The Tournament: After the Murder

3. They would prefer to not be involved at all.

The mood of the Grand Tournament had shifted in an instant.

One moment, the festival celebrations were roaring on across the city of Mead. Colorful banners waved in the air above prancing performers and cheering crowds, the sweet scents of mead and food carts hung in the air, shouts of celebration sounded from across the town, and the sun shone bright in a clear blue sky. The next, the cries of ”Murder!” and ”The Siregalese trade attaché is dead!” and ”Round up the Wild Mages!” rang out across the streets, and everything changed. Corraine had been walking down one of the smaller streets when it happened and, in mere minutes, the atmosphere of the entire town had shifted. Suddenly, she was one of the few individuals still out and about, most having retreated to rented rooms or taverns to hide or gossip, depending on their political leanings. The sun, once seeming to be a golden beacon over a perfect festival, now felt too hot on Corra’s fur, and she found herself darting to shadows to escape its scorching rays. The food cart lines were short, just a few desperate souls waiting quietly or mumbling hushed accusations.

Pricking her ears forward though trying to act uninterested, Corraine listened in to the quiet conversations of others as she passed by. Some muttered about Wild Mages, and how certainly one of them would dare to ruin such a joyous celebration. Others discussed politics, trying to determine who might have a vendetta against a foreign trade attaché and their servant. Yet others spoke in rushed words, wondering who might be killed next, if it might be them. So, Corra concluded, no one knew anything.

The guards she saw seemed divided into two factions. One group was acting as guards would; watching the streets, with increased military presence the closer one got to the quarters where the trade attaché had been staying. The others seemed to be using their influence to question –no, harass—whoever was unfortunate to be walking past. As Corraine watched, she saw a camelid Order Mage corner a young commoner, prying on what the poor teen had seen, and threatening punishment should they be hiding anything. The sight was enough to make Corra tense in fear. There was nothing she could do but move on and try not to attract the mage’s attention next, though she wished silently that no harm would come to the poor youth. Hurriedly, the crimson-wrapped doe ducked her head slightly and moved on past the town square. She did not wish to be caught up in this.

Corra moved briskly away from the town center, and towards her small room at the inn. This was no place for her; not with her powers. She was well-aware of her magic’s ability to cause decomposition; the last thing anyone needed was her in the same country as two dead bodies when the murder was yet unknown. At best, there was no way for her to be helpful; at worse, she could accidentally doom the situation by destroying valuable evidence. As fast as she could, she made her way to her rented room and shut the door, groaning slightly at the guilt that washed over her. She wished she could have helped the teen who was being harassed the guard or helped the investigation—though she held little loyalty to the Order, no one deserved to die at an event like this, and she did hope they found out who had murdered the trade attaché and their servant. For now, though, all Corra could do was hide away and wait for further news. She was unable to help and unable to stop the Order’s guards, so the best she could do was protect herself and stay far out of their way.