Draven

The tavern air is thick with the smell of stale ale and unwashed bodies. I take another swig from my tankard, savoring the bitter taste of the cheap mead. It’s not much, but it’s a damn sight better than the murky water we drank as kids on the streets of Cauldry.

Beside me, Neiman slouches on his stool, his eyes darting around the dimly lit room. Dreaghor’s isn’t much to look at—just another dingy pub in a town forgotten by the royals—but it’s home.

“Oi, Draven,” Neiman mumbles, nudging my arm. “You in for tonight? Sun’s going down soon, and we’ve got a sweet spot lined up.”

I pause, the mug halfway to my lips. Another job. Another chance to fill our pockets. Another chance to get enough money to fill our bellies. It’s tempting, always is. But the heat’s been on lately, bounty hunters sniffing around like hungry dogs.

My mind wanders back to the streets where Neiman and I grew up—muddy alleys and crumbling buildings, the Forbidden Forest looming in the distance. I remember the gnawing hunger, the cold nights huddled in doorways, the desperation that drove us to start picking pockets and snatching purses.

It wasn’t much of a childhood, but it taught us to survive.

And survive we did, scraping by on our wit and quick fingers.

Now, at twenty-six, I’m known throughout Cauldry for my “petty thievery.”

I open my mouth to answer Neiman, to tell him maybe we should lay low for a while. But before I can get the words out, the tavern door swings open with a bang that silences every voice in the room.

My blood runs cold as I see them. Three men, broad-shouldered and stern-faced, their eyes scanning the crowd. I’d recognize them anywhere—the same bounty hunters who’ve been on my tail for the past month.

Shit.

Without a word to Neiman, I’m on my feet, my half-full mug forgotten on the bar. I hear a shout behind me as I dash for the back door, but I don’t look back. The rickety door slams against the wall as I burst into the alley behind the tavern.

The sun is setting, painting the sky in shades of orange and purple. Any other time, I might pause to admire it.

Now, I can only think of escape as I sprint down the narrow passageway.

My boots splash through puddles left by the afternoon rain, sending up sprays of muddy water. The buildings of Cauldry loom over me, their weathered stone facades a blur as I run. I can hear heavy footsteps and shouts behind me.

I take a sharp left, then a right, trying to lose them in the maze of alleys I know so well. The streets of Cauldry might be a ramshackle mess, but they’re my ramshackle mess. I’ve spent years memorizing every twist and turn, every hidden nook and cranny.

As I run, my mind races. Why are they so determined to catch me? Sure, I’ve nicked a few valuables here and there, but nothing to warrant this kind of pursuit. These aren’t the local guards, easy to bribe or outrun.

I duck under a low-hanging sign board, the faded paint advertising some long-closed shop. The air is thick with the smell of rotting garbage and woodsmoke from the chimneys above. In the distance, I can hear the normal sounds of Cauldry at dusk—drunken shouts from taverns, the clatter of cart wheels on cobblestones, a baby crying in one of the tenements.

But closer, too close, are the sounds of my pursuers. Their boots pound the stones behind me, and their shouts echo off the walls.

“Stop!” one of them bellows.

I risk a glance over my shoulder and immediately wish I hadn’t. They’re closer than I thought, faces twisted with exertion. The one in the lead is reaching for something at his belt—a weapon? I don’t wait to find out.

With a burst of speed born of desperation, I dart down another alley. This one is narrower, darker, hemmed in on both sides by towering buildings that block out the fading sunlight. The cobblestones are slick with something I do not want to identify, and the stench of urine and rotting food is overwhelming.

I emerge from the alley into the heart of Cauldry’s market district. Even at this hour, the place is bustling with activity as vendors pack up their stalls. The air is thick with the mingled scents of spices, flowers, and roasting meat.

My eyes dart around, searching for an escape route. That’s when I spot it—old Agatha’s flower stall. Without hesitation, I duck behind the colorful displays of blooms, startling the elderly vendor.

“Draven!” she exclaims, more surprised than angry. “What in the world—”

“Sorry, Aggie,” I say, flashing her my most charming grin. “Mind if I borrow your stall for a moment? I’ll make it worth your while.”

Before she can respond, I hear the heavy footsteps of my pursuers. They’re near. In a split-second decision, I grab a bunch of vibrant sunflowers and step out from behind the stall.

“Flowers for sale!” I call out cheerfully, as if I’ve been there all along. “The finest blooms in all of Cauldry! Guaranteed to make your sweetheart swoon or your coin back!”

I can see Agatha shaking her head in exasperation from the corner of my eye, but she doesn’t stop me. She’s known me since I was a scrawny child, pilfering apples from the market stalls. I might be a thief, but I’ve always had a soft spot for the old vendors who’ve been kind to me over the years.

A young woman approaches, eyeing the sunflowers curiously. I can hear my pursuers getting closer, their voices raised as they question the other vendors. My heart is pounding, but I force myself to stay calm, to act natural.

“Ah, my lady!” I exclaim, bowing with a flourish. “You have an excellent eye. These sunflowers are as radiant as your smile, though not nearly as captivating.”

The woman giggles, a blush spreading across her cheeks. “How much?” she asks.

“For you? A mere trifle. Two copper pieces, and I’ll throw in some advice—never trust a man who says he’s honest. We’re all scoundrels at heart, some of us are just more charming about it.”

She laughs again, fishing out the coins from her reticule. As I hand her the flowers, I catch sight of the bounty hunters. They’re only a few stalls away now, scanning the crowd.

I turn back to my customer, maintaining my easy smile. “You know, these flowers have a special property,” I say, leaning in conspiratorially. “They say if you close your eyes and make a wish while holding them, it’s sure to come true.”

The woman’s eyes light up. “Really?”

“Would I lie to such a lovely face? Go on, give it a try.”

As she closes her eyes, clutching the flowers to her chest, I take the opportunity to duck behind the stall again. Agatha gives me a look that’s equal parts amusement and exasperation.

“You never change, do you, Draven?” she mutters.

I wink at her, handing over the young woman’s payment. “Would you want me to, Aggie dear?”

For a moment, I think I’ve gotten away with it. The bounty hunters are moving past the flower stall, their frustrated expressions suggesting they’ve lost my trail.

But then I hear it—a loud, booming voice calling out over the market noise.

“Draven! There you are, you rascal!”

I whip around. Old Tom, the fruit vendor, waves enthusiastically at me from his stall across the way. He’s always had a voice that could wake the dead, and right now, it’s drawing every eye in the market—including those of my pursuers.

“Shit,” I mutter, seeing the bounty hunters turn, their eyes locking onto me.

“Sorry, Aggie,” I say quickly, already backing away. “I owe you one!”

And then I’m off again, darting between the stalls as shouts erupt behind me. So much for hiding in plain sight. But at least I bought myself a few minutes of rest.

Ahead, I spot a gap between two buildings, a space so narrow and dark it’s almost invisible unless you know it’s there.

But I do know—it’s saved my skin more than once over the years.

I squeeze into the gap, pressing myself against the damp stone wall. The space is tight enough that I have to turn sideways to fit, inching along until I’m fully concealed in the shadows.

Holding my breath, I listen intently. For a moment, all I can hear is the pounding of my own heart. Then, the sound of running footsteps. They’re getting closer, closer. . .

And then they’re gone, the bounty hunters charging past my hiding spot without a second glance. I wait, barely daring to breathe, until the sound of their pursuit fades into the distance.

Only then do I allow myself to relax, slumping against the wall while the adrenaline begins to ebb. That was too close. Far too close.

I give myself a few more moments to catch my breath before starting to edge my way out of the gap. I need to get back to Dreaghor’s, to warn Neiman.

Maybe it’s time to leave Cauldry for a while, find somewhere to lay low until the heat dies down.

I’m almost out when it happens. A bright light suddenly flares in the alley, so intense it’s like midday sun in the middle of the night. I throw up a hand to shield my eyes, stumbling back into the shadows.

What in the name of all the gods is this? Some new trick of the bounty hunters? A trap?

The light grows brighter, impossibly bright, filling the narrow alley and seeping into every shadow. I press myself against the wall, my heart pounding in my chest. This is like nothing I’ve ever seen before, nothing I could have imagined.

When the light reaches its peak, so bright I can see the bones in my hands like shadows, a strange tingling sensation spreads through my body. It’s not painful, but it's utterly foreign, setting every nerve on edge.

What the hell is going on?