It didn’t take much effort to steal out of her own house, away from her maid’s prying eyes. Ghayth could not wait much longer, and she wanted to make the most out of the little time she had left. The sun had not yet risen on the horizon as she trod the streets, which was now slightly crowded with mothers and their grumpy- and sleepy-looking children going to the markets. She dressed herself in a simple red dress, a fresh batch of poisoned needles kept in a small ivory container in a pocket, under a full-length cloak with a hood. Keeping the hood covering her purple hair, she blended with the crowd. No one would take a second look at a seemingly ordinary traveler, but she kept an eye around for anyone who might know who she truly is.

“Alessandra, dearie,” she heard a female voice speak from somewhere behind her, “quicken your pace – the market would soon be crowded…” A yawn, and a murmur. She turned, and saw a girl of about twelve years, rubbing her eyes and nodding sleepily. The peasants had very little concern for things such as politics, unlike the nobles. That was where their life revolved. But she didn’t regret being a noble – she loved being one.

Seyira, where are you?

It didn’t escape her knowledge that Seyira was part of House Ghayth, making them distant cousins. However, it was with Seyira that she felt more at ease than her other cousins whose eyes were directed at the High Seat. Were they sure of challenging Altariel Katrei, granddaughter of Aerandir Surion of Ghayth? Seyira and the web of spies were valuable weapons.

The sun’s first rays were now seen in the eastern part of the sky, and people started to flood the streets. Not good. She didn’t like being squeezed in between large crowds – and a peasant crowd at that! But priorities have to go first. Two more alleys away to their meeting place. Keeping close to the wall, she inched her way toward a less crowded street, then to an alley that branched from it.

She was not alone.

Two men who were talking among themselves stopped abruptly when she stepped in the alley, one of which had a knife at hand, by that unmistakable metal glint that reflected from the little sunlight that shone. Hardly any sunlight enlightened the dark – one could say that the gods deprived this place of light, and judging by the putrid smell that wafted in the air, something was decaying in here. Altariel took a step back, a hand reaching up to cover her wrinkling nose, and the other to the inside of her robes. If there was one thing she hated and feared, it was that cold metal of a knife.

“My, my,” said one of them, the taller of the two. She distinctly saw his silhouette stand up, and walk a few paces toward her. “We have a visitor.”

“Leiros.” The second commanded firmly. “Milady, I surmise that you are lost?” Another figure rose. The knifeless one. “But, then again, you are the High Seat of Ghayth, are you not?” Her eyes narrowed. Probably her visit to the Prancing Pony had attracted some eyes. “A pleasure to meet you, Lady Altariel Katrei.” He gave a bow, more like a mocking one. She didn’t dare speak, but not out of fear. Have to think of something. The men laughed.

“I think you’ve gotten the wrong lady,” she replied simply, and retreated. Causing a racket in Olencia isn’t a good idea. More men appeared behind her. Trapped, then. Did Seyira dare betray her?

‘Leiros’ stepped out in the open, brandishing that well-crafted knife of his. No time to admire the skills of the artisan who made them. With his free hand he grabbed Altariel’s wrist that covered her nose, and yanked it back roughly. “We have matters to discuss, Lady Altariel, regarding the executions in Ghayth…”

Everyone knew of her notorious reputation as a cruel noble, ordering instant execution to those who insult her. Well, this wasn’t Ghayth, this was Olencia. She tried pulling back her arm, but to no avail. Was Valleran casting his mischevious smile at her?

Seyira! She screamed mentally.

Her free hand clutched the long but thin needles, not too tight to get herself poisoned. The men were too busy gloating over their ‘capture’ of her to take too much notice that she had raised her free arm and embedded the needle onto the man’s artery, located at a spot on his neck. Snake venom, carefully mixed with other venoms to create a desired effect – instant paralysis. She wrenched her hand from the man’s grip, but the others restrained her, their grip extremely tight and rough.

Seyira!

In the dark of the small room, Seyira dressed quickly and quietly, not wanted to wake the other two girls with whom she shared the room. In all truth, they should have been up already, making breakfast and setting out their mistress' clothes, but the two were still young, a good four years younger than herself, and they were still getting used to their roles. They were girls whose parents couldn't afford to keep them at home and sent them out to work for moderately well to do families. A bit flightly at times, but they were good girls, both Becca Lyn and Maira Rheann. They looked up to her, because she'd been in her job for over 4 years, and she tried to act like an appropriate role model for them. It was a bit nice to be admired.

Slipping through the quiet house, she made her way to the servants door. There were a few servants up and about, but they paid her no mind, still too sleepy to care what a lady's maid was doing up at this hour. She didn't look like she was about to do anything illegal, dressed in a simple cotton skirt and shirt. Even though Seyira was a maid, neither Amaranta nor Jaylyn particularly cared about what she wore, so long as she wore something decent. So she kept things simple, with a skirt and shirt, or on certain occasions, a dress. People who looked at her saw only a simple maid girl. What they didn't see what a mind sharply honed by years of training and senses that caught every detail. Oh, and the three knives she had concealed on her person. One was on a belt at her waist, an allowance made by Jaylyn, but the other two were hidden. Jaylyn trusted her enough to let her have a small knife to defend herself with, but that trust went only so far. The other two she had to smuggle in herself, and she was very careful about wearing them. Ordinarily, she kept them hidden in her room, but today she thought she might need them.

Today, Seyira was suppose to meet with Lady Altariel Katrei and brief her on what was happening in Olencia with the High King's illness and the mad scramble to be next High King of Olencia. Technically, she didn't need to be in Olencia to get information about the High King, but since the family had been coming here anyway, it made things that much simpler for her. Olencia was where King Belenus lived, though hopefully for not much longer...

Traversing her way throught he city's maze of streets, Seyira thought abuot a problem that had been nagging at her for several days. Why was Altariel in Olencia? There was no law that said the High Seats of the Houses weren't allowed to be in Olencia, but these days, it was dangerous for the High Seats to be here, especially the High Seat of House Ghayth. In fact, it was dangerous of any member of House Ghayth to be in Olencia. The king and his retainers knew that House Ghayth wasn't exactly friendly with House Taran, though they didn't know that House Ghayth had been slowly removing members of House Taran. If they ever found out, it would ensure chaos, and quite possibly war between the two Houses, though there were hardly enough Tarans left to make it a fair fight. Seyira herself didn't have to worry about anything, seeing as how she had all of two drops of Ghayth blood in her, but Altariel Katrei was a whole different matter. And the fact that the High Seat had chosen a small alleyway in the middle of the city as a meeting place did not bode well for the future health of the High Seat of House Ghayth.

Speeding up her stride, it was only a matter of minutes before she reached her destination. As she approached, Seyira couldhear the sound of mens voices rising up into the morning air. Peering around the corner, she cuold see a group of men, six in all, clustered around something with purple hair - the High Seat of House Ghayth. Inwardly, Seyira cursed herself for agreeing to meet in such a vulnerable place and then prayed to Valleran not to take their lives away just yet. She didn't particularly believe in the gods, but right now, she needed all the luck she could get. If she had to die, then so be it, but she coudln't allow Altariel to be harmed. If Altariel was hurt or killed, her own life was forfeit anyway.

The element of surprise was on her side, and she planned to make the most of it. Removing two of her knives, she crept up behind the two holding Altariel, and sent the hilts crashing down on their heads. They dropped like a sack of stones. Seyira knew she hadn't killed them - her strength wasn't as great as that - but she wasn't going to say and find out. Grabbing Altariel byt the arm, she pulled the other woman out of the alleyway. She wouldn't probably be punished later for manhandling the High Seat, but right now her mind was focusing on only one thing; escape.

By this time, the men had noticed her and had gotten over their momentary shock. One roared and lunged for her, a gleaming knife held in his outstretched hand. She twisted out of the way, but not fast enough; his knife left a deep cut in her upper left arm. Wincing at the sudden pain, she nevertheless managed to scramble out his reach and yell to Altariel.

"Run, Altariel! RUN!!"

Her hands would have probably turned blue from the pressure these men put in their grip on her. Once again, she tried to flail her arms again, but to no avail. They were simply too strong.

“Your head would look pretty on a silver platter…” sneered one of them. As if they could. Oh sure, someone would have most likely put some bounty over the High Seat of the notorious House Ghayth. One of those who held her wrists pulled down her hood and twirled her hair between his fingers.

“Along with your exotic purple hair, Lady Altariel,” another one added with contempt. But whatever happened, it happened quickly. The two hooligans behind her loosened their grip on her, and another hand, this time belonging to a woman’s – she could tell by the texture of the skin – and begun pulling her out of the alley. She instinctively followed, slightly shaken, as the two men had recovered. One of them raised a knife. A pang of fear would have immobilized her on the spot, but the woman who tugged at her wrist kept her from doing so. Strangely, the knife wasn’t aimed for her. It was aimed at the woman who pulled her away from their grasp.

"Run, Altariel! RUN!!"

Seyira…? Her eyes didn’t look at where the knife struck, or at whoever saved her, or at the men who ran after them. Her free hand was fumbling once more with her pouch, and held a rather large needle between her fingers. The man tried to strike once more – and Altariel took this as a chance to bury a paralyzing needle onto the man’s wrist, though the blade grazed her shoulder. It stung a bit, but only slightly. They reached the main road, and blended into the crowd.

“Se-Seyira?” She asked tentatively. In truth, Altariel had only seen Seyira Vivienne only twice or thrice, when Artemius had been High Seat, but she had a penchant for remembering faces clearly, especially if it was someone important. If this woman was indeed Seyira, well, they had to find somewhere safe inconspicuous for her to treat their wounds.

Fortunately, Altariel chose to heed her advice rather than acting like a puffed up noble, demanding to know just who Seyira was and what she was doing. Altariel seemed a bit pale, not that one could tell easily since her skin was naturally pale, but otherwise, she seemed fine. At least, fine enough to grab a long silver needle, much larger than those used for sewing, and plunged it into a man’s arm. The man froze almost immediately, leading Seyira to guess that Altariel had used some sort of paralyzing potion on the needle. It figured that Altariel would carry that sort of inconspicuous, yet very dangerous type of weapon with her, and then not be given a chance to use them.

For a brief moment, she contemplated getting some needles of her own, and then dismissed the thought. Paralyzing poison would be difficult to obtain, not to mention be horrendously expensive on her wages, not to mention finding an excuse to carry around a needle that big when all the world knew she couldn’t sew for her life. Even she, with her clever lying skills, couldn’t come up with something to explain that. Besides, she was used to her knives, and she’d already gone to all the trouble to smuggle them in. It would be a waste if she were to suddenly stop using them now.

They were running now, and soon reached a bigger road, one with a crowd milling about, where it would be easier for them to blend in and lose their attackers. Seyira looked back once, and sighed when she didn’t see any people being shoved out of the way. Beside her, she heard the Lady Altariel ask, “Se-Seyira?” She turned back to the High Seat and gave a small curtsy, enough to be respectful, but not enough to look completely out of place.

“Forgive me, my lady, for not introducing myself previously. I was a bit rushed for time.” Now that was an understatement. Her shoulder gave a sudden pull, making her frown and look down on it. It was bleeding and leaving a dark red patch of blood on her shirt. Damn! She’d forgotten to bind up the thing to stop the bleeding, but it wasn’t like she’d had time before to do it. “I think we may want to find a place to rest – and bandage up my injury – before anything else. I know there’s a doctor’s place I might visit for my arm, but I’m not sure if you would prefer somewhere more…private?” She looked at the lady questioningly.

The woman gave her a small curtsy. At last, everything’s going smoothly – well, not as flawless as she had hoped. At least they were getting on business.

“Forgive me, my lady, for not introducing myself previously. I was a bit rushed for time.” Altariel nodded slowly, as she raised the hood of the cloak over her hair. It stood out too much. Seyira Vivienne then turned her gaze from Altariel to her shoulder. It bled profusely, staining the spy’s clothing with crimson. A hand vaguely searched her pockets for that vial of antiseptic fluid she kept with her all the time. It also doubles as a temporary antidote to certain weak poisons – her personal concoction. “I think we may want to find a place to rest – and bandage up my injury – before anything else. I know there’s a doctor’s place I might visit for my arm, but I’m not sure if you would prefer somewhere more…private?” Judging by the look Seyira gave her, she waited for the noble’s reply.

Altariel weighted the choices, as she felt her fingers close in the delicate neck of the glass container. Doctors ask too many questions at times, and provide little privacy – something she hated about them. Probably it was because of a discovery, when she was eleven, of fraud doctors residing in Ivria, most of which demanded an unreasonable amount for their services, and two of them were part of those treating her father. Her mother Camellia had been warning the elders about them, but they paid no heed. Old times aside, she could treat Seyira by herself. Her knowledge of medicine would suffice. The blade that the hooligan used on them wasn’t rusty, so there was little chance of a tetanus infection.

Her eyes darted to the people around her, checking if anyone was eavesdropping. “A wound that deep would attract suspicion,” she replied, putting a hand near the wound and observed it. Very deep. “I’ll treat you myself. Bandages and some cotton would be all I need. Do you have a spare cloak?” Have to get that wound covered for the time being. Her free hand darted to the fastening of her cloak, just in case Seyira would need it. The woman was, after all, one of her precious spies. She valued her above the pleasures of being a noble – heck, soon she was going to be High Queen anyway…