Deathspell (Peter W. Dawes) - Peter Dawes Page 0,3

eyes briefly, one hand reaching inside his cloak and emerging with a blade. He lunged forward and plunged the knife into the man’s chest in one swift motion, forcing the other man to stumble backward. This seemed to be all the reassurance my father needed to turn his back on our attacker. “Now, Christian. Out the window!”

I climbed onto the ledge, following the instruction on instinct as another cough assailed him. He struggled to regroup, doubled over, a thin strand of red-tinged spit hanging from his mouth that he wiped with his sleeve as his breaths came in wheezes. I motioned to jump back into the room, but froze when the man my father had stabbed recovered, pulling the dagger out and dropping it to the ground. Pain racked his expression, but didn’t prevent him from drawing his sword.

The events which followed played in slow motion.

My mind cried out, a scream of warning stuck in my throat I struggled to produce while knowing it was too late. The armed man thrust his weapon forward, running my father through until the blade protruded from his chest, coated in blood. “You missed,” he said, whispering harshly into my father’s ear.

A whine escaped my lips and the tears already stinging at my eyes spilled onto my cheeks when the man pulled his blade out. Richard Hardi fell to his knees, looking up at me with his final plea latent in his gaze. Get out of here. Run. Hide. Find your brother swiftly. My father collapsed onto the floor and stilled, the action one of alarming finality.

Finally, the sound stopped up in my throat sprang forth as an agonized wail.

The armed man grimaced as our eyes met, my vision blurred until I lifted my sleeve to wipe the moisture from my face. I watched his gaze flick to the sack, confused and distraught when he charged forward and swiped at me with his free hand. The precarious position I maintained worked to my advantage when I flailed back at him and lost my balance in the process. He hit me hard enough for me to sail back and out the window, unable to grab hold of anything to stop my hasty decent.

The sensation of flight became the feel of falling too fast for me to regroup. My body twisted into an upright position, legs kicking and arms reaching out, but failing to claim purchase on anything but thin air. I toppled around once and hit the ground below in a painful thud, my knees unable to bear the brunt of impact and sending me flat onto my backside. The first dizzying sight my eyes took hold of was my father’s killer, leaning out the window to look down at me.

“The urchin’s escaped!” he called out. “Someone get out there and get him.”

I scrambled to a stand and limped until my legs could support my weight again. The world around me spun so violently, I couldn’t figure out whether to find somewhere to hide or huddle into a corner and throw up until someone or something came to put me out of my misery. “Get to Jeffrey,” I managed, more tears falling and my face contorting as I tried to hold back the torrent which wanted to follow. It had not yet registered why I was crying or what in the hell was going on. For all I knew, I would wake to discover the entire thing a bad dream.

The nightmare demanded I run. So, I ran.

I didn’t look back. Not even when I heard the pounding of footsteps on the dirt path behind me. Not even when I heard the whinny of horses and cut into the woods by the road, barreling through branches and feeling a few of them cut into me along the way. I emerged by a stream and waded across it, into deeper woods. A protruding tree root tripped me up on the other side. My knees stung anew and I bit my lip against more weeping, clamoring further until I reached the edge of the forest. I came upon a country road and jumped into the cart of a passing wagon, not even of the mind to thank some higher power for the stroke of serendipity. All I knew was that somehow, I had made it away.

Days later – dirty, hungry, and bloodied from the excursion – I found my way to my brother Jeffrey’s farm. He accepted me without hesitation and, in time, put me to work, but