Dragon (S)Layers Ch. 14: City of Flames

XIII

City of Flames -- 7

It was a strange thing, to crack the door and peer out into the shadowed streets that had kept her hidden for so many years and know that someone, someone she couldn't even see was looking right back at her.

Or they were in the house.

Sarah's hand trembled against the latch, gaze darting left and right as she tried to gather her wits. Was that shadow between the refuse and the front door across the street a humanoid or just a lump? She squinted, strained. Her grip tightened. This was a waste of bloody time.

She had to get out of the city and that didn't leave time to wait for some shadow to jump out at her. After all, she was Sarah-bloody- Kettar, dammit. It took her another ten seconds to gather up the courage to crack the door enough to poke her head out.

The streets were criss crossed with shadows under a low hanging moon that was too busy crawling into the horizon to lend any light to her situation. Even with her mixed heritage and classically good night vision, trying to make sense of the confusing mess of gloom and once comforting hiding spots.

The alcohol still warmed her thought processes, making full on panic sound less attractive than it might have if she were sober. Sarah fingered the playing card to occupy her thoughts for a brief moment as she worked out the most sensible plan she could manage.

Stage one, distraction; two would be to get to the others and three. . .

She needed a stage three. Everything worth doing involved three of something. Why couldn't a plan be the same way? This assassin wanted to send a message but they didn't know who they toying with. No. No, they had no idea.

Sarah took a deep breath and, full of alcohol fueled bravado, flicked the card into the open street in open defiance of whomever may be watching. With the challenge laid down, she closed the door and sprinted towards the back door.

On the list of things not to do when an assassin was trailing you, meandering about in the dark like an oblivious shopper in the middle of a fire sale at the 'marital aid' stall was reasonably high on the list.

When she got to the back door she almost tripped into the bar that had kept it locked. It was set up in such a way as to serve as much a warning as a playful gesture; the kind of thing a hunter would do to distract their prey from something more immediately dangerous.

She was being toyed with. Didn't that just figure?

Sarah cocked the hammer of her pistol and cracked the door, stealing a peek. Nothing moved in the back alley and yet there was a sense, as though someone was holding their breath, that something was waiting to act.

Not seeing anything immediately threatening, she slid the door open and poked her head out. Yet again, nothing moved. So far so good-- the killer was probably in the house anyway, right? Sarah looked back to the darkness. That was probably right. She stepped out into the alley.

The metallic pwang of a trap being actuated was always the first sound that registered right before you realized that you stepped on your own face. It was a sound she had learned long ago and had ingrained itself into the very fiber of her soul when it almost cost her her left hand. That was the sound that split the still air like a gunshot. She was too drunk for this.

By instinct, Sarah took the most advantageous route she could with her body's 'oh shit' reaction still in full swing; she fell flat on her ass in a half hearted attempt to tumble backwards. Even as she slammed into a bookshelf a flood of tiny bright red, purple and yellow gold-flecked cloth scraps fluttered over her when a bucket on a tightly wound spring arm slammed into the edge of the door frame and discharged its contents back into the house.

Toyed with indeed. Sarah muttered an obscenity in sphinx as she tried to right herself, ignoring the throb in the back of her skull. "Clever! But hardly sporting!"

Something clicked and groaned behind her-- leather being tightened as someone moved. Sarah didn't hesitate. She grabbed a hand full of cloth and tossed it in the direction of the noise as she dived for the open spot in the doorway. To hell with pretensions, it was time to leave.

Tumbling wasn't quite the word for the near face-plant she did off the stoop, but she landed with enough momentum to vault off into a half-stumbling sprint. She was too damn old to be killed in an alley and here she was, bumbling through shadow like it was her damned occupation.

A glance back revealed absolutely nothing about her pursuer. Not so much as an errant strip of black or form chasing her. Even despite this momentary reassurance, Sarah exploded onto the main street, toppling into a misplaced sack of refuse waiting for pickup.

From the cage she'd fashioned in her mind out of booze and poor decision making skills, her rational mind screamed that it was best to stay on the main streets and get back to the south end, avoid the docks at all cost and get to the gate. Her papers would be in her bag and, provided the idiot paladin didn't get everyone killed, her papers would get them protection and out of the city.

No sooner did this notion cross her mind than the clattering of roof tiles assaulted her ears. At first it was one being smashed under foot and then it was one dropping to the cobbles to shatter. Sarah raised her pistol and juked to the side. An indistinct form swept from the crest of the roof of a single story building along the road.

With no clear shot, Sarah tucked the pistol back into the sash of her dress and pumped her arms for extra speed. It was a loosing battle, though; years of being lazy and comfortable were taking their toll as her muscles started to burn and her lungs felt as though they were trying to clench in her chest. Gods, it was always so much easier watching someone else doing this kind of crap.

Sarah took advantage of the momentary change in her pursuer's direction and ducked into the shadow of an overhanging tenement, sliding deep into the recession where the door was until she could have been confused for a red stain on the moldy plaster. Given the circumstances, the analogy made her heart tighten.

On one hand, she had lockpicks. On the other hand she was panting so hard an aneurysm wasn't out of the realm of possibility. She glanced at the door longingly as though she could force it open with her mind--

Then she did the most practical thing she could. She booted it. Hard. Once, twice. On the third kick it gave and crashed inward spectacularly. A young man was near the door with a short blade preparing to defend himself. Sarah had her pistol in his face before he could get within reach. "Terribly sorry but this is a matter of import!" She threw a few coins at his foot with her left hand. "This'll cover the damages, where's the back door?"

The man stared at her, not quite sure what to make of the situation.

"Now if you would!"

"B- Back there." He made a vague gesture towards the back of the building. "Down the hall."

"Capital. Terribly sorry about barging in."

Without waiting for him to collect himself, Sarah bolted through the apartment and the hall, she yanked the door chain and instantly was rewarded with a flood of fresh air tinged with horse dung from a nearby stable. Knowing just enough about the geography of the city not to get lost after a binder at the local pubs, she had a rough idea of where she was.

There was a little straw awning over the back stoop that looked out on a circle shaped alley connecting four other alleys to a rudimentary horse shelter. Beside it a couple of carts were parked side by side near a fading caravan placard. With the central axis running north and south, she figured her destination was roughly west-- a bigger alley meant it was more likely to see cart traffic, didn't it? Yes, of course.

She broke cover and started into the alley. Mid way through she could see the folly of her choice, but it was too late. Two men in blue and silver armor with obnoxiously bright regalia came from the mouth of the alley to block the way. A glance back confirmed a similar group from the rear. No sooner had that registered then a man stepped up with his sword already drawn.

"Now, now!" Sarah tucked her pistol into her dress as best she could to hide it. "Let's not be hasty!"

"Who goes there--"

They had to have been caravan guards, Sarah tried for her smoothest voice. "Someone who's not trying to get involved in territorial disputes! Nor is she trying to cause harm to your masters' property."

"Sir?"

The man with the sword stepped into the alley to appraise Sarah. "Come closer!"

Keeping her hands plainly visible, she complied. "If you can make me come with naught but your voice, I would gladly do so." Sarah eyed the ridges of the buildings as she approached. "It's refreshing to see a man who puts a woman's desires before his own, truly, but I do need to be off."

He looked her over and scoffed, shaking his head. "Not the one. Go."

"Just like that? I should be offended--"

"Go, harlot, before I decide to test my steel--"

"I'll have you know--" was as far as Sarah got before the three men blew past her towards whatever spook they were after. She barely spared them a second glance. A distant 'there!' from one of them was probably the last she'd ever hear of them, and that was all right with her.

Sarah darted through the alley and into the street where three squads of guards had erected a barricade surrounding the caravan district, effectively blocking off traffic with brightly lit fire drums. As if that wasn't enough, an array of nobles' private guards supplemented the city guards with their own brightly colored armor and tabards.

"Bollocks," she muttered as she forced herself to slow her run to a steady walk across the street and into the opposite alley to keep from arousing suspicion. By the time she reached the opposite side the throbbing ache of her muscles had turned into a dull pain she would probably need a massage to rid herself of.

Too close. She was too close to let this all be for nothing, wasn't she? Sarah gritted her teeth and sighed, bracing her hand against the wall. If she had managed to survive this long, she could do it a little longer. She just needed to keep her wits about her. She needed to relax and keep it together. The plan was good, yes, it was perfect. The only thing missing was her getting out of the city.

Then it would be all right. She could start over and everything would be all right. Just get moving. She started to step forward when she felt something brush across her nape of her sweaty neck like cool fingers of agony ready to rip her spine from her body. It was a quick touch; the cool kiss of leather on flesh. It sent her heart into her throat and Sarah, instead of pivoting to face the danger, screamed and bolted off.

She ran for hundreds of feet before her knees and lungs both gave out, so tired from all the forced exercise that they couldn't go on any longer. She slumped against the wall of a bakery and crashed painfully to her knees, panting hard as she grabbed the back of her neck. Her hand came back smeared with blood. Too tired to scream, she touched her neck looking for a wound she couldn't find.

"Stop that!" She growled through clenched teeth. "Hav- Have you no decency!?" It was then that she noticed the sweat beads were washing a crimson line from her jugular down her bust. She wiped at the blood there, not even sure how her would-be killer had managed to do it without her knowing. "G- Gods. . ." She whimpered.

Her hand trembled as she wiped at the blood all the more. She didn't want to die. Not like this. She needed to move.

Twenty years of hiding and running gave her enough danger sense to know that she was drastically out classed and couldn't hope to compete with whomever this person was. Her only chance would be to get to the south gate and get out of the city. If she could make it, she'd be safe.

Sarah hauled herself up on trembling knees and forced herself into a wobbly jog fueled mostly by fear and anger at the pain of her overworked joints. She was going to run more she promised, all she wanted to do was survive this and then she'd spend the time to improve.

Yes, that was it. A plan for the future. That was all she needed; something to look forward to and--

Between two crates sitting alongside the building was something- someone- crouched. It was cloaked in shadow and barely a form at all. Sarah almost missed it in her panic, but she noticed it right before she'd have passed by. She drew her gun and pointed at it as she breezed by. It didn't follow.

The fifty steps that she pounded out between the refuse and the mouth of the alley seemed to pass like months instead of heart beats. It was brighter on the street than usual, strange, but hardly unique. Perhaps there was some kind of street inspection or-- dare she hope?-- a festival of some kind.

Several guards strolled by casually heading towards the southern quarter, passing by the mouth of the alley with all their shining armor and clanking steel amongst inane chatter. Sonofabitch.

Sarah dived into the embrace of shadow, practically slamming into the wall with her full momentum. The noise of her body slapping the wall like a dead fish grabbed one of the guards' attention and he looked her way. Some part of her wanted to run, some part of her wanted to scream at her own stupidity for being in this situation, every other part of her told her to shut up and stay still.

The guard trailed behind even as his compatriots continued on down the street. He was young, perhaps in his twenties, old enough to do his job and yet probably not world wary enough to have seen the kinds of things that fostered healthy cynicism just yet. Sarah could have stepped into the light and talked her way out of the situation, maybe even gotten help, and yet. . .

No, she wasn't that crazy. Despite what some would say about pointed ears making her 'fey crazy' or some such, she was anything but. She slunk back into the dark a little more. One of his friends glanced back at him and, in a thick western accent said, "Nothing but street walkers down here, come on."

"She's wearing a dress, right? Aint we--"

"I don't care if she was wearing a strip of cloth and doing a fan dance, she's not gonna hide 'round the whores." The man squinted against the gloom, leering in Sarah's direction. "C'mon."

"But--"

"Come on, 'fore the nobles blow a vessel that we're not doing our jobs."

The young man looked at the other guard, reluctantly following the group with a final glance back towards Sarah's hiding spot. The older guard ushered him on and after a few moments the sound of their armor became little more than a distant memory.

Sarah slumped against the wall. How had things gone this wrong this quickly? There was a lot to be said for living in the present and moving on from the past but it's not like she had ever listened to that little nugget of wisdom. Could she have done something different in order to wind up somewhere else? Probably, but would it matter?

That's enough, she told herself. Life went on whether she was ready for it or not, no sense in wondering what could have been. Absently she rubbed at her throat as she gathered her focus. It wasn't her blood, there were no wounds. It was a message, then, not the act itself.

She was wearing a dress. . .

Sarah edged closer to the lip of the alley and peeked out, squinting against the harsh glow of the fires. There were dozens of nobles' guards mixed in with guard patrols here, too. It seemed she wasn't the only wanted woman in the city. But if it was severe enough for the nobles to take a personal interest in capturing her-- or Sarah, for that matter-- then chances were good it was pretty important.

There was a moment where she considered emerging from cover, but in lieu of a step forward, her breath fell flat when she heard the slow clop, clop of strong horses approaching. She ducked back into the alley and waited.

The sound was joined by steel armor clapping against itself and shortly thereafter a contingent of men in blue and orange tabards over full plate armor with a hand full of city guards mixed in was leading a small but beautifully ornate carriage. The two windows forward of the door were boarded over hastily from the inside, indicating there hadn't even been time to cover the boards, much less do a proper job of putting them up in the first place.

It was the kind of thing someone truly paranoid would do. Curious, Sarah watched until they past her hiding spot and peeked again in time to see the procession stop near the guards. Words and gestures were exchanged and the leader of the guard group approached the carriage. A pudgy man in a frock emerged to talk to the leader.

Something was off about him, though, he looked sweaty and sickly; sunken eyed and completely exhausted as though even the act of speaking was wearing down what may have remained of his energy. He gesticulated a few times to the leader and pointed back the way they'd come from.

There was something else. Movement from the opposite side of the carriage, atop one of the buildings. A lithe form in dark grey leathers splotched with black was sliding their way down from the lip of a beam to the ground where they landed as sure footed as a cat. It happened so fast that Sarah barely had time to register the image before the figure was out of view.

There was time to warn them, of course, but Sarah was anything but stupid enough to get involved in that kind of nonsense, even knowing that it was probably the person who had designs on killing her.

She frowned as the realization struck her. The killer was trying to get Sarah and another mark in close proximity so they wouldn't have to go as far to get things done. Or perhaps she was going to have the murder of the noble pinned on her. It would make the investigation rather easy to complete, leaving nothing pointing back towards them in the first place.

It's how Sarah would've done it, if she was incredibly bitter and stupid enough to actually want to try doing something like that. She could have warned them, she could have run. She could probably have done both given enough time. She swallowed, drew her pistol and prepared to fire into the air. Maybe if she got caught by the guards before the killer had time to do whatever it was they set out to do. At worst she'd look like a distraction-- an accessory.

"Bollocks," Sarah whispered.

In the entire sphere of continually less opportune choices, the only one that made any sense was to run away before things got started. She started to turn. But then it started with a loud bang and a flash of light. In seconds a stream of bright light erupted in front of the carriage, cutting off the street like a wall. The prickle of its arcane 'flavor' sparked across her body like a cold snap.

The coach's horses neighed and reared up, men shouted incoherent orders to their subordinates and the man ducked back into his carriage as though it would do any good. All of them were on the reactive while the leather clad figure threw two small canisters into the street-- both exploded with a pop, releasing waves of yellow smoke.

Half the guards immediately broke ranks and ran, the others closed in on the carriage to protect it. Apparently the would-be assassin hadn't counted on them doing so, for it was already working its way around the carriage trying to find a spot to get a line on its target. The gas started to dissipate a split second later as the assassin stepped boldly into the light in open challenge. The wall of light cast an awkward shadow over its masked face and that's when Sarah noticed that the black splotches on the short figure's armor armor wasn't blending in with the shadows so much as absorbing light.