Sea of Growing Enemies

As the gradual swell of the Ozainae clergyman’s words was stirring up the crowd, Voah’s eyes and thoughts were elsewhere. She already knew what was happening in that regard. She didn’t need to understand the man’s silver tongue to know he was calling for death to Helians.

His words burbled at the fringes of Voah’s attention as her keen eyes spotted several men and women donning dark robes. That’s what she had been looking for all along. Clusters of them stood hither and thither among the masses of the faithful.

The marks of highest concern to her were the ones close behind and the white-eyed hound that was a trying to sniff her out. Magik? Almost certainly.

She found herself suddenly very thirsty, her mouth dry and and nerves increasing in tension as she waded in a sea of growing enemies. What was it like to hunt someone by their scent? All that she could smell besides the dye in her hair was the stink of the crowd; sweat, unwashed bodies, a bit of spoiled food somewhere, and the smoke from the pyre that was now being lit.

As was her practice, Voah remained vigilant but inconspicuous as she scanned the crowd. Every so often she would copy the actions of those around her, but one hand naturally moved to the sword tucked inside her outer robe. It was a mistake to get so deep into the crowd as to have no easy escape route.

Checking back at the staring man to see if his gaze had shifted, Voah was poised and on the defensive, awaiting the inevitable strike of any other attacker moving into her periphery. Could he see? Or just smell? Had they made eye contact? She wasn’t sure? It didn’t matter. Voah wouldn’t make the first move. It was too dangerous here. Instead, she would wait, dodge, disarm, or parry, then counterstrike if it came to that.