A Solution Through Shadows Chapter IX

“Oi,” Oren stopped, turning to a Vanguard regarding him with a suspicion. “Y’ all right? Been walkin’ the same street, last twenty times.”

“Sorry,” Oren managed to say, rubbing at his face and averted his eyes. “Just tryin’ to clear my head. One too many pints last night.”

The Vanguard eyed Oren over again, before shrugging.

“Just concerned, is all. Maybe y’ oughta go sleep more, or get somethin’ to eat. Get y’ head cleared.”

“I … appreciate the thought,” Oren looked away, and around the street to find the cautious stares of the other humanoids glancing at him, before finding the main road and turning back to it.

Though unrelated to an alcohol-induced headache, Oren took up the soldier’s idea of going to eat something, stopping by a familiar tavern to mull over what he intended to do.

He holed himself into a corner, picking at a thick stew with no other taste but salt, debating what he would do.

“Not like it'd be any worse goin’ to the Vanguard now. Just get it over with,” Oren whispered to the bowl, playing with the spoon. “You knew what you were doin’,”

His mind kept going back to Delilah, wondering if what she said was true or if she would turn him to her father.

“Does it matter if she’s seen my face? Could use a shave, though. She might have the means to helpin’ me out. To start anew ….”

The unfamiliar he felt with Delilah grew the longer he held onto his memory. Oren pursed his lips, touching them with his fingertips as he thought to the kiss he shared with her in the night. The worry of getting her in trouble made him second guess himself, yet he figured Delilah would have a better chance of getting out of trouble if she needed to. At the very least, he thought, seeing her one last time to thank her would make the execution easy.

Oren nodded to himself, thinking he would need to figure out a way to get back to Delilah, and get his hair cut.

Going back up the mountain, Oren ventured through the square, now crowded with people. The wall caught his attention, and he debated if he could hammer heavy nails into it where no one could watch him. His thought vanished as he approached Lord Rey’s manor.

Guards surrounded the perimeter of the square wall, and Oren kept his distance, watching the rotation of the guard again, to find their spacing tighter after the previous evening. He thought the same would apply in the night, and the quila would be sure to scour every surface if they suspected anything.

Delilah, he thought, would have a better sense of what was going on in the manor itself. Perhaps he should venture through the passage to find him waiting for her, away from the attention of the guard.

A bell tolled, jerking Oren’s attention to the square where the people stopped to whisper. He frowned, joining the masses as a tall, oozzi Vanguard peered over the crowd.

“Last night, theft and murder took place. Crimes done by the hand of the Andubhar.”

Oren’s gut sank at the declaration of his crime by the familiar voice of the Vanguard’s Commander, Richard. But confused by the accusation of murder.

“The human male should have a sword, unique in design,” the commander continued. “The Vanguard has been instructed to investigate the matter, and the King’s Will scours the mountain for leads. If you are aware of where the criminal is, bring him forward. Those hiding the Andubhar will be regarded as a conspirator to the crime and shall face the penalty of death as he will.”

Whisperings surged through the crowd, and Oren debated fleeing, but kept himself still to avoid attracting attention in the captivated audience.

“What does he look like?” one of the humanoids called out, making Oren sweat as he thought of a plan. “Will there be a reward?”

“Witnesses gave us a description of long, brown hair, angled face framed in a patchy beard, of average build, and average height. Wore a brown tunic with gray leggin’s, but he may have very well changed his appearance overnight.”

Oren noticed the human males looking at one another nervously, many of whom were brown-haired and close enough to his own height, fewer though with facial hair as bad as his own.

“And I’ll reward fifty coin for the safe return of that sword,” Lord Rey’s voice chimed in and Oren rolled his eyes at the amount.

“Well, I better find that damnable man,” Oren said loud enough to stir the other humanoids as he stepped away watching them turn for his voice. “That reward’s mine!”

In his spurred commotion, Oren turned for the down-hilled road, itching to bring out his mask. As other humanoids passed, he suppressed the notion and found a grouping of barrels to think on. Back turned to the street to avoid familiar faces, he cursed himself, forgetting about the lack of witnesses there were to see the murder, debating if it had been set up by Kentigern to cover his tracks.

He thought of hiding away by Rey’s passage until night when Delilah could save him. That was the best action if she would believe him. But Oren grew angry at the thought of getting caught and being unable to clear the misinformation about his activities. He wondered if the commander would be willing to listen if he relented information about the Rogue stepping into Caladh when they weren’t supposed to, and of his promise to return again.

“They might lighten the execution,” Oren muttered, thinking to Lord Rey’s document on his desk that would frame the old man too. “But will they believe me? Maybe if I found where he got in and out from, and prove the possibility sound.”

He couldn’t think where Kentigern would have appeared from or disappeared to, given his entrance and exit were sporadic, untraceable in Oren’s distracted attention. It would also be challenging to investigate while Caladh hunted him. Oren decided to wait for the cover of the night again before investigating the Farming District.

“Found ya’, traitor,” a hissing voice shot out.

Spinning on the spot, the human came face to face with the older and younger ackans from the night before. Their claws drawn and neared the man with pulled lips.

“So, you think I’m responsible for what happened to Geob?” Oren asked, swinging his bag over his shoulder and glared at the two humanoids. “Then report my involvement to the Vanguard to have me dealt with.”

“Why not?” The senior ackan growled, ears pulling back. “Isn’t that what you did with your master?”

“I didn’t kill those bastards!” Oren gave him bared teeth, bending his knees. “They chose their paths knowin’ what they were gettin’ into. I won’t be blamed for the delinquencies of another!”

“You’re not getting a choice.”

One of the ackans lunged for Oren with an outstretched claw. Oren sidestepped and rolled away into the next one who reached for him as he ducked underneath the arm and faced the recovering humanoids snarling as they stepped forward again.

“You remember how the King’s Will, like to torture criminals who retaliate against the law?” The ackan said with a smirk.

Oren squared off with the two as a bystander called for the guard, shaking in his spot. “I’ve already committed to one criminal act, and been falsely accused of the other. I’m fated for the grave already, so the Will doesn’t scare me.”

He darted for the building on his right, reaching for the ledge and pulled himself over before the ackans could touch him running towards the farthest row of houses with a grimace.

Oren jumped for the next building, ten feet away and over the cobblestone street spooking humanoids with his shadow and landed on the slated roof in a collapsing roll before rising, and again jumping to continue his escape. He admitted it would be difficult to shake off the attention, but thought of getting to the fields, into the stalks would, however best it could.

His legs tightened from the exertion Oren forced, pushing through the pressure to the bottom of the mountain. He jumped off the last building to the leveled ground, darting into the field of crops, ignoring the shouts of trespass.

In the blurred, green stalks, Oren winced from pushing through the stinging growth before running out and across the next field, where he passed the massive oozzis and garnered their shouts and calls for the Vanguard. But with the tall wall getting closer, Oren maintained his focus on the objective. Struggling to recollect the last direction Kentigern made in the night.

Oren thought the rogue’s escape could be anywhere by the wall. Or worse, had found a trap door to a tunnel, giving him an inconspicuous entry and exit into Caladh.

Even with those prospects, Oren maintained his course in the hope his hunch was correct. Breaking through the last field of crops and onto the pathway separating the farms from the walls.

A distant horn sounded off and dismayed Oren in its long call. He looked to the base of the looming wall where green bushes grew, and then to the large, wooden gate.

“Nowhere to run now, bastard!”

Oren turned and found a group of humanoids blocking his path. Ackans, a seffas, and several humans crouched in preparation to engage him, but Oren furrowed his brow and stood his ground.

One of the ackans ran for him, lunging across the ground on four limbs before rising and reached with their clawed hand. Oren sprinted at them, and slid across the dirt underneath the attempted grab and ran past his first opponent.

A human took his chance with a drawn knife as Oren got up, keeping his previous foe in mind and watched the blade’s tip move in the air. His new opponent widened his arms for a tackle, but Oren went for his legs and flipped him over his back and faced the seffas who followed after the human, manipulating their body into a wall-like obstacle.

Oren watched the seffas’s every movement, the ebb and flow the humanoid made with his body before they approached. He backed away, listening to the human recover, and the ackan hiss, deterring a possible route to escape.

Oren took the bag off his shoulder and threw it to the side, crouching to appear a smaller target.

“We’ve got you now!” The ackan yelled, closer than Oren would have cared for, prompting Oren to turn to the humanoid and elbow their face, allowing the seffas took the opportunity to rush for his back.

Recoiling from the blow, the ackan failed to notice Oren grabbing his arm and he drag the ackan around into his spot, where the seffas enveloped the ackan.

The remaining ackan and humans rushed past the entangled men to converge on Oren, lunging forward as close as they could.

Oren hopped backward as they ran into each other, turning to the guarded gate where a line of the chain-mailed Vanguard waited. All humans, drawing their swords or on their arrow-nocked bows, poised at Oren.