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4…Hide and seek
It was a long night indeed for the king of Asmalen. As always he had vanished, leaving his queen and his guards sitting in the throne room in waiting for his next order, all cast in darkness as the sun withered away and shadows were cast upon the kingdom. The castle had taken on a deadly silence soon after the prince’s death. Not a sole dare speak to ether king nor queen in fear of upsetting the royals with talk of the young boy, however it seemed to most that the servants were more devastated of the young boy’s death than even his own father, for at the funeral they wept and he shed not a single tear even still. The queen had sat upon her throne, Gran kneeling by her side the entire time, and their fingers linked together. Try as he might, Kirimont, the king’s personal guard, could not help but look on and sneer in disgust at the two. It was the creaking of the hinges on the large wooden door before the front of the room that drew all’s attention. Every head turned their gaze to the dim figure walking in through the door, listened to the echoing of steps on stone and watched as their king walked into the flickering light of the licking flames. “Where are my trackers!?” his raspy voice booms out. It was said among the servants and guards in the castle you could not tell the king’s age by his voice for it always seemed to hold so much energy, so much power. The three men jumped at the sound of their king’s voice, all turning, for all knelt before their queen only moments ago and instead bowing low to their king, but as always he waved them up with his over decorated hand as he walked over. All took notice to the parchment in his hands, for he had been carrying around the letter found in the princes’ room even since it was given to him. They followed their king as he pushed past them, taking his seat by his queen, but not so much as glancing in her direction. Kirimont glanced over however, taking notice that Gran no longer held their queens hand and in fact he had vanished from sight before the king had even taken his seat. The knight always seemed to flee in the king’s presence. It made him wonder if Gran was as fearless of the king as all assumed. “I want him found!” ordered the king, bringing Kirimont’s gaze back to his king, at first thinking the fearful man to be talking about Gran before remembering the man’s quest to find his deceased son. He took notice of something odd however. His king seemed more…demanding, if it was at all possible. His hands clutched the arms of his chair tighter and the paper crumbled in his fist appearing as nothing more than trash with all the folded creases and rocky looking surface. If anything Kirimont would have depicted his king at the moment as desperate for proof his son was alive. “Make it known to the kingdom my son is living!” He shouted and all three trackers seemed to look to one another before a single brave sole looked up to the king, looking straight in his cold eyes and said, “But my king, we have no proof that he is living…” However the king didn’t seem to take this comment well for he rose from his chair with enough energy that if it was not bolted to the ground or as heavy as gold, would have jumped up with him. ”Your proof is in my words!” he snapped, his voice seeming to vibrate the entire room. “Is that clear!?” All seemed to have been taken aback by his unusual energy. The only other time he put so much anger into something was back when he was young, back when the king of thieves was far more than a simple problem. “How will you have us let them know my lord?” Asked the very same brave tracker, his head bowed low as he slowly backed away, back to the group. As if he feared what may happen to him if he were to stay so close to their enraged king. “A flyer of course!” the powerful man shouted, throwing his arms up in the air, the thick robes on his arms flying up with them and the paper crackling in-between his fingers. “Make one! I don’t care what you say! Just make sure the village knows those greedy thieves kidnapped my son! Do whatever it takes to get those disgusting nothings to look for their prince!” With his words they rushed like cockroaches in light to the door, all making plans in their heads as they walked from the kings presence, feeling the heavy weights taken off of their shoulder when no longer in their king’s cold gaze. It was early morning when they set out. The sun starting to light the sky in a pale, dry blue, shads of gold and pink as it crept over the mountains encasing their kingdom. The hooves to their horses as they galloped through the village on the coble stone path stirred peasants from their slumber. Curious eyes peeked from doorways and windows as the kings men passed by on such an early morning, making their way down allies and winding passages. Despite all the places they could have gone, the villagers seemed to know to witch building they were headed. For when they dismounted their horses, a tightly rolled letter in the leader’s hand, a frail old man with a long white beard, hunched over on his cane, wobbled towards the men. “What…is it I can help…you with?” He asked, each pause in his speech being deep gasps of breath, as if starving for air. It seemed as though he was warned for they hadn’t even dismounted their horses before he walked out to greet them such a warm morning made brisk from the breeze from the mountains. The leader, a tall, burly looking man with wide shoulders and a flat nose, extended his hand to the old man, the one holding the rolled up parchment and said in a voice that hardly lived up to his robust appearance, “We come with a message from the king. You are ordered to announce this first and foremost this morning and to be sure the entire kingdom of Asmalen hears, and follows, their king’s orders.” The old man nodded as he slowly reached out with the hand not holding him up on the cane. His eyes seemed puzzled however, or rather more worried as the men started to leave and he turned in a wide “U” before hobbling back into his shack to ready for the day. It wasn’t as if the guard had chosen any man or women in the village to entrust with such a message as this. In fact they couldn’t, seeing as the guild could be any one, anywhere. This old man was different. He had worked for the king for many years and the village announcer. He organized celebrations and festivals in the town. He took care of weddings and even announcing the prince’s birth when it was time. Surly he could be trusted with this message as well. They mounted their horses again, the golden thread of the wing on their tunic visible as day to the peasants that cleared out of the way for their moving horses. An order from the kind, it was what they all were thinking as the old man retreated into his room to change from his night gown. The trackers had left, only the distant beating of hooves to single they hadn’t vanished into thin air, however the second the old man wobbled on his cane out the door, the letter tightly grasped in one hand, the sound of even their horses faded. With a scowl the old man dare not wear when he was in trackers or the king’s guard, he waved the people blocking his path away, threatening a few with his cane as he passed and despite his voice being meek and quiet he was heard well for all were to eager to know what was on the letter to speak. “You there young man!” he yelled as loud as his strained voice would allow. He jabbed a wrinkled, shaky finger to a strongly built boy before him, obviously well made for hard work. The old man thought he would be giving him a day off by choosing him, of all the people flocking to his small shabby home, to help get his frail body to the center of town. The young man looked around, to his left and to his right, wondering if it was really him who was summoned. With a sigh the small old man wrapped a clammy hand, covered in wrinkles and brown spots, around the young man’s wrist, giving a tug that could hardly be considered a shake. “You come with me I need help getting to the town center and ringing the bell.” The boy looked back to where his father stood behind him, waiting until the tall, tanned man nodded his head before he looked back to the elderly and made the same silent yes. It seemed as though the old man wouldn’t have taken no for an answer for he was already starting the long walk to town.
There was a tower near the stage in Asmalen’s center. It was placed right behind the stage for executions and less commonly announcements and festival celebrations. The young man helped the elderly man up the few steps to the large wooden stage before jumping down, running to the ladder to ring the bell as the old man started unrolling the paper, bringing it so close that his long nose would poke through if brought any closer. The bell was struck, a thunderous clang of mettle ringing through the village allies and main roads, rattling houses and people from their sleep. The people of Asmalen knew what it meant. Though until all gathered, some still in night robes, young men only half dressed and women with not even their hair tied back, they had all expected another execution, though unless this old man with this young boy were executing themselves, it seemed highly unlikely. For a long while the old man said nothing. He peered at the paper, pushing it far from his face with squinting eyes before bringing it close again. The people of Asmalen waited, watching as he leaned over and mumbled to the boy, hardly audible over the buzz of the crowed. Soon the young man took the paper from the old man. His brow furrowed as he read it over, as if trying to make out the contents of the letter. They watched his tanned complexion turn a ghastly white as his eyes widened and slowly handed over the paper to the older man with a nod of his head and that wrinkled face seemed to mirror his expression. Turning to the villagers he cleared his throat, holding the letter up high, covering his face and his voice was as loud as ever in the silence of the crowd. “A letter from your king!” he called out and not a sound was made, all eager to see what made the young male on stage look so white. “You prince is alive.” Were the first words he spoke, words that hung in the air for some time, the very thought registering in people’s minds. Some turning as white as the boy and old man, other’s gasping, putting hands to their mouths. Others tried to look unshaken, but still the tension was high in the air. “Akistu has been stolen from you by the guild. They tried to make me believe your dear future ruler had died, but I know now he is among the living and is being brainwashed into hating his kingdom!” The old man paused again. No one could see his face, but the young man on stage leaned over, looking to the paper slowly he broke into a grin, jumping down from the stage to retreat to his home for his family trusted him to bring back the message. “There will be a reward, for his safe return, of anything you wish from the royal treasury, and a place in the castle. You’re King.” The crowed was loud with astonishment. The once silent morning was now streaming with looks of want and greed for such a prize. All wanted the gold, all wanted a home inside the castle walls, to dine with their king, no matter how hated he was. They wanted to taste royal food and walk with their queen, to not have to worry about taxes or even food and cloths. Many people started home to relay the news to their family. Most likely all were going on a hunt for their missing prince. Even if they had not an idea as to what he looked like. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~,~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Akistu had missed the announcement for when he heard the clapping of hooves on the cobble stone outside the inn where the horses passed he only feared the worst. The trackers had been out in the village lately. Yesterday he saw one at the temple in the mountains. Now he witnessed them traveling the roads with a new destination, and only Akistu knew it meant the king was up to something for the trackers were only permitted to show themselves when given a mission. Other then that the men stayed living within the castle walls as prisoner as Akistu once was. Akistu, now known as Eden to the peasants, sat by the window that entire morning. There was a cool breeze that drifted through his room. The sent of snow from the tops of the mountains lingering in the air. The former prince stood there with an almost board expression, watching the inn’s messenger tune back with what the announcement had been that morning. The trackers had already passed, going back to the castle and thought Akistu hadn’t seen them, he heard the heavy hooves of their great strong steeds as they passed in the allies ahead. Slowly he pushed away from the window with a sigh, turning his attention to the bed, unmade, covers tossed about even hanging half on the floor. He had to go down eventually. So far it had been three days he was staying in the village and he was getting along well, or so he believed, with the peasants. In fact by this time he considered himself one with his new name, new cloths and even living here in the inn rather then a luxurious place such as the palace. Timidly he walked to the door, floor boards creaking under his feet. Akistu remembered some of the stories him mother had told him as he crept to the door. About the thieves and how they were able to enter through doors with rusted hinges and not make them scream with their entrance. They could walk across rotting floors and not make them sing under their weight. It was tales and stories such as these that made Akitsu want to be apart of the guild. When he was a kid in the castle he was try and open doors without making a sound. He would even wonder down to the servant’s quarters or the royal barn to try and creep across the wood. However he found the more quiet he tried to be, the more sound the boards made. There was a trick to it, one he had found out after many tried of sneaking about the castle. Stay on your toes was the number one rule and move swiftly was the next. The less time and weight you put on each board, the less noise you would make. He pressed his ear to the door and feeling foolish for doing so since it was most likely that this late in the morning all the rooms would be empty. The overheated upstairs halls void of life since during the day the heat was so thick in the windowless passageway air was nearly impossible to grasp. His hand rested on the brass handle as he listened, not even hearing the distant hum of the usual crowd downstairs in their quiet breakfast. He opened the door, other hand feeling around in the pockets of his peasant pants for the key to his room. It was his second day wearing these cloths. In the castle it was unheard of. Even the maids and guards washed their cloths once a day. They at least had a spare pair, but in truth it was always a hassle to be changed. After all Akistu didn’t even get to do it himself. Dressers would come in and help him into his fitted pants and shirts. Every once in a while someone with a long strip of paper would come in a measure his height waist, even shoulders and chest. As it turned out they were making him his robes of silt. All similar to the one’s his father wore. As it turned out Azuki was coming of age. By fourteen, two years away, he would change around his lessons. He would go out hunting the few times his father had. He would learn the proper way to handle a sword, and a real one at that, rather then sword play with wooden stick. He would be invited more frequently into the war room. Would have to participate in the changes of the kingdom, who to trade with, what crops to grow where and all kinds of boring useless stuff such as that. Just as he had thought the hall was empty though at least he wasn’t hit with a blast of muggy hot air as he was when waking up at noon. He stepped out, stretching high into the air. Everything seemed normal and yet Akistu couldn’t shake the feeling the message this morning put an active buzz in the air. No noise. That’s the only thing Akistu picked up on as he slowly walked down the stairs. Just the creaking of the wooden steps was heard as he descended down. Someone cleared their throat when he reached the base floor, and a few eyes glanced up in his direction before quickly lowering to their bread and cheese. His eyes shifted from person to person as young Akistu wondered through the center of the room, with every step wanting to turn around and run however it felt like he was being watched from all ends. It felt like he was being hunted and they were just waiting for him to run so they could pounce. The innkeeper wasn’t there to greet him ether as he reached the table where the food was placed. Some other men sat up from their chairs. He could hear their heavy foot steps coming up behind them and felt his shoulders tense. His grassy eyes clamped tightly shut as one reached forward and only opened to see the other’s large hand wrap around a large slice of bread. The other man that came up behind him grabbed some cheese and he watched them as they took their seat once more. Stop it! He thought to himself as he rushed to snatch up a few slices of brown bread and a handful of cheese. His feet moved quickly on the ground as he retreated to the back of the inn. Back where he saw the hooded figure sitting before however too much was to worry about now to remember a figure he once thought was in his dreams. Those men seemed to watch him as he stuffed the cheese through his thick lips, nibbled on the ends of his bread, and he watched back, foot tapping on the floor nervously. It wasn’t only them. Everyone seemed to be watching him eat as if waiting for him to run. He was trapped and as this realization came to him he started to dread the fact of what it was the trackers were doing in town. They were looking for him. It was a tall man, well built, most likely worked on a few farm within his life, who seemed to tier of this silent game of catch the mouse. He stood from the stool in which he sat and whipped his hands on the sides of his dusty looking pants as he approached the Akistu. “Eden right?” he questioned and the former prince nodded, happy he had remembered his false name for if he hadn’t he might have been stupid enough to admit to his real name, a name that was now hunted, seemingly by all. The man laughed, though it sounded more like he was choking on a chicken bone. “Now I have a thought.” He started, leaning over towards Akistu, hands planted firmly on the table. He acted as if what he had to say to the boy was a secret and yet he spoke loud enough for all to hear, “and.” He continued, “I guarantee just about every man, and woman in here will me thinkin’ the same thought.” At this he pushed away, spinning around fast enough to rattle to table. Akitsu was already starting to stand, watching as the inn keeper walked in from the kitchen to observe the sudden ruckus of such a silent morning. Someone else was there too, watching from the stairs. Someone Akistu expected to appear in the night, in dreams perhaps, but not in the light of morning. The black robed figure. Only the former prince caught but a glimpse before it ran was gone from his site to the shadows near the stairwell. “No one here even knows ya boy!” The man laughed, drawing Akistu’s attention once more to the rest of the inn, the other people slowly nodding their heads in agreement. “You showed up here at this inn the very night young Akistu, the prince, vanished from his bed. Now tell me!” He turned around to face him again, Akistu already standing from his chair, ready to run or at least make it appear as if he was getting more food. As he tried to push past the other however a hairy arm blocked his way, pushing against his chest and despite his emotionless face he knew his true fear would be known with his quickly beating heart. “Why is it that there will be a new face in town the very same night the prince had vanished, unless you were that little prince with a nice reward on yer head?” The people were nodding, agreeing with this man that was absolutely right in his assumption. There were plenty of gaps in young Akistu’s plans. The letter he had left behind for his fake death was only one of the many. I should have stayed clear of people. He thought. It would have been best to keep from the eyes of the people until everything was blown over, but during the stormy night his mind didn’t seem all that focused. “I assure you.” Akistu started, pushing forward again and ducking his small body under the hairy arm that blocked his way. He didn’t make to the door however. That would only raise alarm. People will only assume him to be the prince. All he could do was slowly make his way to the table where the cheeses and bread was being served. He only continued when he snatched up the last of the bread and a block of cheese. “That there is more then one face in this village that you do not know. Or could have seen the very same night prince Akistu was taken away.” He was more the relieved to see a few people nodding on what he said as well. In fact it made the former prince think he might be able to make it out of such a complicated tangle of events. The man that approached him before didn’t seem convinced however. Azuki’s nerves seemed to shatter when the large man’s fist slammed hard into the table he just left. He jumped, dropping the cheese and bread before whirling around just in time for the man to wrap a firm hand around his shoulder. “Listen, Prince!” He spat the word in his face and the boy’s eyes had grown wide when hearing other chairs creek, hearing footsteps approach them. He was afraid to look over, but from the corner of his gaze saw the swinging of a rope. “You come willingly and get me that reward or I take you by force!” He was shouting, the innkeeper starting to push through the crowd of people that was gathering, all watching as if it was an acted out story. “I am not the prince!” He shouted back, but regretted it dearly for the accent only heard within the castle with heavy on his tongue when he spat the words back. It made a wide grin appear on that man’s face and he whistled as if calling a horse. He felt his arm jerked back, the feel of jagged rope dig into one wrist, it’s bristles sticking into his skin as if silvers of wood. “Let me go!” he shouted louder, but the men laughed, pulling back his other arm as the much smaller boy tried to struggle free. “I am not the prince!” He tried again, but knew they wouldn’t listen. It was just wasted breath, just letting the rest hear his royal accent. The rough ropes dug into his wrist, his arms pulled back so tightly his shoulders ached with strain. They were actually smiling as they tied him down. Only the reward on their minds as the men around him tied the knots on the rope tightly, making his the tips of his finger tingle with coming numbness. “Hey let him go!” shouted a voice out into the crowed. Heads turned, people mumbled to the closets person besides them as all eyes fell to the women standing atop the stage. Frizzy brown hair in a messy bun behind her head, bushy brows furrowed so much it appeared as if they would touch. Akistu looked to the innkeeper as she silenced the crowed, watched her as she stepped down and walked right over to him. There was a hard tug on the ropes around his wrist. The rough bristles scratching his skin, attaching to him as if hooking in place to his wrist. “Release him!” She shouted and sure enough the man dropped the rope. It was reluctant however. In fact he managed to give Akistu a light shove with just enough to topple the prince off balance and send him spilling onto the hard wood floors. She was kneeling by his side before he could manage even to his knees and untying the rope. Akistu had seen prisoners treated this way many times in the castle. He had seen bounties taken in to the palace with their hands tied behind their back, being kicked to the ground as they walked to slow and their captors pulled back on their ropes, making them fall painfully to their backs when walking to fast. He had only watched when passing windows or during the small chance where he managed to sneak down into the dungeons below and yet only now he knew what it felt like to be treated in such a way. Angry, degraded, however it might only have been his royal blood controlling him. He felt as if he had been turned from a human to a conmen animal ready to be served on a silver platter for his father’s next meal. Almost instantly he felt the blood rushing to his hands when the rope was dropped to the floor beside him with a thud. It was indeed a wondrous feeling and he had only been in them for a few minutes. Unlike the prisoners who spent days maybe weeks or months in them before their ropes were exchanged for dirty, cold chains. As he sat up he rubbed his wrist, eyes darting to all around him like a frightened cat. But not fear glistened in his grassy eyes, but blazing anger. He wanted to sink a fist into the nearest person. Just like how Gran showed him when they weren’t fighting with swords. Even if it was considered un-honorable, dirty fighting, he was told that if his sword was out of reach learn to fight with bare hands. “Why are we lettin’ you save him!?” shouted a man not far off in the crowed. He had a scowl on his face, most likely thinking his lovely reward was being taken from under his nose. There were shouts of agreement and as the common men, now becoming bounty hunters, moved in the inn keeper pulled Akistu up and placed him behind her as they backed to the kitchen. “There will be no huntin’ in my inn!” She shouted, with enough rage to make a few step back. Akistu found it odd that this woman was so protective over him. He had always thought, or so he was told by the guards and even his own father, that peasants care for no one else but themselves. “If you put out a scrap of meat to the lot of them they will fight to the death, kill their own kin, just to get it. Those were his father’s exact words and yet as things were now he thought him both right, and wrong. Now The innkeeper stood before him and a group of men, obviously seeking riches beyond their reach, and trying to save him from being tied up like the hunt of the day and carted back to the palace. “Look here lady!” The first called out with hairy arms and a scraggly brown beard hanging to his chin like a birds nest. “Hand over the prince so we can git our prize.” He thought she would hand him over when her hand reached back, grasping his wrist tightly, and yet still she ushered him back to the kitchen. She shook her head and as two of the younger men in the group pulled out hunting knives he thought he was done fore. She whistled, her head nodding over towards the doorway where a small man with bronzed hair leaned against the wall. A few beside him looked over when he stood up straight, and all seemed to jump as if they hadn’t realized he was there. He also had a hunting knife in his belt, though of much better quality, and if Akistu’s mind was more focused on the quality of the knife rather then the fact that three sharp knives were pointed at him he would have recognized it as his father’s hunting knife. The silent man nodded to another corner of the inn where other men started walking from the crowd, all wielding weapons and the more Akistu saw, the more he came to realize that this place was hard to find for a reason if so many people wielded a weapon. His father would have their heads if he knew of this place, and it made Akistu only feel more threatened and uneasy to know he had been sleeping here for a good two nights now. “Now git!” The innkeeper hissed to the men as the one’s she summoned started walking to her aid, slowly filling in the gap between her and the armed men. “Hand over the prince you greedy witch and then I will git!” He shouted back, obviously not the right thing to say for the silent male with bronze hair and almost frightening dark eyes lunged forward. Azuki had almost run forward to stop him; however before he could do anything the room broke into chaos. The others with weapons ran forward to aid their fallen friend as he stumbled back, a bloody hole in his battle arm and a good deal of dark blood dripping to the floor. His arm hung limp by his side, his dagger falling to the floor for his arm was dead. It didn’t take long for another to pick it up and join in the brawl. At this rate Akistu feared the trackers would come. There was a rough push back as the innkeeper pushed on his chest, and before he could run out again the old women that filled the buckets with cold water his first night here grabbed his wrist and started pulling him to the back door, or rather the hole in the wall with a sheet to cover it. “Get goin’ get out of here before them men come after ya again.” she scowled and Akistu was surprised that for an old women she had a grip of iron, for it felt like he was shackled and chained for he couldn’t be free of her wrinkled hand. The ally he was pushed into became all to familiar, and he knew what to do from there. He looked back once before the cloth fluttered closed, seeing the innkeeper run into the kitchen and over to the old lady with a hunched back and powerful steps. She nodded to the door, but when the women looked up Akistu was already bolting fast as he could down the winding allies. He had to get away. Most likely the men thought before hand, and the trackers were on their way to the inn. .:~*~:. The hooded figure was hardly noticed when slipping through the door in the stairs. The hall was as long and dark as ever and yet the figures feet seemed to know where to land, where each step was, where the steep climb down turned to a flat narrow passage. As the figure ran down the passage, the crack of light bellow the near door nearing at the end of the passage the sounds of fighting were heard far above in the inn. All heads turned on the other side of the door, where the room was flooded in the flickering lights of torches, as the door slammed open, silencing the laughter and play fighting of the crowd bellow as the dark figure walked quickly to the front to stand before the bar, atop the wooden stage. The black robe was torn from her figure, grey eyes staring with urgency out into the crowd as she shouted out, “Vick, Neon, John! The trackers are on their way! Some nimrods took it upon themselves to try and capture the prince! Assist Mikan and find that boy before the royal guards gets their greedy hands on him! Move now!” her words were finale, and without hesitations the names called out stood and ran single file to the door. They wouldn’t come up through the inn however. There were other passages. Ones that lead outside their little hide away and that is where Mikan waited, having escaped the tumult in the inn, however in the distance he could see the royal guards on their way down the ally. .:~*~:.
The innkeeper had just managed to sink through the crowd, past the flying chairs, the men with knives and daggers. She just stepped out for some air for it was impossible to grasp in the riot, but anything was better then the sight she laid witness too. Four guards walking towards her un-orderly inn. All stern, emotionless, as they marched towards, possibly, one of the greatest break through the castle will ever have. She couldn’t help but groan under her breath loudly to the skies, asking the god why? Why were the trackers coming, why the prince chose her inn of all places to hide out in!? The poor boy had no idea it was possible the worst place for him to have ever chosen. She whirled around, the white dress she wore for the hot day twirling about her ankles as she lunged back through the doorway, hands holding the sides of the wall as she took in a deep breath and called out to the riot as loudly as she could, “Everyone weapons away! Hide the wounded put something over this blood! The guards are on their way here now, move it!” The inn was filled with a new kind of commotion now. Daggers and knives were all quickly stowed away in belt lopes and under shirts. Chairs were restored to their upright possession and the entire inn seemed to be rearranged as dirty woven rugs were pulled over blood stains on the ground and the wounded and dead pulled to the back where carted up to the rooms where the guards would be unable to look. She slammed the door closed, despite the armored men being close enough with their silver plated chests, and long swords dangling on their belts, clicking against the large knee high metal boots. They were as equal to a sign of death in this part of Asmalen and as welcome as a reaper to a celebration. Her back was against the door when there was a pound on the other end, the guard’s fist rattling the door. People worked harder, faster when there was another and a muffled voice from the other end called out, “By order of the king open this door!” There was nothing else she could do. People started running over each other like blind mice to a table as her hand rested on a handle. They started gather the bread and cheese on the floor, trying their best to remove any dust or dirt from it as she slowly turned to creek open the large wooden door. By the time it was swung completely open the entire inn was as silent as it was during the early morning. The peasants ate silently. A few even willing enough to nibble on blocks of cheese that had been on the ground or even tear chunks off the dusty bread. “I am sorry.” She started, standing in the way of the guards and her inn. They looked over her shoulders however, glancing around and the recently brawling men sitting at tables and eating their breakfast. They were even smart enough not to make eye contact. Of course besides the ones who had called them there. “We are completely full this morning. I am honored that our royal guard would think to come to such an inn; however there is not a single room.” She spoke as the man that started all this stood, petting as his wiry beard as he walked over to the door. She only wished he would sit back down. The poor man was in enough trouble as it was. “Don’t flatter yourself!” snarled one of the two guards at her door, looking over the dirt stained white dress, how short it was, how it showed off her feet so dirty they seemed to be stained brown. “We are responding to a message stating the prince was staying at this inn.” “Aye he is.” Responded the burly man, now standing behind the innkeeper who grinded her teeth to stop from giving him away to the guards right then and there. She was sure Nira would take care of him soon enough, and his little friends. “Ran out back not but a little while ago.” he continued, one large finger pointing to the back kitchen doors. The innkeeper was pushed aside, the metal boots to the two guards stomping on her wooden floor as they let themselves, the large man leading them back to her kitchen. “Can you describe the boy for us?” One asked as the other peered in through the kitchen’s open door, staring at the cold women washing dishes who only scowled back at him, and too the cooks and maids that silently did their work with a stiff feeling in the air. All knew why the guards were here. It was never safe to have them here especially when all knew the wear bouts of the one they were hunting. “Of course.” answered the man quickly. “He was a little fellow. Maybe ‘bout yay high.” His hand came up a little ways above his hips, looking up to the guards as they nodded their heads. “He had dusty looking hair, a very odd color indeed. Perhaps like clay or maybe more of a lighter brown and these very bright green eyes. Very pale fellow too.” He nodded his head as he spoke to the guards, as if confirming everything in his mind as he spoke aloud to him. The guards nodded too, stepping into the kitchen where all eyes followed them to the flap of cloth in the back ally where it smelt of fish and urine from the previous long night of food and drunks being kicked from their inn. “Sounds like the brat.” One guard mumbled to the other as he pulled back the flap of cloth to peer and cringe his nose at the smell of the ally. “Hey!” Came a women’s voice from the kitchen’s doors and lazily turned their heads to see the very women who closed the door in their faces stomping towards them. “I am sorry.” She started, but her voice was anything but apologetic. She sounded annoyed, trembling with anger as she tried to lead them away. “Royal guards or not I can’t allow you into my kitchen. I ask you to leave…right now.” Her small, rough and blistered hand coiled around the wrist of one’s of the guards, but both looked completely disgusted and outraged that a mere peasant dare to order around a royal guard, men that were aloud to travel the roads and mountains of Asmalen with weapons. Those that were aloud to kill and aloud to bring to the king those they thought should be punished. She was shoved back, falling into the counter behind where dinner was always prepared. “Keep your hands off me scum!” He shouted, but was not done there. His blade was drawn and those in the kitchen let out gasps of horror as the tip rested against her throat. “If you dare order me again I will take your head to the king.” She fell silent, back pressing firmly into the edge of the counter as the tip of the blade tickled her throat. “I simply asked you ta leave my kitchen.” She scoffed, despite death being only a thin layer of dead skin away. The look in the guard’s eyes was venomous at her words. The corner of his lips twitched as well as the fingers that grasped tightly the hilt of the sword. “He will get away if we don’t move!” mentioned the other guard quickly. Anticipating the women’s death before his partner could make a painful hole in the center of her long neck. The silver lowered, his eyes forcing themselves from the woman with a death wish before him. “Yes.” He growled, heading for the kitchen door, boots stomping heavily on the wood as he walked again out into the dinning area. “let’s move quickly!” the guard called back, sheathing his sword, fastening it tightly to his belt as the other followed after. The entire inn was a sickening silence, the only sound being the clink of metal boots, the drumming of them on the wood as they made their way across the rearranged inn. The innkeeper followed them out from the kitchen, a shaky hand reaching up to gently rub where the tip of the blade had been, watching as they left and what came next was anything but what she had wanted.
All the allies were the same. All were narrow, all dark and damp despite the dry air that encased the kingdom. They all twisted in the oddest of ways and every last one seemed to be a dead end. In his short time wondering these very same passages he had done his best to memorize as many routs as possible to the main road, however he had never left the inn through the back entrance. When he was pushed out into the ally the former prince had went left, thinking this would lead him to the road in which he had first stumbled upon the very first night he roamed through the village completely blind. He expected to be on the very road that he traveled yesterday to get him to the main road, and close to the temple for the mountains seemed as good a place as any to free himself from the guards, and that story was still trapped within his young mind. He couldn’t help but want to try a daring escape as the king of thieves had. Every time he turned down one ally it split into three more, and no matter what way he ran he always seemed to end up at a dead end. It was sheer relief when seeing the sign for the inn swinging by the front door, though his eyes nearly popped out of his head when two guards walked out from his temporary home. They made eye contact, not one seeming to react at first to the shock. Akistu’s feet seemed glued to the floor and yet his legs ached with the need to move, his mind shouting to him to run, go fast in the nearest direction, shrink away until he failed to even exist! Finally his feet were pried from the dirt road, and as he turned, heart beating fast, not from effort, but fear, the guards yelled out for all to hear before they gave chase, “The prince! I found the prince!” Adrenalin seemed to be pumped like poison through his veins with each heavy beat of his starving heart. He could hear the thud of their boots close behind, the clink of metal as their swords tapped their legs and there large boots flexed and bent to fit the fast motions of their legs. He strained to go faster, tried to stomp his feet down hard on the dirt that moved out from under him. His legs itched to go faster and it was only painful when they didn’t. In fact the faster he tried to go the slower he felt to be running. He looked over his shoulder, the guards nearing for with ever small, fast step he took, their long legs took them further and with much less effort. His eyes darted forward again, knowing very well he couldn’t outrun them on a straight away like this long ally. Back in the castle he was always caught when trying to escape down the long halls, up and down the narrow stair wells, even in the court yard. That isn’t to say he was slow. Akistu was indeed very fast for his young age, and with a substantial amount of energy as well. However he could only get so far from groan men that were trained to run, trained to battle and he was only trained in war tactics and weather. Especially trading and the history and alliances of their land, so he knew there was no hope in his escaping by running straight down the allies. He looked ahead, mind racing through with hundreds of different planes, comparing the next to the previous as the end of the ally drew near, his time almost gone. Two different allies lay ahead. One lead further to the right before backtracking to the inn and the other lead to a dead end, however it was not stone that blocked his path but a damp rotting wooden gate. His mind was made up. And quickly as he could he made a sharp turn to the left. He didn’t have to travel but five steps before the wall was before him and he dove down to the dirt, the white peasants’ shirt down dusted brown as he slide under a small home in the bottom of the gate. He wasn’t sure exactly why it was there, how long it had been there. During his time of wondering the allies however he came across it, from both sides in fact, and knew it would be of use to him, and sure enough as he rolled from the hole he head the clink of metal as the first of the two guards dropped to his knees. Akistu saw a hand shoot through the small hole, trying to grasp at a prince that was no longer there but stacking crates near a low hanging roof instead. The crates were anything but light. There were a few holding nothing at all, but the rest were full with ripe fruit from a good harvest. The pounding of a groan man’s body and the cracking of rotting wood giving way made him jump, and forced his body to move faster. He could hardly feel the weight of the large wooden boxes as the tossed it on its side, let the fresh fruit spill towards the breaking gate. He took one finale look, heart beating hard on the walls of his chest as he lifted the crate onto the other by the roof. He wanted to scream as the gate gave way and he saw the guard topple forward, squishing the fruit to jam just as he climbed atop the stacked crates. As the first recovered the other jumped over him, running for Akistu. The former prince felt fear. It was all he could feel for he had never wanted more then anything to escape so badly. He could feel the strain in his legs as he tried to make them work faster, the prickling feeling of capture being near. He pulled hard against the straw roof, pulling himself up, could hear nothing but his heavy breath his beating hear. The tips of the guard’s rough fingers brushed his ankle and he kicked, feeling them drip to the heel of his shoe. He kicked again, and again until the large hand gave way and he crawled at first, scrambling to his knees before running to the edge of the building. In his situation, as one of the guards started climbing up after him, there was only one place to go and that place was the gape between this roof and the next. He didn’t look back, or rather did not trust himself to do so and to stay balanced on the hay and narrow beams of the wood as he ran. The edge was getting nearer and he could hear the guards getting closer, the other running along the ally bellow, trying to keep his eye on the two as they neared the edge of the roof. “Prince!” The one bellow called, running ahead to stand between the two small houses. “Prince, please!” He continued, knowing the young boy way near and from years of chasing him down, for even within the castle walls he was given the duty of finding him, he knew the young prince would not hesitate to jump. “Stop this at once!” He shouted just as he saw the small body threw it’s self from the safety of the roof to fly through the air. Akitsu could hear the guard bellow but paid him no mind as he ran towards the edge, picking up as much speed as he could with his small steps. The guard’s chasing him above was silent however, and much to the former princes’ approval for just one voice to break his concentration was a risk he did not want to take. His feet needed to step right, he needed the right speed, the right lift and launch through the air. He was trying to estimate all this as he bolted to the end. It was a far reach. Longer then he had ever tried to jump before, but he couldn’t change his mind, he wouldn’t let himself change his mind. The edge was there bellow his feet, there was no where else to go but forward so he jumped. Nothing but air was below his feet for the longest time. He seemed to be walking on air, all time appeared to have stopped as he launched himself from the edge of the roof and soared through the air around him. The landing was anything but graceful. His feet touched down on the straw, it slipped out from under him and he tumbled back, nearly rolling off the edge of the roof if he hadn’t managed to grasp tightly to one of the beams. Akistu dared to look back over his shoulder as he slowly crawled up and towards the center and peak of the tall roof. Standing there on the edge was a grown man with armored boots and a plated chest with his mouth opened wide, and the one on ground level looking much the same. The moment of shock and the pause in their chase was mere seconds however for once Akistu stood the guard on the roof took a few steps back, and started to leap. As if a mouse who knows a cat is about to pounce, Akistu ran again. As quickly as he was able, but he could already feel his throat become dry, each breath become strained an painful. Air was starting to feel like swallowing handfuls of jagged glass. His legs were starting to shake as well ,and even though the former prince was fighting the fact he was going to be caught his fate of a life in a luxurious prison was attacking from all sides. He risked looking back this time as he ran along the narrow top towards the next roof, and what he was was anything reassuring for it had taken nearly all Akistu’s, or more preferably Eden’s, energy to jump the gap between roofs, but the guard that followed simply took a few steps back before leaping, and landing with far more ease then the young twelve year old could. His heard whirled around as the second edge came near and his mouth was becoming dry as sand. He dreaded the next leap for he feared he would not make it, but as before one guard followed him from above and the other running below. Even if he did have the time to climb down he would be caught before his feet even reached the coble stone pathways. He jumped again, though this time he could tell he wasn’t traveling near as fast. The wind didn’t lash at him as hard; he didn’t feel as if it was carrying him over to his next destination. Rather it felt to be pushing him down and into the guard’s arms that watched him jump. The edge was sinking and he wasn’t there yet. Panic rose in his chest as he reached out for the edge of the roof, only he wished he had braced himself instead for his chest slammed hard into the wooden cliff like drop. His arms hooked onto the top of the roof and hand grasping loosely at the hay. All at once the air seemed knocked from his chest. He took short gasps for air, but nothing filled his lungs. He felt weaker, pained from the hard hit and he nearly let go and fell into the one reaching up, waiting for the prince to fall into his arms. Akistu wouldn’t let himself however. Holding his breath he made his feet scrap along the edge of the roof, and his arms, throbbed with strain as he slowly pulled himself up and over the edge. His hands gripped on to the hay tighter. He could feel it prickling at his recently healed wounds, felt them burn and sting. Only when he was up did lay flat on his back, breathing deeply, his blistered hands, witch had just started to heal, ripped open again. His head slowly turned and seeing the younger of the two guards that had followed him taking a few steps back was a nightmare. They think it will be easy. Thought Akistu, knees shook as he rolled over again, arms hardly being able to help him up as they screamed in pain, his body ordering him to rest. I won’t make it that easy. His thoughts were encouraging, fierce, and before the guard could jump he was running again for the last roof before he would be able to drop into the main street and vanish into the swarm of people that flocked there. The give of the roof behind and the low thud was all he needed to know the guard had landed behind him. There was no denying it now. He was slower. He could hear the guard’s steps as he grew closer with each wide step. Akistu gasped for air. His lungs burned and his legs shook with exhaustion. Every breath was torment, ever movement pain. The edge of the roof was coming near and he knew he wouldn’t make it. The gape was much larger then the rest. There was no way he could. He would jump and miss and fall till he broke a leg or worse his neck. Below the guard continued yelling up pleading shouts, trying to order his prince to stop his foolishness, to stop running, not to think about running anymore. Behind him the guard grew close. Close enough for Akistu to hear his heavy breathing. Even if the young man wouldn’t admit it, Akistu knew he was getting tiered, that a mere child was giving him a hard chase. He must have been new. After all every other guard wouldn’t think Akistu so easy to catch. Akistu strained harder when he could feel the tips of the other’s fingers brush at the cloth that bellowed behind him as he ran and knew the guard was reaching as far as he could, knowing just one tug on his shirt and the prince would be caught. He slammed his feet harder into the beams of the wood, looking forward to the jump ahead, with every step growing weaker, every step getting closer to his capture. The guards hand lowered as he picked up speed and as he reached out to clasp a hand around the young boy’s shirt, all he grasped was air for the prince had jumped, the guard coming to a sudden stop as he watched the young boy soar. Akistu had never been so relieved as when every movement of his body had stopped and he had only the wind to cradle him as he fell through the air. This time around he had made it to the edge before the other guard that ran along the streets could find him, but he could hear his shouts, or was it the shouts of the other guard as the young boy didn’t land on the roof ahead, but started plummeting down towards the ally below. He didn’t care much however until it wasn’t ground he hit but the soft landing of another’s braced body and arms that wrapped around his shoulders and chest. It wasn’t a guard that held him however, at least Akistu didn’t believe him to be one. It was a small man with dark eyes and dirty looking brown hair. The one guard that watched from above called out to the other, who tried to make his way around the winding allies, as he started to lower himself from the top of the roof. Akistu kicked and thrashed as the one that caught him held tighter, the guard from the roof dropping down before them. He looked victorious, smug, thinking that their mission was complete and that they could take the credit for the capture of the prince along with the grand reward. The guard from the ground ran around the corner, one large hand holding tightly the hilt of his sword, but slowly it loosened, but not let go completely as the younger of the two had for the more experienced of the two knew to lower your guard was a stupid move when you traveled roads and allies where the guild dwelled. “Let me go!” Akistu shouted, but quickly a hand cupped over his mouth. His small legs continued to kick about, but the man holding him hardly seemed strained even as the royal guard walked near, the much older, much more cautious of the two inched closer, eyes always on the peasant’s hands, always grasping his sword. Another peasant walked out from the ally and this one wore a confident expression on his face as he drew near. Akistu watched, with wide, intense eyes, as the man moved forward, carrying with him a sent that was new to Akistu, but of so familiar for it was the very smell of the inn’s kitchen. In fact both seemed to house the smell of damp wood and this morning’s meal of cheese and freshly baked bread. “We thank you kindly.” said the youngest guard, bowing low to the peasant, but of course not so low as the peasant should have for him. “You have assisted in the re-possession and safety of your prince.” He stood up from his low bow, extending a hand to the dark haired man that walked towards him. There was something strange. Akistu noticed and it appeared that the older of the two guards had as well, for as the peasant approached the other his hands remained hidden under the baggy shirt however only Akistu could see a glisten of silver flash within his belt lope. The sticky air was making it harder to breath, or perhaps it was fear that made the humid air hard to grasp for as Akistu caught a glimpse of the blade on the peasants belt he knew exactly what it meant. He knew he was not safe at all, though he never considered himself safe restrained in anyone’s arm. He was in fact less safe then if he had let himself be caught by his father’s guard for he was now in the possession of the guild. After all who else would hold curiosity in keeping him from the guard, for it appeared that they had no intention of giving him up. It wasn’t something the guards would know however because Akistu simply drew this conclusion on how the grip of the peasant tightened when both armed men stepped into view. “Please.” The younger guard continued, not seeming to know the danger even as the young prince thrashed about, started yelling muffled sentences as the peasant neared. Akistu tried pulling the hand over his mouth away, but the man was by far much stronger then him for he had most likely spent his entire life in hard labor. “If you hand over the prince your reward will be given to you within the day’s end.” The answer to such a generous offer was replied with a smirk. One that only a man who was up to no good would wear for as he did so his hand, quick as anything the prince ever laid eyes on before, pulled hard the dagger from his belt and with his strong arm, swept it’s keen edge across the thin skin of the other’s throat. Akistu had never seen so much blood, never had he seen another killed right before his very eyes. His struggling stopped. Eyes wide with fright as he watched the young man fall to the ground, a poodle of blood soon forming around him. He didn’t die right away. It’s what Akistu noticed. He saw his watery eyes look around, as if confused of his death, of the pain and cold. There wasn’t much time to ponder on the lose of a life he hardly knew for almost the second after the first guard had fallen the second ran forward, blade already drawn and swinging at the peasant’s head who nimbly ducked under the sharp edge and snapped back up to lunge his much smaller blade at the open throat of the guard. For out of all the places weak in their armor it was at the neck and under the arms. The guard had jumped back, the prickly hair of his neck and chin grazed by the blade and Akistu’s heart seemed to beat in time to their quick steps and skillful movements. The one that restrained him did not waver in his firm grip of the prince. Nor did he seem to take notice to the prince, who remained silent for far too long, reaching back to his belt lope and slowly inching a dagger from its sheath. He was painstakingly slow in his movements and it was near impossible to stop his small hands from trembling as he reached back to the hilt of the dagger he had spied. He brushed against the rough fabric of his dirty cloths and he froze, fearful eyes shifting up to the face of his captor. He seemed intent on the fight, the swinging blades, the dodged blows, chime of swords as they collided in battle. He lowered his gaze to the tips of his fingers, as he continued towards the blade, wishing his hands would be steady as he started pulling the blade from its holder. It was much heavier then it appeared. At first the former prince held it only with the tips of his fingers as he slowly pulled it free, trying not to shift the belt lope or loosen the sheath. Only when the tip slipped from the end of its leather holder did he pick up on the weight and it started to slip from his delicate fingers before he grasped it tightly. It was weighted, he noted, the hilt of the sword the same as the blade. Gran had told him small blades such as this were used for long range. Mostly those with a good eye and excelled in aim would wield such difficult weapons. His eyes had closed and he gripped the blade tightly in his small hands for he feared at any moment the guild member would notice the lightness on his waist and see the dagger was gone. His heart jumped to his throat with every fast beat. He could hear it clearly in his own ears, tu-dum, tu-dum, tu-dum, and its stead beat went faster as he bent his arm at the elbow, holding the dagger tighter. It was could hear, over the clashing of metal, over the shouts as the guard was sliced by the small blade even over his own silent prayer to no one in particular as he brought his arm down fast and hard until he felt skin pierced under the sharp tip of the dagger and felt a heavy thud as it reached bone. The man screamed loudly, hands loosening around Akistu as he crumbled to the ground, holding the hilt of the dagger as if not knowing if he should pull it out or leave it in. As soon as the second man turned from the guard who was clutching a gash that oozed the life force of blood from his inner thigh, Akistu was running down the ally only this time he was too timorous to note where he was going, which ways lead where and most of all where all the dead ends were. The guild member with dark brown hair and eyes turned from the falling guard, leaving him to bleed to death on his own, and even walked past his comrade who pulled the deeply imbedded dagger from his leg, and started at a run after the young boy. He was still out of breath from the previous chase from the guards and still his legs throbbed with the need to rest. Yet he still ran, as fast as his screaming legs would carry him for now he ran from a far more skilled enemy then the royal guard. Now, as he looked back, clay colored hair whipping at his face, he saw the killed of the two quickly gaining speed. His mind was so muddled he couldn’t think straight. As Akistu looked forward towards the many swerving allies, the many passageways and different turns he couldn’t make sense of the maze as he normally did. The only thing on his mind was escape or be killed, not this passage leads this way and this one that way. He could focus on nothing but running, but the pain in his throbbing legs as they carried him on, so he turned towards where he assumed the main road to lead. It turned out to be his biggest mistake for he ran straight into a hard stone wall. A dead end. He spun around on the heal of his worn out boots, hoping he could correct his mistake but the man stood in the entrance to the ally, standing with a smirk on his young looking tanned face. He couldn’t have been more then twenty and yet he had the presence of a man who had fought in wars, killed many men. In all it was what Akistu saw in him for he had murdered a member of the royal guard, a man possible the same age or younger then him, without hesitation, without the blink of his dark cold eyes. There was no where to go unless the prince could sprout the winds of the eagle and soar high over the stone wall pressed to his back. He felt like turning around and clawing at the stone till he was able to climb, but even though he was but a young boy he dare not show such pitiful fear before an enemy who looked at him with victory. Stubbornness it was perhaps that made him want to face a man with obvious superior strength to him, but there was one way in which he may have been able to win. Back in the castle Gran had taught him many things both with and without swords. He had taught Akistu to stretch his body for more nimble movement, new and unique ways to wield a sword. Ways most men would consider dirty fighting for They always lost to Gran in brawls and duels. However even though the Queen’s knight could take them all on at once he was pronounced the loser for his odd way of fighting. There was something else that stuck with the young prince however, something that he thought would help. He ran forward, a move that seemed to have taken the older man by surprise for his cold eyes seemed shocked for once. If only the former prince knew exactly how rare such change in expression was from Mikan. The man braced himself as the prince drew near, watching his every move, picking up on the twitch of his muscles as he ran the, his movement as he readied to fight and it was almost amusing to assume this small kid thought he could actually survive this. The guild member reached for the prince as he ran near, but there was nothing more then surprise in his eyes again as the boy ducked under his arm and even managed to grab it tightly. He started twisting it back, small feet winding in his through his own. All it would take the other was a good tug and snap went the thieves arm and also a hard crash landing to the stone. A skilled fighter. No one would have expected that. The boy had skills and only Mikan was close enough to their leader to know she held some form of interest in the prince. He wondered if it was his natural skill. A mistake was made, for most in the guild knew this move. It was used countless times to escape and disarm the guards that stalked them. However the young boy hadn’t placed his feet right, and the trick only worked right when your opponent was close to your height. The thief felt like laughing, but he didn’t. He would never hear the end of it if his fellow thieves found out. Before the young prince could pull back on his arm, Mikan reached back, hand yanking back on the boy’s shoulder as his own foot stepped and tangled in the other’s legs. It took a sweep of his leg and a hard pull on his shoulder to send the boy tumbling back and a hard hit to the head as he slammed into the floor. Akistu could defend himself as he fell. He couldn’t even reach back to hold his head. The only thing he heard was a painful thud as his head hit the floor. Everything was black then, everything still, all sound had left and he couldn’t feel as his limp, unconscious body, was lifted up and taken away to where the guild would finally have a royal in their grasp. They finally had some leverage over the evil king of Asmalen.
Aki112 · Fri Sep 21, 2007 @ 01:27pm · 0 Comments |
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