Chapter Five

Unfinished, but here you be. This chapter is narrated by Gwen, and follows chapter 2. Chapter five originally took place in the forest, but I felt like further showing Gwen escape was a bit pointless, so I jumped ahead a bit.

Chapter Five: Alleyway Discovery
-Gwen

“Come closer little fly.” I crooned as I leaned against a slanted brick wall thick with moss, a scorching June sun burning down from the sky above. The young man, a scrawny teen with scraggly facial hair, crept down the alley in what he doubtless considered stealth. The low skyline of Vespera, capital of Tarn, rose high above our heads, all red sandstone and shale.

My father’s man, come to bring me back home. I watched from around the corner with grim excitement as he took another step closer to my trap, like a bug unwittingly snaring itself in a web. I couldn’t keep the smirk off my face. My third little fly. A thin green moss ran up most of the buildings in this quarter of town, but in the alleyway my friend occupied the moss gave way abruptly for a few buildings to make way for a lattice of thick vines, vines that should have arisen suspicion, but clearly weren’t.

I resisted the urge to clap my hands. Just a bit further my dear, I thought, brushing a lock of dark hair from my face, waiting. Just two steps. Then one. I finally let myself laugh aloud as he stepped into the range of my vines. In an instant they sprang to life, stretching across both sides of the alley, in a thick mat, lifting him bodily into the air and leaving him hanging.

At last, all the lessons and lectures were paying off. If nothing else, I could sing to the walls and make these little webs to keep myself safe whenever someone started poking their nose into my business.

For three days, I’d wandered the streets of Tarn, looking for just the right people.

I wanted two, two men to accompany me into the mountains, and yet, it could not be just anyone. I didn’t know why. I’d engaged in over a dozen discreet interviews, trying to find just the right souls to bring along on my quest, but none of them had satisfied me. Every seedy tavern I’d explored held only the same manner of useless fools that hunted me. I wanted someone clever and passionate, someone unmotivated by money and greed, for I could pay not a cent.

I had known my father would send people to fetch me. As leader of the Mages and the only wizard alive, he had a myriad of poor louts at his disposal to bring me back. He always had, seven times I’d run away, and every time I’d been hauled back before too long. But this time would be different, I knew a few secrets I’d not known then, the means to escape.

And I was different.

If they only knew what I knew, what I had planned. I would change the world. Soon even my father would fear me. The mere thought made me tremble. I looked about me, at the walls surrounding me, the windows like glass eyes that glinted with sunlight. I was lost again. I simply adored wandering through the city, getting lost. The world here was a delight of rooftop gardens and strange shops, and incredible people. A labyrinth filled with beggars and thieves and merchants and street performers. By night lamps lit the sky, like stars lost themselves, waiting to be hurled back into the sky with the break of dawn.

I loved the city, a place I’d never been even as a child, trapped eternally in that stuffy old castle. I felt free now, and at home, even alone. I curled bare toes against the stone road, and then set off, feeling wild. I belonged here, and wished I could stay forever, but my new mission called, like a song carried aloft by the breeze.

It took me a fair bit of wandering and guesswork, but eventually I made it back to the district where I’d chosen to settle in, just as dusk began to seep through the sky, leeching out the blue. For the last few days I’d been living in a massive apartment complex, with perhaps hundreds of men and women. The building was riddled with tiny rooms. Some may have scoffed, but I loved my tiny, cozy room, with its lumpy old mattress and battered stove.

However, as I cheerily strode for the home, I caught something in the corner of my eye, down a nearby alley, one I’d yet to explore, and no wonder, it was filled with trash, piles and piles of refuse that spilled out into the lane proper. A boy lay in a bare patch between two mountains of garbage, looking somewhat battered. Curious, I took a step closer, and realized it was not a boy, but a man, perhaps a bit older than my own sixteen years.

I took another step closer, then several more. His chest was bare, I noted quickly, a latticework of scars striped his body, all moving as he breathed evenly in sleep. And his pants looked ratty, perhaps he was just a beggar, passed out from some whiskey too strong for a young lad.

And yet, he looked a bit stocky, well fed. I was watching him now from across the bustle that filled the road, clattering carts and stomping horses and yelling filled the air. No one seemed to take even the slightest notice of him, all too busy at their own work to care for another drunkard. His boots, they were what bothered me. Their black leather was too shiny and supple, their make too expensive. I was surprised they hadn’t been stolen yet.

Waiting for the right moment, I strode across the pavement, letting my curiosity pull me. As I always did.

As I neared, I noticed at once the man was a knight. The tattoo on his shoulder confirmed as much, marred though it was with some sort of wound. Not sure why I was doing what I was doing, I stalked into the alley without a hint of indecision, leaned forward, and attempted to rouse the young man with a vigorous shake of his good shoulder.

This, as it turned out, was a terribly bad idea.

In seconds I found myself pressed roughly against the wall of the building behind us, the man's forearm pressed to my throat. With one hand he restrained me, putting his weight into holding me back, and with the other he drew a sword. He pointed the blade at my throat, seeming to pull it out of the air itself.

"Tell me your name," he ordered with a hoarse rasp. "And what time is it?" The man's eyes darted to the right, then the left. They looked wild and bloodshot. Maybe I was wrong about him. Maybe he was just a common drunk.

No.

I knew that wasn't true. Despite their slate gray color, his eyes had a certain quality to them I struggled to define. Depth, maybe. Innocence.

He's no killer. As soon as the thought crossed my mind, I was certain of it. I let myself relax, no longer feeling endangered. He'd probably never killed a man in battle, much less a helpless female like myself.

Plus, despite the noxhttp://www.blogger.com/post-edit.g?blogID=5919914976161055379&postID=218841507576353979ious odors of garbage and sweat laying siege to my nasal passages, I did not detect even a hint of alcohol. He seemed to be analyzing me even as I studied him. The poor boy did look fairly dazed.

I was the first to speak. "Little too much to drink, eh?" I asked, despite knowing the truth. "You warrior type boys and your whiskey."

"No...I haven't been drinking. I was drugged." His voice was surprisingly steady, given the look in his eyes.