CHAPTER TEN

In an ideal world, for this type of quest, Tatsuya would have all the time in the world to prepare as he would need it; he would study the place the target was stored and figure out the routine of the guards, if any, and their weaknesses, and strengths. He would wait until he was comfortable with the quest, until he figured out how to get close, how he would do the deed, and how he would escape afterward.

He would work out another plan, a third one, then a fourth, and then figure out what he would do when the plan inevitably went wrong.

He wouldn't go half-cocked like he was now.

Resisting the urge to scowl, he settled for a sigh as he, devoid of his staff (in favour of a set of lock picks) and with his cloak fixed to him by the currents, hung grimly tens of feet above the highest spire of one of the village’s sparse lofty towers.

His only saving grace was that this wasn't an official quest— after all, thievery, especially from a person as important as the leader of a village, the chief, was met by rapid sanction and a thorough beating from the village militia and the chief’s personal guards.

The things he did for his life’s purpose.

The line of thought was almost enough to get him chuckling, but he instead turned his mind to Jao’s plan—as he couldn’t afford to call attention to himself—because though it was simple, in theory, executing it would be a bitch and a half.

The village hall, itself a symbol of the village’s wealth and prosperity and the chief’s house, also doubled as a treasury; within it, in a secure vault, was enough cowries to tide them over for the next few months if they spent wisely. However, because it was common knowledge, the only entrance was through a spiralling stairwell, scarcely two men wide, that the chief’s men could not defend.

As a stranger to the general populace, his status as a (tentative) member of the Wind Blades unknown, he was able to be among the inn’s patrons in the main hall, though he happily sulked in the shadows rather than mingle, strategically sipping his weak ale slowly to stretch out his time. Information was his aim as Jao and Zoel had known little and told him all they could, so he patiently listened through the gloriously amusing yarns of adventure and debauchery until he caught one particular tale he was grateful for.

Though they didn't manipulate only one element, the chief’s men were comparable to Kuro’s attack dogs and of considerable numbers, which made a frontal assault impossible and only offered one viable avenue: sneaking in as a distraction from one or two of the Wind Blades (in disguises, of course) occurring far from the inn, draws the militia and, hopefully, some guards away. If things pan out rightly, the group would escape in the scuffle and reconvene with him a few miles from the village— where their belongings and a few borrowed horses sat, courtesy of the innkeeper, Bran.

To sneak in, however, would require a skill that had saved his life countless times.

He had read somewhere that climbing was an expression of confidence and the utter faith that your fingertips would hold, that your toes would not slip. Lose that confidence, and you will lose your grip and perish. An apt sentiment, though in his case, ‘perish’ was replaced by ‘be found out’; a possibility due to the likelihood of an earth elemental or two being among the guards. Still, Tatauya was not easily cowed. He swung his arm easily and climbed up, foot after hand, after foot, after hand, until his grip finally gained the final purchase and drew himself up into a low crouch, blending enough with the night to avoid being discovered.

A small courtyard garden lay before him, elegantly trimmed trees and bushes ladened with flowers arranged beautifully around it, and he was struck by the realisation that despite its size, the village was more well-off than others. Than his. Was this what being connected to the lords brought? Wealth and prosperity?

He didn't know and couldn't afford to waste time pondering, especially since the questions made him regretful. Would he have lived a better, much happier life, if he had pandered to Kuro (or any other noble for that matter) rather than try to kill the bastard? He dared not follow that train to thought to its completion—not that it even mattered, if he was being honest; he had already committed himself to this course, and it wasn't like he could go back in time. That was impossible.

He shook his head, buring the regret in the deepest recesses of his mind as, at that moment, his gaze landed on the armoured men circulating on their prescribed path, spears at the ready and glinting in the light of the crescent moon. None passed near him, but he didn't doubt their passive ability’s range and waited for the distraction—and said distraction came in the form of an explosion of flames, Farah’s handiwork. Once the attention was turned away, he immediately flitted over the wall into the courtyard to sink into a darker patch of shadow on the roof.

The guards had recovered relatively fast and were moving again, closer now, but rather than stay silent as they were, they whispered to each other, a discussion of what was an elemental attack to them. The whispering was good; Tatsuya could place them without looking and save his eyes for the pressing matter of determining his route forward and his mind for using his passive to dull any noise he made.

However, when they fell quiet, without focusing on the currents around him, it was much harder to locate them.

Eventually, he stopped directly above a veranda, and as he peeked from the edge, he could see the window, ajar, and within, a lamp that burned too bright for a stealthy entrance. A controlled blast of air from his lips struck it out, confident that no one would think it suspicious. After all, lamps blow out all the time, especially when kept in a place with ventilation.

There was a moment when he had assumed he had been sighted, his heart in his mouth, as he heard footsteps—a single guard, taken by surprise, could be handled silently and efficiently; not two, at least not without raising the alarm—but, fortunately, they were of the indoor patrol. A greeting, a hurried conversation, a shared stilted laughter, and the two guards were on their respective ways.

Tatsuya, spread motionless across the ceiling above where they had just stood, listened to the departing footsteps with a muffled sigh of relief, then dropped to the ground with all the noise of a falling leaf and crept inside the building. Hopefully, his luck would persist and he wouldn't have any other close calls.

The doors were bolted, the first serious attempt at security aside from the guards—but that was to be expected as they were likely entrances to sleeping quarters and private offices— so all he could do was stealthily move down the passage, no audible footfalls from him. The further in he went, the decorations grew more elaborate, the displays of flowers more exuberant, and the intermingling scents almost intoxicating.

Maybe he shouldn't have nursed a cup of ale, regardless of if it was weak or not, as it seemed to be impeding his senses slightly.

He froze. Guards. Three of them, idling and gossiping at an intersection.

Tatsuya tilted his head around the corner, straining his ear to catch every word. They were discussing the fire, each with their own theories, increasingly weirder than the other, of the source. Despite experiencing another close call in relative succession, a tentative smile appeared on his face; the treasury must be near. Still, he wondered how he would get past the guards. There was a good chance he would be noticed once he started moving, even if they were distracted—unless they were hilariously incompetent, but he doubted that—so what could he do?

Understanding crossed his mind and his smile faded into a grimace.

The guards weren't his enemies; they were simply earning a livelihood in a setting no doubt mind-numbing and tedious. It was no wonder they were more interested in their conversation than watching for suspicious behaviours and happenings. They did not commit a crime by being at the wrong place at the wrong time, but sadly, the reality was that they were obstacles to his goal. He had to go through them.

Hardening his heart, he checked for any incoming footsteps and, finding none, went on the attack. He would have to deal with them before they could react and use their elements, so he ploughed headfirst into the first guard. Like a domino, the three smashed hard to the ground in a jumble of limbs and confused hands.

His sandal slammed hard on the first guard’s face, and as the remaining two tried to recover, wheezing all the way, a moment was all he needed to steal a short blade from one. With grim finality, the blade sang cleanly through their throats, and blood spewed in crimson arcs as he rolled to his feet.

With nary a look back, he was off, forsaking stealth for speed as the altercation was surely heard—death throes weren't exactly quiet—and burst through the last doorway. His eyes zeroed in on four more guards (a choked gasp on his lips) only a second before they saw him, but by then, he was already skidding on his knees to avoid the hasty flames sent his way. A raised hand threw the blade at the guards, even as he drew the air in abundance to extinguish the element, and he smoothly transitioned to running and flipping, just in time to avoid the retaliatory well-flung spear.

Vaulting from the ceiling, he rolled on the floor to dodge another jet of flames, and though he was able to weave around the subsequent attacks—deflecting them with swift flicks of his wrist and feet—he was mindful of the lone water elemental. Fire and water were powerful elements, and, in the enclosed passage, both guards could easily cover each other’s backs.

Still, there was a silver lining to be found. Their helmets didn't hide the colour of their eyes—an observation he was grateful for as it allowed him to note that the remaining two guards were earth elementals. Cut out from their element by the building, they would be deadweights in the altercation and so sought to serve as the last line of defence should the attacking guards fall.

Not that it made them any less dangerous, especially in an enclosed space where a stray spear could end him, but it made him less tense. The chief‘s personal guards were comparable to Kuro’s attack dogs, not because of their individual strengths— neither group, for all their skills and specialities, if any possessed one, could pose a threat individually and in a fair fight—but because together, they were a formidable gestalt.

Sidestepping another blast of flames, Tatsuya launched his own attack at the group, hoping to incapacitate all of them at once— but the water elemental released a stream of their element from their person and froze the space in their front, creating a makeshift shield that prevented the compressed air from knocking them off their feet.

However, the shield shattered on impact, but in a show of quick thinking, the water elemental stilled the icy shards before they fell and sent them at him.

Tatsuya created a powerful whirlwind to deal with the projectiles and was, as a result, unprepared for the wall of flames rushing towards him. He tried to deflect them with the currents, also, but it was no use. A pained hiss escaped him as he was swept off his feet, the smell of char blooming within the passage, and the fire elemental closed in for the final blow, amber eyes blazing with the intensity of their element.