Naya

DATE: IMMORTAL REIGN 1023 MONTH 3 DAY 7

The throbbing of her injuries was waning. Her ambush had gone poorly. Too many surprises. Too much resistance. Naya had not expected the church hussy to crack her ribs with a single blow. More surprisingly, the Targonian warrior had turned aside her garash like a grizzled veteran. Above all, she panicked when the Otherworlder detected her with his strange magic. The only positive was the tracking charm she sneaked onto the summoned man, allowing her necklace to track him.

Her chase led her through the Everlett Forest. For the first time since entering Targonia, Naya felt at peace. The pungent smell of the Targonian Grizzlies permeated the woods. Having only heard tales of the holy guardians, Naya vowed to return and see their cubs – no, pay her respects. She was a Blackmoon. That name carried a weight.

Now at the northern edge of the forest, Naya looked back one last time. The bears had eluded her this time. Sighing, she carved a ring into the tree with a hunting knife, then severing the circle with a final touch. Alone, on foreign soil, she pressed a hand against this solidarity symbol, hoping the gesture will renew her resolve.

“Death to the Eternal Empire.”

DATE: IMMORTAL REIGN 1023 MONTH 3 DAY 8

Closing her eyes, Naya held up her necklace and allowed it to dangle in the chilling morning breeze. The oscillating amber at the end of the rusty chains tugged her finger toward the muddy path, suggesting her quarry had not taken the river. Naya sighed. This would be so much easier had the Otherworlder had become snake snack. Murmuring a curt prayer, she faded into the shadows. While invisibility would reduce her to jogging, the increasing number of outposts left her little choice if she wished to progress under sunlight.

Her stomach growling, Naya rummaged through her leather backpack only to find she had exhausted the rye biscuits she’d so carefully rationed. Instead, her fingertips lingered on the bowstring before abandoning the idea. Her invisibility would not survive the rigour required for a kill shot. Besides, cooking the meat or eating it raw both came with their own risks.

For a Targonian city, the defence of Halfington seemed much too lax. With but a few watchtowers and no wards, Naya slipped through unnoticed. Never had she seen so many people gathered in one place. The rambunctious merchants yelling into her ears without realising sent Naya fleeing from the bazaar. In the following streets, Naya struggled to tear her eyes away from the exquisite dresses until the smell of liquor and roasted chicken sent her incited her stomach into a noisy revolt. Angrily, the temple girl pinched her cheeks. She had a job to do.

Her necklace pulled her towards a towering inn overlooking the Grand Waterway. For whatever reason, her target had made a stop here. With bated breath, Naya slithered towards the burly oak doors when her horns tingled. Unlike the city gates, this estate was warded. Indeed, upon closer inspection, the gilding formed a bell. Alarm glyphs. Having dispelled hundreds of such charms in class, it took every bit of self-discipline for Naya to stay her itching fingers. Unravelling the magic would be tantamount to charging at the pair of clueless footmen. No doubt, it was the not-so-holy woman who chose this place.

Harrumphing, Naya circled the architecture, finding more wards, guards, and Dramien. The last one even looked her way, as if he sensed her. Her fruitless scouting left Naya on the verge of tearing her hair out. She was so infuriatingly close! As she surveyed the inn again, a rock whistled past Naya, grazing her horns. She had half a mind to break her stealth and pummel the brat when it clicked. It was so simple that she wanted to slap her forehead.

Picking up a fist-sized rock from the nearby riverbed, Naya found a back alley to lay out the writing instruments she used to send letters home. Dipping a quill into the ink bottle, she pressed a sheet of paper against the wall.

“Meet...me…by…the…river,” murmured Naya as she scribbled. “Third…bridge…north.”

Wrapping the stone in her paper, Naya lifted her pendant one last time. The Goddess had kindly placed the Otherworlder behind a window on the second floor. Pulling a hood over her horns, Naya hurled the rock.

She did not wait for the satisfying clang before darting into the back alley. Leaning against the cold wall to catch her breath, Naya channeled her magic, warmth coursing through her veins. Invisible again, she strolled triumphantly towards the location. Goddess willing, she may yet walk away with the man without fighting.

DATE: IMMORTAL REIGN 1023 MONTH 3 DAY 12

Having just trapped a few sparrows, Naya pierced them with sharpened sticks and roasted them over a fire. As much as she hated taking this risk, sour wild berries and stolen bread simply could not sustain her magic.

Staring idly into the crackling flame, Naya sighed. Many days later, she still could not forgive herself. How could she not have known the Otherworlder was illiterate? Worse yet, her message had attracted the nun. Despite her ridiculous dress, there was nothing silly about her cold, glinting scissors. If anything, the fanatic woman might pose a bigger threat than the swordsman.

“Goddess bless –”

The inopportune rain had Naya end her prayer with a curse so foul that she blushed. Thankfully, only the trees heard her. In the end, she settled for the half-cooked birds – a decision her stomach would later protest – and hit the road again. With her tracking charm becoming increasingly unreliable, she could not afford further delays.

The drizzle, combined with the strain of sustaining stealth while jogging, had drenched her sleeveless shirt and split skirt. As soon as the rain ceased, she slipped behind the bushes, wiped herself down, and changed into dry clothes. Papa used to do this for her when they want hunting together.

Hoisting her wet laundry on the end of a sturdy branch, Naya looked to resume her journey when a noisy procession sent her back behind the tree. Leaning against the wet bark, she peered around the side to find a chain gang marching down the muddy road to the rhythmic whipcracks of their overseers. In tattered grey robes, heads hung low, the captives plodded along on bare feet in collective resignation. Papa had spoken of this.

Papa’s story, however, could not prepare her for what she saw next. Towards the rear hobbled a line more dispirited than any other. Naya had to cover her mouth to silence a gasp. They were children with stubs on their foreheads. Broken horns. Naya began coiling the garash chain around her arms, as if the shackles could imprison her outrage.

“We seek not the liberation of a single, or even a group, but the entire Dracon race.”

Despite seeing red, Naya lowered her weapon. Even if she were to dismember the slavers and their numerous guards, she could not possibly bring the children back to the temple. She took one last look at her captured kin before turning around, biting down hard on her lower lip till she tasted the salt in her blood.

“I’m sorry.”

DATE: IMMORTAL REIGN 1023 MONTH 3 DAY 15

Holding out her necklace one last time, Naya felt no movement. The nun had finally nullified her tracking charm. Sighing, she pressed on, following the wagon tracks. She had to secure the man before the nun delivered him to Immortrium. With the sun not yet out, Naya took a risk. Undoing her concealment spell, she broke into a sprint that set her legs and lung on fire.

Of all things, she did not expect to run into the wagon she had hounded all this time. Naya’s heart sank. The church woman and the Otherworlder were missing, leaving only the knight at the rein. Seizing what might be her last chance, Naya hurled her garash, cutting off the road with a loud clank. With an alarmed cry, Dramien yanked at his horse to a stop and drew his sword.

“Where is he?” screeched Naya between laboured breaths. “What have you done with him?”

“I thought I told you to go home,” replied Dramien, frowning. “Have you any idea the price a pretty girl like you would fetch in the slave auctions?”

Naya blushed at the unexpected compliment. “Flatteries won’t spare you from my fangs. Answer my question, scum.”

“The scum has a name,” scoffed Dramien. “And if you’re after Lord Ruxian, then you’re too late. He’s safe inside Immortrium. In fact, he’s probably already met His Highness.”

Naya began swinging both her blades in compact circles, her garash whistling a high-pitched dirge that earned her an approving nod from Dramien. Her previous defeat had come from a brash ranged attack. This time, she would fight from closer quarters, test his reactions with her nimble cunning.

“I don’t understand this,” shouted Naya as she charged forth. “Why is a man as committed to chivalry as you doing this?”

Dramien made a hasty retreat, allowing the garash to brush past his shoulder. “He is a guest. I ensured his safe delivery. Commitment to duty is the height of chivalry.”

“You really that dense?” pressed Naya, unleashing a pincer attack from both flanks. “You’re a warrior on the southern border. When was the last time you fought alongside your precious heroes?”

Tracing an arc, Dramien deftly wove between the twin strikes with two crisp clinks. “I merely defend the border. Heroes form expeditions.”

Retracting her blades and pressing low, Naya lunged, feigning a closer-quarter strike before vaulting over Dramien, uncoiling the garash chain as she sailed through the night sky. Landing with a soft thud, she twisted her body, tugging the shackles at Dramien’s ankles.

Hopping over the slinking chains, Dramien clapped. His praise invited a flurry of slashes, which he batted away with ease.

“We have fended off every manner of horror you threw at us,” snarled Naya, giving chase. “Not once has any Dracon warrior ever encountered an Otherworlder.”

Naya smirked at the subtle twitch on Dramien’s face. During his brief hesitation, Naya pounced, constricting Dramien’s sword with her garash. Before she could celebrate her triumph, the Targonian roared and pulled her off her feet. Falling flat on her face, Naya tried to rise but Dramien was immediately on top of her, pressing her hard against the ground.

“What were you trying to say?” said Dramien, a dangerous edge creeping into his voice.

Naya writhed to no avail. Yet, just like that, Dramien released her. Bouncing on her feet, the girl levelled her weapon again but found no opponent. Eyes wide, mouth agape, and short of breath, Dramien stared idly at his hands.

“Your empire,” said Naya softly, “is killing the Otherworlders to harvest their blessings.”