Even the secondary avenue seemed crowded with people; Kiri had never seen the like before. Despite having spent both time in the Vushaari capital and the port city of Birsha-Vushaar’s most populated city-Kiri was unprepared for the sheer hordes of people congesting the streets of Tel Mivar.
Kiri was behaving like a unlettered rube as she walked south along the avenue. The way she gawked, turning her head this way and that, one would think she’d never seen a city before.
Kiri should’ve kept her attention focused on her direction of travel. She was looking back the way she came-not watching where she was going-when she bumped into someone. She back-pedaled and turned to apologize to the person but froze, mouth opened to speak. Standing in front of her was an unwashed man with greasy brown hair, wearing worn leather armor…and he carried a handbill.
Kiri could only watch in stunned silence as the slaver lifted the handbill to read it, his eyes flicking from the parchment to Kiri and back. At last, he turned it for Kiri to see.
Wanted!
One week ago, a Vushaari slave escaped from the Kalinor manse.
She has shoulder-length, wavy hair the color of lustrous black and the Vushaari olive complexion.
The slave is to be taken alive, unharmed, and unmarked…for which Baron Kalinor will pay a sizeable reward.
For several moments, Kiri stood frozen, staring at the handbill. Word of her escape had preceded her, and her hopes of freedom dispersed like mist before a breeze. She considered surrender; yes, the Baron would find some creative way to punish her, but there wouldn’t be any lasting injury. He prided himself on owning such a slave. Kiri resolved herself long ago to the likelihood of never seeing home again, and this attempt to run was nothing but a fool’s errand at best.
It was her thoughts of home and family, more than anything else, that re-ignited the fire of rebellion. Kiri saw the slaver recognize her fire for what it was, but he was too slow. A half-step carried her close enough, and her right knee was a blacksmith’s hammer striking the anvil of the slaver’s groin.
The slaver’s eyes bulged as he croaked in a breath, and Kiri turned to run. The strings she used to drape the sack across her back went taut, the slaver clutching the sack even as he collapsed to his knees, and Kiri struggled in vain to pull herself free.
He walked through the people that crowded the street, unremarked and unnoticed. His average build, brown hair, clean-shaven face, and simple clothes ensured no one noted his passage, for he was a member of an order dating back to the Godswar that went unmentioned in every history text. He was enjoying the pleasant, sunny day, because his order’s liege had informed the local chapterhouse that a female Vushaari slave would arrive in the city today, and she was to reach whatever destination she chose undisturbed…and unaware of her protection.
A slight commotion caught his eye, and he saw the object of his search facing a very unclean man and started drifting their way. He was close enough to see the Vushaari knee the man and his collapse to his knees in response. His eyes narrowed upon seeing the man clutching the Vushaari woman’s sack.
Without missing a step, he drew a short dagger from the folds of his clothes and stepped close to the unwashed man. He clamped his left hand over the unwashed man’s mouth and nose as he stabbed the dagger into the base of his skull. The unwashed man went limp, including the hand clutching the Vushaari’s sack.
The Vushaari dashed toward a nearby alley without a backward glance, and the man gave the dagger a savage twist and jerked it free of the corpse’s skull. Lowering the corpse to the ground, the man threw the dagger into a nearby storm drain and disappeared into the crowd once more.
Kiri didn’t give it a second thought when the slaver released his hold. She pushed her way through the crowd and headed for the nearest alley as quickly as she could. Within moments, she was out of the bustling crowd of people.
Kiri lost track of how many twists and turns she had taken as she stumbled her way through the alleys of Tel Mivar. She didn’t think she had crossed any streets, but it didn’t matter all that much if she had. Kiri turned a corner to avoid what looked like a street ahead and found herself in a cul-de-sac.
Walking to the end of the short passageway, Kiri collapsed on a mostly clean section of pavement and leaned her back against the wall. She didn’t know how far the slaver was behind her, but she was winded from her flight. A few minutes’ rest wouldn’t hurt that much.
Chapter 2
Rough stone heated his cheek and torso. Then, he realized the sun heated his back, neck, and arms. It was strange. Almost as if he were waking from a deep sleep, awareness and consciousness returned at a crawling pace. He became more aware of himself and his surroundings, a throbbing ache permeating every fiber of his being. The breeze trying to cool him smelled of the sea, and coastal birds cawed in the distance.
“Well, now, I’d say you had yourself a drunk to remember, son,” a voice said. The voice was seasoned and worn.
He rolled over and blinked his eyes. The sun stabbed his head, and he raised his left arm to block it. An old man stood over him. His full head of white hair was unkempt to say the least, but ‘in wild disarray’ would also apply. The full beard-also snow white-only served to complement the hair. The old man wore gray robes, tattered and frayed around the hem at his ankles, and he leaned upon a balsa-wood staff worn with age and use. A strong feeling of grandfatherly regard belied the old man’s outlandish appearance.
“I say, boy, are you well?” The old man punctuated his question by prodding the boy. “What’s your name, anyway?”
“My name is Gavin Cross,” he croaked. His voice was scratchy and parched, and using it produced a momentary cough.
The old man smiled and turned his head as if listening to something on his right side, but he soon returned his attention to Gavin. “Yes, my boy, of course it is. Now, give me your hand; let’s get you up.”
Gavin extended his right hand, and the old man hoisted him to his feet with no apparent effort. Gavin saw now that the old man wasn’t too tall; he barely reached Gavin’s shoulders. Gavin also saw that he was standing in a seedy alleyway wearing no shirt or shoes; garbage lined one side of the alley, and something not too far away smelled rather foul.
The old man gave Gavin an appraising look before nodding, a satisfied grin curling one side of his mouth. “Yes, indeed, my boy, you will do fine…just fine.” He looked away again, squinting his eyes just a bit. “All right, son, it’s time to be on your way. You want to go that way…” He pointed behind him down the alley.
“Now, just wait a moment,” Gavin said as the old man put a hand on his back and started ushering him down the alley. “Where am I, and for that matter, who are you?”
The old man stopped and regarded Gavin as a patient parent regards a petulant child. The grin returned as he said, “Well, you’re here when you should be over there a ways, and as for who I am, think of me as an old friend who’s trying to help you on your way. But we don’t have time for this. I’ll catch up to you later maybe, and we can talk then. Now, shoo! You have somewhere you need to be.”