The railing followed the waterline, connecting to the side of the building that marked the final habitation on this side of the courtyard. From his cursory inspection, it appeared to house some form of manufacturing, though he couldn’t determine what from ambiguous exterior facade. The muted sound of construction leaked out from the interior.
Beyond, the buildings along the eastern edge of the water were old in comparison to the newer construction along the square. The dilapidated abodes still reveled in their original, historic glory. They were relics of this town’s humble beginnings.
Nearly a hundred meters downstream from the lazy pool formed by the river, the water again increased its pace. The remains of an ancient mill sat in a state of gross disrepair. Its large waterwheel had long since succumbed to the elements, now nothing more than a withered semi-circular frame. The bottom half was nearly gone, likely eroded by the constant abuse of the running water. Suffering from countless cycles of neglect, the doors and lower windows were boarded up with rough panels of wood. Relegated to this distant locale in the town, the historical significance of the mill had turned into an eyesore before being forgotten by the ever-evolving village.
Ryl scanned the area again. He was convinced the signature that he saw so clearly in his vision was coming from that mill. His eyes cautiously covered the scene—the area before him was still, the surrounding buildings displayed no indication of life. As he scrutinized the vicinity, he noted a subtle, discrete movement coming from the hatchway leading to the cellar of the ill-maintained mill.
The door was partially hidden by the remnants of a pile of weathered and ruined crates, yet the movement was obvious. Ryl watched as the body of the first figure emerged from the cellar hideout before cautiously peering around the edge of the building.
The man was tall and slender, yet even from distance Ryl could clearly see the suffering his body had endured. A life on the run had ravaged his otherwise healthy body. The man’s eyes were sunken, casting large, dark shadows over the craters of his eyes. His skin was pulled tight over his face. His sharp cheekbones and chin were accentuated to a shocking degree. The man’s hair had grown long, shaggy and unkempt. His clothes looked threadbare, ripped and hastily repaired in places. He carried a small pack over his shoulder, likely the last of their worldly possessions.
As Ryl watched from a distance, the father leaned down, gently assisting the small frame of a child up from their hidden shelter. The child’s head was covered by a small dark cloak, though the curly golden locks spilling out from underneath gave her away. Her head turned toward Ryl as she took stock of the area. Though even through the shadow of her hood, the brilliant blue of her eyes was startling.
He watched as the father lovingly patted the top of the child’s head. Ryl’s heart skipped a beat as the piercing blue eyes of the girl stopped again as they met his. She pulled on the hem of her father's shirt and pointed her finger in Ryl's direction. The father’s cautious eyes immediately followed the finger of the child, bulging when they landed on the hooded figure of Ryl watching from the edge of the square.
The man’s face blanched with fear. Without hesitation, he scooped the girl up and quickly darted behind the corner of the old mill. Ryl backed away a step, holding his hands up in a placating manner, yet the pair had already disappeared. He chided himself mentally for the intrusion. His appearance must have terrified them. He’d been holding out hopes that their paths would cross, that he could somehow aid in their escape, yet his actions had pushed them further afield.
“They’re running,” he hissed to the mercenary who’d only just arrived at his side.
With no other means to reach them along the water's edge, Ryl turned, backtracking his way around the building’s face, turning hastily, ducking into the first alley.
He tracked the young girl easily with his mindsight as the pair moved rapidly toward the south. Not wasting time, he hastened ahead, eager to catch up with the fleeing family before they moved too far.
Ryl was only a few strides into the alley when a group flashed by at the far end. They moved with speed. The slap of their sheathes against their legs was thunderous. The group passed by in rapid succession like shadows along the avenue. From where they ran, at the opposite end of the alley, they afforded Ryl no attention as their focus was trained ahead.
The five, armed men hunted like a pack of wolves, homing in on the scent of their fleeing prey. The last of the group ran slightly slower than the rest, his right arm wrapped tightly in a sling against his body. Ryl knew in that instant what he’d feared all along.
The hunters had caught the scent of their prey.
They were moving in for the kill.
Anger swelled in Ryl's veins as the familiar heat began raging inside. He tapped into a fraction of the power surging through him, propelling himself down the alley at a dizzying pace. His scan of the area with his mindsight confirmed the child’s path continued its course to the south.
Their speed had increased.
They knew they were being pursued.
Even from this distance, he could feel fear pouring from the child.
Stopping at the corner, he peered around the edge of the building toward the river. South of the old mill the banks pinched inward. The force of the water at the narrows increased though the depth was shallow. The terrified father was carrying the child across the rapids. Ryl could hear her sobs over the splashing of the agitated water.
The icy liquid sprayed up around the struggling pair as they lumbered through the river. It was a miracle they'd made it so
