THE SORCERER KING

PROLOG

He had to get home. That meeting had been nothing but a stupid idea. As he rounded another corner, the sound of steps came ever closer. Sparse flickers of light were cast out into the darkness as the pursuers followed him. He was not going to let them catch him. Desperately he grabbed out after the remains of a door handle on the nearby abandoned house. Quickly throwing himself inside the building. Outside the pursuers could be heard talking:

"Where did that skinny rat go?"

"Bloody coward probably went hiding somewhere."

He heard the guards bicker. They were searching for him outside the door. The boy ventured further into the building, nearly falling face-first over a "lump" on the floor. It smelled pretty terrible. He knew trying to hide here was a bad idea, of course, some homeless nobody was going to be seeking shelter in this abandoned building. From the floor where the noise was coming from, the man arose from his sleep. As the sound grew louder, so did his fear of the people outside picking up on it. He had to come up with a plan fast. He had nothing. By the Mad, what was he even going to do? He was built like a twig and had never won a fistfight in his entire life. Frantically he searched through his pockets, helping himself to a knife. He had gotten rusty doing this, now that he had a place to call home. As he was fumbling in the dark, the other person had risen. He barely managed to dodge as the other went straight for his face. Usually, he would never stick around for a brawl much better to just bail, but right now, he had no such option. He quickly found himself severely outmatched as the other launched his full weight on him, forcing them both to fall to the floor. Pinned down, he found it hard to avoid the repeating punches. The man was too heavy. He was tasting blood, and his nose felt oddly bent out of shape. He gripped tighter on the knife as he retaliated. It was without much grace he stabbed the man, landing hits more by chance than anything. The man did not take that as a sign he should back off; it seemed like the stings only managed to enrage him further. The world was blacking out on him. Now he was taking the hits. He felt the world starting to heat upon him, a nearly foreign rage overtaking him. It was that spark of anger that helped him back to his feet. He blindly reached out for his knife and stabbed out again. A scream loud enough to wake the dead was bellowed out. The silence after was even more unsettling. That was wrong, really wrong — the man's body illuminating the room. The fire was devouring his broken body passionately. He stepped away from the scene mechanically, feeling out after the weak rotten wood door behind him. With an ear against the door, he listened: the outside appeared silent. Taking that as his best chance, he fled. Pure instincts brought him through the still sleeping town and home.