Lady Parhelion sat alone in the blue embassy, hands tied together with silver chains. Several guards surrounded her in the small room, backs pressed against the round walls. They were all masked in gold, with knives and clothes draped around every inch of their bodies. The young girl shifted impatiently in her bonds, blowing back a strand of loose hair that had gotten caught in her face.
“So… I take that as a no?”
The guards didn’t respond to her comment, but instead continued passing around more chains in preparation of tying her down further. Lady Parhelion’s eyes dropped to the floor.
“…I’ll take that as no. Alright then, I think I’m going to head home in that case.”
One of the guards instinctively pulled his weapon at that, but Lady Parhelion was quicker on the draw. She flipped up, heel kicking at the woman’s hand and knocking the knife clean out of her grasp. The knife went soaring into the stomach of an unlucky soldier, and Lady Parhelion had planted her knee into the guard between her in the exit before the others could react.
Sawyer watched from the rafters, crouched and arm leaning on the upper beam. He began racing along the attic floor, watching her through the gaps in the floorboards. There was really no prison that could hold the girl, though Sawyer still had to put in the effort. The guards were, of course, from his sister’s side of the army. They weren’t cut out for this sort of work, but it was still humbling to watch them fall so quickly. Humbling for her, that was. Sawyer himself was more amused than anything else.
With light footsteps he continued jumping across beams, entranced by the lightshow below. Spools of magic and flashes of swordplay shone through the floorboards, and he could only imagine the chaos below. As he reached the end of the first set of rafters, a collection of twelve or so men stood from their hidden positions up there and stood at attention.
“Go outside and rally the rest,” Sawyer commanded, pointing with his gauntlets. “I want the standing army divided in two, with half in front of the embassy and the other half surrounding it.”
The man at the front of the attic-dwellers saluted before ducking through a side enterance in the attic. Sawyer pushed aside the rest as they scattered, and continued trailing the runaway alone.
The embassy was a surprisingly well fortified location, but that was entirely because no one in the city trusted anyone who came from Lord Snowdog’s land. To have any sort of visitor from up that far north spelt trouble, especially if they came for long enough to request temporary residence.
A few more room-lengths of running was enough to set Sawyer out of sight of the others, and straight into the face of danger. Sawyer slammed down onto the floor as he heard the telltale sound of a bolt being fired at his back. His palms slapped against the dusty wood with a painful shock, but the crossbow bolt aimed at him went straight into the wall ahead without causing harm. Harm to him, that was. The bolt shattered through the wall with a shocking amount of power, and the hex laid onto the bolt began to crawl its way onto the wood work.
“I don’t even know why I bother,” Preston moaned from the darkness. “Next time someone takes Lady, I’m going to wait at least a day before trying to help her escape.”
Sawyer flipped onto his back and kicked his way onto his feet. A second bolt flew out of the darkness too fast for him to react. It skidded along the hard steel of his mask, leaving a scratch behind, but not much else. The hex on the bolt attempted to worm its way into his eye, but the mask quickly diffused the magic.
From the corner of the attic, a figure sat hunched over a heavy crossbow. Sawyer placed his right foot on one of the floor’s braces, balancing gracefully as he pulled out a large knife from his tunic.
“Evening, demon.”
Preston tipped his head to the side in acknowledgement.
“I hope you know this is not personal, but I do need to catch up with Lady Parhelion before she decides to vacate the embassy.”
“Oh shut up,” Preston hissed, firing another bolt.
Sawyer swiveled his body left to avoid the next shot, and began dodging and weaving through the storm of arrows which followed. Bolt after bolt came sailing by, knocking in any support structures that they came in contact with. Despite the severity of the attacks, however, Sawyer kept light on his feet and anticipated each attack. He slid easily between the attacks and continued rushing forward, keeping his footing light on the floor. The hexed arrows began to grow with choking vines that lashed out and grabbed for him. The first few vines he cut away, leaving them behind on the floor. As he got nearer to the demon, however, he began to grab those bolts and keep them tucked away.
Preston kicked his crossbow upwards just as Sawyer was upon him. The mouth of the crossbow swung up as Sawyer leapt onto the demon, and the point of the bolt followed the swing of his jump. With a grunt, Preston fired the crossbow at the top of the arc, and the bolt slammed into Sawyer, catching him dead through the throat. The impact of the bolt nailed Sawyer’s body to the roof, hanging limply from the ceiling. Preston paused for a moment in surprise, inspecting his work. He reached out to pull off Sawyer’s mask-
But from behind, several of his own hexed bolts were shoved into his back, sinking deep into the his lower abdomen. Preston dropped to the floor as vines began encasing his body, tying him to the rafters. He looked up in confusion to see the dead Sawyer above fade into nothingneess, an illusion and nothing more. Sawyer instead stood atop Preston, kicking him to the side gingerly.
“Best be gone by the time I get back,” he said, continuing his run down the rafters.
He began sprinting at full speed now, trying desperately to catch up to the escaped prisoner. His feet barely found holds on the broken attic floor as he completed the journey, dashing from spot to spot. Spotting the attic window ahead, he threw himself full force at the beautiful glass window. The metal framing popped out with the force of his body slamming against it, and the glass rained down with him into the sunlit world outside.
He landed on his feet, facing the door of the embassy as a bewildered Lady Parhelion ran out. Her hair was disheveled and clothing torn, but little blood adorned her gown. Whatever sword she had stolen had broken off in her hand, leaving behind only half the blade attached to the hilt. She panted as she stared him down, carefully holding up the remainder of her blade.
Around them both stood the standing army of the Gold Master, but of course these were Sawyer’s men. Nearly fifty of the undead creatures surrounded the entrance of the building where they stood, and another fifty were around the embassy out of the line of sight. All stood with weapons poised at Lady Parhelion, eager to follow the orders of the rat who had summoned them here.
Sawyer raised his own knife in reply to Lady Parhelion’s, but turned it and placed it in the palm of his other hand. The metal warped and shifted in his hand as he drew his fingers across the blade, but it quickly took shape into a new form. He held it out to her, now a beautifully crafted silver rose, and she gave him an exhausted look.
“My apologies for the poor treatment of our esteemed ambassador,” Sawyer laughed, holding the flower out for her to take.
“Are you kidding me? How am I supposed to take any invitation seriously anymore when I get thrown in chains for even suggesting an alliance.”
“Well, regardless of how talks went, I’d like to remind you that Yez and I aren’t necessarily the most obedient children. We’ll be considering the offer to join the Nine of the North, I swear it.”
Lady Parhelion made an exasperated face at him before looking around at the army surrounding her. With a sigh, she plucked the flower from his hand and looked it over.
“Should’ve left it as a knife.” She said.
“I’d rather not put another blade in your hands,” Sawyer laughed. “And it’s not the message I’d want to send. If we are to be allies, allow me to be the first to remind you of our power, but also of our amicability.”
Lady Parhelion nodded, stepping out into the ranks of soldiers. They parted expectedly as she began walking through them. The dead felt no fear, but Sawyer could have sworn that some of his own men seemed to bow their heads as the lady passed through.
“How about we continue talks at the tavern by the monastery?” she suggested, not slowing down as she passed through enemy lines. “It was the idea of the daughters, maybe they’ll be able to sell it better.”
Sawyer strode forward, walking side-by-side with the girl through the sea of soldiers. A slight smile cracked underneath his mask as he watched the men part for him and his guest.
“Sounds good. Invite your demons too, I think the deer is going to need a drink.”