Chapter 26 — Bonds of Trust and Family

Needing to protect the two mages behind him and knowing that his opponent wasn’t a human push-over, Xyn didn't hesitate.

“Xyn, wait! Don’t do…” Yillian started to warn, but the Fog of Lost Souls was already spreading to fill the surrounding area, and the half-elf’s voice trailed off. “…anything hasty.”

“You noble mages think you can come to the dockside and do whatever you please?!” the cat-kin yelled out. “Let ‘em have it boys!”

Ooops? Xyn was already Petal-stepping between Yillian and Alennil as muffled thwacks sounded out.

The expanded space within his Fog of Lost Souls sent most of the incoming quarrels off course, but he still used a bit of Wind to nudge a few that were too dangerous for comfort.

“We're escaping! Grab on!” Xyn urged his companions as he caught hold of each and, circulating his aura in preparation, leapt onto a nearby rooftop and again onto another roof further away, rooftiles scattering out beneath them as they landed each time. His jumps fell short of expected, even accounting for the extra weight of his companions, and when Petal-stepping strangely failed to compensate, he was forced to use Wind aura to adjust their trajectory and landing.

“Oww. I feel like my arm got yanked out,” Alennil complained while regaining his footing and looking about for threats.

“Xyn! You're hit!” Yillian cried out, pointing.

Huh? Xyn's eyes followed the direction of Yillian's finger to where a dark piece of metal was sticking out of his leg and blood was beginning to stain his britches. Weird… it didn't hurt…

When had he been hit? A quick motion with his hand removed and discarded the blade, but the lack of sensation was spreading. Poison!

Remembering the encounter with Nicolas, Xyn hoped that he could also use the Chaos essence to speed his body's adaptation and processing of the poison, immediately circulating his aura and focusing on trying to draw out the properties of change. He needed to hurry, his thoughts were already becoming fuzzy.

“Whatever these mages are paying you, brother, looks like it wasn't enough,” the cat-kin thug's deep voice rumbled out from the crest of the rooftop. “You should've known better than to mess with-”

“Xyn!” Yillian cried out again, but the world was already fading to black as consciousness fled.

Ayla took a deep breath as the carriage pulled through the ducal palace's gates. As a knight, she had long since become capable of presenting herself without attendants, but as a lowly baron's daughter, approaching a duke's house still brought trepidation.

Her thoughts briefly drifted to Xyn and the others and what trouble they might get into on their way to the guild office. She had only known them for… days really, but separated from them, she felt exposed and alone. Shaking her head, she cut off that thought. Since when had she grown so reliant on others?

And in the process, somehow, she had become indebted to foreign spies. Almost certainly, without Xyn and Yillian's help, she wouldn't have discovered the truth about Fenton's fate or the cult that he was involved with. Even so, why was she putting so much trust in them? As a direct result of her involvement with them and because of Xyn's crazy grandmother, she had directly attacked and killed members of the Tower. There was no way this was going to end well for her.

Sure, the rogue mages were cultists involved in Fenton's death and had likely already brought unimaginable danger to the kingdom, but for such a group to have a dedicated meeting room within the Tower itself, the cultists' conspiracy was obviously connected to powerful people. It was worrying. Fortunately, with her hair dyed and having been hooded, she shouldn't be as readily identified, and hopefully, the conspirators would be adverse enough to having justicars sniffing around to request such assistance.

The carriage stopped in front of one of the palace's wings and an attendant moved to open the door. Another extended a hand and helped her down.

“Milady.” The first attendant, an apprentice-aged girl in a frilly maid dress, motioned toward the marble steps and dais leading to the open entry doors. “If it would please you to follow me.”

Allowing herself to be led, Ayla felt further intimidated by the refinement in the girl's manner. Even with the time spent in etiquette studies at her mother's insistence, Ayla was still a country bumpkin when compared to the graceful ladies of the court.

And yet, somehow, the attendants and guards had identified her as nobility notwithstanding her simply worn hair and commoner's travel clothes.

When offered a seat upon reaching the intended reception room, Ayla clumsily let her sword catch against the chair's armrest. Was her sword the reason? Ugh… anyone who saw her sword at the Tower would probably recognize it.

“Milady, who might you be calling upon with your visit?” the attendant inquired while serving refreshments and snacks.

“My brother, Sir Denathen Ravenhill,” Ayla stated, trying to sound self-assured, but couldn't help adding, “If he's not busy.”

Ayla berated herself for her weakness as the attendant politely nodded and excused herself.

The time passed while Ayla stewed in her thoughts, and an attendant waiting in the room soon was refreshing the refreshments as Ayla helped herself to yet another of the small sandwiches followed by an herb cheese wrapped in thinly sliced meat and a pastry with delicately flavored meat filling.

Ayla looked down at her clothes. The travel-wear wasn't really proper for calling on someone in the duke's palace, but for commoner's fare the tailoring and materials weren't deficient even to her noble sensibilities. Rather, her clothing was sensible wear for a lady who didn't want to attract attention while traveling and would likely be viewed in such a light, which was the reason she had unreasonably commissioned the clothes on short notice.

Resisting the urge to pull her simply embroidered cloak close, Ayla fixed her posture, sitting primly with the self-assurance that she belonged. Expressing one's nobility was about confidence. 'If you can't convince yourself, you won't convince anyone else either,' was a saying that her etiquette teacher had reminded her, time and again.

A wry smile tugged at the corner of her mouth at the memory, and this time she waved off more refreshments, holding up her teacup for the attendant to take.

Brother Denathen sure was taking his time. If her involvement in the Tower attack was already known… could it be that the duke was delaying Denathen to give time for sufficiently strong knights to gather and subdue her? Would they force Denathen to play a role in her capture?

Ayla regretted that she lacked Xyn's skill with projecting aura externally. The infuriatingly talented half-Kyrren's ability to scan his surrounding with his aura would certainly help her to feel less anxious about her current situation and the risk she was taking.

Sending her aura into the medallion atop her chest, she checked on Xyn and Yillian's locations. Both were together in the direction that Yillian had indicated the guild would be. Ayla briefly considered contacting Yillian but refrained. She still had her pride and had volunteered for this task—a task that only she could accomplish. Their location didn't suggest that they had been captured by the duke's men, which was her main concern, and Yillian would keep Xyn from doing anything too stupid… hopefully. And if not, the less she knew about it, the better.

“This way, Sir Denathen. She's in here.”

Relieved, Ayla rose to greet her brother.

“Thank you. Tell Captain Iverin that I won't be long.” Red-haired and clothed in a gold-embroidered red robe, Denathen strode into the room, clearly irritated. “Look, I'll be brief because I'm busy and I don't appreciate advances from women chasing after status or my bloodline. And pretending to be my sister… Ayla? Why is your hair…?”

“A pleasure seeing you as well, Denathen,” Ayla snickered. Whatever that was, it wasn't the greeting she had been expecting. At all. “Women troubles?”

“You have no idea,” Denathen huffed and flopped into one of the comfortable chairs, though the corner of his mouth did tug upward. “Still, it's good to see you. I hear you've been busy making a name for yourself putting down bandits of late.”

Ayla snorted as she tucked her cloak under her and returned to her seat. “I'd hardly consider dealing with common bandits to be anything particularly praise worthy. I'm surprised that you even heard about it.”

“No, it's definitely commendable that you are taking your responsibilities seriously, in comparison to others who have received honorary titles due to family connections,” Denathen asserted then smirked. “Of course, it could just be that nothing excites the commoners and chattering ladies like a dashing and beautiful flame-haired knight fighting for justice.”

Ayla's eye roll was met by Denathen's teasing chuckle.

“So, what brings you to Haverin City? And traveling in disguise, no less.” Her brother raised a curious eyebrow. “Did mom and dad start pressing about that Baron suitor they picked for you? If you need, I'm sure Nelia won't mind if you stayed with us for a while. She would probably enjoy the company.”

“Ah, it's not that.” Ayla waved away the idea and leaned forward. “I'm investigating cult activity related to an incident that happened outside Lorel's Watch, and I have reason to believe they are targeting a mage you might know for recruitment. I was hoping you could assist.”

“Oh? I'd be happy to help my excessively dedicated sister in her righteous quest.” Denathen winked and sat up straighter. “Who is it?”

Ayla glanced around the room. The name wasn't really something to openly say where the attendants or other servants might hear. Fortunately, her brother was quick to catch on to her hesitance and, with a suddenly more serious face, wove a spell to prevent them from being overheard.

“Sarlen of Haverin.”

Silence hung in the air for almost a full passing of the sands before her brother sighed. “Ayla, I know you have a strong sense of duty, but is this really something you should be trying to handle on your own? Wouldn't it be better to hand the matter over to the justicars?”

“I'm not trying to handle it on my own. I came to you, didn't I?” Ayla huffed then shook her head. “It's not a responsibility I can hand over to others. According to Marleyne's brother, this cult is responsible for Fenton's death.”

Denathen's eyes widened in surprise at the sudden turn of the conversation, and slowly his shoulders sagged. “I'm sorry, Ayla. I know you were close with Fenton.”

Putting Fenton's fate to words caused emotion to well up, and Ayla fixed her brother with a fierce gaze. “Will you help?”

“Ayla… we're talking about one of the Duke's sons,” Denathen hedged, but she wasn't going to let him off that easily and eventually he relented. “Fine. I'll help, but I sure hope you're not letting your pride lead to a mistake that will ruin our family. What do you have in mind?”