier who was nearly cut. Their initial attacks having failed, the two men fell back in retreat, but Myria pursued them so to prevent them from regrouping. She brandished her sword in whirling arcs then, keeping both men at a distance, but did not advance more than what she deemed was necessary to distract them. Harm was not her intention, but rather stalling these men long enough for the others to escape. Securing the assassin was the goal of her mission, not the fighting of battles. Eventually, the two soldiers realized her unwillingness to press her offensive, and both began looking for a safe way to use that to their advantage and surround her. Thankfully, in the smaller size of the ally, Myria needed only wide, cutting swipes and long strides to keep the men from making such maneuvers, and thus she successfully kept them at bay with little effort.

  Their stalemate continued, though it wasn’t long until Myria heard footsteps at her back, and she feared that more Highloft soldiers had circled around and gotten behind her. But a familiar call rang out instead, identifying the approaching party as her allies, and suddenly two more blades joined in the battle on the Valor’s side. It was her rear guard, she realized upon seeing her comrades’ faces; the two who had been meant to secure their escape should the plan fall through. That they had come could only mean that they had performed their duty as instructed, and had now arrived to lend Myria their support.

  “Captain,” one began as soon as he’d drawn near enough to speak. “We were attacked by unknowns, but were able to dispatch them. The others have made it to the passages. The assassin’s been secured.”

  “Good work,” Myria responded, though was deeply troubled to hear this. She couldn’t let her face show her inner thinking however, for in truth, something like this should have never happened. How, then, had it come to this? Who had sold them out? And were their other haunts in like danger?

  Myria couldn’t know any of this until they’d managed to escape from here, and with the assassin secured, she could confidently command the retreat from this pointless battle. It was then that a silver streak flashed suddenly into sight, striking like a small ballista into Myria’s right shoulder. The impact nearly took the Valor captain off her feet, spinning her around with such a force that she had to drop to a knee to keep herself from falling completely. Pain exploded through her arm following a short delay thereafter, her body taking an extra moment to realize it had been struck. The attack had happened so quickly that she’d barely the time to comprehend it, and she was slightly dizzy for the whiplash garnered from the spin. Myria glanced to her shoulder as it started to throb, seeing that the pauldron there had been badly dented and very nearly torn away. She swallowed the sudden panic that threatened to overwhelm her then, and quickly she clambered back up onto her feet. The attack had been devastating, she could feel that much in her shoulder, but experience told her that this had only been a glancing blow.

  Assuming that she’d been struck by some manner of drake-felling bolt, Myria looked beyond the two swordsmen and further down the alleyway. The enemy’s unknown third, the slight woman from before, had surely been the source of that deadly strike. But Myria couldn’t fathom how such a woman had possibly wielded the weapon necessary to unleash it.

  She hadn’t, as Myria soon came to realize, for when the woman raised her arm, she held nothing. Instead, from a silver bracer upon her forearm stretched a long, slithering strand, no thicker than the girth of a sturdy rope. In the air the thing hovered, shifting about weightlessly, and coiling as it posed ready for another strike. At the whip’s end there glistened a leviathan’s face, its jeweled green eyes glowing brightly.

  “Planesbreaker!” Myria exclaimed with a silent hiss to herself. Never could she have anticipated such a grim turn of events, especially in Cambria where the use of magic was all but forbidden. Both Myria and her comrades were woefully under-equipped to face a caster, but they must, for the woman would not let them leave here knowing her secret.

  “Damned fools!” The woman snarled, anger reddening her pale and placid face. “Develli escaped?! I should have known better than to rely on you useless Cambrians to do the job!” She lifted her other arm, revealing there another bracer, one with the same serpentine metal whip as the first. She then swiped her hands forward sharply, willing the enchanted weapons into action, and they shot through the air, striking straight into the hearts of Myria’s men. The strength of the impact stole the breath from their lungs, and dropping as though dead, the soldiers gasped as their shirt fronts bloomed crimson with blood. And the snakes, they merely hissed, sliding across their victims’ bodies, curling up while awaiting their mistress’s next command.

  “Why must I always do everything myself?” That mistress grumbled as she pushed between her guardsmen, waving them away with a dismissive impatience. Now that she’d stepped closer, Myria could finally get a more detailed look at the woman, and was alarmed to see just how young this accursed caster appeared to be. She was hardly older than Saraya, if Myria had assumed correctly; to think that a single child could already possess this much strength.

  “If I can’t have Develli,” the girl continued in annoyance, “then I will at least have the Valor captain. Surrender, woman, and I promise not to finish killing off your two comrades.” As she said this, her leviathans sunk their fangs into the necks of Myria’s soldiers, puncturing the shallow layers of their flesh.

  “Wretch,” Myria spat, “you would have me believe the words of a Planesbreaker? All know your kind spew naught but deceit.”

  “Oh how Cambrian of you,” the young woman sarcastically mocked. “And yet it still profits me nothing to simply kill them. I hate wasting time, and wasting my energy even more. I came for you and the assassin, so that’s all I want.”

  Myria hardened her gaze; how was it that this girl had come to know who she was? No one except the Valor and a small select few knew that Myria was one of the Valor’s captains. That this child, this stranger, knew something so important bode ill, and not just for Myria, but for the Valor as a whole. It was the assassin, Myria realized, frowning as she did. After all, he had said that she would be sharing in his mistake.

  The pained groans of her men drew Myria out from her thinking. They were in need of aid, but the serpents were still poised ready to bite deeper.

  “Do decide quickly,” the caster threatened, propping her palms up on her hips. “I’ve no time to wait, and I would prefer not to drag your bloodied body through the streets.”

  This passive threat revealed a lot to Myria, as the girl and her men were allied with Highloft and not Neurial native. Being mere guests of the Mediator, the young woman could not openly meddle in the city’s local affairs, and if caught doing so, then severe punishment would be meted out upon the Honorbound whom she served. Certainly this explained why the caster hadn’t attacked Myria like the others. The girl was brash, but not entirely careless, or so it seemed. She needed the captain in good health so to attract as little suspicion as possible; it was the only way she could get away with breaking the law as she was.

  Myria breathed in deeply, and gathering her courage, sheathed her weapon.

  “Don’t,” her companion breathed, struggling to lift himself from the ground.

  “Leave us, captain,” the other begged, disregarding the fangs within his throat. “It is better that you escape than we survive.”

  But Myria shook her head. “No,” she corrected. “It needs to be this way, even if you do not understand why.” She then turned her gaze to the caster, frowning back at the girl’s smile. “I yield,” she announced. “You have my full surrender.”

  “Smart woman,” the enchantress sneered, and as promised, she retracted her whips. “Take her, men. Kross will be most delighted to receive this gift.”

  From high above, Saraya watched as the strangers escorted Myria away, binding her hands and leaving the others to writhe in the street below. Originally, she had been drawn back by the shrill whistle from the scouts, and though thinking to ignore it, had decided to adhere to it on the off chance that she was needed. Her return had left her to witness much of what transpired after she’d gone, but alas, she had come too late to intervene or stop it.

  The sudden appearance of the blonde woman had changed everything, and now, Saraya’s every plan had to follow suit. Veil’s desires would have to wait; Myria needed Saraya now, even if there was nothing she could do to change the outcome of what had happened. Unfortunately, Saraya was still fatigued from her last battle, and so rushing in now—and winning—was beyond her. She would have to think of something else, it was the only thing she could do. And, perhaps, there was indeed something she could do to gain an edge.

   Alter grumbled, reading Saraya’s thoughts as she plotted.

  “I am,” Saraya admitted, but it hardly mattered. She’d heard the caster mention the assassin, even mention him by name, and if they were linked, then maybe it was possible to use him to get to Myria. It was a long shot, but the acrobat didn’t have time to figure out how to get to the Slayer on her own. If the assassin knew anything that could help her, then she would learn it. She had no choice.

   Alter growled.

  “Because she’s my friend!” Saraya snapped. She would hear no more of this. “And Fawln take me if I ever willingly abandon one of my friends.”