Knights of the Atrocity (closed)

Chapter Three

His distraught, circuitous flight from the carnage at the Chancellery had been a blurred semi-controlled panic. Hardin had become one with the fluid, dark shadows of the night, traversing tertiary routes through overgrown trails and down winding, blackened, stagnant back alleys. For once his days of hunting rats had come in handy.  

Erratic, scattered thoughts matched his disjointed journey back to the keep. He could tell the City Watch what had happened, but quickly discounted that for fear of a connection to the Chancellor. No. No one in Steepleward could be trusted. Magnillion had told him to get to Wicklorne. But how? That had to be twenty miles away. And what then even if he did get there? What would he do? How would he live? He tried to slow down his quick shallow breathing. 

It took all his skill to get into his room in Keilvespar Castle without being noticed. But then again it did not surprise him that he made it unmarked. He was well schooled in the art of disappearing. Recurring pain in his life had led to avoidance. Avoidance led to isolation. Isolation led back to pain. He knew the cycle well. How many times had he wished that the fleeting empty faces that passed him by would just acknowledge his existence with a kind look or a smile? This day he thanked Uhl for their indifference. 

He sat down on his straw pallet in his closet sized room and held his hands to his face. The cramped quarters had once been a walk-through pantry in a secondary kitchen, but had been walled off during reconstruction after a fire. Magnillion had arranged for him to stay here after numerous incidents of abuse in the students' living quarters. His solitary sanctuary was now a stifling prison, walls closing in on him. He had no clue what to do. An image of Magnillion's bloodied, eyeless sockets flashed in his mind.  

He took a few deep breaths, dropped his hands from his eyes, picked up the booklets lying next to him, ran his hands across the cracked brown leather and gazed into the room's lone low burning candle.  

He was afraid to open the books, fearing that they would open some long forgotten wound or reveal some great hidden tragedy. Another deep breath. 

He flipped the first open.  

His eyes narrowed, drawing his brow down. A finger traced its way down the page.

Aelyssa Westenbrooke - Autland 

Stentsy Hillbottom - Barrybloake 

Alreg Greyseer - Peffen's Folly 

Kiranda Westbruenning - Wicklorne 

What was this? Names and places?

He didn't recognize any of the names. He recognized some of the towns, but they were scattered all over Avrenhalde. 

He reread the list and flipped page after page. Names and places and more names and places. There must have been over a hundred names. 

Why would Magnillion have given this to him? What could the names signify? Relatives? No, too many names for that. People that would help him? People to avoid? He had heard the Chancellor tell Magnillion that he couldn't leave well enough alone...what had he been into?  

He placed the book down and picked up the second book. But before he could open it, he was overcome with an awareness of being watched. It came on slowly at first, but he was somehow sure that he was the focus of somebody's attention right now. 

He had to get out of the keep.  

He hurriedly grabbed his old school satchel, threw the two books and some clothes inside. Tossed in two apples, some jerky and a few crusty rolls left over from his dinner last night. Reached under his pallet, took out a small leather pouch that held wages he'd made working at the Chancellery. It wasn't much, but he had saved almost all he earned over the past six months. He knelt, opened the half rotted chest at the foot of his bed, pushed aside the worthless trinkets and ragged old clothes, lifted up the false bottom he had fashioned and took out his dagger from his rat breaking days. 

The blade had seemed more like a short sword back then, but now felt small and light in his hand. It had saved his life the few times rats had overwhelmed his working rat terrier. He slipped it into the top of his leather boot and covered it with his breeches. 

He didn't know where he was going, but he knew he had to get out of Steepleward. 

He opened the door, looked both ways and started down the hall.