The icy rain poured down on Erik, trying to soak him through and freeze him. Muddy water mixed with unknown filth in the alley washed over his curled-up body. A sharp, heart-piercing pain came from his left arm. Every breath sent a stabbing pain through his chest. The consequences of his desperate jump from the tower were now clear.
But he couldn't stop. The Judicature's hounds wouldn't give him a chance to rest.
Gritting his teeth, he used his good right arm to push himself up against the slippery wall. He coughed violently, each cough shaking his body as if his bones would break. He looked around. This was an alley in the slums on the edge of Silverstar City. It was narrow, dirty, and winding. Dirty water flowed everywhere. Tattered clothes hung under low eaves, fluttering in the wind and rain. The air smelled of rotting garbage and cheap ale.
This was a grey area of the law. A good place to start hiding, but also where danger could be anywhere.
He had to get out of this obvious alley immediately.
Bearing the pain, Erik struggled to his feet, holding his injured left arm close to his body. He tore off his ruined, mud-covered academy robe and threw it into an overflowing trash barrel. Now he only wore his thin, soaked linen shirt and pants. The cold instantly bit deeper, but he looked less noticeable—at least, not like a student who just fled the magic academy.
He needed to find a place to deal with his arm. He needed food. He needed a plan for what came next. But most importantly, he had to leave Silverstar City, the farther the better.
He carefully peeked out of the alley. The street outside was a bit wider but just as run-down. A few people wrapped in ragged cloaks hurried past, throwing indifferent or wary glances at the狼狈 (bedraggled) young man in the rain. A patrol of city guardsmen marched past the street corner, their armor clanking.
Erik pulled his head back, his heart tightening again. The checks inside the city were already increasing.
He retreated deeper into the alley. Relying on a fuzzy memory of the city's edge (he'd been here before, looking for cheap antique shops and old bookstores), he chose a narrower, more winding path, heading in the direction of the city wall.
The rain blurred his vision. The cold and pain constantly ate away at his will. He felt dizzy and had to stop often, leaning against damp walls to catch his breath.
"Hey, kid, looks like you need some help?" a hoarse voice came from a low doorway nearby.
Erik turned警惕地 (warily). A man wrapped in a dirty, oilcloth cloak crouched there, a piece of straw in his mouth. He had an unfriendly smile. His eyes looked Erik up and down, judging if he was worth robbing.
Erik didn't answer, just tried to walk faster.
"Don't be in such a hurry," the man said, standing up and blocking the path. He was half a head taller than Erik. "Look at you. In trouble, huh? I know a safe place. Got food. Come with me?" He reached out, trying to grab Erik's arm.
Erik jumped back, avoiding the hand. The fingers on his right hand curled slightly, trying to gather a bit of magic. But the magic inside him was empty, drained from the forced spellcasting in the tower. Now he just felt weak and the pain in his arm made it hard to focus.
"I don't need it," Erik's voice was hoarse and cold, trying to sound tough.
"Hmph. Refusing a friendly offer," the man's fake smile disappeared, replaced by a nasty look. He pulled a rusty short knife from his belt. "Hand over anything valuable. Then get lost. Or else..."
He didn't finish.
Because the moment the knife appeared, Erik reacted. Not by fighting, but by running! He turned and ran down the alley with all the strength he could muster!
"Dammit! Stop!" the man was startled, clearly not expecting that. He cursed and gave chase.
Running pulled at all his injuries. Every step made his vision go dark. But he didn't dare stop. The footsteps and curses behind him were a worse threat than the cold or pain.
He ran like a headless chicken through the network of alleys, using his fuzzy memory of the area to try and lose his chaser. He almost crashed into piles of junk and slipped in the mud several times. The man chasing him seemed to know the area well and stayed close, getting closer.
Just as Erik was almost in despair, he saw the alley mouth ahead seemed to lead to a slightly busier street. He could even see a small tavern with a faded sign. More people might mean he could lose him?
He pushed himself towards the alley mouth.
But just as he was about to burst out, at the other end of the street, a group of four Judicature lawkeepers on large horses patrolled slowly past! Their black armor looked especially grim in the rain. Their sharp eyes scanned the street.
Wolf in front, tiger behind!
Erik's heart almost stopped. He skidded to a halt, his body slamming hard into the wall at the alley mouth from the momentum. The pain made him grunt, nearly knocking him out.
The footsteps behind him were right there. The thug's nasty laugh was almost in his ear. "Run! Why don't you run, kid?..."
Hopeless situation!
Erik's eyes scanned wildly, finally landing on a huge, filthy wooden wine barrel in the corner of the alley mouth. It was the only possible hiding place!
He didn't hesitate. Using his last bit of strength, he threw himself behind it, curling up and squeezing into the narrow, dirty space between the barrel and the wall. The smell of rot and old wood filled his nose, but he clenched his jaw, holding his breath.
A second later, the thug with the knife rushed out of the alley. He stopped, looking around, confused and angry.
"Dammit, where'd he go?" he muttered, his eyes scanning the street. He saw the obvious Judicature knights and seemed to shrink back a little, hiding the knife behind his back.
The knights noticed this suspicious man who had burst out of the alley. The leader reined in his horse, his cold gaze falling on him. "You! What are you doing?"
The thug jumped, quickly bowing. "N-nothing, sir. I... I was chasing a kid who stole from me..."
The knight leader looked him over, clearly not believing him. "Stole? Have you seen a young man, maybe hurt, dressed in rags? Black hair, looks seventeen or eighteen."
The thug's eyes shifted. He seemed to realize these knights were also looking for that kid, and they were more important. He immediately distanced himself. "N-no, sir! Didn't see him! I'll go, I'll go..." He said, bowing and backing away, then quickly turned and slipped into another alley, disappearing.
The knight leader frowned but didn't chase the obvious ruffian. He waved his hand, leading his men to continue their patrol down the street. The heavy sound of horse hooves faded away.
Behind the barrel, Erik's tense body almost collapsed. Cold sweat mixed with rain soaked his clothes. He could clearly hear his own heart pounding wildly and the fading sound of horse hooves in the distance.
He had survived. For now.
But the danger was far from over. The Judicature's net was spreading. He had to get out of Silverstar City fast.
When the street seemed quiet and empty again, Erik painfully crawled out from his hiding place. He leaned against the cold wall, breathing heavily, feeling waves of fear and weakness.
He had to find a way out of the city. The main gates were out of the question—they would be heavily guarded.
He remembered the academy rumors about the "Shadowpaths"—forgotten old sewers leading outside, smuggler's tunnels, or the sealed ruins of old city gates lost to expansion.
One possible entrance was supposed to be deep in these slums, near the base of the city wall.
With a clear goal, Erik once again pushed down the physical pain and mental fear. He got his bearings and, dragging his battered body, melted deeper into the cold, wet, dangerous shadows of Silverstar City.
His life as a fugitive had only just begun.