Chapter 4 - Alley.md

Alwyn stood still. He looked above the heads of the people around him. A glut of market stalls and people he did not care for. Not the girl, no sign of Morcant, or any place that might be of help. Further still he pressed on through the people ahead. And in the midst of them, like a nervous tingling, the pulling sensation deepened. Almost unwillingly his head jerked in that direction. There was a hooded person, leaning against a tall building ahead. It could not have taken notice of him, not in the crowd, not that far away.

His eyes rested on it, and as he did so the sensation deepened further, taking on substance. He felt drawn towards it, to explore. Alwyn closed his eyes. And he was certain, even as he closed them, that he could perceive the hooded person. Not as a seen thing, no, something known. He knew where it lay, knew its shape. There was more. He needed to go further, delve a shade deeper. There was a shape. Darker and darker, with every beat of his heart, until he felt its cold and sharp pulse.

Something bumped into his side. He whirled around, hand moving to his satchel, searching for whoever had bumped into him. It was only a passerby moving along. The satchel was still secure in place. The pulling sensation, however, had vanished.

Even as he looked up, he knew. The hooded figure was no longer there. But by fortune unlooked for, his eyes caught someone else. The same braid, the same white clothes he had seen minutes before. The girl from earlier was making for a small passage between the buildings ahead, just next to where the hooded figure had stood.

Alwyn hurried along, cutting through people in front of him. He had to cross several yards before he would reach her. Bumping and pushing through many a body, he finally reached the spot where she had just stood. By then she was further gone already, disappearing into the passage just as his eyes caught up to her. He hastened after her.

Slipping into the narrow gap, he found the passage opening before him. He had gone but a few steps inside when he felt a change. Like a veil, diffusing light and sound alike, the presence of people behind him seemed to lessen. Muffled sounds were reaching him from behind, but clear still were the footsteps ahead of him. No matter, there was little time now. And as he strode onward, that same sensation came upon him again. Stronger, much stronger now. Close. Alwyn's heartbeat quickened. Even as the passage lay still, he was aware of them.

Shadows emerged from where he did not know. He halted. Among them a cold voice formed and spoke: "Who art thou?" Alwyn knew he was surrounded. The voice was embodied by a shape in front, with companions lurking behind Alwyn. That feeling called to him again, to close his eyes, to see in full what was hidden before. This time easier, quicker he pulled on them, the threads that bound them together. As he took them in, the thread from behind changed shape. And he saw it in full, the man behind the shadow, the weapon in his hand. A desire to kill.

Alwyn was no longer just taking them in. He bathed in that blinding clarity that was now his, wanting to pierce that which surrounded him, to embrace its call. And he drew, and he painted such a stroke from sheath and behind, that his blade surged, until from rib to spine, the shadow was cloven.

A rasp escaped its formless lips, as its thread grew dim. And Alwyn listened again. He felt light, and he saw all that surrounded him, clearer than day, and all their designs were revealed. And a madness had overcome him, as he revelled in its glory. The joy of death was upon him. Then Alwyn laughed, though whether the sound ever left his lips he could not tell. All that followed seemed as a dream. The shadow in front drew back, and in that thread he could feel them recoil. Their instant of fear.

So great was his delirium that he almost did not notice the shadows move again. As in a trance, his body would move before the mind could follow. Arm against arm, a slice through his sleeve, and his blood decorated the dagger that had aimed for his neck. But pain brought about clarity. Alwyn was aware again, of the girl he did not sense here, of the throng of shapes after him. Death was closing in.

His right still clutched the hilt of his sword, blade stuck in the body before his feet. From outside, dim rays of light fell upon that crumpled shape. And still, blocking that light, there was the third assailant, closing in on him.

Gathering his strength, he leapt over the remains before him. And in that leap he wrenched the sword free and hewed at the shadow that barred his escape. An ugly clang rang through the passage as the blade scraped against the wall and sprang aside. His stroke went wide.

But that sudden clarity had not yet waned. His body twisted, one leg rising high to meet the shadow in its approach. It reeled backwards. The way out lay open. Not turning back, he passed the staggering shape and made for the light between the walls. With each step his senses slowly seemed to return. Muffled noises grew clearer, light fuller. As his foot passed into the open, warmth again spread through his body. He turned his head. The alley was empty.

Steadily his mind calmed. No longer was he hidden behind walls, but out with the busy masses. Then, a loud shriek. Alwyn looked into the pale face of a woman before him. Her panicked eyes were turned towards his right. There he stood, sword drawn and bloodied, knowing not where his feet should carry him. By now heads were turning, prying eyes locked upon him. He could not afford to find out what they might do. With swift strides, he plunged into the masses, before even they could evade him. The sword was now sheathed. His injured arm was opening a path, leaving red on many a dress. And soon the masses would swallow him, with none to tell which way the bloodied stranger had fled.