(Sorry for any mediocrity in this post, itâs been a while since weâve made all our plans and so Iâm trying to piece things back together and find a way forward. From what I recall, she takes the prince and his accompanying guard captive and then, not knowing what to do with them, finds the ship captain of the resistance? Imma roll with that.)
The darkness and the drunkards remained Ridahneâs friends that night. She was convinced that the foreign soldiers had absolutely no idea how to read an ojih, the complex pattern of facial tattoos worn by the Azurei people. If they did, it wouldnât be hard to find her if someone was looking, and after what just happened that morning, someone was definitely looking for her. Any Azurei she met would not sell her outâat worst, they would ignore her to stay out of trouble. But loyalism ran strong in Azurei blood and nobody dared to aid the foreigners when it meant putting one of their own in danger. And anyone who did would surely be killed in the night. Quickly. Quietly. For that was the way of the Azurei.
The desert dwellers had a reputation amongst foreigners as being lawless at worst and barbaric at best, though in truth they were like any other tribal society and simply had their own customs they lived by. They did have a military presence, but not in the same way as some other provinces did, with ranks of soldiers in uniforms and matched armor. The Azurei army was instead somewhat more spread out and dispersed amongst the community (and in turn, the battlefield). They favored surprise, stealth, and assassination as their methods of victory rather than a show of force. On the instances when they faced open battle with another faction, often times Azurei captains would lure the foreign invaders into the Imâkhiraâtal, the vast wasteland of desert dunes and dust that lay beyond their coastal settlement. And there they would watch their enemy succumb to the elements, withering in the sun without the knowledge of how to survive in such conditions. This plan, however, did not work quite as well in recent times, as they had never before seen a force so well supplied. Despite their attempts to intercept supply lines, assassinate leaders, and destroy resources, the foreign invaders kept coming, and they brought carts laden with food and water. Azurei, eventually, fell. It was not, however, the easiest of the conquered provinces to maintain, and the locals offered little respect to foreigners and cursed them, both silently and in the streets.
Ridahne stole from shadow to shadow, trying at the same time to also appear inconspicuous. She would linger by the open-walled taverns that faced the sea and, when some drunk sailor who couldnât handle Azurei mead (which was quite strong and often spiced) would look away from his drink, she would reach out a hand, silent as a breath of wind on the sea, and take it. The same went for wedges of cheese, dates, and little sacks of almonds that were not well attended. Fish, thankfully, was not hard to come by. That at least, she could simply ask for, as she was of the Torzinei clan, who were people of the sea. All she had to do was present her ojih to a fishmonger and explain that she was down on her luck. And then, no matter how poor they were, they always managed to leave a smoked eejav on their counter unattended. It was in this way that Ridahne found her dinner.
A little hand wrapped around two of her fingers and pulled her into an alleyway and Ridahne followed the tug, though she glowered down at the small hooded figure wrapped in rags. âIf you plan to pick my pockets, Iâve got a terrible, terrible surprise for you.â She let an inch of her long knife show, glinting in nearby torchlight. âBest reconsider, street rat.â
âYou are known to the rats,â the young girl said with a small grin. âYou were one of the guild once. We know our own.â
Ridahne gave a smile to that, dipping her head in a small salute. âFrom the shadows we comeâŠâ
âAnd to shadows we return.â
Ridahne let go of her knife and stood at ease. The thieves guild was a pack of poor children and orphans that roamed the streets and looked out for each other. Like little rats, they knew the ins and outs of the city, particularly near the docks where there were lots of travelers who did not know to steer clear of the little pickpockets. To locals, they were both a nuisance and a resource, as they often had ears and eyes all around the city. âWhat do you need from me?â She asked.
The little girl, who couldnât have been any older than nine, lowered her voice and said âBeen hearing stories of a rebel native who attempted to burn three soldiers alive this morning. Somewhere on the edge of town. AndâŠâ the girl turned Ridahneâs hand over in her own, looking at the black deposits of soot and smoke. âUnless this Torzinei is now a blacksmith, I think they mean you. Youâre being searched for.â The girl beckoned for Ridahne to follow her deeper into the winding alleyway until they came across a barrel with soapy dish water in it. âThey wouldnât expect someone who spent the day in the waste to be clean. Youâre too obvious now.â
Ridahne gave herself a quick, hasty wash in the somewhat cloudy water to rid herself of the dust and soot, and to smooth out her hair a little. When sheâd finished, she nodded to the young street urchin. âMy thanks. Iâd give you a coin, but I have none. Tell me, little shadow, where have these soldiers been asking about me? I should find them before they find me.â
The girl pointed. âTwo doors down that way was where I saw them last. What will you do?â
A sinister glint flashed in Ridahneâs amber eyes. âClean the streets.â
The girl nodded, and fading into the darkness she said, âWindspeed, warrior.â
She checked her knives; of course sheâd brought them. Sheâd rather burn with her hovel than leave them behind. Both were clean, sparkling and ready. Refueled by a quick wash, some food and drink, and the taste of revenge, Ridahne blew down the street like a soft whisper, her cloak shrouding her tall, slim figure as she walked in search of these soldiers. They thankfully did not take long to find. Or at least, she guessed it was them. There were two of them walking astride, and from behind she thought they looked enough like the men who harassed her that morning. Ignoring any sense of self preservation, Ridahne moved forward until she was just behind the two men, at which point she silently drew her pair of knives and pressed one into each of their backs, just enough to cause a little pain but not yet draw blood.
âShout and you die. Fight, and you die. You will come with me. You will give me your coin purse. And if you cooperate, I will not burn you alive like you failed to do to me. Am I clear?â Her accent was thick, but her Talisian was good nonetheless. âNow, turn and face me. Slowly.âm
Tip jar: the author of this post has received
0.00 INK
in return for their work.