Bowstring

7 - The Banker Does Not Bugger Off

While she wondered what his business could be for bringing a rope as he roams around, Corel felt the ground softening underneath her feet. She circled her eyes in her surroundings and found that the people around did not seem to notice that the ground has turned to mud. To be exact, it was only her area that had softened.

The dampening was rapid that she hurriedly took steps to get out of her position. But the mud, as if alive, twirled around her footstep and bound her ankles.

"Laska..." she called him though unsure, and she was thankful that the man turned to her.

"What is it, dear client?"

"I... I think I'm sinking..."

Laska held her outstretched arm and drew her out. But the mud did not budge and pulled her against Laska's grip. She, too, clenched his arm and tightened her hold.

She gave up easily, trying to beg him to pull harder. She instead released fire and threw the flame to her area, even if she is sure that there is no fuel to strengthen the blaze. She sensed something boiling in the mud, and the feeling was kind of menacing.

"Laska! Harder!"

"What... kind...." His breath was rugged between words, as both his hands are now holding her arm to pull her harder. "What is this mud?"

Her eyes widened when shards came out from the mud and rapidly fired. They crumbled when they reached the air, but the initial sharpness was still enough to graze her skin. Anger made her clench her jaws and grind her teeth, that without a ritualistic action, fire came out of nowhere and aimed somewhere in the back of the surrounding mob.

I'll kill you!

She paused her movement to let her sight roam following the tail of her fire. Screams and fright had filled the air, mixed with uncontrolled anxiety. Nonetheless, she focused her eyes on the fireball as if possessing it. Then she caught sight of a hooded person running away from the mob.

There you are.

She squinted. She made a silent scream because her problematic eyes cannot see enough, only the fluttering robes of her subject. Nonetheless, she focused on the motion and hastened the motility of her fire. Forget the mud below her feet, for it seemed to loosen its grip as she chased the person controlling the softened earth. So she had the right person to go after. But his... or her... or whatever gender the person has, the running was fast that Corel had to increase the speed of her fireball.

Closer... just a little closer...

Her focus was cut when she felt a strong tug. And because the mud lost its grip and hardened when the soil turned back to its original rigidity, she stumbled above the man drawing her.

"Bull—das forsi, Laska!" She turned glum when the firelight disappeared. She quickly snatched her glasses from Laska's other hand and adjusted them on her face. The fluttering cloak was no longer around. She still tried finding it while clenching her hand into a fist.

"Uh... dear client..."

She looked at Laska with fluid exasperation. "You! Why did you pull me?"

"Huh? Didn't you tell me to help you? My hearing is quite clear, you know."

There was a fast shift of her anger to surrender, rather than gradual. She thought of complaining no matter how unreasonable, but she kept it to herself upon realizing that the use of her fire might have burned the solidified miasma in her hair. She quickly pulled her hood, then removed herself from the top of Laska.

She was relieved that the crowd is still busy solving the trailing fire and their incomprehensible actions. She did not even bother to stand upright, then quickly blended with the confused cluster. When she was sure that no one noticed her, she started separating herself without conspicuous movements. She trudged away from the now dry soil, kicking the mud that stuck her boots, then stopped at an apple stall and pretended to eye the redder ones.

"What's happened there, miss?

"Some leftover performers, I guess," she stoically answered. "Hey, how much is this?"

"Thirty. Three for fifty."

Her left eye twitched at the answer. "Pricey."

"I sold one for fifty verums yesterday, you know."

She just clucked her tongue.

"Why did you leave me, dear client?" Laska was still panting as he held her shoulder.

"We were not together in the first place."

"How cruel," he complained. "And I just helped you."

She brushed him off slightly, not bothering if he was offended.

"Still, what was that? Is that how sorcerers fight?"

She made a glance at him. "That's witchcraft."

Laska expressed a confused look. "Is there a difference?"

"A wide difference."

"I see."

It is clear to her now that she is the target of the attacks. But as to why... she has yet to uncover. She doubted if she would allocate time to find out.

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