14. First Blood

After receiving payment for the starbloom, Alistair moved. He had only a few hours before he was expected at La Table d’Or, and that narrow period of morning would decide whether his plan worked at all. Once the tavern claimed his time, it would be too late. For a little while, he could still move freely, choose his timing, and adjust before the real risk began.

Before doing anything else, he imposed rules on himself. The rules were practical rather than noble. If he was going to help the girl, he would not do it by throwing away everything he had built in Verevain. First, his main body stayed out of direct danger. It was still weak, slow, and poorly suited for real combat. Second, he would not reveal himself. Every clone involved would be cloaked, disguised, or otherwise made difficult to connect to him. Third, he needed proof of innocence. If suspicion ever curved in his direction afterward, there had to be witnesses, routines, and visible movements that placed “Alistair” elsewhere for as much of the operation as possible.

Once those principles were fixed, the real plan began to take shape. He ran through it repeatedly with no clones summoned, forcing himself to examine each step with the full help of his WIS and INT instead of the distracted, split thinking that came with multiple bodies. Real sleep would have to wait if he wanted the plan checked properly. So the main body remained hidden beneath a cloak in a narrow, half-forgotten place between buildings while the work spread outward through his clones.

The first clone went back to the inn. Worker entered openly through the front, exactly as any ordinary guest returning from night work might. The innkeeper was already busy with her morning preparations, making the sight of him all the more useful. She would remember Alistair coming back. The clone climbed to the room, stored the shardlamps and the other tools from the flower job, packed a few things, and left them positioned where they could be retrieved quickly later. Then it dissolved, having done exactly what it needed to do.

Meanwhile, Shade was already in place across from the couple’s inn, using Fade to stay forgettable in the early morning dimness. That body had one simple task: watch. If the couple tried to leave suddenly, he needed to know immediately.

The third clone headed for the gates. Runner passed out of town without difficulty. The guards were still in that loose state between night and true morning, more concerned with obvious threats than with checking every hooded figure heading onto the road. Once clear of the walls, the clone used Sprint and ran hard, scouting the road toward the port. Alistair needed an ambush point close enough to town for his clones to reach, but far enough beyond the gates that help would not come, or even be requested. He also needed to be certain there were no other obvious problems waiting there, such as the roadside thieves who had once tried to rob him.

Runner found what he wanted not long after. A stretch of road beyond a bend, close enough that a cart would still take it easily, but just far enough from Verevain’s sight that a brief disturbance might pass unnoticed. Once the place was chosen, Runner withdrew, and another clone took its place there for a different purpose.

Digger worked fast. The clone opened a wide hole across the road, the kind that could plausibly be blamed on weak ground, rain damage, or neglected repair. It did not need to stop traffic entirely. It only needed to slow a cart and force the driver to guide the wheels through with care. The delay would be enough. When the work was done, Digger disappeared into the wild.

By then the first real signs of morning had reached Verevain. Darkness remained, but the town was shifting. Doors opened, voices emerged, and people began claiming the day.

The plan moved to the next stage. Keeping constant watch on the couple’s inn no longer required Shade alone. Ordinary-looking clones could drift near the area now without seeming strange. That freed Shade for another task. The clone slipped quietly into Alistair’s own inn room using Fade, retrieved the bag of supplies, and changed into the cleaner clothes he wore for work at La Table d’Or. Then it went downstairs like any other boarder, ordered the same eggs he usually ate, and even sat long enough to swallow them.

Alistair suffered with every bite. Watching a clone eat food that would vanish with it was a special kind of frustration, but keeping the apparent routine mattered more than comfort. If anyone later thought back on the morning, Alistair needed to have been seen acting like himself.

Shade left the inn after that, walked partway toward the tavern, then slipped into a hidden meeting place where the main body waited. The clone dissolved. The clean clothes and the bag remained. Alistair changed quickly, passed the clothes to a fresh Worker clone, and sent that body on toward the tavern to begin the day’s preparations in his place. If the clone moved quickly, the delay would be small enough not to matter.

Meanwhile, the main body pulled the cloak back on and headed nearer to the gates.

The couple still had not left, and for a little while, waiting proved harder than moving. It gave him time to think too much. At last, the watcher signaled the change: the inn door opened, and the man and woman emerged with the girl between them.

Even from a distance, the sight struck hard. They were dragging her more than guiding her. Shade moved closer, borrowing what little concealment remained from shadows, walls, and people going about. From there he caught enough of the conversation to learn something useful.

“She can walk,” the man muttered.

“She can barely stand,” the woman said. “If she slows us again, we’ll miss the time.”

“Then pull harder.”

The girl stumbled, and the woman clicked her tongue in annoyance. “Move.”

They had intended to save the shards and walk to the port. Now they were reconsidering. The girl had become too slow, stumbling too often for their patience. Alistair needed no explanation for that. She had spent the night bound on a cold floor with no cover. Of course she could barely walk.

He nearly lost control of the clone again.

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In the end, they decided to hire a cart. The choice complicated the plan. Walking would have made the road simpler and stretched the journey longer. Still, he had prepared for it. A few carts were already waiting near the gates to take passengers toward the port. Some had gone, but two remained.

Alistair moved immediately. Hidden behind an old building with a clear view of both gate and carts, he created two more clones. One wore the dark hooded cloak. The other wore a different set of clothes he had prepared for exactly this part of the plan. That second disguise was ugly by design. Its face was darkened with dust, its hair cut badly and unevenly in a few minutes.

The odd haircut clone approached the drivers and began asking about prices with the loose, impatient air of someone in a hurry.

“How much to the port?” he asked.

“Ten shards,” said the first driver.

“That’s robbery.”

“Then walk.”

While the men answered, the hooded clone lingered near the carts as if waiting on the bargain to finish. That body used the distraction to do something small and careful beneath one of the vehicles.

By then, the drivers were already losing patience with the awkward passenger.

“So?” one of them snapped. “You riding or talking?”

He closed the deal at last, paid the ten shards, and climbed into one of the carts. The hooded clone joined him. The vehicle rolled out just as the couple and the little girl came through the gate.

From his hiding place, Alistair saw them and sent yet another clone.

This one wore a hood and nothing else worth noticing. The timing was too tight for anything more. The couple were already heading toward the remaining cart when the disguised clone stepped in first and asked for the ride. The man reacted exactly as Alistair had expected. Irritation flared at once.

“We were here first,” the man said.

The clone apologized immediately. “Sorry. I need to get to the port quickly. Urgent business.”

“Find another cart.”

“There isn’t one.” The clone lowered his head slightly, sounding embarrassed rather than defiant. “We can share it. I’ll pay the whole fare. Consider it an apology.”

Greed shifted the man’s expression at once.

“You’ll pay all of it?”

“Yes.”

The woman said nothing. She only stared at the clone. The girl, dragged and frightened between them, had no say at all.

It closed his mouth more effectively than courtesy ever could. The objection vanished.

“Fine,” the man said at last. “Move over.”

They rode together toward the port.

Watching the cart leave, Alistair felt a brief surge of uncertainty. He had done the planning. He had checked the steps. Still, now that the plan was moving on its own, it felt perilously thin. Acting through clones did not remove danger completely.

He decided to add one more layer.

Leaning against the wall of the old building, he summoned his last available clone and sent it hurrying after the second cart. Then he let the main body sag and forced himself into the shallow, dull state that fell short of true sleep but still gave his mind relief from carrying so much direct thought.

The first cart reached the prepared section.