Crossroads of Conscience (Lily & Elvorn)

[Angmor]

He surged into a sitting position, eyes wide, muscles tense. A flow of adrenaline gave instant clarity to his senses without even a hint of the sleep from which he had awoken. As he so often was, he was ready to fight to the death with anyone or anything, or run a mile without even looking back. But a second later, as so often happened, he found there was no one trying to kill him. There was nothing to fight, and nothing from which to run. He was left with no other options but to sit in the dark, breathing hard and waiting for the controlled panic of his body to recede. He realized he had his knife in hand. Even summoning the memory of the past few seconds, he could not remember drawing it. His body had done so without the consent of his free will, driven purely by the animal reflex to live. Still panting, he glanced around again, now just to make sure everything was how it should be, instead of looking for the direction of the threat. He had made camp in a tiny clearing in a patch of forest on the shores of the Leona lake. The fire he had risked lighting had now burned low, a rough circle of pulsing red light amid the gloom. On the other side of this slept his companion, curled up in the warm cloak he had stolen for her, by all appearances peacefully. Near her head was the silvery shape of a sleeping cat. At last the final vestiges of hyper-awareness melted away, leaving him alone with his fatigue. His body ached. It had been nearly two weeks since his misadventure in the mountains, but many of his wounds were still only partially healed, and the long march had not helped. He was tired. A fog of fatigue clung to his joints, each one of them screaming for him to sleep. But he could not sleep. He could not even lay down to rest. He could not face again the pain of remembrance. Sheathing his knife, he stood up and stole silently away from the camp in direction of the lake.

He sat down on the bank, staring out across the huge expanse of water, to which clung billowing patches of predawn fog. The lapping of the water on the shore helped to sooth his thoughts. But only a little. He shut his eyes and placed the heels of his hands against his forehead, as if he could push away the welter of painful memories if he only pressed hard enough. But he could not. He knew he could not. Magic-users could not erase them, nor had they ever faded with time as so many said they should. Always and forever, he would be alone with what he had seen and done. Not for the first time he considered ending it. It would be simple, he knew. A quick slash across the back of the neck between vertebrae, a painless fade and then... whatever came after the life that he knew. Was there anything? He hoped so. He hoped with all his heart that there was some kindly entity beyond life that had received the souls of his family, so that one day they might be reunited. But he knew he could not go. Not yet. He had too much to live for, and that burned through his pain like a flaming sword, overriding his need to be free of it. He would have revenge against the Empire that had destroyed him. Revenge against the man they had used to destroy him. But above all else, he would have the salvation of his only living friend. Like an enemy withdrawing to prepare another assault, his headache receded. Drawing strength from his conviction as he always did, he took a shuddering deep breath and stood wearily to his feet. At last Taraak had the strength to face the day, for his revenge, and for his friend.

He noticed that the light had grown while he had been sitting there, begining to melt away the mist and banish the darkness. He let the let the rising warmth heat his back, lightening the load of his fatigue with new strength. With it, he became Taraak the canny spy once again. Immediately he began planning the general outline of the day's journeys. After leaving the mountains, he had decided that they would travel on the road for most of the way, in order to speed the trip. After some modification, there was nothing immediately suspicious about them, so there was no point in hiding from humanity just yet. And the backstory that Taraak had fabricated, that he was a hunter who was down on his luck and Calia was his sister had satisfied the few inquiries that had been put their way. As of yet, Taraak had managed to gain everything they had needed by hunting small game or 'acquiring' it from the passing villages or travelers. But after Dras-Leona, soldier activity would be far too great for such means. Which meant they would have to enter Dras-Leona itself in order to get the supplies they needed.

Normally his good sense would have balked at this, especially in the current situation, but all other choices would take time he felt he didn't have. Besides, it would give Calia a first-hand look at the depravity of the Empire. Over the long hours of walking, they had discussed at length the war and it's factions, and Taraak could tell that she still was not completely convinced that one was worse than the other. Such beliefs were hard to let go of unless one could see it for one's self. He knew that full well.

Finally he turned into the rising sun and stole silently back through the trees. He stepped into the small clearing a moment later, although not without an effortless, almost subconscious check for danger. Everything was still in order however, without even a breath of wind to disturb the silence. Calia was still asleep, River beside her, although the former had moved position since he had left them. He stared down at the sleeping pair for a moment, feeling a twinge of envy. The ability to sleep through the night was just about his vision of bliss. He decided not to wake them just yet, instead moving to douse the fire with the sandy soil of the wood's floor and retrieve his bow and quiver from where he had left them. As he worked, he asked himself the question for the nineteenth time; why? Why was he wasting time and energy and resources on these two? The imperial assassin part of him that he still had not managed to totally purge told him that there was no point. His survival was paramount, and they were only luggage that slowed him down. They had already almost been his downfall twice before and, as the saying went, third time's the charm. But the other part of him, the part that Ferial Baric had spent nine years trying to destroy told him that they were worth it. He couldn't even pinpoint exactly why this was, but he knew deep down that something good would come of their meeting, even if it meant the sacrifice of him and the goals that drove him. And it was this instinct that he chose to listen to.

He cinched the last strap of his quiver tight across his chest, positioning the shafts exactly where his hands knew to look for them. Finally he surveyed the campsite one last time with the eye of one used to leaving no trace. Finding the site was as clean as he could make it, he bent and gave Calia a gentle nudge. "Wake up Calia." He said softly to coax her out of the realm of sleep. "It's time to get moving again."

[/Blockquote]

[Lily]

Ragged pants ripped from her lungs as she tore through the trees, not daring to stop or else be taken back there. The only place she could think of as hell on earth. She forced her aching legs to carry her further into the unknown, hearing the frantic baying of hounds behind her as her stumbling feet miraculously kept her ahead. But only just. She didn't even take notice of her surroundings or of where she was; just focused hard on getting away. That was when her body began screaming at her to stop, even though she knew that she was being chased and that she needed to run. She slowed to a stagger and fought to keep her balance as her gasping breaths slowed, and the pain around her torso loosened. She straightened up then, and tilted her head, confusion melting her features. There was a dramatic change in the atmosphere.

Silence.

There was no sound of barking dogs or yelling men. She was safe - for now. Her knees began to tremble uncontrollably, and she collapsed to the ground, just listening to her slowing breathing. From what she thought of herself, she assumed she looked horrible. Anywhere from haggard to gaunt or starved. She would need to find water, food and shelter soon if she was to live. But what was the point of action if she would die out here anyways? Waste away until there was nothing left of her. Predators would stalk her, famine was always likely, or she could freeze. There was nothing to live for anyways... Everything was gone.

She didn't realize she had fallen asleep, and by then, it was already too late.

***

A small face with large, inquisitive eyes and pricked ears gazed up at her from the enfolds of her arms. A cat's face. She smiled when she saw it. She wasn't sure yet what would become of her find, but she planned to try and make a new friend. Make something worth living for. A warmth filled her from head to toe as she stared at the face. Maybe, though she didn't know it yet, the roots of a friendship had started to grow...

***

"Wake up Calia." The sound of the soft voice accompanied by a gentle poke pierced into her unconscious state like a dagger, despite the tone, and she squeezed her eyes shut, not wanting to go back there. To the awful place in the woods where she'd lain helpless and alone. Yet the voice continued, and however much she strove to ignore it, she couldn't. She murmered indecipherable words, trying to get the presence to leave her alone. However, the more she tried to resist, the more urging the voice became. Finally, she shifted, sighed, and opened her eyes slowly.

Dim sunlight flitted into her gaze along with the form of Taraak crouched beside her. The moment her gaze snapped open, he rose and went back to doing whatever he'd been up to before she had woken. She moved again to get up before remembering the cloak that was wrapped around her shoulders for warmth and the little bundle of gray fur curled by her head. Memories came rushing back like a fountain, and she was half relieved that she wasn't back in the dark wood where she'd been alone. Instead, she was on a journey to a force that might change her life forever. Whether it would be good or bad for her, she didn't know. She judged this 'Varden' only by what she knew about Taraak, the strange man she had met in the forest not two and a half weeks ago weeks ago. So far, she was still comfortable in his presence, although there was something mysterious about him.

She heard the sound of water lapping at the shore, and also recalled that they had only gotten out of the Spine recently, and had set up camp here, near the 'Leona Lake'. Although she and Taraak had spoken much about it's policies and about the Empire whom had twisted Taraak when he had been young, she was still unsure. War was still evil to her, no matter what perspective she was looking at. That was why she wanted to go to the Varden. She wanted the truth about all this. And most of all, she wanted to stop such wickedness.

Calia rolled out of the cloak, and got to her feet, gathering the cloak up in her arms as she rose. The movement barely disturbed River, and she crept away to remain unnoticed. Lately, she would watch Taraak. Sometimes at night, when he thought she was asleep, she would watch him. Not for any particular reason, but just to figure out what she was missing. What there was about him that intrigued her to the point of wanting to follow him on this road. Most of the time though, he would simply walk off a little ways and sit. Just sit, and do nothing else. This interested her most, because he could sit for such long periods of time. What would he have to think about that would keep him so...involved with his thoughts. He seemed to be similar to her in many ways. Distant at times, though still fierce if need be. He had already saved her life many times over as well as River's. Still, what was it about him that had made her abandon her forest life to follow him? What?

At that moment, River's aqua eyes opened, and her jaws parted in a huge yawn of her fatigue that had not yet worn off. She stretched her forelegs out as far as she could reach, and flexed her claws satisfyingly. Good morning Calia, Taraak,

[/i] she said, touching both their minds with ease. She rose slowly, arching her back, then padded towards the remains of the fire, and sat to groom herself. Calia watched her in fascination, something about her triggering a memory, but she could remember what. She shrugged the thought off, and walked away, watching Taraak going around to disguise their campsite. She had half a mind to question where they were going next. After all, with the Spine behind them now, she had no idea where they were going. But then again, she figured that they would get to the Varden when they got to the Varden. Already, she had weighed Taraak down, and she refused to be much more of a burden.

Is something the matter, Calia?[/i] queried River as Calia returned to her and sat down with a sigh. She glanced towards her at the question. River had the ability to break into her mind at will, yet she never did. No, nothing's wrong.[/i] She struggled to keep a straight face and a serene tone at the lie. River stopped cleaning her whiskers, and fixed Calia with a studying look. Did you dream?[/i] Taken by surprise at the odd question, Calia answered carefully. No. I...I can't remember having any.[/i] This was mostly true. Something was tugging at her conscious, begging her to remember, but she ignored it. Most of her dreams recalled her catastrophic childhood, and she didn't want to bring up an upsetting image. Instead, she focused on Taraak again, not wanting a picture of the past. River laid off the subject, and followed Calia's gaze over to their travel partner. Although she wasn't keen herself on joining the Varden, River still agreed to trust Taraak. So far, he had proved to be a dependable ally, and had recently been making small efforts to act warmer towards River despite their somewhat rough beginning. She appreciated it, but she still preferred just her and Calia. She wasn't trying to be selfish, but she liked the peace and quiet she and her friend could share while together alone.

Calia watched Taraak intently for a few minutes, watching his form silhouetted against the morning sun. Figuring he was nearly finished clearing the campsite, she plucked up enough confidence to stand and pace over to where he stood. Although she could tell that there wasn't a huge age difference between them, she still felt like a small child whenever she was near. "Where are we headed today?" she asked generally, pivoting her gaze to their natural surroundings. This was the 'Leona Lake', close to some 'Dras-Leona'. She hoped fervently that they would skirt the city. Despite her longing interest to go to the Varden, she figured that she wasn't keen on getting mixed into a large crowd. She had been isolated from humanity since early teens. Being amid many humans again was like a bug getting trapped in a house full of people. She felt small and vulnerable again, even with Taraak with her. Yet even as she asked the question, she felt a strange foreshadowing. Like Taraak was thinking the exact opposite of her...[/size][/blockquote]

[Angmor]

Taraak felt more than heard Calia pad up behind him on her light, youthful tread. She had a distinctive way of moving, just like she was stalking a deer, or it occurred to him, a person. It worked the same way with him, but with a decidedly different application. He did not look up, continuing the check the contents of the small satchel he had liberated for carrying their supplies to make sure that no thief had taken anything during the night. The fact that a footstep within a twelve foot radius would have almost certainly woken him was beside the point. "So where are we headed today?" Came the light query from over his shoulder. He didn't answer immediately. All the fresh fruit he had collected was still there, as well as the few bits of meat left over from last night's kill, a large rabbit of some kind. Unable to put it off, he straightened and turned to face her, shouldering the small pack. "Dras-leona." He said curtly. He figured she wouldn't like it.
He was right.
She didn't.

"I wouldn't take us there if I thought there was another way, Calia." He said as her face broke into a study in disapproval. "After that, stealing supplies will be too much of a risk, and the game down there is thin for leagues around. We have to get everything we need inside the city." By now River had padded up, taking up station beside her friend. Taraak still couldn't hear her coming, no matter how hard he tried. "I'm just about as happy about it as you are." He went on. "But I can't see any other ways. Besides, I've entered the city plenty of times. It's not like it's instant death. Just stick to the story and don't do anything suspicious and it will go without incident."

. . .

She didn’t really have an argument for that, and a few minutes later they were trudging along the well-worn road. Luckily it had not rained for some time, so it was not particularly muddy and hard to pass. Gradually the road became busier and more crowded, mainly farmers bringing their goods to market. Taraak entertained the thought of asking them if they could purchase the supplies they needed before even entering the city, but soon dismissed it. Doing so would be unusual, and people tended to remember unusual things. Some might question why a somewhat scruffy man, as well as a young woman and her cat might want to avoid Dras-Leona. At that moment he caught a new smell floating down upon them, one that his archival memory instantly made him think Unwashed humans, smoke, refuse, but it was the distinctive mix that let him know they were almost to their destination. Sure enough, when they rounded a slight bend in the road, sprawled like a dead man on the flat before them was Dras-Leona.

Taraak glanced from fractionally from side to side to make sure no one was paying them undue attention. Satisfied, he turned to Calia. The frown on her face was evident, and she looked pale and tense, like an animal about to bolt. “It’s ok.” He said quietly, trying to sound comforting, although it was not something he did well. “Just do what I say, and we’ll get through this just fine. First, try to keep your hood up as much as possible.” Dirty and unkempt as it was, blond hair tended to attract glances. “Remember, if the guards ask, I am Soleus and you are Larka, brother and sister. We are heading to visit our uncle in Feinstar.” He looked down at the werecat. “And you River, listen.” Much as he hated it, he allowed her into his mind so that they could converse mentally, although he kept as many memories as he could behind walls of steel. Although it looked like no one was listening, someone might find it strange to see him talking to a cat. And you, remember that you are just an unusually loyal pet. Don’t forget yourself and start talking to anyone except Calia or me. If someone steps on your tail, or calls you little cat, let it be. However, if something seems off to you, don’t hesitate to let me know.

[/Color] With this he withdrew from the connection like it burned him. “Do you understand that?” He said finally, addressing both of them. He governed his outward demeanor to be confident, but inwardly his stomach was starting to form a cold knot of worry. Somehow he couldn’t quite shake the feeling that there was some kind of test ahead for the three of them. Quickly he slapped down his nervousness and told it to behave. Operational Anxiety, that’s all…[/Color][/Size][/Blockquote]

[Lily]

Calia had been right, naturally. "Dras-Leona," was the reply she received, and as her face twisted with displeasure, Taraak looked straight at her. "I wouldn't take us there if I thought there was another way Calia." She assumed he was telling the truth, although he was a much better liar than she would ever be. As he began to state his reasons for the upcoming journey, Calia felt River pad to her side, brushing her characteristically as she passed, then sitting in her usual position on Calia's left. Her tail tip twitched the slightest bit to show her annoyance at the idea of the city. Taraak gave her the smallest of glances before going on to conclude his statement and make to set off. Calia sighed, pulling the cloak around herself out of a new habit, and followed him.

Don't look back,

[/i] she told River as they set off again, noticing the werecat giving a wistful glance backwards the way they had come. River acknowledged by giving the slightest nod of her head, and swiveling her aqua gaze forwards as they walked. The road was dusty and full of weeds underfoot. It was nothing like the bracken and tree trunks Calia was used to roaming through. And the fact she was out in the open - vulnerable - was also disconcerting. She made her face into a mask of serenity with little trouble, used to hiding her feelings.

But her unsettled composure immediately came back once the road began to get busier with merchants and riders and sellers. There were people left and right, plus the occasional dog. Gazes followed her like search lights, and she winced under the concentration behind the glance. She also felt two things that she had pretty well never felt before. The first was self-consciousness. She was certainly aware of how unkept she and Taraak were. Simply disheveled travelers on their way to Dras-Leona. She was also mindful of River padding calmly by her side, acting untroubled. They were definitely a trio that you didn't see everyday. The other feeling was fear. Calia had not felt fear for several years. Since the chase. She didn't even feel frightened when she was hunting or being hunted. But this was different. A strange, hurting feeling, much like she was running, rose in her chest, and her lips pressed together in anxiety. Taraak seemed to notice the change in her mood, but didn't falter in stride until they had passed the majority of the crowd.

"It's okay," he murmered, his tone becoming somewhat consoling. “Just do what I say, and we’ll get through this just fine.” She nodded, pushing the worry down as best she could. But, if there was one thing she'd learned, fear was one of the hardest emotions to get disguise. Even animals could smell it. That was why she felt no fear on the hunt. “First, try to keep your hood up as much as possible,” Taraak continued from beside her, and she noticed his quick look at her messy blonde hair. “Remember, if the guards ask, I am Soleus and you are Larka, brother and sister. We are heading to visit our uncle in Feinstar.” It was a good cover up story, she had admitted to herself. And everyone that had heard it had grudgingly bought it. Then, she watched as Taraak went on to address River.

River pricked her ears as she heard her name being said. She hardly needed to listen to the first part since Calia had already had a conversation about that with her, but her ears twitched in amusement as he said, If someone steps on your tail, or calls you little cat, let it be.[/i] River pulled her lips back in a smile, half of amusement and half of indignation that he had noticed the offense she'd felt at the moment the man had called her that. But she pushed it away as they continued on. She noticed Calia's uneasiness for the coming leg of their journey instead. You know that everything will go well if we listen to Taraak,[/i] she said comfortingly. I'll take a guess that he's experienced doing this.[/i] Calia tilted her head in response while pulling her hood over her head as Taraak had mentioned.

Don't fret, dear one,[/i] the werecat continued. If you want to go to Surda, you will have to get used to this. It's just out of habit that you feel trapped and afraid.[/i] Calia narrowed her eyes in thought, her brows knitting together. I have lived in the forest so long, it is harder than I expected leaving it.[/i] River looked back at her sympathetically, but made no response which was infuriating. But then again, perhaps she felt similar. After all, she had been least keen to leave the Spine. But she had been among humans before, how many, Calia was not sure of, but she knew of River's hate for broken peace.

"Do you understand that?" Calia started, realizing that Taraak was still speaking to them. She turned slowly, letting the last of the unease slip from her features until she looked as calm as she did on that fateful afternoon when she had bent to drink at the stream. The last drink there she would ever take, she realized wistfully. "Yes," she replied carefully. "We both understand." She shot a quick glance at River, whose eyes sparkled. Then they were off again, heading closer to the brown-black smudge that was the city. Calia swallowed the lump of anxiety in her throat and continued on, refusing to falter her stride. River padded loyally at her heels. The city grew larger.

***

Calia's agitated manner did not let her relax until they were safely within the city, shying away from the guards' suspicious looks. But besides them, not many people seemed curious about the travelers. They hustled past them, pushing if necessary in the crowd, going about their business. Calia trying not to flinch away from any intact, but it was difficult. The streets were busy with people, people and more people. More humans Calia would ever imagine seeing in one place at a time. She felt River's sympathy, but pushed it away ungratefully. She didn't want other's concerns.

The way the city was built also unsettled the girl. It seemed like the whole place was tilting towards her, leaning in like it was threatening to collapse. The streets were narrow which explained the pushing, shoving crowds and were somewhat crooked. Calia tried hard not to observe the slanted buildings or the way the city gave her the feeling of being trapped. Instead, she tried to focus on her own breathing, and realized that she was hyperventilating which wasn't helping. So she slowed her breaths strictly, and told herself, You wanted this. Ignore the crowd and focus on the prize. The reason you came. She took a deep breath, and tried again to fit into the shoes of the girl whose life she'd never lead.[/size][/blockquote]

[Elvorn]

The chill wind that was scouring Dras-Leona’s crazed patchwork of rooftops had been blowing intermittently since morning, sending the pale shreds of clouds scudding across the sky toward the three ominous peaks of Helgrind. The dark monolith dominated the horizon to the south, exuding and aura of gloom that seemed to settle on the city like a carrion bird. Its foul presence could be felt anywhere in the city, from the gates of the citadel dedicated to its bloody religion to the smallest hovel in the meanest slum; there was no escaping it. Despite the shadow cast by the mountain, the markets and streets of Dras-Leona were bustling with people. The slave trade had increased substantially since the beginning of the war, the Empire having no use for Prisoner of War camps. The captured Varden men would usually be put to work in the mines or another such tasking post while the women, children and old men no longer fit for manual labor were sold as domestic servants. Usually though, other, less inhumane pursuits brought the people out to the markets this early in the morning, for, as the saying went: ‘Pressing business knows not the hour’. The constant hum of conversations flooded the highways and plaza squares from before dawn until well after dusk doing much to dispel the city’s cadaverous feel.

<<{([><])}>>

Torska had almost remarked to his training sergeant, Ferial Baric, that at least it wasn’t raining, but that, he knew, was asking for trouble. He had been lying on a cracked, third-story rooftop for six and a half hours now, watching the road below him and listening to Baric curse. The man could swear fluently in the common language and dwarvish he had discovered and had no inhibitions to doing so at the slighted provocation. His instructor wrapped himself tighter in his stained cloak, grumbling about being given a blasted dry nurse job when he should have been back in Uru’baen. Torska, as one of the senior Spearshadow assets had been ordered to accompany two of the newly trained agents, Kye and Faren on a mission to evaluate their progress. He found that, even though he had never enjoyed killing, it bothered him to sit back and watch while someone else did his job. In training, he had undergone severe punishment for hesitating in a fight and that lesson had never left him. If he committed himself to something, he went all the way. It was a distraction, he told himself, nothing more. If Command told him to assess two trainees, he should take it as a compliment. He almost managed to convinced himself.

Trying to ignore Baric’s unbroken stream of profanities, Torska went back to scanning the street for a sign of his targets. He was providing backup in case the other two somehow were not able to take down the two Varden couriers who were supposed to be meeting an underground member here. They had brushed up against an Imperial plant in Teirm and mistakenly revealed their identities and the nature of their errand. Documents containing a list of underground cell leaders in Teirm were being transported to a Dras-Leona cell leader for purposes unknown and Command had decided that the list would be invaluable for exterminating the resistance in the Empire’s most important port. Detailed descriptions of their appearance had been given to the assassins by the Imperial plant and now all they had to do was wait.

Suddenly, his attention was caught by two figures walking up the road toward his position. One of them looked oddly familiar, Torska thought; he had a very characteristic gait. The man was wearing a ragged cloak and guiding a bewildered-looking girl behind him, but his features were obscured. Come on, blast it, turn your head . . .
‘There they are.’ Baric’s harsh whisper interrupted his concentration. He looked back down at the market, eyes lighting on two brown-cloaked figures striding quickly through the crowd.
‘Got ‘em’.
‘The one on the left?’
‘Looks like it.’
‘Sloppy. You can tell right away which one has the documents. They look exactly like two undercover agents.’ Baric commented caustically, shaking his head in disapproval at the lack of a disguise. If any of the Spearshadow assets had made a mistake like that, they would have been beaten. Ferial Baric wasn’t known for his community service record.
‘Any time now,’ He said, eyes trained on the two couriers.
Two faint twangs were heard above the noise of the crowd and a pair of black shafts dropped the men like stones.
Sudden movement caught Torska’s eye as the men fell. He jerked his head around and stared down at the crowd where the man he had thought he recognized had been standing. He was gone. Uneasily, the assassin scanned the faces of the now-panicking mass of civilians.

There. A gap opened up in the crowd, revealing the man and his companion. They were crouching below eye level in the tactic taught to trainees at the Spearshadow complex for avoiding enemy bowmen in a crowd. Torska went rigid with shock. It can’t be . . .

It was.

Taraak began moving quickly through the crowd toward the dead couriers, still ducking down to avoid more possible fire. Unfortunately, he didn’t see Kye and Faren coming toward him from the opposite direction. They had ditched their bows already and were now moving to collect the papers that the messengers had been carrying, not knowing that Taraak was already a step ahead of them. Torska stood, checking his bow and wrist-knives out of habit and turned quickly for the steps.
‘What do you think you’re doing?’ Baric asked, brow furrowing in suspicion.
‘This op’s over, they simply need to collect the documents and then we’re out of this cess-pit. I think that you can make sure they don’t drop the papers in the gutter alone.’ He replied, starting down the stairs. Baric cursed and rolled over to follow him.


OOC. Done! Finally! Sorry that took so long guys, it's still not my best, but at least it is a lot better than the first one.

[/blockquote]

[Angmor]

Taraak moved weaved through the crowd with the ease of practice, feeling the sights and sounds of the city fill his perception. Instantly he knew, after being the wilderness for so long, he was at last back in his element. Here, he could walk without making any noise that that would rise above the noise of hundreds of others, to move with assurance that he would not be noticed, simply because what he was doing was indistinguishable with what everyone else was doing. But, the second side of the coin, he again felt the tightening of his guts at the possible danger, at the knowledge that if he was compromised here, he would have no one to back him up, no help that he could count on. And yet, after being away from it for so long, it felt like putting on a pair of comfortable boots. Certainly it was a risk, certainly dangerous; but it was familiar.
It was what he did best.

His eyes roved the scene carefully, consantly on the lookout for anything that might hint at a threat. As was usual for Dras-Leona, the streets after the gate were festooned with beggars and lowlifes, living in such great squalor that it always made Taraak wonder how the rich nobles and merchants could just walk on by it without so much as a glance. But soon they were past the truly vile sections and into the cleaner, more wealthy parts of the city. The streets were wider and straighter, a sharp contrast to the labrynthine nature of the outskirts. The signs of poverty were still there, but they were much less defined. It was here that his ragged appearence started to stand out, and he did his best to sink into his role of unwealthy traveler. Strangely, he found that the presence of Calia and River helped him with this. With them behind him, he could almost imagine that he was a young game hunter, traveling with a sibling to pay a visit to a relative. There was something that sounded troublingly nice about it. He shook himself mentally to put down the thought. Professional relationships can make you stronger. Personal relationships can get you killed Baric had said, even though Taraak disagreed.
He is right about one thing though. That life isn't for me. Never will be.

[/Color]

He glanced over his shoulder to confirm that his two companions were still following, finding Calia sticking closer to him than he expected. River was directly beside her, neatly dodging a passing woman's footfall. Taraak was glad to see that Calia didn't seem on the verge of panic as she had before, merely a bit overwhelmed. He smiled slightly. She certainly wasn't happy with the situation, but she was a tough girl. He brought his eyes front and continued forward. The markets weren't far off, and he realized happily that things were going faster than he had expected. If this kept up, they would be out of the city in only an hour or two.

Just then, his eyes fell on two young men in the crowd ahead of them.

...A row of faces staring at him across the table, illuminated starkly by the single lantern. They studied him even as he studied them, obviously trying to decide if he really was who he said he was. "So, can you do it?" One of them asked, looking like he was the leader.

Yes, the two men were at that meeting with that underground cell a year ago. They had mostly stayed in the background, but the faces were the same.

...He handed the parchment to one of them, hoping that they were as good as the leader had said. But all they had to do was deliver it, and it would be safe with the contact cell.

Yes, they were the couriers for that cell, in charge of ferrying documents and information to and from other cells. He could see that their confidence had grown since the first time he had seen them, and therefore their fielcraft had slipped some. They weren't staying in crowds and on side streets, and Taraak could tell which one of the two had the documents, which defeated the purpose of traveling in pairs in the first place. But, they could have useful information for him, or something they needed carrying to the Varden. Weighed the risks for a few moments, the decided that it was worth it to go and ask them. They probably wouldn't recognize him, but he had some passwords he could use. He subtly changed course to intercept them, making sure Calia and River were still following. Besides, I can call them out for their bad fieldcraft...[/Color] He never got that far. Even as he watched, a pair of arrows streaked down and hit the two couriers with simultaneous wet thwacks. Perfect neck shots. There was no chance that they lived.

He stopped in his tracks, stunned. It only took him a second before his mind screamed assassins and he ducked below the level of the crowd, hoping desperately that he hadn't been discovered somehow. It took a full five seconds for someone to notice, but effect was predictable. A woman's scream rang out, followed by a wave of panic that seemed to engulf the population of the entire street. Immediately people started running, either those who were morbidly curious and ran toward the victims, or those that thought some crazed bowman was on the loose and running away. As people streamed past his crouched form like a stream around a rock, his mind worked furiously. It was obvious that this wasn't some regular murder; this was a well-planned operation, carried out from a high point and timed for maximum impact on the civilian populace. And what was strange about it, he realized, was that he had once done an operation of the exact same nature. He scanned the general area the arrows had come from, but he saw nothing but rooftops and flotsam. The assassins knew exactly what they were doing, and that only served to deepen his suspicion that he had somehow stumbled on a Spearshadow operation. His guts tightened. If it was a Spearshadow op, than things had just taken a turn for the absolute worst.

But then, another thought occurred to him. If it was his old program or not, they were probably sending someone to retrieve whatever the couriers had been carrying. The Empire seldom got a break like this on the underground, but when they did, it was most often devastating. If they got a hold of those documents, whole cells could be could be captured and killed. He looked up at Calia, who had mimicked his crouch when she had seen what happened. If it was just him, his choice would be simple. He thought it over for a full five seconds, weighing the life of his charge against the life of dozens of faceless people that he would never know. But in the end, he knew what he had to do. He had to get those papers. If he did not at least try when he was a a position to do so, he knew that his conscience would torment him for eternity. Or at least however long he lived, which probably wouldn't be long if he kept getting into situations like the present one.

"Keep heading that way." Taraak said to her, pointing. "And keep low. I'll catch up with you in a moment. River, protect her." Before he could give himself time to talk himself out of it, he took off running, bent double to avoid showing himself to the assassin and skylighting himself for a shot. In the confusion of running people he was almost knocked over several times. A moment later he reached the bodies of the couriers, two bundles of brown cloak sprawled on the road in a widening crimson pool. He tried not to look at the wounds and the blood, knowing he would probably have dreams about them to. He tried to focus completely on his task as he reached into the satchel of one of the men. He felt around inside. Come on... Where are you...[/Color] His hand closed on a bundle of parchment, which he did not hesitate to pull roughly from the satchel and stuff in his shoulderbag without even looking at it. By now several people had gathered around the bodies, and a few were staring curiously at him. His energy buoyed up on wave of fear, Taraak just ran. He caught up with Calia a few seconds later, who had by then passed the bodies and was almost to the market square at the end of the street. "Keep going." He said as he positioned himself behind her. "Don't look back."

He gave a glance over his shoulder even as he said so. The first thing his adrenaline-focused vision caught was a pair of young men in dark clothing, moving quickly through the crowd. Neither of the men carried the bows that had to have been used to kill the couriers, but that probably meant they were smart enough to ditch them on the rooftop. But from the manner of their dress to the hard, focused expressions on their faces, so similiar to his memories of what he was, the man he had been, it was almost certain that he was looking at a a pair of Spearshadow assassins. And right then, their eyes locked on him from across the crowd, and they started pushing their way toward him.
He cursed quietly.
He turned back to Calia, laying a hand on her shoulder as he sped up his pace.
"When I say so, run."
[/Size][/Blockquote]

[Lily]

As she moved with more ease through the crowd and began to inspect the place rather than shy away from it, she found one more alarming thing about herself. She couldn't read. Of course she could speak and understand speech. That was the key thing in a human's social life, and even after all those years in the mountain, Calia had not forgotten how to. But now, as she was faced with the upcoming stores, she found that she was lacking the skill to read speech. She wasn't too distressed about it since she could still learn and was willing to, but she found it quite frustrating to see all the confusing words scribbled everywhere and not having the slightest idea what they meant. Glancing down at her gray friend, she pondered on whether or not she could read...

Her eyes snapped up front as she hinted as sudden movement, and saw Taraak suddenly swerve to change direction. Calia changed her course as well while River avoided a collision with a boot by jumping over it and following close behind. All previous thoughts erased from her mind for the time being, Calia strained her neck over the crowds to see what had gotten Taraak's immediate attention. Nothing looked out of the ordinary to her, but as she followed her guide's line of vision, she saw two men up ahead, discussing something quietly between themselves. One of them was clutching a shoulder bag tightly - almost protectively - to his side while the other pointed in what seemed to be an urgent fashion up ahead. Taraak had set his course right towards them and was walking at the fastest of speed walks, avoiding running in case it attracted attention. Calia quickened her pace to keep up, seeing the man shoot a quick glance at her to see if she was following before continuing to weave through the crowds towards the men.

Calia didn't even have time to wonder on why Taraak wanted to badly to reach the men before she heard the familiar whizzing of an arrow in flight. Fear clutched her heart until she realized that it wasn't aimed at her, bringing back old nightmares. She watched in horror as two arrows shot towards the men in two brown blurs and struck them perfectly in their necks. The exact shot she herself had killed with just two weeks ago. Her mind buzzed for a few milliseconds after that instantly registering close danger and begging her to run. But she stayed in place, and watched as Taraak dropped instinctively into a crouch. Wary, Calia bent into an identical crouch, hardly aware of the swarming, screaming crowd pushing and shoving to get away from the death scene. Her eyes were fixed only on the arrows. The memory was still quite clear in her mind, and she traced the arrows route with her mind's eye, tring to pinpoint where it had come from, then shook her head. Of course the culprits would have moved, but she still had a bad feeling in her gut. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a sudden flash of movement, and averted her gaze quickly, her eyes now roving higher, darting back and forth like a deer watching for the predator. Her eyes focused briefly on what she thought might be a face on the rooftops, but in a heartbeat it was gone and she wondered if she'd imagined it. But there was no doubt about it. Something more than just a random murder had happened here. Something that was important enough to attract Taraak's worry. The moment she'd made this calculation, Taraak turned to her and told her to keep going and that he would rejoin her. She didn't need to be told twice for she had learned to trust her companion's judgement. Keeping low as she had been instructed she scurried off, River running beside her.

What did you see, Calia?

[/i] the werecat asked once they were away from the now curious crowds. Calia didn't answer until the marketplace came into view. Calia knew the question had been rhetorical so she said critically, River, I don't think those men were just killed... I think they were assassinated. I don't know what it all means yet, but I think it must be tied in with this Empire.[/i]
I'm sure you're right,[/i] her friend replied. There is something at work in this city. Something evil. Best be on our guards until it has passed.[/i]
Calia was almost to the square when she heard Taraak's soft voice from behind her. "Keep going. Don't look back." Calia hurried her stride, River half running beside her. Tarrak's voice came again nearly urgent, and she felt his hand on her shoulder, the slight pressure in it suggesting the idea of bolting. "When I say so, run." Calia's heart lurched in apprehension, but she didn't look back however much her instincts screamed at her to. She had to convince herself that Taraak knew what he was doing. But all her life she had been taught to be on guard and to always watch her back. Sometimes, this had been taught to her the hard way. Her focus became unclear as her mind battled with the instinct to defend herself from the danger. In the end, her reflexes won out.

She looked back.

Her trained eyes focused immediately on the thing that was the source of Taraak's dire urgency, and adrenaline made her senses tune in sharply to the source. Two men were pushing their way through the crowds, subtly going straight for the trio. She also saw the look on Taraak's face and brought her eyes up front, automatically speeding her pace without effort. They would have to get out. Now. So much for a 'shopping' trip...[/size][/blockquote]

[Elvorn]

It had almost been too easy, Kye thought to himself, pushing through the panicking crowd towards the bodies of the two messengers. Coming down off of the adrenaline high of the takedown, he had expected more of a challenge on this operation, something unplanned for. This was straight from the manuals. Boring job. He sighed, looking over at his stoic partner Faren. He was the older of the two by a year and judiciously followed the Spearshadow doctrines, strictly adhering to every regulation as if they were set in stone. At first, Kye had thought he was a misery-guts, but now he found his solid presence reassuring. Well, as reassuring as someone with the individuality of a rock can be, he thought with a wry smile. This was not his first operation; at sixteen, he already had a number of successful missions under his belt, most of which were intelligence gathering. Faren thought that Command was grooming him to be a spy, but he hoped not, spying was about the most boring job you could pull in Spearshadow. He often wondered what the point of some missions were, but Faren kept telling him that it was best not to think, simply obeying orders kept you alive. What he didn’t mention though, was that following orders kept you alive until Command decided that you weren’t performing up to the acceptable standard and had you ‘removed from active duty’ or sent on a suicide mission.

As Kye and Faren moved through the crowd, they saw a man moving directly toward the bodies of the couriers, ducking down out of the pair’s sight as he got to them. ‘Oh blast,’ Kye said, reaching his hand up instinctively to his jacket, feeling the comforting weight of his knife. ‘This is bad, bad, bad.’ Faren only nodded emphatically, quickening his pace. There. The man was up again, walking in the other direction with the air of a man who knew he was being followed. He was speaking to a girl, giving her a push off toward an alley on the right and started running quickly through the chaos. ‘Should we split and follow the girl as well?’ Kye asked. ‘No, she’s obviously some innocent who our brave martyr is trying to protect. I’ll double check the bodies; you go after Gray Cloak.’ Faren said, hand dropping to the hilt of his short sword. Kye nodded, beginning to sprint after the man.

Shouldering a white-faced man out of his way and leaping over a cart that had been turned over in the chaos, he began closing in on the mysterious man, who, strangely, was using many of the older tricks from the Spearshadow book; evasion tactics that were taken out almost two years ago. Interesting, he thought, Old school spook? Or someone who used to be in the Empire? Brushing the thought from his mind, he focused on the fleeing figure, almost stumbling as Faren opened a mental link. He got the documents! All of them. Where are you? Kye sent him a brief picture of the street and closed the link, not wanting another distraction. Faren would move to cut him off. They had done it a hundred times in training; repetition produced instant and appropriate reactions to unforeseen situations. This was definitely unforeseen. The man was certainly elusive, almost shaking him twice, once by ducking below the level of the crowd and rolling under a cart and again by false-trailing him into a building. Slowly, he was leading Kye on a roundabout chase back to the area where the couriers had been killed. Whoever he was, he was professional. That didn’t stop him from running into Faren.

Rounding a corner a full four seconds after the unidentified man, Kye was greeted by a frozen tableau. The man had come to a stop in the middle of the narrow alley, his exit blocked by a determined-looking Faren who had drawn his sword and was advancing on the fugitive. Reaching inside his jacket, Kye drew his knife from its disguised sheath with a smooth rasp of metal on metal. The man turned so that his back was to a recessed door and he could keep an eye on both of the assassins. Faren flashed him a quick hand signal behind his back:
‘Take him alive if you can.’

They closed in on their cornered prey, who had pulled a knife from somewhere inside his tunic and had adopted a fighting stance. Faren attacked first, feinting at head height and thrusting at the man’s neck; the man deflected the strike, grabbing the Spearshadow asset’s arm below the wrist and slamming him into the wall. He was good. As his comrade reeled back into the alley, Kye lunged with his knife, aiming for a point just under the man’s right arm. His adversary managed to spin past the blade, using his momentum to drive his elbow at the younger man’s head. He ducked, feeling the wind on his neck as the man’s blow went wild. Leaping forward, he tried to catch the man off guard by ramming his dagger up under toward his rib cage, grabbing his opponent’s knife-hand as he did so. With a deft twist, the man grabbed the door and swung it open, banging the wood into Kye’s face and knocking him to the ground. From bleary eyes, he saw Faren come at the man again, swinging at head height and again at his legs; both of which he blocked skillfully. Dizzily, Kye scrambled to his feet, coming at the man from his unprotected left side with an upward slash. Pressing himself to the door, the other man avoided it by a thread, the edge of his hood nicked by the dagger tip.

<<{([><])}>>

Oh no you don’t, he thought as the man’s knife wove a complex pattern around his own. That was a Spearshadow technique that he knew it by heart, along with what came next. Acting on instinct, Kye sprang inside his enemy’s guard just as he reversed his grip on the knife, bodily throwing him into the door with enough force to make him drop his weapon. Faren kicked it out of reach, grabbing the pinned man’s arms and wrenching them behind his back. ‘Gotcha,’ he said, avoiding a halfhearted kick at his shin. Pressing his knife against the man’s throat, Kye sucked in a few deep breaths, grateful for the respite. This op was not going as planned.

[Angmor]

Taraak's mind worked feverishly for a way out, identifying his options.
There wasn't many.
His adversaries were Spearshadow trained, which meant that they were the best, and they knew it. They were at least as good as he was, or perhaps a little better. But they were much younger and inexperienced against someone who had come back alive from more missions than anyone without his memory could count, but this was made up for by the fact that there was two of them. He was sure he could fight both the youths to a standstill in his normal condition, but as it was, with various bruises and a partially healed knife-wound, that could be tricky. Especially in a crowded market.

You're rambling.

[/Color] He told himself forcefully. Focus. What are the objectives here?[/Color] His objective was to keep the documents safe, not necessarily intact, keep Calia and River safe and free to get to Surda and the Varden, preferably leaving himself alive to be there himself. Facing enemies who knew at least three ways to kill him without a weapon, that looked doubtful. From his enemy's point of view, they wanted the documents he carried. They knew exactly where they were, and that made him the target. It sparked like a lightning bolt through his head that, of course, they wouldn't be interested in Calia, and even he himself for that matter. But the documents made him the target, and so Calia would not be safe so long as she was with him.

He ran through the market just behind his charge, darting through the crowd as quickly as he could. The Spearshadow youths were giving chase, and they were gaining. "They're not after you two." He said breathlessly, addressing Calia and River. "I can lead them away from you, but we're going to have to separate." He glanced ahead, and saw the entrance to an alley that ran parallel with the street they were about to enter. "There." He said, pointing to call her attention to it. "Take that way, and keep running until you're a safe distance away from here. I'll meet you if I can." He looked back to meet his eyes, and Taraak saw fear. Fear for herself and River, and fear for him. But he could also see that she would do as he said, whether out of understanding of his logic or experience that argument would only waste time and get her nowhere. He glanced down at River, knowing fully that the werecat would defend her friend with her life. He was leaving Calia in good hands. Or paws. Whatever.
They were close to the entrance of the alley now, and in just a few seconds... "Go now!" He shouted, and she bounded away as quickly as a running deer, disappearing down the alley with River at her heels. Taraak kept running, a slight smiling spreading across his face.
He was so proud of her.
Slowing slightly a few moments later, he looked back. The first of his enemies was nearly to the entrance Calia he had used. His stomach knotted even more. If he was wrong about this, if they decided to... No, the youths merely kept on running towards him, as he had predicted. Taraak sighed in relief, but it was short-lived. Now it was time for the most difficult and deadly of cat-and-mouse games.

. . .

Ferial Baric was in a foul mood. Which was, in many opinions, his normal state of being. He never ceased to marvel that, after twenty-five years of training effective assassins for the Empire, they still chose to saddle him with these cursed dry nurse duties. Of course, he had been the ones to plan the missions, but why have him tag along? He had senior agents to handle that piece of annoying necessity. 'Good for his image' they had said. He almost snorted out loud. As if he needed an image. To his trainees, he was the master that knew all, and punished all. And there was nothing more they needed to know. But no, some fool in the hierarchy who didn't know a properly sharpened dagger from a cavalry spear thought that he needed to be on the battelines with his troops every once and a while, and so now he was stuck in this cesspool of humanity known as Dras-Leona. Well, he conceded, it wasn't so bad. Kye and Faren had done very well thus far, showing that they had learned well. Of course, his teaching methods tended to work out that way. If one wanted to train the best, the learn-quickly-or-die approach worked quite well to that end.

He followed Holsaar down the flight of dusty stairs toward street level, and from there to the rendezvous point with Kye and Faren. Looking at the back of the young man he had trained, Baric couldn't help but wonder why command had brought him here as well. He was injured on a recent assignment, granted, but that surely didn't mean he needed or appreciated the time off. After all, Torska was Spearshadow's greatest son. Although not by a huge margin, he had the highest amount of successful missions of any operative. As a result, he had been given some of the most difficult assignments that had ever come to a bureaucrat's desk, and yet he was still alive. Five years of operational service was a lot for one of his profession. In short, he would be the epitome of a great assassin. And yet... He could still see conflict in him. Oh, he tried to hide it, but it was almost impossible to hide something from the man that had practically raised him. Not only could he see it, he could guess at the cause. Before he had been a model assassin, before he had been a successful infiltrator and bane of Varden supporters, he had been Taraak's only friend. Taraak. He couldn't even think the name without it becoming a curse.

For that reason, Baric had invested many hours killing the seeds that the single fool had planted with his treachery. The king had told him most emphatically, there would be no more instances like Taraak, and there wouldn't be. By now, five years later, he had been rather successful on that front. The Spearshadow trainees had not forgotten, they were far too close of a community for that, but they did learn to hate the man and the ideas he represented. The name Taraak was now synonymous with everything an imperial assassin shouldn't be, the subject of jeers and mockery... Why was he thinking about it again? He shook his head slightly, trying to rid himself of the thought. It had been five years, so why couldn't he get around it? But, he knew. He couldn't get around it because his best assassin could not. But, he could wait. Baric had eliminated all the minor doubts from the man, and the ones that remained were not one that could be shaken off by any one action. But, one of the things Baric pounded into his trainees was patience. He could wait.
But he resolved to himself that, one way or another, Torska Holsaar would not be another Taraak.

. . .

He did his best to calm his breathing, his heart beating wildly from the full out run. The chase had been a difficult one, and Taraak had nearly used every trick he knew, to partial success. His trick with the cart had lost one of his pursuers, but the shorter one was as cunning as he was a fast runner. But, Taraak's intimate experience of the labyrinthine passages of the city served him well. He guessed the youth hadn't been out of the complex very often, so he could be bewildered by the sheer number of possible escape routes. Taraak's first trick along those lines hadn't worked, but it was only a matter of time. Capture was not an option. He would keep the documents safely away. The documents...[/Color] Suddenly he was struck with an idea. As he turned a corner that masked him from his pursuer's line of sight, he removed the sheaf of parchment from his shoulderbag, as well as the small container of Banger, the explosive powder for which he had found so many uses over the years. Now here was one: insurance. He stuffed the documents into the pottery flask and jammed the lid back on. An impact of suitable force would ignite the powder inside the container, turning the documents to floating ash. Just as he replaced it in his bag, the boy rounded the corner and locked onto him again. Taraak kept running.

Some moments later he looped back on the route he had taken, and was now very near the spot that he had started. He still hadn't lost his tail, but he had a clear picture off what he would try next. There was a stack of unused crates left piled against a wall, which provided the perfect level to leap to a small ledge. From there, through a window up a stairwell and a short jump and he was on the rooftops. From there, he could choose any one of six ways to get down before he pursuer could even be within sight. So clear was this picture in his mind that he almost jumped when he rounded the corner only to find the alley blocked by his second pursuer. He skidded to a halt on the dusty ground, swearing mentally. He could at last see that he had never lost the boy, the two had merely be coordinating their movements to trap him like any good operative would, and he had fallen for it.
He wasn't facing amateurs anymore.
He calculated his position. The alley was blocked behind and before, and he was trapped between two three-story buildings, and there was nothing within jumping distance he could use to climb. There was no escape route unless he opened one himself, and that meant fighting. The alley was too narrow for him to draw his bow, and that left only his knife.

Taraak drew the blade with a practiced flick, adopting a defensive stance. By now both assassins were advancing on him, one with a short sword, the other with a dagger that was somewhat longer than his own. Immediately Taraak decided that the smaller one would use a very balanced style, but one that probably made more use of the point of the knife. The larger one would use the sword more as a slashing weapon, which would work against him somewhat in such closed quarters. He was proved correct when the larger youth threw a thrust toward his neck. Taraak ducked past it, immediately using the opening. He couldn't quite get his knife into play, so he simply rammed the boy bodily against the brick wall. He spun around to face the other assassin and dodge inside another thrust, instinctively using his elbow swing at the boy's jaw.

. . .

Baric stepped onto the landing of the stairwell several steps behind Torska. Suddenly he watched the boy stop, tilt his head, and then move to stare out the small window set into the mud brick of the building. "Shift it boy." He said as a mechanical response to an unexpected stop. "We've got a rendezvous to keep..." He left the sentence unfinished, because then the sounds reached him. He joined Torska at the window without another word.

In the alley below, he was met with an unexpected scene. Kye and Faren, who he had thought to be on the way to the meet point, were engaging a man of whom little was visible but a hooded dark cloak, stowed bow and quiver, and the fact that he was defending himself far better than any man normally could against such opponents. Baric blinked. Something had gone horribly wrong with this op, and somehow he had not known until just now. Wait, was that why Holsaar had been in such a hurry to leave the rooftop? Had he known something? But he set aside such thoughts. "Come on." He said, turning and rushing down the next set of stairs with speed that belied his years.

. . .

The fight was as furious as it was brief. The turning point came when Taraak used a simple defensive pattern to discourage attack, forgetting that his enemy knew at least everything he did. The boy knew the exact time to aim a staggering kick that sent him stumbling back, dropping his dagger in the process. Almost immediately, despite his struggling, he found his arms pinned behind his back and a blade pressed against his throat in the universal move and I kill you sign. Taraak stopped resisting at that, knowing anything he tried was futile. For the moment. There was no way he could get away now, but all he needed was a hand free for one second...

Just then the door on one side of the alley sprang open. Taraak's eyes snapped up alongside those of his captors, finding two men...
The sight of one made his heart leap into his throat...
And the other made it plummet straight down to his toes with the speed of a comet down a well.
The former was Torska Holsaar, the latter was Ferial Baric.

For several seconds all five of the strange group were lost for words, but only until Taraak considered his options. From his experience, he figured that the two trainees hadn't known of Baric's presence. So, for all they knew, this entire altercation had been a test. It was a gamble, but he had little left to lose. "Well done trainees." He said casually. "Very well done-" The instant he felt his captor's grip slacken, he wrenched one arm free and reached into his shoulderbag, pulling forth the small pottery container and slamming it to the ground at his feet where it vanished with a white flash and loud bang. The movement cost him. On instinct of his violent movement, the smaller trainee's fist shot out, connect hard with a point just behind Taraak's ear. The last thing he saw was the shocked face of his only friend, before the unconscious realm of the vivid past closed over his senses.[/Size][/Blockquote]

[Lily]

The chase kept on for quite a while as Calia, Taraak and River kept cover in the thronging crowd, but their pursuers were quickly drawing closer and had locked all their focus straight onto the pair weaving through the streets. River was searching almost desperately for a way out of the situation. Any side streets that might be accessible for them, yet would allow them to remain unnoticed by the two men. But there were none and the werecat became frustrated and ran up ahead to investigate further streets. Calia was slightly dismayed to see her friend run off in such a situation, but kept her mind shut. She wasn't sure who else was listening in.

At last she heard Taraak's voice again, sounding just behind her in a breathless pant. "They're not after you two. I can lead them away from you, but we're going to have to separate." Calia frowned, considering other options, none of them ending well. I was afraid he'd say that. She already knew that her companion had a will of steel. She wouldn't be able to change his plan, no matter what. And now wasn't the time to argue. But the plan was too risky for her to just agree to it. What if he got caught? What would she do then? She bit her lip, contemplating and trying to think up a good excuse of why they shouldn't split up, but she couldn't think of any that didn't sound selfish. When the crossroad finally appeared up ahead, Calia's heart was racing and when Taraak yelled at her to run, she hesitated for a split second before departing, bounding off into another street parallel to that Taraak's. As he disappeared from view, a wave of uselessness rose in Calia, but she pushed it down for the time being and kept running.

River joined her after a few minutes of still running. Her ears were flat against her head as she leaped after her human friend, her tail streaming out behind her. The men went after Taraak,

[/i] she told Calia. Don't think about it though. Keep running.[/i] Calia swallowed a lump of fear in her throat and kept up her pace though she couldn't help but get more thoughts about the Varden in her mind. They were in this mess because Taraak was risking his life for some documents that the now dead men had been carrying. Of course Calia still didn't understand the full purpose of the Varden against the Empire or how class systems work, but she began to think that a lot of people who joined the Varden or the Empire ended up dead. Of course, she scoffed to herself. It's a war after all. A giant fight. She slowed to a walk without hardly realizing she had. River shot past her, then slowed and trotted back towards her as her friend stopped completely, moving her head to the side slightly as if listening. River listened as well, though she detected nothing about what their guide was up to. The werecat nudged Calia's hand. Let's go, dear one.[/i] Calia exhaled a huge breath then continued slowly. Her mind was still on the war and her decision though and River could feel it, but didn't comment.

A huge bang echoed throughout the alley without warning and Calia jumped a foot in the air while River unsheathed her claws as if something was about to jump out at them. Calia didn't wait to find out. Her mind racing with confused thoughts some of which brought back nightmares, she took off down the alleyway. River jumped after her, keeping up as best she could although Calia tore down the street as quickly as a wolf chasing its quarry - or a fleeing deer. An intersection came up as they ran deeper into the streets of Dras-Leona and Calia took a sharp right. River was confused though as to Calia's sudden action. Was it really because Taraak was in trouble or because the bang had foreshadowed something around the area they had been in and they were just fleeing? Her question was answered as soon as they had been running along the street for a few minutes.

Calia skidded to a halt, and sucked in a breath quietly, watching the road in front her that was cloaked in shadows from the looming houses on either side. Without hesitation Calia took off again, fearing the worst. The bang still echoed through her mind, and although she had never heard anything like it before, she still presumed it was a bad sign. Calia? Calia, please talk to me. What's wrong?[/i] Calia didn't respond physically to her words, but she answered, Do you even need to ask?[/i] River mewed comfortingly. It might not even be...[/i] She broke off abruptly as Calia stopped again and went rigid. River craned her neck forward and heard low voices coming from further up the alley. She immediately recognized them as male voices, but they were not familiar - of course. The werecat shot a glance at Calia, but her friend was completely frozen. Literally unmoving. She was capable of being still for some time from her experience hunting in the Spine, and now she practically a statue. River shrugged the best she could in her cat form and walked past her friend deeper into the alley. After a few paces, she looked back, but Calia had still not moved a muscle so she continued on into the darker end of the road.

Darker figures were moving up ahead, proceeding down the avenue though River couldn't make them out clearly. She followed them at distance, trying to tread as lightly as she could. She knew that, on her own, she would be able to sneak a proper look without being caught - or at least the chances were good. I might as well do it now before the boom attracts more attention, she thought hastily, quickening her pace, trying to keep to the shadows. For once, she was glad of her size as she kept against the side the house beside her, keeping low. As she neared, she could clearly make out the silhouettes of four upright men, two half-carrying, half-dragging something between them. A dark thought rose in her gut as she continued to watch them making their way along the clearing. They were all wearing hoods, and even as one looked back the way they came as if to make sure they weren't being followed, she couldn't see their faces.

She nearly jumped out of her fur as Calia appeared behind her, on her hands and knees. She hissed between her teeth, letting out her own tension, then turned to meet her friend's blue look. They have Taraak.[/i] She had not been sure at fist, but now she was. Immediately, she saw Calia react, a dark look passing across her gaze. Then the girl pushed past the cat and continued on. River bounded after her for the third time that day. Where are you going?[/i] Calia snorted quietly in the darkness. I'm going to fix this mess, River.[/i] River frowned, and twitched her ears disapprovingly. Calia, this is out of our hands.[/i]
Hmm.[/i] River growled, feeling that Calia wasn't even listening or didn't care. I'm serious. There are four of them. We-[/i] A flash of anger showed from Calia followed by a terrible exasperation. I'm sick of sitting around. Every time we've been in danger it's been you and Taraak protecting me. Now when he's in danger, I can't just leave. It would haunt me for the rest of my miserable life.[/i] River didn't say anything to that. Even though she wanted desperately to just leave and forget about the whole thing, she too knew that they couldn't just leave with the thought of Taraak on their consciences. Besides, I have an idea,[/i] Calia added. River knew it was supposed to assure her, but she didn't feel that liberated. Still, she didn't object as she followed Calia down the alleyway in pursuit of Taraak.[/blockquote][/size]

[Elvorn]

Torska rushed down the stairs, his thoughts in turmoil. Somehow, his old friend Taraak had stumbled into a Spearshadow operation and his life was now in jeopardy. Mind working at a furious pace, he reviewed his situation: Taraak and an unknown girl managed to blow a covert op and are now running for their lives; if I know Taraak he’ll have the documents already and will be trying to figure out how to destroy or safeguard them. Kye and Faren have probably split up by now -standard tactics when pursuing a fugitive- and will be trying to corner him and the documents. Baric is right here and will know if I try anything to help Taraak . . . And permanently stop him if he tried. No options. Ever since he had escaped, Baric had strove to erase his influence in his trainees, usually using forceful methods if they had second thoughts. Torska remembered a lecture he had given to the boys in his batch a few days after Taraak had left. If you boys have ever thought that Taraak was right in leaving, you were wrong. He was instable, a disgrace to my division and a black mark on the reputation of the entire program. If I ever catch anyone even considering following in his footsteps, I will kill them. Personally. I will not have anyone in my division turn against their brothers. If you have any loyalty to your comrades, he had paused, looking directly at Torska, You will do absolutely anything to hunt down and eradicate this traitorous aberrant. I have no doubt that he has told the Varden everything he knows about our methods, therefore all weapons training and operational tactics will be updated. Dismissed.
Torska reflectively ran his finger down a thin white scar just under his eye, a permanent reminder from Ferial that failure was unacceptable.

<<{([><])}>>

. . . Baric loomed over him, knife in hand, features set in an impassive stone mask. The blood and sweat running down from his forehead made Torska’s eyes sting as he looked up at his training instructor from where he was lying on the parade ground, sprawled on his back where Baric had hit him.
‘Get up.’ No, no. No more, please . . . he thought, I’ll do better next time, I won’t fail.
‘Now, Holsaar.’ Baric ordered. He staggered shakily to his feet, wiping a trickle of blood from the corner of his mouth with the back of his hand; cringing. Baric stood head and shoulders over his nine-year-old trainees and his word was law in all aspects of their lives. ‘Now, are you going to hesitate next time?’ He asked, crouching so that he was looking directly into Torska’s eyes.
‘N-no sir.’
Pain exploded behind his eyes and he felt the dusty parade ground leap up and slam into his back as Baric’s knife handle struck his face, hitting him just below the cheekbone.
‘Of course not! If that wasn’t an exercise you would be dead! That is why I’m doing this Torska; I want you boys to survive! If Command wants to send you on missions that will kill anyone but the best, you need to be better than the best! If you fail on an exercise than you will die on a mission! I can’t let that happen.’ He looked around at the other trainees standing in an even row facing him. ‘That is why some examples must be made in order for you to understand.’ He hauled Torska up by the front of his tunic, standing him on his feet and taking a step back. ‘Now, have you learned your lesson?’
‘Yes sir.’ Torska said, ignoring the blood that was trickling down his chin.
‘Good. Get back to the barracks and clean yourself up.’

<<{([><])}>>

Sounds of fighting from the alley below brought Torska out of his reverie and his fears, which had for a moment been suppressed by memory, leapt to the forefront of his mind. A dozen explanations presented themselves, but as soon as he came up with them, he realized that it would be only one thing. Taraak. Moving to the window, he looked down quickly into the alleyway and took stock of the situation. The two agents, Faren and Kye, were engaging Taraak in close quarters; he had his back to the door and was managing to fend them off each time, but eventually they would come at him in tandem and he wouldn’t stand a chance against the two younger, fitter opponents.
‘Shift it boy.’ His sergeant said, walking toward the next flight of stairs. ‘We’ve got a rendezvous to keep . . . ’ He paused, eyes defocusing for a fraction of a second. There was no way he could mistake the noises from the street. Swiftly, he walked to Torska’s side and staring down out of the window at the combatants. Cursing, he spun around and rushed for the stairs, growling a short: ‘Come on.’ Suddenly, the door downstairs swung open and slammed again, followed by the dull sound of a body slamming against the wood. Reaching for his bow, Torska stepped up to the window, and selected a black-shafted arrow from his quiver.
‘What are you doing?’ Baric asked, glancing back over his shoulder.
‘I’m covering them, following the regs. You told us training kept us alive.’ Torska replied, not at all sure what he would do if he was ordered to shoot. Would I intervene? Kye and Faren are as much my brothers as Taraak is, the program claimed us all for the Empire. They are just as much captives as I am. He swallowed hard.
Baric saved him the trouble of that decision by motioning him to follow. ‘No time. If they can’t take him on their own, then my training is worth nothing. Let’s get down there.’

<<{([><])}>>

This had better be worth it, Kye thought, squinting through a rapidly developing black eye. The man had apparently understood the meaning of a knife at his throat and had calmed down considerably, his dark, flint-hard eyes flicking between the two trainees. Faren had undoubtedly come off the worse in the fight with a large bruise forming on his face and several small lacerations on his hands and forearms. The strange man’s knife was lying a short distance away, and didn’t look like it was made by an imperial weaponsmith; the design was more sinuous and elegant than anything in the Spearshadow armory and it had a vaguely leaf-shaped blade. He wondered briefly if Command would let him keep it, but then decided that he preferred his own, more versatile knife.

Kye started as the door banged open, and what he saw dropped his day into whole new levels of unexpectedness. What was he doing here? He looked over at Faren and saw his partner was likewise thrown by the presence of their training sergeant. The man with Baric looked familiar as well; Torska Holsaar, an older operative and one of the few surviving trainees from his division. Most had already been killed. Torska had an odd habit of sticking up for the younger trainees, Kye remembered; most of the more experienced assets wouldn’t interfere in one of Baric’s examples.
‘Well done trainees,’ the mysterious man said, a smile playing at the corners of his mouth, ‘Very well done.’ What? Was this all a test? Kye’s knife wavered. Baric’s presence would indicate that--
Suddenly, the man wrenched his arm out of Faren’s slack grip and grabbed a container out of his pack, smashing it on the ground before anyone could react. There was a deafeningly loud explosion in the narrow alley and, for a moment, no one moved.
But only for a moment.

<<{([><])}>>

The Spearshadow safe house was a solidly built, one-story construct with one entrance, four rooms and no windows. It was as impersonal and starkly efficient as anything in the service of the Emperor but for some reason it felt vaguely comforting; in the sense that Torska knew where every piece of furniture was with his eyes closed. Though if that was comforting to him, it was the only thing. Ferial Baric sat across from him on one of the narrow bunks that folded out from the walls, grilling the two other assets mercilessly. The more serious and responsible of the two, Faren seemed to know what he was about. According to his file, he had a number of successful operations under his belt already including more than one assassination and an unsupported infiltration into Aberon; for being only seventeen, that was an impressive résumé. Kye, on the other hand, had an impetuous streak of the like that Torska hadn’t seen in any assassin trained by Baric; at least, not for long. Despite their differences in personality, they made a good team, much like he and Taraak had.
Taraak, currently, was bound securely to a chair in a soundproofed room adjacent to the four Spearshadow men, alone with his thoughts and a terrific headache. Baric had made the decision to bring him to the safe house instead of killing him outright or turning him in to ImpInt; and, if necessary, they could interrogate him themselves.

[Lily]

Following the men was tedious business, since they all seemed to be as alert or more alert than Calia would ever be for any unwelcome eyes. They continued along the alleyway for quite some time, and while River tried to think of a good excuse to turn back, Calia struggled to formulate an actual plan. In truth, she didn't really have an idea of what to do. She had been hoping that something would come to her when they reached wherever the men were going. But she was getting a sinking feeling in her heart. After all, these were real agents, sent from the Empire to do who-knows-what to Taraak and the Varden. They thought cunning and clever whilst Calia simply thought like an animal, for survival and instinct. She wasn't sure what was better, but considering she'd survived the Spine, she reckoned her own way of thought was pretty formidable. Since that was resolved, the only real problem left to solve was getting past the men and then rescuing Taraak before they ever found out. She was familiar with human ways enough to know that she couldn't cause a diversion lest she be caught herself nor could she try drawing the men away in case they left some of their numbers to guard Taraak and still catch her which would make the whole mission pointless in the first place. She could try sneaking into wherever they were going...

Er, Calia? We're here.

[/i] River's voice broke into her planning, and she stopped instantly for fear of being caught out in the open. River brushed past her human friend and peered out from the gloom in time to see the last of the four men retreat into what seemed like some kind of warehouse - safe house was a better word. She looked back at Calia to make sure that she was still hidden, then took a quick bound around the perimeter of the place. Her spirits were dashed somewhat as she realized the place had only one entrance and exit and absolutely no windows to sneak in by. Their only hope was to break down the door and attack the men with the element of surprise. Or perhaps smash the roof and enter that way, although she doubted it was any better than the ambush plan. With this in mind, she hurried back to Calia to repeat her findings.

Calia was no happier with the new than River was, but between the two options, she decided that the breaking in by the roof was the better choice. We'll just have to hope that we don't drop in on the assassins,[/i] she muttered to River as she began crawling from the shadows. Once she was out in the open, she rose into a low crouch and sprang in front of the door and across, taking refuge in the darkness on the other side. River followed suit, and the two crouched there a time to properly take in their bearings. The alley leading away from the storehouse would definitely cover their escape well enough, but the fact that the place had no windows was a problem. The men and Taraak could be anywhere in the house. From Calia's standpoint, it was definitely one floor high with a flat roof that covered the entire thing. It would be easy enough to get onto the roof if they pushed some surrounding crates over to it, but breaking it apart and getting inside might prove to be a challenge. Still, Calia was ready for anything at the time, even prepared to take such a risk and with a brief nod at River, she set off. River followed, whiskers twitching in disapproval. What if it comes down to a fight?[/i] Calia acknowledged her words with the briefest shake of her head. I don't know.[/i] The words did not help the situation, but River knew that with someone like Calia for a companion, turning back was out of the question now.

Calia found a stack of crates already piled near the back of the safe house, and smiled. Things were already working well. She leaped onto the first one and beckoned hastily to River. The werecat jumped, joining her friend, yet she had a bad feeling about what was coming next. Calia hopped to the next one, then hauled herself onto the roof with little difficulty. River came next, clawing her way on and standing next to the girl, her ears flattened just as a flash of joy and relief surged from Calia. River followed her friend's gaze and saw a trapdoor just beyond them, leading down into the safe house. Her heart leapt as well. Perhaps this rescue mission might turn out successful after all. Calia bounded over to the trapdoor like a wolf would pounce for it's prey, and knelt near it, examining it. River padded to her side cautiously, watching her investigation. At last, Calia gave up trying to work it open. It's locked.[/i] She tried to hide emotion in her voice, but River could tell she was disappointed. The werecat bent over to check out the lock, and noticed that it was old and rusted, and probable easily breakable. She didn't realize that this thought had been shared with Calia until resolve flashed across her mind. River jumped backwards a few paces as Calia drew her bow and an arrow. She shook her head, her tail twitching. Calia, no...![/i]
It was too late.
As Calia loosed her arrow, a loud clanging sound that echoed around the alley rang out clear and sharp. River flinched in synchronization with Calia. The girl began to curse silently under her breath for most likely giving their position away for miles around. But her frustration was short as triumph took over. The lock had been broken and the trapdoor was easily swung away from the opening. If she moved quick enough, she might be able to get in and hide before anybody realized what the noise had been. If she was lucky, the men might ignore it. She peered down through the opening to see where she would be landing, and her heart jumped into her throat. Not because it was the men standing there, but because it was Taraak instead, bound to a chair, and by looks of it, left with no chance of escape. Her mission was as easy as ever. Jump down, alert Taraak to her presence, hide in case the men began to search for the source of the sound, then free her guide and somehow get them both out the trapdoor. She was so busy with this, that she forgot completely about River or about thoughts of failure.

River was, by now, tugging her sleeve in impatience. Calia, I know what you're thinking, but you can't do it. It's too dangerous now![/i] Calia was hardly listening, so intent she was on her final task. But she hurriedly said, Wait here, River. I'll be back in a heartbeat.[/i] River growled softly, refusing to let go. Did you not hear a word I just said? It's too dangerous![/i] Calia tugged her arm out of River's grasp, then turned to glare at her. This is my only chance. If I don't act now, then Taraak will be out of our reach forever. You go on if you want to. I'm going to stay and finish this.[/i] River didn't have time to say anything else, for Calia readied herself and slipped through the trapdoor opening as quick as lightening. River snarled in exasperation, but she didn't leave. She couldn't abandon her friend no matter what. Even though all their lives were in danger now.

Calia landed with ease, right where she wanted to. Behind Taraak it seemed. They were alone for the time being which was fortunate for her. She could hear no sounds from surrounding rooms, so she assumed the men went to find out what had made the noise outside. Or so she hoped. She took a very short look up the way she had come, spying River's head disappearing from the opening, although she doubted the werecat would stray far. But her mind soon strayed from that for more important matters. "Taraak!" she exclaimed, raising her voice as loud as she dared and moving slowly around the chair, so he noticed her. Unfortunately, things began to fail there.

As she made to move closer to the man bound to the chair, she heard fast approaching footsteps from a room close by, and she knew without having to think that they were on there way to this room. Of course! They would think that the noise meant Taraak was trying to escape. It was only then that Calia realized how foolish her plan had been and that she was in danger. As she searched desperately for a hiding place, she heard a soft but panicked mew from just above her. She looked up to see River crouched by the edge of the trapdoor entry, readying herself to jump in. No! Get out of here, River![/i] She saw the werecat hiss in frustration, but her head disappeared and Calia sighed in relief. However, this was soon replaced by cold fear and anger at herself for her many mistakes, especially this one. Thinking like an animal did not aid her as well as she'd first assumed. My first mistake in the human world. Perhaps my last one too, were the last thoughts that fleetingly crossed her mind before the rushed human steps filled her mind and the door burst open...[/size][/blockquote]

[Elvorn]

Clang!

They all jumped to their feet, startled out of the discussion that was at hand. Baric motioned to the two younger assets to flank the door in a defensive pattern and grabbed his sheathed sword from the bunk where it had been lying. Torska wondered for a heartbeat if this could be some sort of diversion while some unknown compatriots of Taraak staged a rescue, but then it dawned on him that the noise had come from the storage room where he was being held. If it was an attempt at rescue, it was a remarkably amateurish one. Wait, the girl. The one he was with earlier; I never saw her after Kye and Faren started chasing Taraak. She hadn’t looked like she could even carry a tune, much less track four Imperial agents through Dras-Leona to a fortified safe house. But then, if she had been on an assignment with Taraak then she must have a valuable skill set in this business. Suddenly he realized that he was unsure if he actually wanted to stop a rescue attempt. Stop it. He thought, shoving the thought to a dark corner of his mind to be brought out later; if at all. That’s treason.
Torska was aware of Baric ordering him to secure the perimeter, grabbing his bow and slipping out of the door, but it all seemed like it was happening to someone else and he was simply an observer. Time shifted strangely when you were in shock.

A low hiss from the roof of the building cleared his thoughts and he sprang up onto a pile of crates stacked near the wall. Yes, a person would have been able to climb up them and onto the roof. Nocking an arrow, he peered over the edge of the roof, noting immediately that the trapdoor was open and a familiar wild-looking cat was pacing about on the roof. Sliding back down under the level of the roof, he racked his brain to remember where he had seen the cat before.
The market. It was following the girl and Taraak. He was sure now that it had been following them and somehow knew Taraak was here. Maybe it was leading the girl here? he thought for a second. No, that was absurd. It was a cat.

Vaulting over the edge of the roof, he came up behind the cat and scooped it into his arms, surprised by how heavy it was. Holding its mouth closed, he crept toward the trapdoor, trying to keep from being scratched by the wildly struggling animal. As he approached the open trapdoor, a vicious stream of invective assaulted his mind, surprising him enough to stumble and release his hold on the cat.
. . . useless, pitiful, blundering, thrice cursed fool! Go stuff your head in a-
Torska blinked. The cat was on its feet a couple meters away from him bristling and spitting with an expression that could curdle milk. His first thought was that he was hallucinating or had fallen back off the crates and knocked himself out, but that wouldn’t explain the pain from the scratches on his arms.
It had to be the cat. He had heard stories of werecats but always thought that they were just superstition. The werecat was still a few feet from him, hissing and hurling insults. With a lunge, he grabbed it around the waist holding it away from his body.
-bumbling, foul, moronic Imperial!
Hoping fervently that he wouldn’t do permanent damage, Torska brought his gauntlet down on the back of the furious werecat’s head, stunning it.

Noises from inside the safe house reminded him of the purpose of his trip to the roof. Holding the cat gingerly, he dropped down through the trapdoor, landing a few feet from Ferial Baric and the young girl he had seen earlier. There was a livid bruise on her cheek. She moaned when she saw the cat in Torska’s arms and Baric tightened his grip on her arms.
‘This one was trying to wake our mutual friend here.’ He said, nodding his head at his slumped charge. ‘What is that baggage?’
Torska set the limp cat down on the floor carefully, checking its pulse and breath rate. ‘This baggage was following Taraak and the girl you have here back in the market. It’s a werecat sir.’
Torska would never say that his sergeant gaped, but this came awfully close. ‘I found it up on the roof. What do you want me to do with it?’
‘Leave it in here and get back in the other room. I need to rethink this.’ Baric said, sitting the girl down hard next to Taraak and tying her hands roughly to the back of the chair. She looked very young and very afraid.

Torska’s last thought before returning to the other room was, This is wrong.

[Angmor]

"And you never saw him do anything with the documents?" Baric asked, trying to clarify for the third time, causing Kye to fidget slightly. "Think hard."
"Not that I noticed sir. You think that it had something to do with that explosive device?"
"What would you do?"
Standing across from him, Kye averted his gaze a little down and to the left in his let-me-think gesture, considering the question. Faren just stood straight and tall, eyes front, with only a slight defocus to indicate his thoughts. Yes, Baric reflected, they were good lads. The knew their business, and they were about as hard as he could make them. Kye especially, he thought, would have that razor edge that would keep him up and fighting long after the average man would have done the easy thing and died.

"I would say, sir, that as soon as became apparent that avoiding capture was no longer possible, I would make the destruction of sensitive intel a priority."
Baric nodded.
"I think our friend agreed with you. Especially because the documents are not here."
Taraak's belongings were laid out on a table in the extensive armory. Taraak hadn't changed much, using a shoulderbag to carry most of it. He never had liked carrying kit on his back, easier to access, he always said...
"Now then." He said, coming back to business. "Tell me about this girl..."

Clang

The sound tore like thunder through the comparitive silence of the safehouse. Baric found that he was on his feet, grasping for a sword that he had had beside him. He knew it instantly; the trapdoor. I knew I should have had that better secured. the simple fact was, the safehouse wasn't really equipped to hold people. Spearshadow didn't take a whole lot of prisoners.

He motioned to Holsaar, who until then had been sitting quietly in a corner, watching him grill the other two. "Go check the perimeter, make sure we're secure." Holsaar nodded dumbly and left. Baric unsheathed the sword and tossed the scabbard aside, motioning for Kye and Faren to flank the door of the makeshift cell. One his signal one of them unlatched the door as Baric kicked, throwing it wide. Baric was in the small room immediately, sword raised. He had been right, the trapdoor had indeed been opened. But, strangely, Taraak's slumped form was still tied to the chair where he had left it. Crouching over him was a small form, shaking his shoulder as if trying to wake him. Even in an excited, adrenaline-enhanced state, Baric figured that anyone who had taken the time to follow them here, break the lock on the trapdoor, and tried to wake a prisoner probably wasn't friendly. Baric had a rather decisive way of dealing with people who weren't friendly.

He brought the pommel of his sword smashing at about head-level, connecting with something that didn't give much and sending the figure to the floor beside Taraak's chair with a pained oomph. Baric had knocked out his share of targets in his time, and he knew a masculine cry of pain when he heard one. This one however, did not belong to a man. In fact, as he placed the tip of his sword against her chin, he saw that it was indeed a very young woman.
"What do you think lads? Is this the one?"
He glanced over his shoulder to find that Kye had entered the room right behind him, knife drawn. "Yes Sarge, that's the one."
Baric turned back to his floored victim, who stared up at him with startled fear he had seen on the faces of many, many targets. "Fancy that."

. . .

Taraak stared at the raftered ceiling, his steel-grey eyes roving over every crack and dent. Like the rest of the barracks, it was built unelegantly and sparsely, seeming like it was almost thrown together, the soul of military effeciency. But he had stared at it every night for the past four years, and it was familiar in a way that was almost soothing.
Almost.
All around, laying on the floor as he was, was the other fourteen boys of his division. He knew their positions, how they prefered to sleep, he could even identify them by the sounds of their breathing in the darkness. He could also hear the snoring of Private Falis, sleeping on the cot at the front of the building, twelve and a quarter meters to his left. Falis was a light sleeper, and made sure that no one talked during the night. Luckily, he had figured out how to beat that system a long time ago.
"So, how was it?" The voice came as a whisper in his ear, like the owner was directly beside him. It belonged to Torska Holsaar, his only friend. Three years ago, Taraak had discovered an echo in the barracks that could only be heard if one was in a certain meter-wide circle. Taraak had his head in one side of the circle, Torska had his in the other. Between that and their daily sparring, it was their only time to converse privately, and they used it whenever they could. "It was... simple." He responded in a whisper. Torska was asking about the live operation that Sergeant Baric had Taraak run that day, his first true assassination. "The recce was laughable, the climb to the rooftop was almost dull, and target was without a clue. Lined up the shot, and down he went. The soldiers didn't even look up."
There was silence as Torska considered it. Taraak knew what he was thinking; he had thought the same thing. After all their training, it was a bit of an anticlimax. "And how did it feel?" Torska asked at last. Taraak paused. Sergeant Baric had asked him the same thing, and so he told his friend the same thing he had told him, if not in the same words. "I'm not really sure... It felt, strange."
"How so?"

Taraak closed his eyes and searched the memory of that moment of the kill, reinvisioning it like he was doing it again. "Id don't know. You will have to wait for yours." Torska stayed silent, and Taraak could picture the look of unfocused contemplation on his friend's features. He knew he should stay silent now, they had another long day tomorrow, but something nagged at him, something that he had to say. "One thing bothers me though. Of all the things it felt like, satisfaction wasn't one of them." Through the boards he was laying on, he felt Torska shift slightly. "What do you mean?"
"I mean,why? The Sarge didn't even tell me the man's name. I saw him, I looked him in the face. He wasn't a warrior or an assassin, or even any sort of planner. So I can't help but wonder, why did he need to die?"

"He must have been an enemy of some kind." Said Torska. "Sarge says, he's training us to seek out and destroy the enemies of the Empire." Taraak remembered all right. He remembered the exact day when he had said it. "But that's the other thing. Have you ever wondered just what this Empire is for? If it is so great and wonderful, why does it have enemies?"
Torska was silent.
"And, why us?" Taraak continued. "Why did they pick us for this work? Were we the first warm bodies they came across, or did they pick us for something?"
"Look, Taraak, I don't know." Torska said at last. "I don't have any answers to that, and neither do you. But we're here now,and all we can do is follow our orders and watch each other's backs." Taraak sighed.
"You're right. I'm sorry. Let's pack it in and get some sleep."
"Agreed."
Taraak lay in the darkness as his friend's breathing shallowed out, unable to find such rest himself. He would ask Sergeant Baric in the morning, then that would settle his questions. Sarge always had an answer. With that assurance, he shut his eyes and fell asleep.

The pain always came first.
Taraak had been knocked unconscious enough times to have developed a sort of list on what would happen before he would be awake again. A dull, throbbing ache was always the first thing he experienced, generally because the unconsciousness was most often caused by a blunt impact of considerable force. That might go on for a minute or an hour, he was never able to tell.
Next would be hearing...
"...eave it here. I have to rethink this."
Ah, there it was. He listened as a sound that invoked images in his addled brain of several pairs of soft boots padding along a wooden floor got farther and farther away... Finally, that was gone, and the only sound he could distinguish was his own breathing. Slowly, he started to reconstruct what had happened. One of the Spearshadow trainees had hit him, that was the last thing he remembered happening. After that, Baric must have transported him to a safehouse or some other Laying Up Point somewhere in the city, and after that... He shrugged mentally. After that, he would be tortured, probably transfered to Uru-Baen, tortured some more, and then suffer a slow and agonizing death that the Empire so favored meting out to men of his profession. Well, that was it then. He could take solace in the fact that he had led a good career, done much damage to the Empire, and gotten Calia out safely. At least now, because of him, she had a chance.

Right then, from somewhere behind him, he heard a soft meowing noise, something that sounded an awful lot like... No. It can't be.

[/Color] Without any other choice, he opened his eyes.

The light made him wince. He found himself staring at his own knees, in a sitting position. His arms wouldn't move... or his legs. Obviously Baric didn't want him going anywhere. He managed to raise his head, hissing through his teeth at the pain, and looked around. He was in a smallish square room, looking to be plain wooden walls common to many parts of the city. There was a small table in front of him, and another chair...
And on that chair was the worst thing he could possibly imagine being in the room with him.
"Calia! How did you- what did- What happened?" He managed to splutter. He felt his guts freeze with the same terror he had felt upon waking up on that streambank all those weeks ago, staring into the shadow of his greatest fear. Except this time it wasn't for himself. "You were in the clear! How did they get you?"[/size][/blockquote]

[Lily]

Calia had almost given up on waking her companion with the footsteps getting closer and closer each second, but she continued to shake him gently. Suddenly her muscles froze and adrenaline burst into her system instantaneously as she sensed a presence besides hers and Taraak's in the room. She restrained herself from calling his name again when, without warning, something came to an abrupt stop on the side of her head. The world spun out of focus and black dots swam in front of her vision. She was surprised that the explosion of pain didn't come until she found herself sprawled on the floor next to Taraak's chair, an exclamation of pain emitted from between her teeth accompanied by a terrible weakness as she felt the cold point of a blade by her chin. Looking up at her assaulter, the first thing she noticed through the terrible aching throb in her head was sheer surprise there though she didn't understand in the state she was in why. Then a coldness fogged over the shock and it was as if he had never reacted to the sight of her, instead turning his head ever so slightly to confirm with the two behind him who she was. Calia recognized them to be the assassins who had killed the man back in the market.

In a second, she was hauled to her feet by strong hands and, still stunned, she could only listen as more human steps came from outside and an unfamiliar man dropped in from the trapdoor. Calia let out a moan of absolute despair at the sight of what he was holding securely in his arms. She would recognize her werecat friend anywhere, but this was the last place she wanted to see River. Hadn't she told her to run? She felt herself being moved to a nearby chair and forced to sit, but her attention was on River. No matter how many times she called her name, she didn't respond. She was sure that River was still alive from the movements of her chest, but she had been knocked out cold. Everything for Calia dashed in that one second at her and River's capture and her failure at saving Taraak. Everything was too terrible to think about. That and the dull ache in her head like a drill inside of it made her wish that she too was unconscious and oblivious to the situation.

Meanwhile, her captor and the other two were discussing her and River in low voices. At last, the man gave orders to the Imperial holding River and the assassin laid her on the floor near the back of the room. As the four exited the room, Calia glared burning holes in the back of their backs, then blinked as her narrowed eyes recalled the discomfort of her head. A second after the men had left, River stirred slightly. Calia strained towards her as far as her ropes would let her. River? Can you hear me?

[/i] For the longest moment, River made no noise, but then she replied in a weak voice. I hear you, Calia. What happened? That Empire scum knocked me or something.[/i] Calia shook her head, and looked at the ground. River winced when she felt her friend's pain both physical and mental, then mewed in sympathy.
Suddenly, Calia saw movement out of the corner of her eye and her head snapped up in a fraction of a second. Taraak was awake, blinking and looked around the room seeming to be getting his bearings. His eyes roved the room, for a moment, and then fell on Calia. She saw them widen in open horror, similar to the expression he had worn two weeks ago when she'd rescued him from a mercenary. That situation suddenly seemed like nothing compared to this.

For a second Taraak just stared in disbelief as if he wanted her to disappear as a dream, then he said in a voice that she barely recognized, coated in fear. "Calia! How did you- what did- What happened?" She was sure she had never heard him stutter before, so the fact that she was there was probably the worst thing he could have imagined. "You were in the clear! How did they get you?" Calia swallowed the lump in her throat. Telling him that she had been captured by them would probably set off a better reaction than telling him that she had come back willingly. But she wasn't one to lie, and when she did he always saw through it. But the shocked fright on his face was enough to make her voice abandon her. She knew that he would have preferred her to go on without him and leave him to his fate, but she couldn't have whatever she thought to convince herself it was right. Even though she had wasted his efforts by returning, leaving him alone with Imperials that were already bent on killing him was a more horrid thought to her.

Finally, she found her voice. "They didn't get me," she whispered, then raised her voice just by a little so as not to alert the Imperials to their waking state. "I came back. I couldn't just leave you; not after all you've done for me." That was pretty much all there was to it and so she fell silent for the time being, watching Taraak. Although he was still hard to read most of the time - as was she - it was still easy to tell that her words had left him thinking. After all, she still owed him a debt, and a large one at that. First, he had saved her from the men who had been chasing him in the first place. Second, he had agreed to take her safely to the Varden; both her and River. And third, was the largest thing which was when he had risked his own life against the mercenaries to get her safely to the Varden. Not to mention sending her away when he found out about the assassins. Most of the things he had done for her was to get her to the Varden. Even though he was probably way more valuable to them than she would ever be. Why did he so badly want to bring her to the Varden? Was it something that had to do with the long conversations they had had concerning the Empire and the Varden during their escape from the Spine? Or was it simply because he had meant what he said so long ago. I know how much a life is worth. Did her life mean that much?

Finally, after a few moments of silence, she realized she still had one question left, even in this situation. Even though the answer was already becoming clear to her, and she half dreaded to know, she still figured that she ought to have a clue of what was going on now. "What's going to happen now?" Calia asked slowly and softly. River looked up at this, and her right ear twitched. Do you really want to know?[/i] Calia turned her head to look at her werecat companion, and blinked. Well, it's better than not knowing - I guess. Being clueless.[/i] River turned her head to look away because she knew that her friend also wanted to be a bit more enlightened therefor more useful, but she didn't mention it. She knew that nothing could get them out of this situation now, but at least talking broke the dreadful silence while they waited for the hateful Imperials to return.[/size][/blockquote]