Hello Airianna!
Well you may be surprised to know that I took advantage of all your suggestions.
After a bunch of editing help from My Personal Editor (aka Duchess Daisy), I think it is much improved from my first draft. I will post the newest version below now for further critique.
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Ædhros crouched under the wormy table top, holding his breath. He didn't mind the stench of rotting flesh mingled with human refuse that covered the stony ground; he had other reasons to refrain from exhaling.
Mishqal was near.
The accursed hound had trailed him from the mountains all the way to Alvora-K'san, and now to this alley, but they had never been this close. Ædhros didn't think he could shapeshift his way out of it either. The little magician could not only hear and track like a werewolf, he could sense Ædhros's breath signature, and track him through a thousand forms.
Small steps echoed lightly in the entrance to the alley.
Curses... Ædhros peered through a crack in the table top, trying to catch a glimpse of his pursuer. He didn't have time to wait for him to leave: Mishqal was only there to run interference on Ædhros's mission, and the longer he tarried under the rubbish in the alley, the more successful Mishqal would be.
A small figure came into sight. Mishqal. A gentle wind wisping through the alley brushed babyish golden curls aside from his forehead. So unassuming. So gentle and innocent. So deadly.
Countless rumors about the reason for Mishqal's child-body ran through every Alronian force that knew about him. Everything from things as fantastic as curses by vengeful demon sorceresses, to things as mundane as failed eternal youth experiments were posed. Ædhros himself believed no one could imagine the half of what the truth might be. Mishqal was as enigmatic as he was dangerous. And his colossal demon power bespoke of something in his past that defied imagination.
“I suppose you are waiting for me to say some meaningless banter like 'I know you are here', aren't you?” The voice's insouciance almost unnerved Ædhros.
Blasted self-confidence. It wasn’t as if the fate of the royal family hung in the balance over this mission.
A short laugh tickled his ears. Ædhros grimaced, but remained silent. Perhaps he could bluff his way out.
Heavy footfalls entered the alley, and Ædhros glanced out the hole again with a sinking heart. A dark man had joined Mishqal. He looked every inch a war giant. And from the glowing steel emblazon on his wide sleeves, he was no stranger to magic.
“Have you found him yet?” The deep voice rolled over Ædhros like a wave. He had no desire to meet a weapon wielded by the power a chest like that could unleash.
“He is here.”
“Have you sniffed him out?” The giant's hand twitched near the massive hilt of his sword.
“Patience, my friend. He will show himself. He cannot hold his breath forever.” Mishqal smiled grimly. “You aren't a Naiad, are you Ædhros?”
Ædhros refused to answer. If he could only get onto the street and into a corner where he could vanish into the crowds, he might make it to the palace. Carefully, he felt in his inner vest for the sealed packet that contained the letter to the Tribunal.
“We can wait.” Mishqal was taunting him. Like always. “It isn't as if Ædhros is in a hurry. He can wait until tonight.”
Ædhros tightened his grip on his dagger. Sweat trickled down his neck. He had one chance, and no time for a second try.
The giant heaved out his sword and stepped forward towards a pile of crates on the far side of the alley. His eyes narrowed.
“What?” Mishqal asked.
“A motion.”
Mishqal sighed, “Your eyes are keener than mine.” He moved to the giant's side and peered at the crates.
Ædhros's hand trembled. Illusions are hard from that kind of distance, and if either of those two tried to use magic to sniff him out, he was done for. The giant stepped closer and raised his hand. Ædhros had only a moment left.
He threw out a blast behind Mishqal and the giant, at the same time leaping from his hole and diving for the exit from the alley. The two were momentarily stunned and the giant threw up an ice wall to defend himself, but Ædhros was already ducking out of sight. He dodged behind a small group of people and leaped into another alley leading towards the high street. He heard curses behind him as they ran to catch up.
The wind rushed by his ears as he threw himself into the race. He had to make it to the crowds before they caught sight of him. As it was, he only just made the corner before he heard their echoed steps behind him in the alley.
He slipped behind a market stall and swiftly passed his hand over his body, muttering a few laconic phrases to himself. Some people think the process of training to be a shapeshifter is a fascinating, exciting, glamorous affair of cajoling and punishing demons to your will. In reality, nothing could be more boring. Years upon years of dull lectures in dusty halls and hours of repeating the same delicate routines had made Ædhros able to do what he did. And no demons were involved at all, thankfully. In less than a few seconds the illusion was complete, and he was able to step out the other side and mingle with the crowds as a dirty urchin boy with tousled hair, which looked as if it had been dunked in mud and dirt until its color was unrecognizable.
Mishqal could be seen behind him, moving rapidly and intently through the crowds, seeking Ædhros's breath. The giant trailed behind, appearing to not be associated with the little boy. Ædhros knew that it was only a matter of time before he would be found. He crossed the street with a bunch of ragged boys playing ball, mingling with their play as lightheartedly, and thus as naturally, as he could. Then, with inconspicuous leisure, he wandered back in the other direction before ducking behind another booth and transforming.
He emerged again and began to trail behind his pursuers, mingling among those they had already searched, this time as an elderly old man with a long beard, pimples, and a gnarled stick. Very normal and very ordinary. And thus, invisible.
Slowly, slowly, he followed them towards the palace. Getting to the Ákcteo tribunal was easy, once he got past Mishqal. At last he was able to breathe a sigh of relief as they turned into the main square and began searching for a trace of him there. He transformed into the form of a blue uniformed messenger boy and ran at top speed to the palace.
This story was invented and written on Sunday afternoon by me. It sprang entirely from one word: Ædhros. Some of the bits were influenced of course by what I had already developed for Alronia (one of my worlds. It is related to Ithelak... ask me in the comments). My point was to illustrate a certain kind of non-demonic magic that exists in Alronia (and in Ithelak as well).
