leading
and Owain bringing up the rear. Adrian looked to the two Legionnaires and saw
them scrutinizing every face that turned towards them. They looked about the
crowd as if expecting an attack from out of thin air, but Adrian thought it
would be near impossible to pick an assailant out in this crowd. Instead he
thought of the dream which he only now remembered in bits and pieces. What he
remembered most was the whiteness, and how it had flared at his touch. He
pondered silently on it as they walked. Ahead of him, Connor seemed lost in his
own thoughts.
A vendor, her dark hair held back by a shawl and
her small eyes peering out of a doughy face, attempted to get Hamar’s
attention. He glanced at her, and she blinked and shut her mouth and turned to
shouting at another wanderer.
Alexis laughed. “Always the gracious one, aren’t
you Hamar?”
“Shut up, boy,” Hamar said. “If you were
experienced you would find something better to do than joke and laugh.”
“I am experienced,” Alexis told the other
man firmly. “I wouldn’t have been chosen if otherwise.”
Hamar grunted. “You were chosen because of
your--”
An elderly man dressed in rich silks walking
past them suddenly collapsed to the ground, clutching the small hilt of a knife
buried in his chest.
4
“Hamar!” Owain shouted.
Hamar let go of his reigns and his hands darted
inside his coat. He turned around to look at Owain, guns already in hand, and
saw the old man lying on the ground. Immediately his eyes darted to the crowd,
but it was impossible to discern an attacker; the ones who saw the corpse drew
away, but the people farther away still looked unperturbed. The attacker could
be anywhere.
“Alexis! Take the boys away!” he shouted as he scanned
the crowd around them. Yet Alexis hesitated, gripping his own guns and watching
the crowd. “I said take them away, you fool!”
“What’s going on?” Connor asked.
Alexis at last retrieved sense enough to holster
his guns and grab each boy by the hand. “We have to go. Hurry!” He looked to
Hamar one last time. Hamar gave him a silent nod. Alexis led the boys up the
street, pushing and shoving through the throng.
The loud roar of a gunshot made Hamar turn
around towards Owain. The other Legionnaire had pulled his guns from his
blanket rolls and had them aimed towards the angled rooftop of a building a
little further down the street.
The sound of the gun was like thunder in the
clear morning. For a moment there was only silence, broken by fearful murmurs,
and then the crowd broke out in panic. They began to run like a startled flock
of sheep.
“The bastard’s on the rooftops!” Owain said. “I
don’t know how many of them there are, but there’s definitely one up there.”
“Keep him in sight,” said Hamar as he scanned
the crowd for the irregularity. There had to be more than one, sending one was
suicide. Abruptly sharp pain exploded in his side, and he fell to one knee. He
looked down and saw the small hilt of a knife sticking out from beneath his
ribs. Owain didn’t come to him, which was for the good; he was well trained,
after all. Hamar grunted as he pulled the knife out and tossed it aside. Blood
immediately soaked his shirt beneath his coat and ran down his side. He stood
up, blood-covered hands gripping steel guns.
“We’re too open here!” Owain shouted to him over
the din of the crowd. He squeezed off another shot at the rooftops closest to
them, and cursed when it missed. “He’s fast!”
“We have to fall back,” Hamar said. Owain nodded
wordlessly. They began to retreat then, with Owain keeping a watch on their
trail, and Hamar, wincing at the pain in his side with every step, keeping an
eye up ahead. The pain was a distant feeling he found; there, but bearable,
overridden by the urgency of the situation.
From behind him came the abrupt sounds of
several shots fired in a consecutive rumble. He wheeled around. Owain lay on
the ground, still
and Owain bringing up the rear. Adrian looked to the two Legionnaires and saw
them scrutinizing every face that turned towards them. They looked about the
crowd as if expecting an attack from out of thin air, but Adrian thought it
would be near impossible to pick an assailant out in this crowd. Instead he
thought of the dream which he only now remembered in bits and pieces. What he
remembered most was the whiteness, and how it had flared at his touch. He
pondered silently on it as they walked. Ahead of him, Connor seemed lost in his
own thoughts.
A vendor, her dark hair held back by a shawl and
her small eyes peering out of a doughy face, attempted to get Hamar’s
attention. He glanced at her, and she blinked and shut her mouth and turned to
shouting at another wanderer.
Alexis laughed. “Always the gracious one, aren’t
you Hamar?”
“Shut up, boy,” Hamar said. “If you were
experienced you would find something better to do than joke and laugh.”
“I am experienced,” Alexis told the other
man firmly. “I wouldn’t have been chosen if otherwise.”
Hamar grunted. “You were chosen because of
your--”
An elderly man dressed in rich silks walking
past them suddenly collapsed to the ground, clutching the small hilt of a knife
buried in his chest.
4
“Hamar!” Owain shouted.
Hamar let go of his reigns and his hands darted
inside his coat. He turned around to look at Owain, guns already in hand, and
saw the old man lying on the ground. Immediately his eyes darted to the crowd,
but it was impossible to discern an attacker; the ones who saw the corpse drew
away, but the people farther away still looked unperturbed. The attacker could
be anywhere.
“Alexis! Take the boys away!” he shouted as he scanned
the crowd around them. Yet Alexis hesitated, gripping his own guns and watching
the crowd. “I said take them away, you fool!”
“What’s going on?” Connor asked.
Alexis at last retrieved sense enough to holster
his guns and grab each boy by the hand. “We have to go. Hurry!” He looked to
Hamar one last time. Hamar gave him a silent nod. Alexis led the boys up the
street, pushing and shoving through the throng.
The loud roar of a gunshot made Hamar turn
around towards Owain. The other Legionnaire had pulled his guns from his
blanket rolls and had them aimed towards the angled rooftop of a building a
little further down the street.
The sound of the gun was like thunder in the
clear morning. For a moment there was only silence, broken by fearful murmurs,
and then the crowd broke out in panic. They began to run like a startled flock
of sheep.
“The bastard’s on the rooftops!” Owain said. “I
don’t know how many of them there are, but there’s definitely one up there.”
“Keep him in sight,” said Hamar as he scanned
the crowd for the irregularity. There had to be more than one, sending one was
suicide. Abruptly sharp pain exploded in his side, and he fell to one knee. He
looked down and saw the small hilt of a knife sticking out from beneath his
ribs. Owain didn’t come to him, which was for the good; he was well trained,
after all. Hamar grunted as he pulled the knife out and tossed it aside. Blood
immediately soaked his shirt beneath his coat and ran down his side. He stood
up, blood-covered hands gripping steel guns.
“We’re too open here!” Owain shouted to him over
the din of the crowd. He squeezed off another shot at the rooftops closest to
them, and cursed when it missed. “He’s fast!”
“We have to fall back,” Hamar said. Owain nodded
wordlessly. They began to retreat then, with Owain keeping a watch on their
trail, and Hamar, wincing at the pain in his side with every step, keeping an
eye up ahead. The pain was a distant feeling he found; there, but bearable,
overridden by the urgency of the situation.
From behind him came the abrupt sounds of
several shots fired in a consecutive rumble. He wheeled around. Owain lay on
the ground, still
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