The Same Storm
Posted: Fri Jul 03, 2026 1:12 pm
The Wagon Seat smelled like spilled ale, old arguments, and some less scrupulous barracks she’d played cards in. Tekela liked it almost immediately.
She'd been in finer places. Stood at attention in them, jet black uniforms with the green insignias pressed sharp enough to cut, while High Lord this or that, who'd never held a sword in their lives outside of very controlled environments, decided what she'd probably die for today. She was done with fine places.
The barkeep didn't ask questions. She appreciated that in a man. She was on her second cup before she noticed them -- not because they'd moved, or spoken, or done anything so obvious. More that the room moved around them, the way water moves around a stone. Two figures at the far table. Hoods up in a warm room. Hands flat on the table where she could see them.
That was the tell. Men who hid their weapons wanted you scared. Men who showed you empty hands wanted you to know they didn't need them. This was their turf.
She picked up her cup and languidly walked over.
“Didn't invite company,” the near one said. Still hadn't looked up.
Tekela sat down. “No,” she said. “You didn’t.”
She drank. They waited. Around them The Wagon Seat carried on -- dice, laughter, a disagreement in the corner working itself up to something. Some nervous glances their way, but those were quick and careful.
“Bad weather lately,” she said, when the silence had gone on long enough to mean something. "For everyone. Lots of…interference. The coordinated kind.”
The second figure moved. Just slightly, but it was enough to catch a glimpse of his face and recognize it. The first one still hadn’t looked at her.
“Weather changes,” the first said.
“Sure.” She turned the cup in her hands idly. “Though some storms have a way of following you. Joint efforts, shared targets -- the kind that don't happen unless someone decided they had a common enemy.” She let it land. Didn't rush it. “Consolidation of power spells trouble, y’know. Thought it was worth knowing where everyone's standing.”
Silence again. Longer this time.
"We've noticed," the second one said. First words out of that one. Careful voice, the kind of careful that was practiced, that didn't tell you anything about the person behind it -- not where they were from, not how old, not what they felt about any of this. But she knew. She never forgot a face.
“Thought you might, given where I’ve seen you before.” She knew she was pushing it, but she needed them to understand something very specific about her. That the current company she keeps did not erase years of expert reconnaissance.
The first one looked up sharply as the second one’s eyes flashed.
Tekela had held formation on the back of a raken in a crosswind at three hundred feet while the ground below turned to chaos. She knew how to be looked at. She let it happen, gave them whatever they were searching for, and didn't blink.
They seemed to find it acceptable. Or close enough.
“Same storm,” the first one said. Quiet. Not quite a question.
“Same storm,” she said.
The second one reached for their cup. Drank. Put it down.
Nobody said anything else. The candle burned. When she stood to leave, neither of them moved.
She didn't look back. Didn't need to. She could feel them watching -- the particular quality of attention that meant "we're still deciding". She walked out into the Lugard night, glancing up as a shadow flew across the moonlight directly above her and circled.
Let them decide.
She'd been in finer places. Stood at attention in them, jet black uniforms with the green insignias pressed sharp enough to cut, while High Lord this or that, who'd never held a sword in their lives outside of very controlled environments, decided what she'd probably die for today. She was done with fine places.
The barkeep didn't ask questions. She appreciated that in a man. She was on her second cup before she noticed them -- not because they'd moved, or spoken, or done anything so obvious. More that the room moved around them, the way water moves around a stone. Two figures at the far table. Hoods up in a warm room. Hands flat on the table where she could see them.
That was the tell. Men who hid their weapons wanted you scared. Men who showed you empty hands wanted you to know they didn't need them. This was their turf.
She picked up her cup and languidly walked over.
“Didn't invite company,” the near one said. Still hadn't looked up.
Tekela sat down. “No,” she said. “You didn’t.”
She drank. They waited. Around them The Wagon Seat carried on -- dice, laughter, a disagreement in the corner working itself up to something. Some nervous glances their way, but those were quick and careful.
“Bad weather lately,” she said, when the silence had gone on long enough to mean something. "For everyone. Lots of…interference. The coordinated kind.”
The second figure moved. Just slightly, but it was enough to catch a glimpse of his face and recognize it. The first one still hadn’t looked at her.
“Weather changes,” the first said.
“Sure.” She turned the cup in her hands idly. “Though some storms have a way of following you. Joint efforts, shared targets -- the kind that don't happen unless someone decided they had a common enemy.” She let it land. Didn't rush it. “Consolidation of power spells trouble, y’know. Thought it was worth knowing where everyone's standing.”
Silence again. Longer this time.
"We've noticed," the second one said. First words out of that one. Careful voice, the kind of careful that was practiced, that didn't tell you anything about the person behind it -- not where they were from, not how old, not what they felt about any of this. But she knew. She never forgot a face.
“Thought you might, given where I’ve seen you before.” She knew she was pushing it, but she needed them to understand something very specific about her. That the current company she keeps did not erase years of expert reconnaissance.
The first one looked up sharply as the second one’s eyes flashed.
Tekela had held formation on the back of a raken in a crosswind at three hundred feet while the ground below turned to chaos. She knew how to be looked at. She let it happen, gave them whatever they were searching for, and didn't blink.
They seemed to find it acceptable. Or close enough.
“Same storm,” the first one said. Quiet. Not quite a question.
“Same storm,” she said.
The second one reached for their cup. Drank. Put it down.
Nobody said anything else. The candle burned. When she stood to leave, neither of them moved.
She didn't look back. Didn't need to. She could feel them watching -- the particular quality of attention that meant "we're still deciding". She walked out into the Lugard night, glancing up as a shadow flew across the moonlight directly above her and circled.
Let them decide.