Chapter 13: Chapter 10 Stalemate

Lyzander and Rook had spent the day lost in their own world, never wanting to leave each other's embrace. But as the sun began to set and their time together grew short, they knew they had to make a plan for Lyzander to escape Hazelhaven.

 

Lyzander returned inside to the accompaniment of laughter. Rook took great delight in his obvious discomfort with the neighbouring old crone’s audible catcalling. She was already dressed in her worn-out rags in a way that downplayed her age and beauty, making her invisible to the casual observer.

 

She watched him in appreciation as he slid on more appropriate clothes. Lyzander noticed her watching and gave her a cheeky dance, a booty wiggle with a shoulder shimmy. She covered her mouth and giggled at his actions as he grinned wryly in return. He chuckled softly to himself and pulled on a white shirt. 

 

“Haha, stop being silly,” Rook shook her head and softly chided his good humour.

 

He quickly buttoned it up while leaving a few at the top open to display his well-developed chest. Next, he retrieved a pair of functional boots from the floor and fell back onto the edge of his bed to tie them on. Satisfied, he got to his feet and grabbed a small canvas rucksack, dumping out its contents and replacing it with all the provisions he had left in his cupboards. Lastly, he pulled the coarse blanket from his bed and neatly folded it into a roll and latched it to the top of the rucksack. 

 

“I’m packed and ready to go. Let’s get out of here before the heat decides to raid,” Lyzander said, hefting the pack onto his shoulders. 

 

He retrieved his antique pipe from where it sat on his bedside table. Flicking open the latch, he discovered he was running low on Fae Fire. Closing it with a sigh, he tucked the pipe inside the red sash synching his shirt at his waist. Rook's eyes darted over his face to inspect for any signs of upset and couldn’t see past the smile plastered on his face that didn’t reach his eyes.

 

Lyzander pushed passed Rook to unlatch the front door, poking his face outside to investigate the dark street. He suddenly felt alerted by his instincts to dodge back out of the way. A bludgeon flew passed where his head had been a moment before. 

 

Looking up, he discovered the large corporal that he cast the spell on the night before standing with a baton in his hand. Bandages wrapped his head and he had a nasty bruise on the side of his face.

 

“I thought I saw a rat up on the balcony. Looks like I was right, there’s a pair of em,” the guardsman sneered, spitting flem on the filthy street.

 

The guard immediately retracted his hand overhead to swing the baton. Lyzander was able to perfectly anticipate that it would be aimed toward his head and adjusted himself out of the way. The bludgeon whistled past his eyes, completely missing its target. The guard cursed and began to wildly swing the baton in rage with the hopes of landing a blow.

 

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What an observer would consider erratic and unpredictable appeared to Lyzander as geometric patterns and shifting equations that predicted the trajectory of the weapon with perfect clarity. His body swayed dramatically backward to dodge a particularly savage downward blow. After missing, the bludgeon quickly changed direction into a backhanded slash.

 

This fucker is trying to kill me! If he lands even a single blow, I’m done for. This is watch brutality because we’re in the slum. Play time’s over.

 

Lyzander rotated his tightly contorted hips to twist his torso out of the way, the baton brushing over his nose. At the same time, Lyzander dropped to a knee in the muck, throwing himself forward to pick up the guardsman’s ankle as he regained his feet. He raised the larger man’s leg up and dragged him off balance, simultaneously kicking the support leg out from under him.

 

The Human guard slammed heavily into the muck-coated road in a shower of filth. Lyzander didn’t hesitate, he jumped into the air and landed on the guard’s head with both feet. There was a sickening crack and the man lay still, inhaling wheezing breaths. Lyzander crouched at his side to check the severity and wasn’t happy with what he discovered.

 

If he lives, it will cost a fortune for a healer to allow him to ever walk again. Sorry, first-mother but father is likely going to have to foot the bill...

 

With a grim expression, Lyzander stood upright and grabbed Rook by the arm to pull her away. She stared at the motionless guard in slack-jawed bewilderment, unable to take her eyes away. Lyzander suppressed his racing heartbeat and led Rook off the street before turning to face her.

 

“Rook, you said you would help me escape Hazelhaven. Where are we going?” Lyzander gripped her shoulders to ask. She looked at him with wide eyes, seeing him in a new light.

 

“We’ve got to get you to the smuggler, Krynnzal. She can get you out undetected,” Rook replied. She immediately bent over in the street and began applying filth to her face and clothing. She picked up another handful in each hand and did the same to Lyzander’s clothes. Understanding his silent question, she quietly informed him. “This is our armour. The upright folk of the city, don’t see people from the slum. The moment they see or smell us, they will avoid us and we will become invisible to them.”

 

I think Rook is afraid of me now that she’s seen the violence I’m capable of. Hearing stories about me in the ring is different from experiencing it first-hand. I’ll have to give her space to come to terms with it.

 

Lyzander nodded in understanding to her words. He could detect a mental distance from him that wasn’t there before. He gestured for her to lead the way in silence. Rook made no attempts at conversation as she ushered him through the warren of back alleys and streets. 

 

Arriving at the illuminated part of the city, she hesitated with an indecisive expression. He followed her gaze down the cobbled street and saw a pair of patrolling guards. He immediately tensed as he prepared to flee should Rook do what he feared she might.

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