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chapter two. charade
"Well? Are you going to answer? I haven't got all day."
He had said something before that, but Fallon hadn't caught it over the sound of her own heartbeat. There was dust on her tongue, sweat lining her top lip, a gnat was buzzing around her ear, rocks digging into the contour of her spine. She hadn't been this uncomfortable beneath a man in some time and her body seemed more interested in running back the clock. She struggled to pull herself into the present.
It was difficult. His tone was cordial, flippant even, as if he on some level, he was also not quite here. If he was going to kill her, he ought to have a little sanctimony doing it. But maybe he didn't ... Fool! It didn't take a scholar to figure what the man had done, and would do. She would need to start fighting if she didn't want to meet the same fate.
She wiggled one arm free and tried to go for the eyes. He was quicker, pinning her by the wrist (at an angle, ouch!). This shifted his full weight onto her as she opened her mouth to protest, the 'get out' leaving her like wet steam from a kettle.
He snorted. The air tickled her cheek.
"What was that? Let me guess. You want me to let you go. Why, that does sound like an idea. I'll just go ahead and let you brush off. Turn tail to your friends. A little scummy, don't you think? Four against one," she was struggling to breath. He didn't seem to notice. "Let me remember, how was it the oaf described you all? A tiefling, a vagabond, a dour half-elf, and a pretty little thing with mismatching eyes. Should I ask which one you might be?"
"Slit ... my thr ... and I'll ... "
"Hmm? A request? Oh darling, I was hoping you'd ask. Unfortunately, that'd be a waste, both of yourself," his blade stroked her neck, "and of my time. You still haven't answered my question, let me repeat it for you now: why the questions? Who sent you?" His tone grew dark. "I need a name."
Fallon twisted to jam her knee somewhere tender but the move was predictable. With a sigh, he slid the blade, light; a warning. The pain was like a papercut, she felt the warmth of herself before the sting began to deepen. She braced for the worst. But he was not moving. He'd become distracted by his handiwork. A stillness took to his body. To her surprise, he pulled back, keeping the blade balanced against her skin. He'd taken on a queer expression. In fact, he looked positively besotted.
Just as quickly, it was gone. He was gone.
Bolts of light shot through the air, sizzling with heat, clipping the cloth of his expensive doublet. The man's weight was yanked from her and tossed to the side. The dagger clattered to the ground. Shock froze the man, and before he could react, four daggers of light hurtled from the heavens and cinched him by his cloth to the ground.
