Curse Breaker (2)

28

There's a sharp bite to the night air. Shadows dance across the pavement of the narrow alley. Casting an opalescent glow against the high walls of the crumbling building, the street lanterns provide much more light than those in the forge, or even Veymaw.

The comparisons paint themselves in my mind no matter how much I try to focus on the given task. Where the forge is all shadows and fog, Portson is all lights. Compared to unpaved streets and trodden paths in Veymaw, Portson streets look recently paved, pressed to perfection.

I look down at myself. The blue smock Lei nicked from their earlier escapades fits in a lumpy fashion, my weapons belt creating bulk around my midsection. It reminds me of the dresses Cadence used to wear when we were younger. And, despite the fact that I grew up in dresses, after wearing trousers for so long it feels strange to have the material swish at my ankles. Restricting, even.

But I have no choice. In Portson, black clothes concealing my face won't help me to blend in and keep my identity hidden like they did in the forge. They would make me stick out.

That makes what we're doing even more difficult.

The seaside town is anything but sleepy, even after the sun has descended. Signs of the cloud that ravaged the town and wiped out the deserters less than a year ago are no longer visible. Do the inhabitants know what it truly was that cursed their town? Or do they believe it to be a simple storm, like we did in Veymaw?

The streets bustle, storefronts remain open, workers hollering at passerbys as they move through the street. Every step seems purposeful. Fliers stamped to signposts signalling the evenings celebration festival are to be blamed for the business, I assume. But there's no time to stop and read the fine details. The celebration parade is a blessing and a curse.

On one hand, everybody is too busy to notice the two strangers sneaking through the crowds. On the other, security is at an all time high.

I keep my head trained to the ground, only glancing up every couple of seconds to keep sight of Killian moving through the crowd. He isn't hard to spot. Even in his commoner clothing, he sticks out like a sore thumb. Taller than most of the crowd, his angular features attract they eyes of many passerbys.

Good. It means they aren't looking at me.

There's no way of knowing if news of me has reached all the way to Portson yet. Cadence mentioned there was a bounty on me, but Ereon expected I'd return to Veymaw. He'd have no reason to believe I'd go anywhere near Portson. There'd be no need to send word for me here, and so far, nobody has taken a second glance.

I cast my eyes above the heads of the crowd, searching for Lei and Casimir atop the rooves. Only the billowing smoke puffing from chimneys fills the night air. But I don't dare let that fool me. They're out there, leaping from rooftop to rooftop, watching over us as we move through the crowd like the current of a quick flowing mirror.

The knowledge comforts me.

Ereon may have eyes on the streets but we have eyes from above. If something is wrong, if we're walking into a trap, they'll know. And soon after, Killian will too. He hasn't stopped moving yet, which means all is clear.

Our target looms ahead--the town hall Casimir and I spied earlier, heavily guarded. And for one reason--it's home to weapons. Guns. Those that Ereon outlawed years ago when they were laced with silver. But if we're going up against hundreds of shifters infected with the evocian, we're going to need every bit of help we can get.

The building towers over the rest of the town, the townhall decorated with a large, metal sculpture of a closed eye attached to the turret. It's a vision of deceit. They're watching. They always are. On the doorstep, a woman loiters, clothed in a maroon smock, her hand seemingly casually resting against her side. But her watchful gaze over the crowd gives her away.