A light, bright and brief, flashes beyond the bars of the window. Nampurm roars a hearty and playful, yet ominous, sound in the night shortly after. The stars are gone, covered by the full and rotund clouds. The Novhina blinds and deafens again, the violence in tandem. The soft skyward mountains, overburdened by their contents, spill out in a great exodus. A crack in the ceiling betrays the sanctity of the stone room, letting the storm trickle in. From elsewhere inside comes a manic hollering. In the dim light, figures hurry to the noise. Orders to quiet down and to get off the bars echo loud throughout.
The signal, finally.
Wetting my fingers, I extinguish the lone candle sitting in the center of my little table. Though the window in my cell sits high, my stretching frame is able to get my hands to wrap tight around the two bars. With feet pressed firmly against the rough stone wall, I keep a strong grip on the round iron. The lightning and thunder come again. As the sound rolls across the city, I pull with all my might. They begin to loosen and wiggle in their place. The thunder quiets, as do I. The clamor at the other cell intensifies, the prisoner screaming louder amidst the barking orders. I could pull on the bars more, but I cannot risk a guard waiting at his post nearby to overhear my activities. The storm rattles again, though, and I tug. Freer now but still attached, the bars snicker at my attempts. Fools. The tremendous sound comes once more, and my muscles strain against the will of the metal.
Gravity has its way with me and sends me back to the floor. My flesh thuds against the stone, sending a sting throughout my body. Despite the brief shock of pain, I sport a brimming smile. Clutched in each hand is a round iron tube. Back to my feet, I set the bars on the cot in the corner of the room. I climb back up to the window; it’s a tight fit, but my frame is able to squeeze through. Out into the pouring rain, my ragged trousers get drenched almost immediately. The drop to the ground isn’t far, and I land on my feet without issue. The city lights up with another flash, and I disappear into the nearest alleyway.
My hair, black as the night sky, sticks to either side of my face in the downpour. The prison tunic and pants, plain and thin and tawny, cling to my skin. Once I’m safe and dry, they’ll be tossed out and forgotten. Maybe we’ll all make a spectacle of it and set them aflame. Kym had been meaning to try out her studies of fiery magic last I had seen her. In the few weeks since then, she may have already tested her prowess. Even better, a chance to show off her progress. I’m sure it would bring a smile to that pretty face.
The streets of Hemwood are barren, save for the growing puddles. Yet, I remain cautious. At each new mouth that opens to a road or sidestreet, I poke my head around the corner of the building and check for anyone on a stroll. Indoor lights shine out through uncovered windows, showing the citizenry as they enjoy a drink at a tavern or go about their lives in their homes. The coast, it seems as I draw nearer to my own home, is clear. Easiest damn breakout I’ve ever done.
“You alright, sir?” a voice comes as I check a new road. Young, a touch curious, eager. Coming from the left of the alleyway, basked in the glow of a shop, is a Hemwood guardsman. The rain drips down the iron helmet, pooling at the brimmed edge and flowing off in little waterfalls all about. Poor kid is soaked from the blue cape down to his skivvies under the plain leather armor. Judging by the lack of even stubble, he’s a few years younger than me. A new recruit perhaps, freshly eighteen.
“Uh, yeah, I’m fine,” my answer comes after a second of hesitation. A paranoia creeps into me, though logic attempts to smother it. The alarm at the prison has not yet rung; my absence has not been noticed. This boy, then, could not know of my escape. But that insect gnawing at my brain begs to differ.
Could take him by surprise, I contemplate. Clap either side of his face to catch him off guard, take his sword from his belt, run him through if I have to. Drag him into a hidden spot in the alley. No one would be the wiser. The rumor mill might connect the escape and the murder by midday, though. Can’t have that.
“You look awful haggard,” he says over the rumble of thunder and constant cascade of rain. “Would you like me to escort you to shelter? Storm is awful rough tonight.”
Can’t hurt this kid, I reason with myself. He’s new on the job, still seems to have that sense of goodness. The other older guards ran out of mercy and kindness long ago. Hemwood could do with a nice change of decorum amongst its protectors.
“That would be lovely,” I answer with a faint grin. “Was looking for a place to dry off.”
“Follow me,” he says, pointing a thumb from the way he came. “We’ll get you to Steinn’s Stein. It’s not far.”
“Perfect,” I tell him, keeping close as we trudge through the torrent.
True to his word, we stop only a few blocks down the road. His kindness, or perhaps just his manners, show again as he holds the door open for me and allows me to enter first. My brief hesitation is met with a patron’s shout to not let the storm in. We enter quickly, the guardsman closing the door close behind him. Ale and warm meat tease the air with their aromas, the best of the scents wafting about the inn. Groups huddle together at their tables, some wet while others remain dry. Altogether, however, they talk and laugh amongst their little jovial companies. Good times being had all around, and a lute playing somewhere in the crowd to keep the mood elevated.
“Let’s get you something to eat,” the guardsman suggests. A soft hand pats my shoulder, his baby face stretching into a smile. He guides me to the counter where a lovely young lady fills tankards with gorgeous amber liquid. Her rich dark skin glows in the candlelight. Her long black hair hangs in tight curls around her face. Her eyes, a brown so deep they almost appear obsidian, catch me as I approach. A smile, graced with beauty, familiarity, and sincerity, greets me as I take up residence on a stool.
I need to ditch the guardsman. Kym will think I’m up to something if he sticks around too long.
“Someone get a little caught up in the drizzle?” she asks, her sharp teasing tongue playing behind dazzling perfect teeth.
“Only a little,” I smirk to her.
“Do you have any coin this time or am I tossing you out again?” she asks, playfulness lighting her eyes.
“I’ll pay for him” the guardsman interjects, ending the game. To be fair, he had no idea we were playing. As far as he knows, I truly am a lowly beggar and not an escaped criminal. There is no need to inform the young man of the truth.
“You are too kind, friend,” I say to him. “Sit and share a drink with me.”
“Supposed to still be on patrol,” he declines. “But thank you. Have a good night.”
His blue cape leaves a drippy trail back to the door, and in a moment he is gone. A relieved sigh escapes me as I turn back to Kym.
“Did you make a new friend?” she squeaks with fabricated excitement.
“Bastard caught me just up the street,” I explain. “Sweet bastard, I’ll give him that.”
“Take it you got out okay?” She fills a tankard with that luscious beer and sets it in front of me. Of all the things I love about Kym, the free drinks are high on the list.
“It was the definition of perfection,” I muse with a sip of the deliciousness. “I’ll have to find a way to thank Gottschalk.”
“Look no further,” she says, reaching under the counter for something. She slides a folded piece of parchment toward me. “Got this just about a week ago. Might do the trick.”
Opening the old and yellowed paper, a map unfolds before me. Crude little markings in the shape of trees covers the expanse of it, and a river runs through it. At the northernmost edge of the illustrated woods are two words: Everglow Wood. A small house hides amongst the trees, labeled Pelle’s Hut. Far to the north of it is a scribbling of a mug; no name accompanies the picture. To the east of what I assume is the brewery or tavern sits an X etched in red.
“So we’re pirates now?” I ask with a low chuckle. “Do I get a peg leg and a parrot?”
“Pirates are on the ocean, stupid, not land,” she chides while keeping her grin. “We’re adventurers now. Or, at the very least, treasure hunters.”
“And who all is included as we?”
“If you’re thinking just the two of us, think again.” Another patron, a true paying one, flags her down. She takes a brief moment to refill the tankard.
“Are you at least in on the job?” I ask when she returns, taking a mouthful of the bittersweet.
Her dark eyes go somewhere beyond me, catching the attention of someone. With a wave she beckons them, and her gaze then returns to me.
“Come upstairs,” she says, quiet. “We’ll go over the details in a more private area.”
I nod in approval, downing the rest of my drink in a deep pull. Invigorated, I set the tankard back on the bar top and rise from the stool. Kym steps out from her post and I follow.
“Grab the map,” she reminds me before I go too far. I snatch it up and follow her through the crowd.
Tyler Gohde 
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