Leila

Paranoia or intuition? What drives me into the cold night rain? Sir Guillaume would never betray me. He's been my squire from the time I was high enough to mount a horse, and never once in those many years has he given me cause to doubt his conviction. But things are different now, aren't they? Mother and father are both departed. My birthright has been taken from me and my status unwound. And Guillaume himself... in absence of coin or prestige only honor and my friendship line his pockets, empty bellies and nights spent with one eye open the only payment I afford him. I thought the injustice we faced together would further unite us, but it seems to have only ripped us apart. Is a spell of hardship really all takes to lose a lifelong friend?

I pause my stride, glancing back down the cobbled streets from whence I came. I've not gone more than a stone's throw from the entrance to the inn. I could still go back, dry off, and lay down in a warm, soft bed. I could go and wait for his return just as he said I must. He had promised me help, that he would find loyalists to ally with. But... Said I 'must'... The urgent tones of his voice, the insistence and repetition of his requests, the way he could not meet my eyes... It spoke to me of guilt and betrayal. In all the years I've known him, I've never seen him look so steadfast in his plans yet so cowardly. Paranoia or intuition? I suppose I'll never know. The stakes are much too high for me to want to find out. And besides, Guillaume is not the only friend I must abandon tonight...

Turning back into the wind and rain I try to distinguish the path from the moonless darkness. I cannot. Groping blindly along the wall to my right still I press on, guided by touch in lieu of sight. The icy fog nips at my nose and cheeks and the grainy puddles that slosh around my ankles slow my pace considerably, but eventually my hand feels the wet splintered slats of the inn give leave to the cool and sturdy stonework of the neighboring stable. Stone, stone, stone, wood, ah! Metal, freezing cold in my palm. The lock on the doors, no doubt. It is no impediment. For in my preparations, I had already pilfered the key from an unsuspecting stable hand earlier today as practice. Slipping it out of my pocket and fumbling it into the lock quietly, I gain entry, finding relief from the bitter rain at last.

Inside the stable and hidden in a pile of hay I have preprepared a satchel containing fresh clothes, an oil lantern, and tinderbox, all of which I withdraw though I do not strike a light yet, for I still have need of secrecy. Under the cover of night I disrobe, stripping myself of the last of my dwindling finery. My silks, what little hasn't already been pawned of my jewelry, and even my signet ring are pulled away and bagged until I am bare except for the pendant my late mother passed down to me, something I cannot bear to remove even on this night of parting ways. The clothes I change into are simple and rugged, a working man's tunic, a torn up overcoat, and a long black scarf I tie into a turban. Only once I feel I'm unrecognizable from a common hoodlum do I at last prepare to alight a flame.

A few strikes of flint against the firesteel and the charcloth ignites, the small, harsh light becoming larger and more stable when I transfer its flame to the lantern. Startled and confused horses begin to neigh and whinny, putting an hourglass to my time here. My horse Rohan alone remains silent and attentive, still proudly towering over me in the same way he did when I was but a girl and he was but a pony. The sight soothes and sadness in equal measure, and despite my limited time here I take a moment to pet his muzzle as I load the bag of my old clothes onto him.

"This is it, old friend. I... I need to stay in this place, but having my horse here... It would be too suspicious. I'm setting you free. I do not know what path our lives are going to take, but I shan't ever see you again by the morrow." I whisper, my voice audibly cracking despite my best attempts to steady it. "You... You've been... I... I couldn't have asked for a finer steed. Nor could I a friend. I... Come on now. There's no time."

I guide Rohan out of the stable by his harness, trying not to break down completely as my concerned friend nuzzles me out of worry. Out into the rain we go, but instead of saddling up like he clearly expects me to do I simply undo his harness and point him down the road and pat his flank encouragingly. He doesn't move an inch. I smack him hard, and he snorts but does not budge. Faithful. Too faithful. Then it's come to this... Please Rohan, share with me the strength for what I must do.

"HIYA! HIYA! GET!" I shout, delivering repeated kicks to the shin against an increasingly agitated Rohan. "HIYA! GO ON! GET OUT OF HERE! HIYA!"

A flash of lightning and the distant rumbling of thunder across the sky proves enough, and the startled horse bolts into the night. I blanket my lamp and slip away, crying silently to myself as I listen to the staggered hoofbeats growing quieter and quieter. That's it then. There's no going back now. Rohan... I hope you have a good life and forget all about me, even though I'll always remember you.

I take a long moment in the quiet darkness, partly to listen for potential alerted parties but mostly to take a moment to recoup. The turning of the pages... I'd never imagined it would happen to me so swiftly and with such violence. My home, my family, my friends - even my name and birthright... All of it gone within less than a single month. And yet, new paths have manifested themselves before me in this so outwardly mundane town. They are harsh and lonely paths no doubt, but at least they shrouded enough for me to disappear into and never be seen again.

Near an hour must have passed by the time I uncover my lantern, and although I would favor more time, the clouds have begun to part, threatening me with the illuminating light of the impending dawn hours. I make my best attempt at schooling my expression into something mirroring stoicism and set off back into the dwindling rain, swiftly making my way along roads and through alleys memorized by my patrol alongside Guillaume during yesterday's eve. The symbol is exactly where I recall it being, cut into the front door of a back alley tavern. It's a meaningless piece of vandalism, three horizontal slits cut just below the knocker. It's unremarkable and intentionally so, but it resonates with tales an old and eccentric spymaster had once regaled me with in youth, stories of a league of thieves with bonds thicker than blood. For all my life I had thought him fibbing about a such a group, but lo and behold this door bears their sigil: the mark of the Guild, reflected plainly in the lantern light. And although the risk I take is dire, I believe, or perhaps I foolishly hope, that such a group could make me disappear for good.

The door yields easily to my prodding, unlocked, even in the dead of the night. The inside of the tavern is not expected, quiet, unlit, and still smelling strongly of the evening's booze, like someone had simply forgotten to lock up on the previous day. But I swear I can feel eyes on me in the shadows. I approach the bar, raising my lantern and finding it unattended. The oppressive silence of it all makes me cringe visibly. Has this all been a fool's errand? How can I expect to gain admittance with such soft hands and slow feet?

"Um, excuse me? Is... Is anyone here?" I call quietly into the presumably empty room, flinching at how cleanly my nervous voice comes out and consciously forcing myself to adjust it. "Eyh. Wantin' some employment, I am. Somewhere fer those with... nimble digits. I've got talent, and I'm lookin' fer some easy coin. Simple as that."

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