The Princess and the Blade

[Emora Deen]

She nodded. "Okay." She placed the tip of the sword against the wood, holding the hilt with both hands and standing close to Thvoros. She looked up into his strange eyes and said, "En riem Kralis."

[Soran Nightblade]

The noise came in his head again this time, as piercingly loud as last time. This time, rather than a keening ring, it came as a sharp and clean sound, like a huge crystal breaking in half. His ears rang as the spell rushed in and through him in a matter of instants rather than seconds. He nodded and stepped back slowly. He raised his still-bleeding arm and wiped the cut on his shirt in distaste. "Those Svuras lunatics... everything's about blood with them."

[Emora Deen]

She stooped and grabbed the edge of her skirts up, dragging it over the blade to wipe it clean. "There's power in blood," she said. "That's why they chose me to bring you into this world. My blood is gods blo—" She stopped. She hadn't meant to say that. She immediately righted herself and stepped away from the circle and went to the wrappings she kept around the sword.

The quick movement made her a bit light-headed and again she was reminded she hadn’t eat much of anything—in an entire month—but bone broth, water, and the few things Elias had been able to conjure with his magic pack. She ignored the shake in her hands and funny feeling in her head, tying the wrapping on the sword so it created a sling to drape over his shoulder, and pressed the bound blade towards him. "If we're going to pull this off, we need to find a way for you to hold this sword. Maybe you can't touch the blade directly, but you might be able to with this wrapped around it? I don't think anyone's going to take us seriously if you try to sell a woman and a sword as a packaged deal."

[Soran Nightblade]

Havitharon frowned at the weapon. He liked this plan less and less, even if he'd been the one who suggested getting her father's attention. He also couldn't understand his aversion to touching or looking at that weapon.

First things first... "Hand it to me," he said warily. "Let's see if I can hold it first." When he'd tried to touch it the last time, it was before the woman had given him the ability to really hold things. He reached out and took the wrapped sword she offered him. A pulse of unease ran down his spine as the weight settled in his hand. He squeezed the fabric and couldn't quite define the sensation it was causing him. There was no pain, and yet it felt like an invisible enemy had opened a vein somewhere and begun bleeding him out. He cautiously drew the cloth away, exposing the very tip of the hilt, and brushed a finger against it. His nerves jumped, the sensation growing stronger.

"Well, I can hold it," he said without expression, folding the fabric back over the weapon. He was about to add "But not for very long," when he came to his senses. He still barely knew this person. She might behave in concert with him now, but things would be different once she gained access to her family's power and safety. If the sword could hurt him, that was information best kept to himself.

He set the sword down against one of the shelves and turned to explore the shed. "Convenient that this is a tailor's shop. Perhaps there is something more appropriate for us to wear." He glanced at her muddied men's clothing, and at his own close-fitting pants and shirt he'd been summoned in.

[Emora Deen]

Tenara shook her head, trying to get rid of her dizziness as he spoke. "We don't have any money," she said, before she realized that there might be extras stored in the shed they were in. She began poking through the crates towards the back, lifting the lid on one. "I think these are men's pants..." She eyed his tall form, quietly wondering if they’d find anything to fit his long legs, before she moved on to another one. "I'm hungry enough to eat a whole leather belt if I find one."

Tenara skipped a few crates, figuring the clothes were grouped by gender and that the women's clothing might be on the opposite side of the shed. She pried one open and found a crate of chemises. Getting closer... Tenara rifled through the other boxes until she'd assembled a whole outfit but hesitated on stripping down to change into the gown.

“How’s your search going?”

[Soran Nightblade]

"I'm not sure what type of shirt is appropriate," he answered, turning back to her from where he'd been digging through a rack of clothes. He'd somehow slipped into a pair of black slacks in near-silence while she was rummaging. The pants fit his hips perfectly, but just barely passed for the right length on his overly long legs. He sighed and drew his half-destroyed shirt over his head without an ounce of ceremony. "Perhaps you would select for me."

[Emora Deen]

Tenara placed her pile of garments down and turned to help him, pausing a minute at the sight of him dragging the shirt over his head. She tried not to let her gaze linger too long before she approached him and eased into the space next to him where the back shelf met the one stretching along the side wall.

"I guess it depends on the part you want to play," she said, taking a shirt from a box and holding it up in the dim light coming in through the shed's window. She tried to imagine what sort of many would steal a princess and sell her in a run-of-the-mill auction house instead of keeping her for themselves. She picked up another shirt from the box, a black tunic with silver embroidery around the collar lacing and at the edge of the sleeves. "This will look nice on you," she said, turning to him and holding it out. Her back pressed into the corner of the shed, and she was eye-level with his chest, suddenly very aware of how much smaller she was compared to him. She swallowed, her gaze flicking from the hard plains of muscle stretching over his chest to his strange black and gold eyes. "I should... change."

[Soran Nightblade]

Havitharon accepted the tunic from her, his expression level. His musculature was on the lean side, but when he stretched to ease into the shirt, his body moved with the understated power you'd expect of a gymnast. His grey skin would be difficult to pass for any known race in Heirot, except perhaps as some rare type of demon. He flattened out the fabric as it settled around him, nearly a second skin. The close fit looked intentional, though, and made for a dashing effect. He glanced over himself and approved of her selection. It was designed to be a long garment, so even on his taller body, it looked like a normal shirt.

"Yes. We should move quickly," he agreed with her proposal to change. He glanced to the clothes she had laid out and managed to keep a level expression. They looked strikingly similar to what the women had been wearing in the inn they'd just escaped. The reality of their plan rose up again like a blow to the gut. He grimaced and leaned against the door to re-tie his boots.

A fierce pounding on the other side of the door rattled him forward. He spun in an instant, his dominant hand already drawing out the knife Tenara had loaned him.

"We know you're there! Open the door, thief. I've got a whole patrol here, and I promise their arrows are stronger than this crappy wood siding."

[Emora Deen]

Tenara was halfway through taking off her borrowed clothing when the door rattled and the voice bellowed outside. She jumped, crushing herself into the shelves and clutching the fabric around her. "Shit... shit shit shit."

Her wide eyes locked with Thvoros, unsure of what to do. She was already half-naked, and it would take just as much time to put the borrowed clothes on as the stolen ones. So she shucked the rest of the clothes and dragged on the stolen dress. It wasn't a complex assortment of clothing, and she didn't even worry with the lacing of the attached corseted center. She was covered, and it was all that mattered at the moment.

At least she'd die with some clothes on.

She dove for the sword, grabbing it and wrapping her hand around the hilt.

"What do we do?"

[Soran Nightblade]

The soldiers outside had begun to pound on the flimsy shed door. Havitharon leaned into it with both arms, hoping what they'd said about their arrows was a bluff. "I'll try to hold this closed," he said in a low voice, though there was no way his voice would be heard over all that banging. "Are there any loose boards in the walls back there?"

[Emora Deen]

Tenara barely heard him, or rather... she heard him and her brain took an annoyingly long time to register his words. She whirled on the back wall, dragging things off the shelves so she could get a peek at the paneling. It was dark, and so she squeezed between the shelves and pressed along the back wall until she felt a board wobble more than the others.

She jumped back and grabbed the rack and began to drag it so they could squeeze in behind it. Her arms shook as she did, and she hated the feeling of weakness in them. "Here. Here. If you do your super human kick thing, I think we can get out here."

[Soran Nightblade]

"One of them's messing around at the door. Just shoot them," called one of the soldiers.

"Don't hit my merchandise!"

"Cool it, tailor. You called us here. Men, draw."

Havitharon heard a sound that was familiar, even on his world. The sound of a bow being bent back with tension. He gave the door one last shove, and thought he heard someone fall over on the other side.

"SHOOT!" someone commanded.

Havitharon spun and raced for the back wall by Tenara. Without slowing, he swung up into a side kick and blew through the weak spot Tenara had found. Several boards went flying into the fence behind the shop's yard. Arrows were starting to slam into the boxes and walls around them. "Go," he growled, punching a third board loose to make the opening large enough to squeeze through.

[Emora Deen]

Tenara scrambled out as soon as there was space wide enough for her to go. Her dress caught on the jagged edge of a cracked board, and she tugged at it with one hand until the fabric tore and freed her. She stumbled, momentarily dropping the sword before scooping it up and whirling to see if Thvoros was coming through behind her.

[Soran Nightblade]

He squeezed out just after her, his wardrobe doing him more favors than hers had. He took stock of the area behind the shed. A six foot fence was walling in the small yard, leaving the only exit going straight past the soldiers. A loud crack sounded as they finally broke the door open. It would only take a few seconds for them to realize what happened and come back here.

Havitharon turned to her and held his hands interlaced in front of him. "Get over the fence," he ordered, waiting for her foot.

[Emora Deen]

Tenara draped the sword along her back and wasted no time in placing her foot in his palms, using it to reach the top edge of the fence. She slung her leg over the rough edge and then dragged herself the rest of the way, falling to the ground in a clumsy pile on the other side. She sprung to her feet, lifting her gaze to the sky and watching for Thvoros to come over while her heart pounded like thundering hooves in her chest and the dizziness she'd felt after running from the inn Elias had left them in returned.

No time. No time for fainting spells, Tenara, she told herself, placing a hand on the fence to steady her swaying. Keep moving. Keep going and you'll find a way home.