Wednesday has come around again and I’m happy to present this week’s flash fiction.
Rerith paused on the city’s wall. Through the deluge he could glimpse the city vastness. The scale was grander than anything in Miralor. His stomach sank. How were they to find the mark before dawn?
Water streamed off Cadira’s leathers as she ascended beside him. “We should’ve asked direcrtions.” He gestured at the maze of buildings.
Cadira shrugged exaggeratedly shaking off water. “Never let a lack of knowledge hold you back.” Coiling the rope as she spoke, she prepared to drop it into the city.
No. Rerith hadn’t argued against waiting for storm cover, shunning the open gates, or bells, accepting a mark in Aroich a country neither knew, but he would not bumble about a foreign capital. Rerith grabbed the throw line from Cadira’s hands. “No.” the word was flat and sharp.
Cadira narrowed her eyes. “No?”.
“No.” Rerith tucked the rope closer.
Cadira hissed. “Who is senior?” Rerith fought against the urge to tense at her tone.
Fist in palm, Rerith bowed, forcing relaxed casualness. “You. I respect the wisdom you’ve imparted, but I intend to survive to be a senior.”
Her nostrils flared abruptly. “So, the sapling thinks he’s grown.” She snatched the line from him. “Then let us discover who makes the mark first.”
Movement fluid, Cadira tossed the line and descending over the wall. Rerith would have lost himself admiring her lethal grace if he’d missed threat in her words. He hadn’t missed it. If he didn’t succeed first, Rerith would be her next mark.
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