Skandra Tyullis (roll_the_bones) wrote in caeleste, @ 2009-07-09 16:45:00 |
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Entry tags: | aeotha easaahae, chosen, elemmÃrë, leironuoth, skandra tyullis |
my dear old friends (aeotha, leironuoth, elemmire)
There was no city in all the world quite like Agethlea. He didn't hate it as much as he hated Trone, but the hatreds were close. On a map, which might have been drawn by some ancient fool, it should say "Here There Be Mages" in block letters. Treacherous, cheating, lying, stealing, filthy miserable mages. Skandra's greatest wish was that the tidal flood which claimed Trone would come just far enough this way to destroy Agethlea, too. Both of them washed out to sea. Both of them obliterated by the wrath of the gods for being what they were. Awful places where no joy could reside. Technically, he recalled, he was banned from Agethlea for a dispute with the Hands of Prabhat that ended in one of the mages believing he was a chicken for all time. Crossing spells by mistake was a terrible business Skandra was told. This was no exception. They would trot the fellow out now and again to the students as an example. What could go wrong. Despite all of that, there was one advantage to being in Agethlea again.
Large cities, urban places, were his homes.
You could find a game of dice in a tavern here, just as with any city. You could spot the lookout rat on the corner and glean information from him with a little coin, so long as you did not interfere with his work. You could map out the patrols of the guards in your mind and schedule all of your bloody duels to avoid them. You could turn rival companies of thugs against one another and watch the White Riders or the civil guard clean up the mess. Elves were at home in the forests of the world, moved silent as a shadow's eyes, but the city was his domain. He could go from observed to unobserved in the time it took him to think about doing it. So it was only natural that he'd feel more comfortable here than out in the wild, where anything could happen and anyone could surprise you by jumping out of the gods-damned trees at you. It was also natural that he would notice the pair of fools following him not long after entering the city proper.
Those arches always confused him. So much of the posturing that went on here concerned manipulation. Manipulation of the written word, or of magic, or of nature, or of another fellow. Manipulating the elements and constructing something that was supposedly beautiful seemed the same thing to him. Skandra didn't have an appreciation for art. He had less for Agethlea in the summer, with its sticky heat despite the open spaces and the humidity that rolled off the river in waves. It seemed as though the Olne was the source of everything awful in this place. What was worse, they were approaching dusk, and the sun seemed hottest them. The sky was starting to turn orange and yellow and red, purple clouds breaking up the monotony, but he could not for the life of him see a single thing that he would have classified as beautiful.
The crowd around the Boar's Tooth Inn was thick as they passed by street stall after street stall. You couldn't venture very far into the city if you were up to no good, not without running afoul of one mage or another. And that was assuming the soldiers did not catch you at it. So they kept their seedy business to the edges of the city itself, away from those towering arches, and preferred to rest in the shadow of proper villains. Skandra stopped to examine a fruit stand with jaded eyes, and Elemmire and Sita were forced to stop with him. The owner only glared at him. As though expecting that Skandra would presently scoop up as many fruit pieces as he could and heave-to like a madman. It wasn't fruit that interested Skandra. Even though his eyes never left the fruit, and he pretended that he was pointing something out to Sita - this far away the hearing of an elf would still have a hard time picking out words - Skandra was watching their followers.
Aeotha and Leironuoth.
All through the forest, he'd wondered. Looked over his shoulder in search of something. They all had their preoccupations in Feinharad. Elemmire always looking toward Ellecdral, as if she should simply break for it now. Sita staring at nothing and wondering. Wondering if he would kick over her coffin next, probably. Skandra trying to win enough coin to keep them afloat. Gambling was exactly that, but some luck was better than others, and his luck was best. Distracted - was that the reason he hadn't seem them lurking along behind him? Did it matter? They had followed all the way from Iasa, or whatever passed for close to Iasa. Now he was in the midst of smells and sounds he recognized. Meat roasting at a stall not far from his. The stench of day-old stale water rising from a barn attached to one of the inns near here. Sun was beating down on his neck, because of the hat tilting forward.
The ocean of souls barreling down the street had a whisper all its own, same as the sea, bright and vibrant and recognizable. Skandra could see a face from a mile away among that crowd, knew them all. Knew their stories. The farmer come to market. The thief looking for a mark and the markers, hunter and hunted all at once, nothing if not a wild animal unleashed upon a civilized city. Skandra stared through gaps that bodies left behind, a wake of emptiness instead of foam. His eyes were narrowed at the fruit. Yet he looked all the same, from the corner of his eye, sweat beading on his forehead as it fled the prison his hat provided. Time seemed to slow as it did in a fight, as it had since he'd come out of that tomb, and he knew. Knew without really seeing, without looking in the way that certainty normally required. His breath sounded like the shuddering deaths of mountains in his chest. This was his city, as all cities were.
All of it familiar. All of it comfortable. All of clearing his mind.
"I guess they decided they were lost after all," Skandra remarked in a low voice.
"Who did? Are you buying fruit?" Sita asked in the same smooth stone voice she always used. "I would prefer an apple."
"How much?" Skandra asked impatiently.
"For you one silver pence."
"But they're in season," Skandra protested.
"And you are ugly, your face offends me," the shopkeeper told him bitterly. "Pay or leave."
Sita gave him a small bow at the shoulders when he flipped the coin into the owner's face. The poor bastard never noticed that Skandra liberated an orange and a pear as well. If he wanted to be a fool and a bastard, let him. One silver pence was still too much. He couldn't afford to crack the fellow's jaw this early in his visit, though. They were walking at a slow clip now. Skandra eating his pear, Sita eying both the orange and the apple with anticipation, and Elemmire acting as though the entire world had formed a conspiracy against her. It was no trick, he decided. Aeotha and Leir were following him. If he knew more than he let on, it was only enough to damn him, and the last thing Skandra wanted at his young and tender age was to get into a brawl with the elf. Who knew who would win that fight? Not a question that Skandra wanted to answer. Although, now that he had the armlets and the Vel back, he did feel a little more confident.
Having his sword didn't hurt, either.
"That guy was an ass, right?" Skandra jerked his chin over his shoulder. "I mean, he was..."
Sita only stared, then shook her head.
"Elemmire, come on, he was," and Skandra put on his most charming grin.
The elf didn't reply. Maybe she wasn't hearing so good today.
"Keep walking," he advised them. "Aeotha and Leironuoth are following us. At the next intersection, take a right. I'm going to try and get behind them."
One moment he was walking beside Elemmire, and the next moment, he was disappeared into the ground. The hat would be a dead giveaway, wouldn't it? So he took it off, tucked it under one arm and bent his knees. Walking against the grian was not unusual - and since he was lower than the foot traffic between himself and the duo of do-gooders, he had a ver low chance of being seen. This was confirmed when he ducked into the space between two stalls unnoticed. Not even the patrons seemed to see him. After Elemmire and Sita rounded the next corner it would be very easy to tell that Skandra had ducked out - the next street was not nearly so crowded, after all. He had to make a move between now and then. The real question was which move to make? A knife in the back would solve any lingering questions, wouldn't it?
As soon as he thought of reaching for a knife... his head ached. Not his head. His chest. It was a sliver of pain that coursed through him. All this time he'd wondered what it would be like, fighting Leironuoth, but he didn't want to fight either of them. Definitely didn't want to kill them in the street. Getting the stone with the both of them alive was harder. Maybe even impossible. But it was like Gershul to kill a friend just to make his life easier. It was not like Skandra. That being said, having them trail him at every turn, searching for some sign of what he was doing seemed more fraught with risk than simply bringing them into the fold. With them close enough to be observed, he was giving away some secrecy, limiting his own options, but limiting theirs as well. It was a gamble he would take over knifing them in the back.
For a moment, with his knees against his chest and his sword held awkwardly in one hand, Skandra considered closing his eyes. Closing his eyes so he could more clearly see that perfect memory. Leironuoth, clasping the arm that Skandra had offered in warm friendship. It was the beginning of a partnership that had earned them many names. Scourge. Bandits. Devils. Heroes. Aeotha was in different places in his mind; her body pressed against his, lips brushing his ear like feathered hands of the gods, whispering that she knew... she knew he was better than he let people believe. The same memories that had forced him to kick over Shantar's coffin. Different faces, and different places, but his neck felt as though it existed solely to manufacture sweat. Warm memories gave way to cold ones. A time had died and was gone. There was no sense in mourning it.
That much, he was sure of. So he watched the crowd, and waited.