Alaric Goldwyn's Arc

Chapter 2 of 3

Alaric reached the great trees at dusk. The sanctuary rose above him, woven into the trunks, its windows glowing gold. White clouds crowned the highest branches. He had won his place. Now his body paid for it. Marcus had cut deep. His arm throbbed, and his legs shook with each step. He needed rest, but the tournament gate would not open until the full moon. So he sank against a root at the forest floor and tried to breathe. The open ground gave him no strength. Cold seeped up from the dirt. His wound stung. Every noise in the trees made him grip his whip. A hunted man cannot heal. He knew he could not last three nights like this, exposed and spent. Then he heard soft steps. A figure came through the ferns, moving without haste. He had pointed ears and fitted clothes, and he carried himself with an easy grace. He walked like a man used to being welcome anywhere. Not a champion. Not a soldier. A wanderer, or something dressed as one. "You look half dead," the stranger said. He tilted his head, studying Alaric's whip, his wound, his ragged breath. "A fighter this close to the sanctuary, and no strength left to guard himself. Interesting." He stepped nearer, slow and smiling. "Let me help you. I only want to look." Alaric marked the hunger in the man's eyes. It was not kindness. It was curiosity, the kind that measured a man for later use. The stranger came another step, hand rising, reaching for the whip at Alaric's belt. Spent as he was, Alaric had fought worse men in worse shape. He let the stranger come. Then he moved. His arm snapped out. The whip uncoiled and looped the man's throat before the reaching hand could close. Alaric hauled the leather tight and dragged him down. The stranger choked and clawed at the coil. His grace was gone. Alaric held him at the ground, knee on his back, whip drawn just short of crushing. "You wanted to look," Alaric said. "Now talk. Who sent you?" The man gasped. "No one. I scout. I sell what I find." His pointed ears had gone red. "There is a woman. A grove past these trees. Men wait in the branches to take it. I was to watch, that is all." Alaric loosened the whip a finger's width. The name meant nothing to him yet. But the man knew this forest, and knew a safe place a wounded fighter could reach. "You will lead me somewhere I can heal," Alaric said. "Then we are done." The stranger nodded against the dirt. Alaric hauled him upright, whip still fixed around his neck like a leash. He had come to the sanctuary broken and open in the dark. Now he had a captive, a direction, and a rumor of a grove under siege. He gathered his strength, tightened his grip, and pushed the man forward into the trees.