Reidier

8: Astall

A/N: Short Astall chapter. Read and review!

They walk in companionable silence. Astall is too tired to talk. The wild escape from Yvettia Hall- the home he grew up in, the only home he'd ever known- it had drained him. Dahlia seems to catch on. She leads the way, her waist length mane swaying slightly as she walks. Now and again she pauses- listening.  

She is pausing now- and she doesn't like what she hears. 

“Do you hear that?”

Astall strains and listens. Sure enough- there are footsteps. Booming footsteps. 

“Marching,” he whispers. A thousand pairs of feet, shaking the ground with each step. 

Dahlia frowns. “They're coming this way.” 

Belatedly, Astall realises that he should have known. The High Council of Yvette- Grand Duchess Varre in particular- they would have sent word out and put a price on his head. And they have. 

Their voices drift over to them, hateful and stinging. 

“A million sterling for the murderer! The traitor son intends to take Yvette!”

Murderer. They are right. 

Dahlia places a hand on his arm. “Ignore them,” she says. “We need to go.” 

Astall nods, but his heart isn't in it. Those words, said in fury- the truth in them is a barb that drills deep under his skin. 

Dahlia sees this and sighs. “Not the time, Astall.” 

He lowers his head, defeated. So that false name is for nothing. 

“Listen,” she says, tightening her grip on his arm. “I believe in you. In this short time I've known you, I can tell- you're no murderer.” 

He looks up to meet her gaze. Her eyes are blazing, intent. He nods, slowly. 

“That's the spirit, bud. Let's go.” 

As she drags him away he can't help but ask, “bud?” 

She doesn't answer. She might be smiling that half smile of hers. 

Running alongside of her, he glances back. The size of the crowd stops his breath for a moment.

“Don't look back!” Dahlia yells, staring straight ahead. 

Could have told me earlier. 

He pushes himself forward. He can barely feel the fear, but it's there, insistently reminding him of the mob behind him. Their firelight brightens the street, and the long shadows they cast are brushing on Astall's heels. 

A stitch is forming in his side. He can't run for long. Dahlia grabs his arm and turns into a road branching off the main street- and she tackles them both into a shop front. How did she know that was there? 

Her accent strikes of Reidier, but she knows the area well. Who is she, exactly? 

He holds his breath, hoping against hope that they didn't see them ahead. They don't seem to have. They march by, a disorderly mob- young men, mostly, looking to make quick money. His blood runs cold as he sees one of them carrying an axe- a huge, double edged monster. And there are knives, no shortage of them- chipped ones, blunt ones, and even a sawn off shotgun. 

Even more terrifying is the vacant bloodlust in their eyes. They are normal people, common people- but being in a such a group wipes all coherent thought away and all that's left is killers in skins of men.