Angkast

by Katherine

“Special intelligence mission my ass. It’s nothing here, just dust and ice and drunken louts spewing on the straw. Five months on the road for nothing. Five months of freezing my toes off, eating nothing but dry beef and stale rice, and drinking this godsawful backwater beer. And no sign of anything. Not even a farmers strike. What am I still doing out here?”
Thump against the back wall of the tavern, head hitting cold wood. Rulana stared up at the dim ceiling of the place, fragments of the filthy straw feathering down on the heads of patrons below. It was just like every other place she’d stayed at for the past 20 weeks. Small, dirty, inbred, boring.
She took another gulp of the watery, bitter tasting liquid in her cup.
“What I wouldn’t give for an orange. Or clean clothes, without tears or stains. Or even CHOCOLATE. Yeh, I could REALLY go some chocolate right now…”
She sighed, and looked back to the crowded room. All she saw were hicks and whores, the same as every other pub in every other town. She studied the people, face by face, touching on their thoughts for a few seconds as she did so. Nothing new, farming plans, trading prices, someone’s wife was pregnant. Move onto the pregnant wife, her adulterous husband, this family running out of food with winter on the way, a sick child and a father drinking himself into oblivion. Here were the depressing realities of life, not the glitz and glamour of the palace she was used to, but the real living. The fight for survival away from the masks and lies, no room for the deceit that accompanies money.
Rulana had been brought up in a place like this, she knew it all. Her Adoption to the Institution at the palace at 15 had been a godsend; the entire village had died of sickness that winter.
Yeh, she knew how it was.

But there… hang on. There, in the corner, by the bar. A flicker of blue. She readjusted her sight to normal, away from peoples minds and auras.
Standing by the bar was a woman, medium height, medium length hair, and medium brown clothes. Everything about her was average, unremarkable, every day and ordinary. A little too ordinary.
Rulana reached out and touched her mind, ever so gently, but all she could see was light blue. The woman had blocked her mind, and there was no way in.
Rulana was instantly on alert. Only professionals could do this, and only someone with suspicious intentions would try. She didn’t push it, knowing the woman could feel it if she tried too hard, and studied her, top to toe. Medium everything. Brown and leather. Blue eyes, same as her aura. Leather harp case with City Minstrels branded into the cover. Worn boots. The locals didn’t speak to her, but smiled and replied when approached. She’d been here a while, but not long enough to settle in.
As if she knew she was being watched, the woman turned her head in Rulana’s direction. Rulana stared into a space by the woman’s feet, appearing in deep contemplation.
“She must be more sensitive than I thought. Dammit.”

The awkward moment was broken by the sound of a horse in pain. Alerting others to its pain. Or someone’s pain. All noise in the room ceased, tension slunk its way into the atmosphere, a filthy moment of apprehension with all faces turned to the door. Their expectation not wasted, a figure appeared in the doorway, arrow embedded in his side. He limped to the middle of the room, and opened his mouth. Rulana reached out quickly, entered into his mind, and read all she could find.

Dirt road, shining dully in the sun. Boredom. Sway and smell of horse. An unknown message, secret… very important. Be careful, bandits, enemies. So bored.
SUDDEN MOVEMENT!
Black figures. Shooting arrows. RIDE! Flee! Message must reach…
PAIN
PAIN
PAIN
BLOOD
…shit…help…escape…
…blackness…
…tavern. People. Help? So much blood…
Focus damn you. This is important. Sweet mother how it hurts…
Get off the horse. Deliver message. Must be safe. PAIN.
…darkness…
“Message… for…”
PAIN
Air?
…
…release…

She could feel him slide away, exited his mind as he fell to the floor. There was a stunned silence in the room, the people stared. Saw the uniform and distanced themselves. There would be no talk of this, just whispered murmurs in the bed tonight, and uneasy stares for a week. When King’s Messengers get shot at, you know your children aren’t safe. Its just a matter of time.
The barkeep barked an order to remove the body, and the room returned to normal, trying to pretend nothing had happened. Rulana looked over to the blue-shaded woman, noting her expression of dread. They had something in common; her and the dead man, but then, so did Rulana.

She made her way to the back of the room, lost in the darkness behind the bar. A serving girl looked at her, on edge, and Rulana grabbed the pissing bucket kept by the back door, holding it up to display her intention. The girl nodded, pale-faced, and returned to searching for a rag.
Outside it stank, despite the inns obvious attempt to keep it clean. There were few others out, some relieving themselves, a couple whispering furtively in a corner, oblivious to the commotion inside. She drew herself inwards, effectively rendering herself invisible, and crept towards the alleyway along the side of the building, where all the bodies were placed until they woke up or were collected. Peering around the corner she saw the body, arrow still in its side, sticking up like a flag of final surrender.
Extend senses outwards.
She could see/feel an orb of blue approaching, acting nonchalant but desperate on the inside. She hid behind the corner as the orb got closer, and shut down her sense as it swung into the alley. She could hear movement, rustling, a stifled sob and a whispered word.
Silence.
Then footsteps
Rulana looked up, breathed, and turned to face the person about to round the brickwork. There was a face, a gentle shock as they rebounded from her physical shield, and a thump.

“You know,” she said to the blue woman looking up at her from the dust. “For a spy, you’re not very discreet.”
The woman looked stunned for a moment, her mouth open like a goldfish pulled from water, and Rulana could vaguely sense confusion and a touch of panic swirling behind the wall separating their minds. Their eyes met, one pair a light but sparking blue, the other green. A flash of distant recognition passed, and the other woman scrambled to her feet, hands fluttering to her left boot. Rulana followed the movement and saw a scrap of white. Parchment? Cloth?
“A…spy?” The blue woman laughed nervously, still very much on the back foot from their encounter. “No, I’m afraid you’re mistaken m’am. I’m a minstrel from the City Guild.” She gestured to the case resting on her side. “Name of Cian Riddesson, if you please.” She bowed.
Rulana looked at her, eyebrows raised. The one calling herself Cian stood helplessly, shifting slightly in agitation.
“What do you play, Cian?”
“Harp m’am.”
“How long?”
““Since I was big enough to hold one, m’am. Ma and Pa were both strict about learning the craft, seein’ as they were minstrels themselves.” She visibly forced herself to stop shifting from foot to foot. “But if you’ll excuse me m’am, I have some private matters to attend to and must be off.”
Bowing again, the woman turned and headed back down the alleyway towards the street and the messenger’s still form. As she passed him she slowed for a moment, then shook her head and walked on.
Rulana watched her go, unease hidden deep inside of her. Maybe there was a reason for her being sent here after all.