But Saraya was hardly awed by such a simple splendor, as her travels with the circus had shown her many sights more magnificent than this. Still, she couldn’t deny that the cave possessed an eerie sort of beauty. Varying sorts of luminescent floras were flourishing here in the presence of abundant water, sustained, no doubt, by the city’s freshwater canals. It reminded her of those hidden grottos along the coasts of Giraffin, where life would drift in and out upon the tide of a briny sea. Unlike those seaside caves however, the atmosphere here was colder, more stagnant, and rather than the roar of a distant ocean breeze or the constant lapping of endless waves, there existed here only the low, unchanging rumble of ever-flowing water at every side.
A sense of foreboding drifted upon such dismal airs, coupling with the damp and cold of constantly-wet conditions. Saraya wiped the back of her hand across her face when feeling it, but this did nothing to cure the clammy sensation that had already settled into her skin. There was simply too much water present to be so brushed away. All around her were trickling streams pooling haphazardly across the floor, each one a depthless mirror of black, their glassy sheens reflecting countless ripples of ghostly blue. As she and the assassin descended further, these shallow pools only deepened, spreading until the underground pass became wholly consumed by the endless flood. A bottomless, black abyss stretched out before them then, though in trudging onward through its depths, their chosen path grew strangely brighter with every step they took.
Eventually, the flooded tunnel opened up into a cavernous maw exploding with light and life, where a chilling breath brushed Saraya’s cheeks in greeting upon entering the hollowed space. Noise like that of a summer sprinkle broke through the unending thrum, the source an endless array of stalactites dripping water from high above. With little here to hinder them, glowing fungi and leafy plants had grown large and wild across the entirety of the enormous cavern, allowing for their phosphorescence to illuminate everything. Thus did light, like primal magic, dance on every wave and motion, its movement a beautiful, shimmering veil upon the silent stones. Only the thickest of the cavern’s shadows stifled the lively glow, where the density of the absolute black swallowed all light whole.
It was through these glowing, azure depths that the assassin pressed quietly on, dragging his feet through the black lake to stalk along the invisible shallows that came halfway up to his knees. Saraya followed after her begrudged guide just as silently, feeling her way along the same hidden paths, unable to see where next to step. Blinded in part by the underground mist and deafened by the ceaseless ambience of flowing water, the acrobat felt increasingly uneasy the longer they lingered here. Wading as they were through a cavern filled with shadowed creatures and shifting reflections, nothing here moved how it normally would. Moreover, the flickering lights and swirling mists painted everything in a dreamlike haze, and harmless motions became an easy thing to misconstrue as a rising threat. Given this and her strong distrust of the man she followed, it was no surprise that Saraya was feeling anxious. Deciphering Develli’s subtle movements was the only way she was able to perceive potential danger, and in being constantly beset by fog, she could do no such thing.
Still, I’m being absurd, she thought while clutching the hilt of her dagger, using her blade as her anchor to a firm reality.
And that Saraya’s role in their pact was over, this only made matters worse. Guiding Develli back to the surface, leading him from that Valor cell and along the same route she’d taken to get there, had been the only leverage she possessed to so boldly demand his help. Back then, desperation and quick thinking is what had bid her to trail the injured Valor down into the ruins, hoping that they would eventually lead her to where they were holding the assassin captive. But though doing so had indeed granted her the means to coerce Develli to cooperate, there was a limit to its usefulness. Unfortunately, her part of their arrangement had already come and gone, and with it complete, the assassin now had no reason to uphold his end of their bargain.
But thankfully, Saraya’s own knowledge of the assassin’s guild’s creeds had worked well in her favor. That assassins held the Fawln goddess, Nox, in such high regard was an unsurprising, yet little know fact, and by so knowing she had been able to have Develli swear an oath by the goddess’ name. By playing upon the guild’s superstition, Saraya had hoped to permanently bind the assassin to his oath, where breaking it would be seen as a personal affront to Nox and swiftly punished by god and guild alike. The only flaw with this line of thinking concerned Develli’s piety, as Saraya had no way of knowing how devout the assassin was to the deity, if he even was at all.
Fortunately, she sensed no inclinations of treachery coming from her disgruntled guide for now, and felt only the assassin’s incessant urge to continue forging on. Considering what she knew of him, the jester believed it out of character for the man to so doggedly progress. Admittedly though, she was grateful for such single-mindedness, even if it did make her increasingly wary of anything yet to come.
Relieved though she was to hear Alter agreeance, it did nothing to settle Saraya’s nerves. The assassin’s oath was—as far as she knew—the only thing keeping them safe, but the Blue Passage was the last obstacle remaining between them and their respective goals. Once beyond it, their shoddy attempt at a pact would finally come to its end, and both acrobat and assassin would become enemies once again. Within the walls of Dragon’s Teeth, Saraya could very well become the assassin’s target, and this time she wouldn’t have Myria by her side to serve as a willing shield.
No sooner did she ponder this did Develli come to a sudden stop, the motion causing Saraya to wrap her fingers tightly around her blade. Expecting the worst, she too brought up her second hand to clasp her other dagger, though she sensed no hostility from the man in spite of the sudden change. Cautiously, the jester watched the hazy blue outline of the assassin’s silhouette, and tried to determine what Develli was plotting in the shadows of the dark. In but a moment, the answer came flooding forward on a shining wave of light, as a whispered word summoned forth a phantom glow to further alight the cave.
“Magic?” Saraya muttered as the light caused the air to sparkle; its luminescence turning the mists into an array of twinkling drops. “You’re a caster too?”
The assassin scoffed in response to her query and sharply turned around, revealing a glowing pendant of unassuming stone hanging around his neck. “If I were,” he mumbled in retort, “I wouldn’t have allowed you to release me from that cell, nor would I have failed to kill you in either of our duels.”
Squinting against the harshness of the light, Saraya shrugged her response in indifferent defeat. “That’s probably true,” she admitted, loosing her grip upon her blades. “Guess I’ll just consider myself lucky that you’re only an assassin, then.”
Grimacing at first to her reply, the man’s face twisted next into an unreadable expression, whereupon his mouth eventually settled on the formation of a frown. “A na?ve fool,” he quietly muttered beneath the growling of his breath, and turning back toward the route ahead, he slowly skulked away.
<“Only an assassin”,> Alter mocked, her tone jingling with a sneer.
Saraya sighed exhaustedly. “That’s not what I meant,” she grumbled, though when considering who it was of which they spoke, she quickly realized she didn’t care. Even if she had offended him, Saraya relaxed her guard regardless to a fraction of what it was, and strode off after the assassin to wade deeper into the freezing waves.
Despite how small Develli’s trinket was, the light it released into the cave was by no means miniscule, and the paths ahead, once hidden by shadows, were now more visible beneath their shroud. So, too, did the shallow footing they trudge along become a little clearer under the water, this causing the acrobat to wonder why the assassin hadn’t used the necklace sooner.
Because he’s not a caster, Saraya reminded herself as soon as she posed the question, remembering her own lack of talent when dealing with these things. Without possessing some magic skill, it took a spark of one’s own energy to compel such enchanted charms to work, and no small amount of energy at that. That Develli could light the stone at all was impressive, if not mildly frustrating, as even with excessive amounts of practice Saraya had never been able to do the same.
This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.
Regardless, now that their path was easier to see, the time they needed to reach the exit had shrunk tremendously. Though the assassin still had to scour the deepest shadows with his eyes, by holding his necklace slightly aloft he seemed better able to recognize his standing. Carefully then, so as to not further disturb the local fauna they’d already scattered into alert, Develli stepped more quickly through the shimmering waters around his feet. Eventually, he broke from the tide and diverged into another, smaller pass, with Saraya following after him as closely as she dared.
In only a short stretch of time, the assassin’s chosen branch of cavern led to another stairwell of winding stone, one identical to the treacherous climb that had first brought them here. Fortunately, with Develli’s charm to light their way, their upward trek proved infinitely less perilous than their earlier descent, and a simple walk was all it took to bring them to the top. In nearing its peak, the natural rock of the underground pass was replaced by carved stone laid with mortar, causing a stark contrast to exist where the cavern ended and fortress began. Not long after reaching this point did the tunnel come to an end, whereupon both acrobat and assassin found themselves inside of a small, forgotten room. Two empty sconces, both cloaked with spiders’ webs, stood guard on either side of another short stairwell, and Develli was the first of them to move and ascend the stairs. Reaching the top, the assassin pushed against the ceiling tile, and with a grunt, he forced it loose. Dust fell free from the seams around the stone, coating Develli’s shoulders with dirt, and putting his back into another heave, he hoist the slab aside.
As soon as the covering had been removed a dim, golden light trickled down into the passageway, allowing for the assassin to whisper at his chest and douse his pendant’s light. Patiently then, Saraya watched as Develli poked his head up through the exit, pausing to take a short glance at the world above before pulling himself up through the hole. She followed after him, slipping out through the opening and into the silent room, where she was quick to take cover in the nearest shadow while her companion replaced the tile.
Immediately the scent of dust replaced the lingering stench of mildew and dank within Saraya’s nose; a surprising discovery when considering the place where she and the assassin had emerged. Indeed, a Kayll sanctuary was not a place often left to fall into dereliction, yet there was no mistaking the abode for anything else. The high ceilings, held aloft by spiraling columns and leafy beams, were notably decorated with a multitude of mosaics and murals, and the walls were likewise ornamented with various carvings and embroideries. The towering windows with golden leaf were as equally grand as the walls that framed it, with each pane inlaid with stained-glass depictions of the gods and their good works. But these images were each marred by time and a general lack of care, their prismatic grandeur hidden behind moth-eaten curtains and several layers of dust and dirt. A morose ghost of what it once had been, the colors of such neglected beauty trickled only faintly into the sanctum, and provided only a meager light by which the jester and assassin could see.
Carefully shifting around the shrine at her back, Saraya gazed out around the sanctum to confirm that she and Develli were indeed alone. Once doing so, she strode out confidently to the chapel’s center, noticing as she stepped away that the shrine under which she had taken refuge belonged to the goddess Alandia. Eight other shrines inhabited the room just as Alandia’s did, with each one bearing a tall and elegant depiction of the god or goddess they were meant to represent. To no one’s surprise, the altar of Takar stood the tallest and centermost of the lot. This was Cambria, after all, and Neurial on top of that. That the god of drake and of the Hunt would be at the forefront of the ensemble was nothing if not appropriate, though it only added to the mystery of why this place had been abandoned. For but a moment, Saraya recalled again the warnings from Lady Veil concerning the gods and the coming Fall, but she did not possess knowledge enough to know if these things were linked.
The sudden sound of the assassin’s steps pulled Saraya from her reveries, reminding her rather curtly that it was dangerous to let her mind so wander while Develli was still about.
Puzzled at first by Alter’s remark, Saraya glanced back toward the shadow beneath the depiction of Takar, where she noticed immediately just what her other self had meant. Though the darkness under the godly statue did well to hide it, Develli was obviously far more winded than he had any reason to be. Hunched over with his chest rising and falling with deeper breaths, the assassin was strangely out of sorts and quite clearly fatigued. This unusual lapse in his composure was swiftly amended though once he realized that Saraya had turned his way. Tightening his mouth into a frown and pulling himself up straight, Develli slid the cloth bundled at his neck back up over his nose to hide his face. Once again, those amber eyes became the only visible portion of his visage, though the annoying existence of his incessant smirk could still be felt beneath his cowl.
It took everything within Saraya to keep from groaning in response to the return of that awful face, for it most certainly was not a memory that she had ever missed. If nothing else, it did poignantly remind her of precisely why she hated Develli so, and also made sweeter the aforeknown knowledge that she would soon be rid of him.
“Your pendant’s defective,” the acrobat offhandedly noted as the assassin made his slow approach. “Its enchantment is likely incomplete, or perhaps partially worn.”
“Oh,” the man sharply scoffed as he glowered down at her from behind his mask, “so now the jester thinks herself an artificer as well?”
The mockery spat from his tongue was not an insult easily missed, and regretting having said anything at all, Saraya turned away. “If only that charm were truly cursed,” she muttered quietly, knowing that such a malevolent piece would eventually leave its wielder dead.
Again Alter was correct, and so Saraya buried her anger. The only reason she knew anything about magicked items was, indeed, because of the circus and Lady Veil, and obviously she had no intention of telling Develli anything concerning them. The excuse of being half Aeriman and thus accustomed to magic, though suitable for most occasions, was in actuality a shallow reason, and so if told to the assassin, it was likely he would pry.
“The dungeons,” Saraya thus began instead, changing the subject to the task at hand, “you said you knew how to get to them.”
“Did I?” Develli asked in response, feigning an unbecoming innocence.
Saraya only frowned again, this time rolling her eyes. She’d grown too tired of the assassin’s games a very long time ago. “If indeed you have forgotten,” she started next in slow reply, “then surely the fortress guards will be more than happy to show me the proper way.”
“Perhaps we could even go together,” Alter added, smiling slyly in her special way.
“Unless, of course,” Saraya continued, “you have somewhere else you’d rather be.” The point the jester and Alter were trying to make was not lost upon the assassin, and even though his face was hidden, his displeasure was apparent.
“You are rash enough to do it too,” he grumbled in annoyance. “And I cannot tell if it is by confidence or your cursed insanity.”
“Always it is a bit of both,” Saraya answered. “I told you as much once before.”
Develli snorted an irritated scoff, but otherwise did nothing; though this was likely only because the man was still too winded from the use of his charm to adequately retaliate. “The north wing,” he stated then. “The southernmost quarter of the northern wing is where the dungeons lie. You can get there from the hall nearest here if you first turn right, but you must then turn left at the third crossing and after that, keep going straight. Keep the center gardens at your left and you will not easily lose your way.”
“And the guards will direct me the same?” Saraya questioned.
“The guards would surely confirm my words, though they would make the journey longer.”
Saraya considered the assassin a while, but had no reason other than her own hatred of him to doubt what he had said. She didn’t detect the usual telltale signs of a lie, nor did she have the required knowledge to weigh his guidance against. As far as she could tell for now, Develli’s words were true.
“Very well then,” she eventually said. “As much of a gamble as it may be, I’ll take you at your word. Which means I’ll be on my way. I’d say our time together has been a pleasure, but that would be a lie.” With a curt imitation of a performer’s bow and a twist upon her heel, Saraya made for a hasty retreat down the sanctum’s center runner.
“Hold,” Develli suddenly snapped, stopping Saraya before she’d gotten even two steps away. “Do not forget your end in this. You’re to tell me who taught you the assassins’ ways.”
“That you may exact some sort of vengeance on them?” Saraya guessed, almost certain that she was right. “You’ll find yourself too late for that. My teacher is—”
Already dead.
Much to Saraya’s own surprise, the very attempt to utter these words caught painfully in her throat, as the smallest reference to that person had caused her chest to fiercely tighten. How long had it been since that horrendous day? And yet, she could not bring herself to so casually speak of it. She would think it ridiculous to be so crippled, had she not known herself so well.
Alter started to say, her voice a sullen comfort from the only other person who had been present during that dark time.
“You’re right…” Saraya whispered quietly, sadness her very breath. Her welling emotions she swallowed though, before trying to answer again. “My teacher is…” she managed to say. “My teacher is already dead.”
Somehow this news only seemed to sour the assassin’s foul mood further. “Still,” he began to say, shoving his disappointment aside, “I would have a name.”
Saraya sighed somberly. She knew that she had no choice but to give the assassin her answer. She had promised, after all, and she always did her best to keep her word, even to a man like him. “My teacher’s name was Avaria,” she said. “Avaria Leurain.”
In hearing this, a small spark seemed to light within Develli’s amber eyes, but then it faded just as quickly with the furrowing of his brow. “Avaria Leurain?” He muttered to himself behind the darkness of his cowl, but rather than having recognized the name, the man sounded confused.
“Does that fulfill what I had vowed?” Saraya pressed, wishing even more so now to leave.
“Yes, it does,” the assassin confirmed. “Our pact is now annulled.”
“Thank the Kayll,” Saraya breathed and took off again down the sanctum aisle to escape this horrid place. As her footprints marred the dusty red of the floor beneath her feet, she silently cursed Develli’s name with every step she took. If only he had forgotten that small addition to their deal, then her heart wouldn’t feel so heavy. It was her own fault, she supposed, for having so flippantly made that promise; to tell the assassin just who it was that had instilled in Saraya her skills. If she hadn’t, then she never would have had to dredge up the painful memory of her mother; of the woman who had first formed the jester into the killer that she was.