Chapter 2

Is everyone trying to kill this kid, or does he just have that kind of charisma?

We don’t even make it to the inn before pissed-off townsfolk erupt as if from the depths of the earth itself. How does this shithole of a town even hold this many people?

They close in on us from all sides. From what they’re yelling, they have a brickery, it’s broken, and it being broken is our fault. Stabbing us will fix it.

“Take your deviltry back to the burning lands!” a man shouts. The pale scar above his left eye twitches and he brandishes a decent-sized knife.

“The Southern God is a tyrant!” another yells.

Since this is the way Bates and his men came, maybe there was some friction. Maybe the Church military sabotaged the brickery on purpose. Either way we’re the scapegoats and screwed, caught and surrounded in the street.

Even if we could reach the buildings without blasting through angry townsfolk, there are no low hanging roofs, nothing to climb onto, no real escape routes away from this burgeoning cloud of clusterfuck.

Paules decides they can be reasoned with.

“Please!” he yells. “We mean you no harm.”

A magical rainbow of peace fails to pierce the overcast sky and transform hate into friendship.

Paules looks over like he expectsme to do something. I ignore him. If we could make it to one of the adobe buildings, that should be enough cover that we can sprint for the windbreaker walls. Once there, I doubt they’ll follow. We’re still dressed for the wind. They aren’t.

Without a distraction, we’ll need to do this the hard way. Still hoping to avoid using more magic, I reach into my coat and palm the small knife hidden there.

Paules pulls out the sword he’s been hiding under his cloak.

The crowd steps back. They were expecting easy prey, a safe