Shattered Exile

TEN Concealment

TEN

Concealment

It took them some time to make their way to the west gate, due to the number of Freylarkai loitering in the alleys surrounding the arena. Any lingering thoughts of a curfew had rapidly dissolved in the wake of the increasing hype and excitement leading up to the Trials. Together they politely pushed their way through the growing throng, single file, deftly navigating the path of least resistance towards their goal. Eventually they broke free of the crowd and half stumbled into the arena – afforded access courtesy of their rank – where proceedings were clearly more civilised. Despite the maelstrom of jovial chaos that surrounded the venue, the final preparations taking place within the arena were being carefully conducted in a calm and controlled manner. Although public spectators were now slowly trickling into the arena, it would be some time before the venue reached capacity. Freylar’s queen was already present; Mirielle was seated front and centre upon the tiered stone seating which spanned the southern edge of the arena. The Blade Lord sat to the right of Mirielle, with an empty space to her left – presumably reserved for Kirika. Ragnar sat next to Marcus; the broad Freylarkin occupied almost two spaces. Adjacent to to the Captain was Lothnar, followed by a number of empty spaces – presumably reserved for them, The Teacher and a host of Blade Masters and Mistresses still yet to arrive. Stretching left across the front row were numerous administrative aides – presumably attached to Kirika, whose absence was curious. She had expected an honorary space to be reserved for Aleska, however, the current seating arrangements along the front row implied otherwise. Perhaps Aleska’s recent aloofness had prompted the venerable scrier’s omission from the front row, or maybe Aleska simply did not intend to attend the festivities, she mused.

‘May I escort you to your seats?’ enquired an eager young Freylarkin, overseeing the event’s seating arrangements.

‘Thank you for the kind offer, however, I believe we already know our places.’ replied Thandor, who offered the young female a polite smile.

‘She is a bit young for you, do you not think?’ she said, attempting to tease Thandor as they made their way to sit beside Lothnar.

‘If you were less coy, I would not need to broaden my horizon.’ he replied, followed with a devilish smile.

She enjoyed Thandor’s company immensely – there was something about his semi-aloof enigmatic presence which drew her in; he was like a complex puzzle, which she absolutely needed to solve. Yet regardless of their obvious mutual attraction, their habitual flirting and teasing had thus far failed to evolve into something more. Her relationship with Thandor was a curious one; she often wondered if the thrill of the chase appealed more to them, as opposed to the actual claiming of their prize. Putting aside her habitual musings regarding her relationship with Thandor, she focused her attention once more on the present and took her place in the front row next to Lothnar. Lying at the nomadic Paladin’s feet was the black dire wolf Krisis, who she had noticed accompanying Aleska, and more recently Lothnar, since his recent return to the vale. The powerful animal sat on his hindquarters, keenly observing the Freylarkai busying themselves on the floor of the arena before them. Lothnar offered her a respectful nod as she made herself comfortable beside the duo.

‘Mind if I stroke your new companion?’

‘Be my guest – Krisis enjoys the affection.’

The dire wolf eased into her left hand as she enthusiastically rubbed the thick black fur at the scruff of his neck. Krisis made numerous pleasurable deep rumbling noises, signalling his desire for her to continue massaging his neck.

‘I am curious. Should you not be preparing for your imminent duel with The Guardian?’

‘I have already completed my preparations. Besides, I wanted to ensure that Krisis and I had a good seat for the remainder of the festivities.’

‘You seem rather relaxed, despite being asked to participate in the opening duel.’ she replied, surprised by the Paladin’s blasé attitude towards his imminent encounter with The Guardian.

‘I am not concerned.’ the Paladin replied, unconvincingly.

Lothnar’s short response betrayed his unease; she could sense a hint of doubt in the Paladin’s voice, however, she decided it wise not to potentially agitate him by needlessly pursuing the matter further.

‘I see.’ she replied, redoubling her efforts to sate Krisis’ appetite for continued affection. ‘I look forward to the duel – it should be an interesting encounter.’

Lothnar said no more on the matter, thus bringing a swift end to their brief conversation. The Paladin stared blankly at the arena floor, seemingly distracted by thoughts unknown to her. She turned to Thandor, who had clearly overheard their conversation; she could tell by the narrowing of his eyes that her exchange of words had piqued the duellist’s interest. Something was obviously bothering Lothnar, and now Thandor’s keen mind was working tirelessly to discover the cause. With Lothnar in earshot, she knew that Thandor would remain tight-lipped on the matter, and so she turned her attention back to Krisis, who by now had become an eager member of her personal entourage, easily won over by her ongoing affections. As she continued to massage the dire wolf’s neck, she thought back to their conversation with Nathanar – specifically Thandor’s own words. “Look to the opening duel of the Trials” – his words were still at the forefront in her mind, perpetually renting space. Assuming The Guardian could indeed score an upset victory against Lothnar, would Rayna subsequently ascend to become the very ideal she herself had coined, she mused. Rayna’s controversial arrival had already sent ripples throughout Freylar, like a stone cast into still water, and now Alarielle’s successor stood upon the cusp of more profound events to come. Victory over Lothnar would see The Guardian’s popularity soar to even greater heights. What would happen then, she mused, if Rayna became more revered than Mirielle, or more importantly...Marcus.

He was done hiding in the shadows. The growing number of Freylarkai flocking to the alleys surrounding the arena, in the run up to the Trials later that morning, meant that he could once again resume his infiltration of the Tri-Spires. Mirielle’s hubris, especially in proceeding with the Trials, had brought about a swift end to the curfew, thus permitting him freedom of movement once more. The hungering darkness deep inside him fuelled his desires, urging him onwards, having had its fill of the gibbering construct cowering in the gloomy corner of the store. Before taking his leave, he severed the flesh leash shackling his newest creation to one of the store’s interior walls, and left the establishment’s main entrance ajar. No longer bound to its cell, the creature now possessed the freedom to roam outside – indeed, he was counting on the inevitability. With the timing of Lileah’s renewed invasion unknown to him, he required an alternate means of distraction to tease the remaining house guards from the Tri-Spires, thus ensuring his successful infiltration. Although it was unlikely that the mother and daughter monstrosity would venture far anytime soon, in his prolonged absence the abhorrent creature would no doubt seek to escape its confinement in search of aid. Policing the Trials, along with its attending citizens, and dealing with the inevitable panic his arachnoid construct would ultimately bring, would see Freylar’s domestic security stretched thin. In all likelihood The Blades too would be preoccupied, revelling in the festivities, therefore making his task of infiltrating the Tri-Spires that much easier.

Prior to leaving the store, he dressed himself in the mutilated mother’s discarded attire, which he had torn from the Freylarkin’s body before working on the pair. Naturally, he had thought about posing as the daughter, but even his mastery of manipulating the flesh had its limits; the size difference between the young female and his own frame was unlikely to go unnoticed. Given his inability to reduce his own mass significantly – even on a temporary basis – he had resigned himself to playing the role of the mother. Regardless of his preference, the fresh experience was exhilarating. Despite having previously stolen numerous identities, never once had he adopted the appearance of a female. His gender-defying masquerade was uncomfortable at first; specifically, the role demanded a conscious effort on his part to stand up straight, which irked him no end. Nonetheless, he quickly adjusted to his altered form, working his new physique hard as he moved unnoticed through the growing throng of Freylarkai crowding outwards from the arena. Although mimicking the voices of others remained beyond the reach of his ability, those Freylarkai who ultimately recognised his faux visage were quickly dismissed with a friendly wave of his right hand – which still retained all of its digits. He pushed his way past the enthusiastic revellers, all of whom appeared eager to watch the Trials. His successful pretence of posing as a female amused him immensely, in ways he had never previously imagined. The darkness lurking inside his body also approved of his brazen disguise, savouring his own experience in equal measure. How ironic, he mused, that one of Mirielle’s exiles now walked alongside her own people. Together they mocked the Freylarkai in secret, passing through the gathered host without a second glance. He laughed quietly, in unison with his dark companion, taking pleasure from the ease with which he had deceived his unsuspecting kin.

‘Soon...’ he said, quietly under his breath, in his habitual raspy tone, ‘Your skin will dance to my touch.’

He quickened his pace, in line with his rising excitement, conscious now that he was incessantly licking his lips. His short-lived discipline was now faltering badly in the wake of his growing anticipation. Having exercised patience and restraint for so long, now his body – more than ever – craved the object of his desires. Soon Freylar’s queen would be within his grasp. Lucid thoughts of how he would violate Mirielle’s marble-like skin swarmed in his mind, making him feel giddy amidst the press of the overbearing crowd. The promise of euphoria was now close to intolerable; the prospect flooded his mind, making it difficult for him to concentrate. He could feel the muscles in his face twitching with glee, making it difficult to maintain his current visage. Realising now the precarious nature of his situation, he increased his pace, carelessly pushing past those in his path, attempting to break free of the dense crowd. Several Freylarkai cast their gaze in his direction, bemused by his strength, which obviously exceeded that of a normal female. He paid them no attention and continued to fight his way past the gathered Freylarkai. After finally breaking free of their undisciplined ranks, he started to regain his composure as his dislike of densely packed crowds abated. The muscles in his face ceased twitching and the mounting elation, which had threatened to overwhelm him, quickly receded. Once he was satisfied that he had regained control of his facade, he glanced over his shoulder, offering the mob a quick sneer, before pressing on towards the Tri-Spires.

She watched with interest as Rayna prepared herself for the opening duel of the Trials; the enigmatic light bringer diligently performed the breathing techniques commonly practiced by The Blades, which, almost certainly, had been imparted to her by The Teacher. She supposed that Rayna sought to compose herself, in readiness for Lothnar’s challenge, yet, given The Guardian’s resolve at Scrier’s Post, the pre-combat ritual seemed largely redundant. She shifted her gaze towards her sister, who observed Rayna’s choice of breathing exercises; Kirika had a curious look on her face, full of conflict and mixed emotions. After The Guardian’s arrival in Freylar, her sister was tasked with overseeing The Guardian’s personal development, and in doing so had apparently grown attached to the light bringer. It was understandable then, that Kirika would exhibit a certain amount of pride, watching favourably as her protégé prepared for what promised to be a fascinating duel. Yet on the other hand, Kirika was about to commit an act which would potentially see her sister lose her seat on the ruling council, or worse, become exiled – as she herself had been. Having only just reconnected with her sister, she was heartbroken to learn that her arrival now placed Kirika in an impossible situation. Now, more than ever, she needed to scry the future – for her sister’s sake – yet Rayna’s involvement continued to confound her ability. Due to her unpredictability, and the colliding destinies that she represented, The Guardian was anathema to all scriers, regardless of their level of mastery. It was impossible to foresee the strands of fate interwoven with The Guardian’s own, and right now, their destinies were inexorably linked. If Rayna won her duel with Lothnar, and subsequently lent them support, their gambit, and in all likelihood Kirika’s future, would be secured. However, failure would weaken their position; she remained unconvinced that Vorian’s testimony alone would be sufficient to ensure that her voice was heard. They needed the Freylarkai on side, and the key to earning their favour was popularity.

‘Are you nervous?’ asked Vorian, who had remained diligently by her side since her return to Freylar.

‘It is hard not to be.’ she whispered, whilst tugging at the hood of her robe with her good hand, ensuring that her identity remained hidden.

Smuggling her into the buildings adjoining the arena had been relatively straightforward, given her sister’s level of influence. Nonetheless, she remained conscious of her mechanical claw, and the need to ensure its continued concealment – for the time being at least. If a single Freylarkin caught sight of her ornate prosthetic, their carefully orchestrated plan would quickly unravel. Thus, she ensured that Krashnar’s work remained out of sight, buried beneath the folds in her robe. She was now a stranger to Freylar, yet despite this fact there could be no room for complacency, given the risk each of them shouldered. Kirika was about to lay everything on the line to ensure that her voice was heard and judged by the people – the very least she could do was to reciprocate her sister’s level of commitment.

After completing her exercises, The Guardian casually wandered over. Rayna leaned with her back against the wall, adjacent to herself and Vorian, whilst Kirika busied herself with another of her aides, who seemingly appeared from nowhere. The Guardian said nothing at first, appearing content simply to stand in their presence whilst she waited to be called to the arena. She expected the silence between them to be cold and awkward, yet there was something about Rayna that put those around her at ease, herself included.

‘Don’t you just hate waiting?’ said Rayna, suddenly.

The direct nature of the light bringer’s question caught her by surprise.

‘I have actually become rather good at it. But, in answer to your question, yes – waiting can be tiresome.’

‘Does it hurt?’ continued Rayna, who cast her gaze towards the mechanical claw concealed beneath her robe.

‘It was agony at first, and, still to this cycle, it causes me pain, although, I have learned to accept the discomfort – a small price to pay, for a working hand.’

‘Must be pretty handy in a fight?’ said Rayna, who beamed at her with an amused look.

‘Yes.’ she replied, with an honest smile – it was the first time anyone had openly made light of her disability. ‘I suppose so, although, I have never tried to strike an opponent with it, or use it to disarm them.’

Rayna laughed, despite Vorian’s obvious lack of perception apropos of their brief exchange of quips.

‘Nothing is taboo for you, is it?’ she said, her curiosity piqued by Rayna’s free disposition.

‘Well...it got us talking, and that’s a start.’

‘By that I take it that you wish to know me, and yet you should abhor me, given the events at Scrier’s Post.’

‘I have done things myself, which I am most certainly not proud of. It would be awful if we were unable to leave behind the dark places that haunt us. Moreover, what would be the point in continuing if they weighed us down indefinitely? Someone close to me recently taught me that it is possible to accept our past for what it is, and make peace with it. I have to believe that we can come back from our mistakes, and rediscover ourselves, so that we can move forwards.’

She had not expected such musings to spill from The Guardian’s lips. Taken aback by the unexpected thought provoking words, she struggled to find her own. She felt strangely drawn to Rayna, wanting to learn more about the enigmatic light bringer’s presence in Freylar, specifically whether there was a higher purpose to her curious arrival.

‘I am no longer certain that I can move forwards.’ she said, struggling to envisage a personal application for Rayna’s counsel.

‘Rubbish – you’re doing it right now. No one forced you to come back to Freylar. You could have remained in exile and allowed the comforting numbness of depression to have its way with you. But instead, you are here, risking your soul in an attempt to save countless others. You have already taken the first steps upon your road to redemption.’

Rayna’s frank assessment emboldened her spirit, threatening with it the dangerous promise of hope.

‘I may fail.’

‘No, you won’t – and neither will I.’

‘How can you be so certain – you are no scrier; you have no means of foretelling that which is to come.’

‘I have faith.’

‘You have faith – in what, may I ask? I gather such notions are moot, since your arrival.’ she said, generally interested in Rayna’s perception on the matter.

‘I have faith in us.’

‘Are you not confusing your faith with determination and ambition?’ she replied, seeking further clarity on Rayna’s viewpoint.

‘Perhaps…maybe – does it really matter?’

‘I suppose not. Regardless, I am not convinced that I share your level of faith.’

‘You have the determination, of that I am convinced, else we would not be having this conversation. And after I defeat Lothnar in that arena, I hope that you will come to share my faith.’

She was about to respond to The Guardian’s analysis, when a young female called to them from the passage leading to the arena.

‘Guardian, Lothnar has entered the arena.’

Rayna pushed herself away from the wall and turned to offer her a playful wink.

‘I guess it’s time I finally did this.’ said Rayna, who then looked to Kirika with a sidelong grin, before casually making her way towards the thunderous applause which echoed along the passage.

‘I would wish you good luck,’ she said, as Rayna calmly set of down the passage, ‘Though I can see now that you clearly make your own.’

The sound of the roaring crowd was almost deafening, as he deftly vaulted over the dwarf wall that ran the perimeter of the arena floor. Following Mirielle’s brief public speech – announcing the start of the Trials – he wasted little time ushering in its opening duel. Despite having managed to distance himself from the hype and excitement leading up to his duel with Rayna – largely due to his absence from the vale – nonetheless, the relentless ambient chatter concerning his imminent encounter, which he had overheard whilst waiting for the tiered stone seating of the arena to fill up, had succeeded in agitating him. Shortly after Natalya had accompanied him to the front row, he had quickly grown to regret his decision to bide his time amongst the crowd. Despite his anti-social demeanour, the showmanship of his unconventional means of taking to the arena floor was well received; the crowd cheered his entrance enthusiastically. Though typically not one for such cocky public displays, he presumed that Rayna would be waiting within earshot, therefore his deliberate ploy to incite the audience, thus strengthening his position, was no bad thing – the art of duelling was as much about strategy as it was displays of physical skill. He turned around to face the tiered stone seating and offered the sea of assembled faces a quick nod of his head. The crowd roared again, with thunderous applause, as they noisily approved of his subtle acknowledgement of their lively support. Numerous Freylarkai rose to their feet, continuing to clap and cheer fervently. Playing once more to the crowd, he acknowledged their support one final time, with another fleeting nod that sent his audience into a complete furore. Though not as well liked as Marcus or Nathaniel, nonetheless, his rank of Blade Paladin meant something to the people; he required no introduction – the crowd both respected and knew him as a champion of Freylar, a privilege rightly deserving of Paladin and Valkyrie alike. The Captain of The Blades was also on his feet; Ragnar clapped hard with his club-like hands, alongside Krisis, who barked energetically in front of Natalya. Savouring the moment, he inhaled deeply through his nose, before breathing out slowly through his mouth, attempting to slow his eager heart. Watching the raucous crowd react wholeheartedly to his presence shored up his weathered confidence; thoughts of Lileah quickly melted away, along with the creeping self-doubts over the mastery of his own ability.

After what seemed like an eternity of cheering and clapping, the lively crowd began to settle back down, as the eager spectators found their seats once more. After reseating themselves, the atmosphere in the arena quickly abated. As was expected of him, he took up his position, off centre, towards the east gate, where he silently waited for his opponent to emerge. Given The Guardian’s forthright disposition, he – as well as the audience – had expected Rayna to emerge promptly, but instead, they were left unexpectedly hanging, like overripe fruit refusing to drop from a tree. From the corner of his left eye, he noticed heads turning, as the audience looked to one another in obvious confusion. Palpable tension began to build quickly in the arena; it manifested in the air, until almost tangible. He began to feel a little awkward and self-conscious, and his mouth became dry. Officially, their duel had not yet started, but already he had underestimated his opponent, who was no doubt playing for time, deliberately, in a bid to rob him of his early momentum. The familiar self-doubt, which had previously stalked him, quickly returned; it lingered over him, like an ominous black cloud with the promise of rain.

‘Damn you.’ he whispered slowly to himself.

Whilst there was no doubt in his mind that Rayna would ultimately make her appearance, it was clear to him now that – before deciding to do so – The Guardian would first make him sweat. Typically he was unaffected by such obvious ploys, but the fact that he had not predicted the cheap move concerned him. It was clear to him now that Rayna had no intention of fighting fairly, which – given his superior fighting skill – was an understandable logical move. He wondered whether Rayna herself had coined the strategy, or if another member of The Guardian’s growing entourage had played a part in executing the cheap trick.

‘Clever girl,’ he whispered, again to himself, ‘Although, you have also made a mistake – you played your hand too early!’