Cyrus froze as two guards emerged from the trees, their weary eyes searching the street. Dark bags hung beneath their eyes, and thick stubble grew along their chins. One appeared young, not much older than himself, while the other was an older man, who walked with a limp.
"Hey, did you hear that?" The younger of the two guards asked, stopping. His armor gleamed as he raised his lantern, and the bear insignia stood out on his breastplate.
The older guard shook his head, and covered a yawn. "It was probably just a stray dog. Come on. The sooner we finish this round, the sooner we'll be by the fire again."
The younger guard looked around, his eyes darting between the bushes. "No, I definitely heard something. It sounded like a voice."
Cyrus tensed as the guard drew his sword, and stalked forward, swinging his lantern past the trees and over the bushes. Behind him, the other guard sighed, and scratched the stubble growing on his chin.
"Ansen, you're being ridiculous. Who are you even looking for? The warlock who did this?"
"Perhaps," Ansen replied. He parted a bush with his sword, and glanced around. Each step he took brought him closer to Cyrus and Sylven. "If I find him, then I'm keeping the reward. Fifty gold coins. It's enough to buy a new horse, and construct a stable."
"What do you need a horse for?" The other guard called back, rubbing his arms. "You never leave the city."
"You never know. I might like to join the other guards on a hunt," Ansen said.
As the guard approached the bush hiding the two, Sylven reached for his sword, tightening his fingers around the hilt. Cyrus's heart hammered in his chest, his muscles twitching as he crouched lower behind the bush.
A moment later, the guard stood before them, close enough for them to make out a small scar on his cheek. With a swish, he swung his sword down, splitting the leave apart. As he peered through, his deep brown eyes widened, and the blood drained from his face. "Gods above, I found-"
The guard never finished his sentence as a root sprung from the bush and slammed into his chest, sending him flying back. Cyrus's outstretched hand trembled as the vines wrapped around the knight, and dragged him away, into the shadows of the opposite treeline.
"Ansen!" The older guard chased the young knight into the trees, following the direction of his screams and shouts. As soon as he disappeared into the trees, Sylven scrambled out of the bushes.
"Let's go. It won't be long before the entire kingdom is here, searching for us," Sylven said, dragging Cyrus to his feet.
Cyrus stumbled forward, tripping over a root, before regaining his footing. Heat swirled through his body as he sprinted after Sylven. As they raced down the street, slipping through the trees and dodging around corners, the clatter of armor echoed off the walls.
"This way," Sylven said. He darted down an alley, slowing to a stop as they neared the end.
On the other side, a group of guards rushed past, clamoring to each other. The gates to the kingdom lay just beyond, thick iron bars blocking the way out.
"What do we do now?" Cyrus asked.
"Do you see that door?" Sylven asked. He pointed towards a small oak door, nestled in an alcove beside the gate. "It leads to the chains that open the gate. That's how we're getting out."
"I expect there'll be guards waiting for us," Cyrus said, scanning the street. "Any ideas on how to get past them?"
"I know a spell or two that might help," Sylven said."Stay close, and follow my lead."
Sylven checked the street, then darted across with a hunched back. Cyrus kept to his heels, and pressed himself into the wall. He held his breath as Sylven knocked on the door, a quick three raps.
"Who's there?" A gruff voice echoed through the wood. When they didn't answer, there was a grunt, followed by the scrape of chair and the approach of heavy footsteps. A moment later, the door flew open, and a fat man with a thick mustache poked his head out.
"By the Halls of Osyras, can't you people…" The man trailed off as he glanced between Sylven and Cyrus. "Wait… who are you?"
Sylven slammed his palm into the man's chest. "Eraveil, Felreon."
The man's face dropped as a gust of wind threw him back. He crashed into a table, sending bowls of soup and a cup of dice soaring into the air. As he collapsed to the floor, the two other guards in the room jumped to their feet. They grabbed for their swords, but Sylven slipped in before either had a chance to draw.
"Serifel, Reilovel."
The walls shook as a surge of flames roared through the room. Cyrus shielded his eyes, stumbling back from the door. A moment later, Sylven burst back out, his hair wild and covered in soot. "Come on. There's no time to waste."
Cyrus followed Sylven into the room, stumbling over a crooked armor rack. The three guards lay strewn about the room, their skin bright red with strips of their tunics smoldered. A series of scorch marks marred the floor and walls around the fireplace.
"Are they going to be alright?" Cyrus asked.
"They should be fine. Perhaps a bit sore for the next few weeks," Sylven said. He hurried across the room, to a barred door, and threw the wooden beam to the side. "I doubt they'll be out for very long, so we should probably go."
"Alright," Cyrus said. He glanced back out to the kingdom's streets, and the pine tree towering in the center. Taking a deep breath, he turned back to Sylven. "I'm ready."
...
Hours later, Cyrus slumped against the trunk of an oak, and watched as the sky brightened with hues of orange and red. The sun's golden rays streamed through the branches overhead, bringing to life the waking forest. Nearby, Sylven bent over a small fire with a pot of bubbling water.
"After breakfast, we'll continue on our way," Sylven said, stirring the pot. "If we keep this pace, we should arrive at Mourtop within the next four days."
Cyrus leaned forward, stifling a yawn. "I'm not certain how quickly I'll be able to travel. I'm exhausted."
"You'll be able to rest when we get there. I plan on staying there for a day or two anyway, while I purchase what we need," Sylven said. He scraped at the pot with a wooden spoon, filling two bowls with steaming porridge. "Here, you need to eat something. Regain some of the strength you lost on the way here."
"Thanks," Cyrus said. "The magic and the running has definitely taken its toll."
"At least now we know your training wasn't for nothing," Sylven said. He grinned. "You summoned that vine without thinking twice. Even I was surprised."
"I still think it'll take me some time to get used to this," Cyrus said. He took a bite of the porridge, letting the warmth flow through his body. "Having magic, I mean."
Sylven's eyes softened. "I'd be worried if you knew how to do it from the very beginning. Magic isn't supposed to be easy, because once it becomes easy, people tend to misuse it."
Cyrus lowered his gaze, digging at a pebble with the toe of his boot. "I'll keep that in mind. I know I still have a lot to learn."
"Indeed, which is why we can keep practicing on our way to the Arkenthell mountains. By the time we reach the Altier, I believe you should be at least comfortable with it."
"At least we'll have the time," Cyrus said. He set his bowl to the side, and pulled the map loose from his pack, unfurling it on the ground. "Myrel said it would take us three weeks to reach Neirport, right? Besides Mourtop, will we need to stop in another village?"
"I don't believe so. As long as we stock up enough food once we reach Mourtop, it should last us until we arrive in Neirport," Sylven said. He finished his porridge, and went for seconds. "If not, we'll just hunt and forage what we need along the way."
"You didn't bring a bow," Cyrus said, frowning as Sylven scraped clean the pot. "How would we hunt anything?"
"There are other ways to hunt," Sylven said, slumping back against a boulder. As he dug into the last bit of porridge, he spoke between mouthfuls. "Also, Master Myrel timed our journey to Neirport by foot. As long as we can find a pair of horses, it will decrease the length of our journey by at least a week. More with good weather."
"Here's to hoping for a quiet journey," Cyrus said. As he finished his breakfast, he glanced towards the road leading to Mourtop. They could see pretty far in either direction, though they had yet to pass anyone.
"Do you think they'll send people after me?" Cyrus asked.
Sylven shook his head. "I doubt they'll have the time. Restoring the kingdom will take priority, and most of their money will be spent on reconstruction, rather than a reward for your capture. Even with the offer of coin, most people would steer clear of warlocks and wizards. There's a reason why they're afraid of us."
"Have you ever met another warlock besides Myrel?" Cyrus asked. He wiped clean his bowl, before storing it along with the map.
"I have not. There aren't many people who can use magic, and those who can tend to hide away," Sylven said. He scraped the pot clean, then flipped it around to make sure he hadn't missed anything. Sighing, he rinsed the pot out in a nearby stream, and fastened it back to his pack. " A word of advice, Cyrus. If you ever run into another warlock or wizard, don't reveal yourself to them. There are those who would try to use your magic for their own gain."
Sylven climbed to his feet, and kicked a pile of dirt over the fire, snuffing out the flames. As the final traces of smoke faded into the morning sky, he shouldered his pack. "Come on. It's time to go."