The Shadow's Spear

16 Blind Flight

Termon finally found himself outside the gates of the manor. Just not under the circumstances he desired. Anoran and Kohal looked to him as though he should have some kind of plan. Well, he didn’t. But he never did.

He glanced down the deserted alleyways of Sigal, his old pack resting on his shoulders. It was about midnight. Tall buildings surrounded them, and a major road passed nearby. Gero had given them a little money and the name of an inn near the gate to stay the night.

“What are you waiting for?” Anoran asked.

Termon surveyed the surroundings intently.

“I suppose we won’t see Pelan again,” Kohal said.

“We will. He didn’t leave us, did he?”

Anoran objected. “He’s not going to be treated badly.”

“So Gero would have you think. They’re calling the city guard to apprehend him and force him back to the priesthood. It’s not what he would want.”

Termon led them into a nearby alley. Along a wall was a small staircase leading underground with a door at the bottom. Termon knocked off the lock with a few blows from the pommel of his sword and shoved open the door. Holding this weapon—procured by Pelan from his old temple—still felt strange. He missed his old quarterstaff (now deserted at the Tamoth residence), but their current circumstances required something more lethal.

The smells of potatoes, onions, and musk escaped the cellar. Termon told the two men of Wildgrass to hide there and run to the inn if anyone found them.

On the dark street, Termon saw the gate of the manor open less than twenty yards away. Men stood in front of it. He ducked back into the cellar in fear of being seen. “Back so soon?” Kohal teased. Termon shushed him.

He waited a few impatient minutes then peeked back out of the alley. The guards had just arrived at the mansion, and more probably watched from outside. In the dim light, shadows obscured everything beyond walls and roads.

Termon imagined what would happen: Pelan would walk up the street, summon a servant to open the gate, then they would have him. In other words, Termon had to get him before he got home.

However, if guards waited in the shadows, they might spot him even before he reached the gate. Which way would he come from? And when? Where had he been going these nights?

The hollow, echoing sound of footsteps came up the road. Termon risked a peek out of the alley and saw a hooded form. Pelan? What if it wasn’t? But what if it was?

He had no time to think. He had to warn his friend. His friend?

Termon tore his flute from his pack and played a quick scale. He hoped for the best as he ducked back into the shadowed alley.

Footsteps approached: friend or foe? The dark form rounded the corner. “I knew it,” Pelan whispered.

“A trap at the mansion. Follow me,” Termon said.

They ducked into the cellar. Termon whispered to Pelan about the plot to have him branded insane, put under house arrest, and eventually restored to the temple.

“Were your fights with your parents so severe?” Termon asked.

“No, but they care for me in a perverse way, that I become exactly like them.”

“You do sound mad,” Anoran said.

“The whole world is mad,” Pelan replied. “Mine is but a different type.”

A stocky man appeared in the doorway. “Whatcha doin’ in here?” Termon gripped his weapon at the sound of the gruff voice. “In the stores, eh?”