A Rogue's Restraints

Chapter Eight: Bernadette

One year later.

I dropped from a building, (I did, still do, that a lot) into the alley below. I turned my shoulder and rolled to my feet, to prevent injury.

Rain pattered the ground all around me. My bare feet splashed through alley grime as I peeked out into the street. My ragged cloak clung to my body, doing very little to shield me from the rain and the cold. I scowled as I pushed my long hair out of my face. It had been way too long since my last cut, and I was ready to swear up a storm every time it got in the way. I had considered giving myself a haircut, but my better judgement won out.

The muddy street was sparsely populated. But I could of swore...Maybe I was getting paranoid, but I was sure I was being followed. By this time, I had been forced to city to city, avoiding Bounty Hunters and Mercenaries. It seemed everyone wanted the prestige of catching the worm who'd escaped execution in Bellamy. By this time, I was hundreds, maybe even a thousand miles from Bellamy. It hurt my heart to think about it. I felt as though I had abandoned Theo and Willa. It may seem melodramatic to you, but it was all my fault. No amount of convincing could keep me from blaming myself. Now I'd been forced on the run, and I'd not even had the luxury of looking back to Bellamy.

My heart skipped a beat as I noticed a dark shadow in deluge of silver rain. So, I was being followed. I would've ducked back down the alley if it wasn't a dead end. Plan B it was then.

I strolled out onto the street, my shoulders back, and overall seeming unaffected. But looking back it probably looked even more conspicuous for a mendicant to look so confident. I even went so far as to let my hood drop, drenched, to my back. My blond hair no doubt gave me away. Most people in this city had brown or black hair.

I glanced to the side and ducked down an alley between an inn and a cobbler's shop. I walked to the end and saw exactly what I wanted. It appeared to be a dead end and would be for the less nimble. Facing the end of the alley, to my left was a wooden fence separating the inn from desperate alley crawlers. A narrow passage ran behind the inn, into the next alley.

I heard a soft splash behind me. "Sebastian Coreville?" a gruff voice demanded.

I turned. "Now, what makes you think that?"

The Bounty Hunters stood in a fearsome group (there was three of them, all clad in black, studded leather armor) blocking my way out of the alley.

The one who spoke smirked scarred lips. I idly wondered how he acquired such scars then decided I didn't want to know. "You're coming with us Coreville."

"Yeah? Well, I don't listen to pheasants." I said touching the side of my nose with my left thumb. (which was considered extremely rude in this region.)

The hunters looked at each other in confusion. "You daft, boy?" The one in the front asked. "A pheasant is a bird."

"Yes, yes. I know. But y'all squawk too much for a back alley thumpin', I'll tell you that." I said, obviously quickly growing tired of our short conversation. "What'll it be, boys? Dead or Alive?"

"There's no way this is the same Sebastian Coreville." One of the hunters piped up. "He's too young. The yegg is supposed to be at least five years older than this kid."

"Listen to him." Another spat. "That's the voice of a man used to being hunted. It's him."

"Ah nah!" I exclaimed sarcastically. "You learned my youthful secret. The only moisturizer I use is mud and rainwater, boys. I know, shocking. You can take the news home to wives. Or more likely, your whores."