A chocobo fled through the night.
Earlier, a gunshot sounded the beginning of the collapse of Wolfsong's plan. The grunts he had hired were too eager, too cut-throat. If they had waited, they might have gotten somewhere. Yet if they had waited, Delial could have died.
Idiot.
Gharen Wolfsong was not meant for treachery. There were those who could navigate lies and utilize lives to turn the odds in their favor. Shaelen Stormchild knew Delial knew of the trap and yet she came, and when the trap was sprung not on Delial but on Shaelen, she did what any sane woman might have done. The Brass Blades did little enough to stop her from what she could hear of their conversation. Delial had been shot and Shaelen had been manacled but neither of them would end up with what it was they wanted in the first place.
You had her and you let her go. Let her run.
The chocobo was not so kind as to slow nor smooth its gait. One of the hired Blades had done her the service of bandaging up her wound and Wolfsong had spent entirely too much time trying to patch her up as well but still it ached and stung whenever her ride jostled uncomfortably (which was, incidentally, all the time). He had spoken as though Stormchild was his last, best hope at fitting a noose around Lazarov's throat yet he had held back to aid Delial instead.
"I told ye ye'd nae be dyin' this sun an' I meant te keep my word," he said. Shaelen was right: he and his sister both were bleeding hearts of the worst sort. Far too soft, and far too naive, and not at all the sort to try to scheme. That did not, however, deter Delial. Her chocobo trotted its way towards Horizon indifferent to its bleeding rider. She would have to move quickly, set out word and reward. Her clothes were stained and ruined from where the bullet had passed straight through her belly but at least she was still alive. The same could not be said for one of the Blades. His death would be easy enough to pin in Shaelen, she was sure, and rousing local interest in finding Stormchild would make Thanalan all the more treacherous for the smuggler. There were plenty who were out to find Lazarov as well and once she had Shaelen Stormchild...
Delial grinned. Once she had Stormchild, it would only be a matter of time. She had wanted Delial's head as payment for what she had done to Aylard Greyarm, but she was not so stupid a woman as to risk her life for Nero Lazarov. Shaelen had not survived so long by being as soft as her former colleagues.
Gharen might have resigned to accept this blunder as a loss, but Delial Grimsong knew better. "You may be the forgiving sort," she told him, "But I am not. What use is influence when you can have blood?"
Earlier, a gunshot sounded the beginning of the collapse of Wolfsong's plan. The grunts he had hired were too eager, too cut-throat. If they had waited, they might have gotten somewhere. Yet if they had waited, Delial could have died.
Idiot.
Gharen Wolfsong was not meant for treachery. There were those who could navigate lies and utilize lives to turn the odds in their favor. Shaelen Stormchild knew Delial knew of the trap and yet she came, and when the trap was sprung not on Delial but on Shaelen, she did what any sane woman might have done. The Brass Blades did little enough to stop her from what she could hear of their conversation. Delial had been shot and Shaelen had been manacled but neither of them would end up with what it was they wanted in the first place.
You had her and you let her go. Let her run.
The chocobo was not so kind as to slow nor smooth its gait. One of the hired Blades had done her the service of bandaging up her wound and Wolfsong had spent entirely too much time trying to patch her up as well but still it ached and stung whenever her ride jostled uncomfortably (which was, incidentally, all the time). He had spoken as though Stormchild was his last, best hope at fitting a noose around Lazarov's throat yet he had held back to aid Delial instead.
"I told ye ye'd nae be dyin' this sun an' I meant te keep my word," he said. Shaelen was right: he and his sister both were bleeding hearts of the worst sort. Far too soft, and far too naive, and not at all the sort to try to scheme. That did not, however, deter Delial. Her chocobo trotted its way towards Horizon indifferent to its bleeding rider. She would have to move quickly, set out word and reward. Her clothes were stained and ruined from where the bullet had passed straight through her belly but at least she was still alive. The same could not be said for one of the Blades. His death would be easy enough to pin in Shaelen, she was sure, and rousing local interest in finding Stormchild would make Thanalan all the more treacherous for the smuggler. There were plenty who were out to find Lazarov as well and once she had Shaelen Stormchild...
Delial grinned. Once she had Stormchild, it would only be a matter of time. She had wanted Delial's head as payment for what she had done to Aylard Greyarm, but she was not so stupid a woman as to risk her life for Nero Lazarov. Shaelen had not survived so long by being as soft as her former colleagues.
Gharen might have resigned to accept this blunder as a loss, but Delial Grimsong knew better. "You may be the forgiving sort," she told him, "But I am not. What use is influence when you can have blood?"
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