24.
Aesara
prowled the corridors, exuding a confidence born out of simply not caring what
challenge she faced next. Drakhan ran past her, look of concern on their faces,
an order to follow, a disaster to avert. Few gave Aesara a second look. The
liberated elite guard jacket help of course. Rather than go for the one that
looked the best fit, she’d had to plump for the one least drenched in blood. It
sat awkwardly on her shoulders. But did not seem to matter, she held her head
high, back straight, gaze level. And she strode. It was a slightly limping
stride, admittedly – the formal boots she still wore impeding her, her knee agonising her - but it was confident. A
woman with a purpose.
How
she would fulfil that purpose, she knew not. It would not be a direct attack,
that much was certain. She was too outnumbered, too hurt, too tired for that.
Time for her inner Pyrrho to come to the fore once again. She smiled, doubting
that he would ever leave her head now, whispering devious tactics that the
warrior within her baulked at. Putting the jacket on had been but a first step.
Confidently striding among the Drakhan like she belonged there was the next.
Ordering them to do her bidding the third.
“Stand
down” she barked at the young Drakhan guarding the stairs up to the main house
“S…sorry
sir. There’s been a bit of an, erm, breech. No one else past this way. Official
orders. Sorry” he nervously gripped the Elder weapon to his chest, making no
attempt to aim it at Aesara, but also loathe to let it go either.
“I
gave the order, you dolt. You think I don’t know firsthand about the breech”
she indicated her jacket, even this least bloody one still had more than a
tinge of red soaked through it.
The
Drakhan paused for a second, weighing up his options “Ok sir. Sorry sir” he
stood aside.
Aesara
smiled “This is more like it” she said, half to herself, half out loud. The
Drakhan guard looked confused as she past by and up the stairs.
She’d
lost all concept of time during even the few brief days of her internment, but
on emerging on the ground floor of the main house she got her bearings from the
silvery moon light that filtered into the small windows of the vestibule the
stairs led up to. It was quiet, the chaos of the lower floors seemed such a
long way away. Aesara had to remind herself what was actually happening down there. She moved
on, through a set of double doors and into the empty kitchens. Pushing on she
came out into the main dining room. Here she came across a sentry on duty.
“Where
is the overlord?” she demanded, quickly slipping back into her confident
Drakhan persona.
“S..sir?”
“He
up in his quarters? I told the guard to move him to the safe area” she took a
gamble on how the Drakhan would be responding to the trouble below.
“They…they
did sir”
“At
least someone has some brains round here. They go to the stables?” she guessed,
no need to be right, just confident sounding.
“No
sir, the university”
“Really?”
“Yes,
something about a wider evacuation needed. Not sure what is going on down
there?”
“Best
you don’t boy.” Aesara made towards the exit, then paused. “How old are you
boy?” in the dark it was hard to tell, but there was something about his
squeaky voice.
“S…sixteen
sir”
“Don’t
lie to your superiors, boy”
“Sorry
sir. Fourteen sir”
“Get
out”
“Sir?”
“You
heard, you’re dismissed. Get out. You don’t need, don’t want to be around here”
“Sir”
Aesara
pushed past him and into the night.
She
was half way down the hill when the explosion ripped up and through the house.
She resisted the urge to look back, not because it looked cooler that way,
rather she didn’t want to let go of her emotions right now, as she might not be
able to get them back under control. Pyrrho would always be remembered, but his
memory would not get in the way of her next mission.
Some
burning debris came down in front of her, quickly becoming the final resting
place of her Drakhan jacket. A bush had caught alight a little further on, and
that was where she kicked off the boot that had till this point hid her wooden
leg. Gems glistened in the flickering fires.
The
gate into the university complex stood open and unguarded. Aesara stepped
through cautiously. She knew the bulk of the Drakhan force would likely had
been attempting to either quell the emerging rebellion or head off Pyrrho’s
final stand, but she still expected a significant number to be left at ground
level.
She
needed information, an inside line,
Pyrrho whispered to her mind’s ear. Aesara smiled, he certainly would not be
forgotten now, would he? Moving into the camp she realised where she could get
that information; the sentries’ hideaway.
Drifting through the shadows she passed by the familiar Elder dwellings
of her sentry patrol that seemed a lifetime ago. The hideaway was over the
other side of the track she’d been following. Firelight licked at the windows.
Aesara smiled to herself again. Someone was home.
That
person was Malic.
Aesara
was surprised to see the overseer bent over the fire, prodding something in the
cauldron suspiciously.
“No
one is sure what that lump is, we ate round it” she said to him
Malic
jumped at her interruption, span round, knocking the cauldron which splashed
greasy stew onto the hissing fire below.
“Aesara?!
You’re alive?”
“Who
said that I wasn’t?”
“We
were told you’d led an attempt to destroy the university. Lost your mind. Had
to be locked away for your own safety, but resisted and….” his voice trailed
off.
“I
don’t die easy”
“That
I can see”
“Where
is the overlord?”
“Down
at the high council, they took over all the central camp, including my, er,
your, office” he was wary of his wild looking predecessor.
“How
many?”
“I’m,
er, not sure” he looked down
“You
don’t know how many outsiders have taken over the camp you swore to protect?”
an eyebrow arched up, old overseer instinct angered
Malic
just shook his head.
“They
in fancy uniforms? Purple piping?”
“Er,
yes, I think so”
“So
at least one company of the elite guard made it” Aesara inwardly cursed. She
would not be able to take them all on.
“Perhaps?”
“Tell
me Malic…”
“Yes?”
“How’d
you like to take the night off?”
“I,
er…” the rest of the sentence cut off by him getting punched full in the face.
He dropped like a stone. Aesara worked quickly to hog tie and gag him, then
shifted the unconscious form out of the back of the building. She could risk no
further betrayal. No one could let on that she had arrived in camp. Keep the element of surprise, Pyrrho
gently whispered.
She
crept into camp, not for the first time. Last time she’d done this her stealth
had been aided by everyone being blind drunk, this time she was up against the
best the Drakhan had to offer. Just a little step up in class, but not much.
She smiled in the dark.
The
arrangement of the camp was more closely pressed together this time, the Drakhan
guard patterns tighter. From the shadows she watched two of them pass by the
rear of the archives, counted in her head, not that high before two more passed
through. Her smile had been replaced by a look of grim resignation.
On
the slightly brighter side, the fact that the Drakhan had decided against
trying to hold the front gate implied a lack of numbers. Almost certainly just
the one unit. Although in Aesara’s current state, that was still 10 soldiers
too many. She experimentally flexed her injured hand and almost gave her
position away by yowling in pain.
She
was, therefore, not going to be able to take a direct route to confrontation
with her father. She would have to circumvent his retinue, manoeuvre through
the shadows. Inner Pyrrho rubbed his hands in anticipation. Aesara shook her
head, I’m going mad she told herself,
even though if that madness meant her brother still being around, she would
take that.
Two
more guards passed by in front of her, the same as the first two she’d seen
when she first set up watch here. That meant four in total patrolling the perimeter. Assuming they were working to a shift – even
the elite Drakhan had to rest at some point – then maybe another two were
currently bedding down. If she knew where, she could remove the threat, but not
was not the time to start searching the various sleeping quarters. Just aim not
to cause enough alarm that they would be roused.
To
her shame, Aesara had to keep count on her hands. So far she could account for
six Drakhan. Father would keep at least two with him at all times, which left
two more. Probably on guard outside whatever building or tent the overlord had
located himself up. At least that is how she would arrange the guard patterns.
Hopefully the best the Drakhan offered could live up to her exacting standards.
At
the next pass of the perimeter guards she moved forwards, quickly covering the
ground to the back of the archive tent. She’d picked the exact spot of her
target from back across the path, a slightly darker shadow fell across part of
the tent to the right side, this would disguise her knife insertion a little.
Not perfect, but hopefully enough, especially if the Drakhan focussed more
outside of the tent. She unsheathed the knife. Pyrrho’s knife, her brother
subtly planting it in her trousers when they had hugged that final time. The
knife was sharp, biting through the thick canvas as if it were cake. She kept
the slit as short as she thought she could get away with, then crawled through.
In
her head she continued to count 47…48…49. Footsteps. She crouched down on the
inside of her insertion point, waiting for the guards to pass. If they noticed
the slit, investigated it, then they’d get a nasty surprise when they peaked
through. But the footsteps receded. Aesara
exhaled. Now onto the next part, making it through the archive. While not a
regular visitor, she had a rough idea of the layout from the few times she had
been there. Long dusty shelves interspersed by writing desks or reading stands.
She felt her way along, only banging her shins a couple of time, thankfully the
wooden one more often than the one of flesh and bone.
With
a few minutes she was at the front of the darkened archive. Again she waited,
listened. There were footsteps, but they were less regular, more stumbling than
the patrols. They also made a slightly different sound to the Drakhan’s heavy
boots. She frowned to herself. Probably meant other camp members were still
about. She had assumed that they’d be confined to quarters.
Apart
from the council.
Of
course. Father would want to continue to surround himself with a compliant
audience. All the better if fine food and drinks were involved. On all fours
she edged towards the flap at the tent entrance. At the bottom of the entrance
she cautiously lifted a corner of the heavy material. She could see the council
marquee just a few paces away given the closer confines of the current camp
layout. In front was a Drakhan guard, stood to attention, an appearance of
formidable toughness and constant awareness. Or, to a soldier and sentry of Aesara’s experience, a bored young man
asleep with his eyes open. Her suspicions were confirmed when his comrade
emerged from the other side of the marquee and had to tap quite firmly on his
shoulder to wake him from his upright slumber. The two Drakhan briefly shared
some quiet words, before the man who had been standing on guard began his turn
of patrolling round the marquee.
The
Drakhan may not be as alert as they should be, but it would still be a tough
ask to take one out undetected. Especially as her swollen knee made a rapid
approach impossible. Even if she was successful there would be other Drakhan in
the marquee with father, and the whiney idiots of the council would surely
alert the remaining guards. She needed a more cunning line of approach.
Frowning once more she was about to close the small corner of the flap she
peered out from under, take time to consult her inner Pyrrho, but it was the
marquee flap that opened instead. Aesara froze.
It
was Farrow, a crusty old Professor, one of Celcus’ closest allies on the
council. The old woman stumbled away from the marquee, Aesara could not quite
tell if her unsteady gait was drink or age driven. Farrow paused a few paces
away, turned and wolf whistled at the Drakhan guard. Drink Aesara remarked to herself. With the Drakhan unresponsive to
her advances, Farrow continued on her way, down between two squat Elder
building towards a tent a little further away.
The
latrine.
A
plan was forming in Aesara’s mind. A downright dirty plan. The best kind whispered Pyrrho.
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