Paragon - Book I

Call Them As You See Them

Allayria stares blearily at the house on the other side of the street, eyes sliding once more over its obnoxiously familiar stone architecture, and the carefully wrought fence and carved sculptures that adorn a place so clearly comfortable in its own opulence.

Iaves shifts behind her in the usual ten-minute movement to stave of sleep. Rex, tail swishing with lazy happiness at being out of The Open Arms, blinks, her eyes drifting closed as her muzzle settles onto crossed paws. It is Allayria and Iaves' turn to take both day and night duty, and neither of them is doing too well.

It doesn't help either that Ruben has been making his rounds once more—to the markets and the taverns, sharing coin and wine while making himself conspicuous. Ben thinks it is a ploy to cow them, nothing more, but Allayria wonders if the old man still might be onto something: the four sleep in shifts and keep to the shadows.

She hasn't told the others about her run-in with the old Skill master yet. After purchasing the rest of their food and then doubling back and looping around several times to make sure she wasn't being followed, she had snuck back to the hotel much later than expected. At the time, there had been grousing and demands about what had held her up, but most of it was quelled by the smell of freshly baked bread.

Taking in the flat shadows beneath their eyes, the slowness of their hands as they feasted on the food, Allayria hadn't had it in her to give them any more to worry about. She can keep vigilant for Ruben enough for all of them. And... well, for all her suspicions and all her wariness, Ruben is not acting as an aggressive opponent. Allayria's gut tells her as long as they lay low—as long as he doesn't know, the voice in the back of her head, the one that always worries about being found out, whispers—he will wait. Fighters don't get that old without learning patience.

Allayria rubs her eyes, fighting off her own opponent: the impulse to stretch her limbs out and emit a jaw-cracking yawn. Time and space have shrunk again, seeming to only consist of following, eating, and sleeping, then following again and again and again...

She watches a milkman stride across the street, imagining she was him, with the nice, warm, wool coat, the stiff posture, the almost lock-kneed stride...

She blinks then sits up, throwing her arm over so it smacks Iaves.

He grunts.

"What?"

"Look at that man," she says, pointing to the milkman. "What is he?"

"Ben taught you that stupid game, didn't he?" he complains. "I have never—"

He trails off and his eyes are fixed on the man marches toward the Brezkin residence.

"He's a Jarles, isn't he?" Allayria says.

"Can't think of anyone else who walks like they have a stick up their ass," Iaves responds, turning around and clamping a hand on her wrist. "Take Rex and go get Ben. If I have to move she will lead you to me. Go get him now."

Ben awakes as soon as she puts a hand on his shoulder, rolling over with a wide gaze and a clear expression. She tells him what they saw and he climbs out of bed, slipping on clothes in the dim light.

"What about Meg?" Allayria asks as he retrieves his knife from beneath the floorboards. "Do we wake her up?"

"If you think for one second you are leaving me here," a voice erupts from the other side of the room as a scowling, ruffled-hair form claws its way out from under blankets and furs, "think again."

Ben shrugs, tossing a bundle of rope at Allayria before slinging a pack over his shoulder.

"Get up then, Sunshine, and let's go."