Captured (short story)
Title: Captured Author: player of Selandriel
The last vestiges of the vision fled his mind’s eye, his sight returning to the night-shrouded world around him and murky crystal in his hands. Something inside the crystal shifted, a subtle swirl in the texture refracted through its many facets. His breath misted in the chill air before him. He felt it, the cold, as he often did here. It bothered him.
A wave crashed against the pier below, and he blinked slowly, shifting his gaze up and across the bay sprawled before him. Expressionless, he watched the moving waters, following the swells as they broke across each other, salty spray drifting through the air above them. His eyes swam across the scene, settling here and there for moments before resuming their apparent search of the dark water. Something was there, at the edge of his vision. Something just beyond what he could perceive. There were hints, clues, all about him. His hand absently rubbed the crystal in his hand.
He tucked the shard away, slipping it into the inner pocket of the grey silk jacket he wore. His hand stopped at its seam as he withdrew it, inspecting the fabric with slow sweeping motions. A smirk crossed his features just as a stiff breeze cut across the bay, casting his long blonde hair across his face in a wild flurry. When his locks settled, the smirk was gone, replaced by a slight frown and narrowed eyes.
He stood suddenly, pulling the ample hood of his cloak up over his head. Another breeze, stronger than the last, sent his cloak billowing out behind him. A small golden key swung slowly in the wind, suspended from his neck by a length of black silk. Hastily, he gathered his cloak tightly about his body and made his away off the pier with considerable purpose in his long stride. His senses screamed in his mind. Danger, something is about to happen. But where?
His pace quickened as he neared the end of the pier and stepped into the southern market square of the town. He stepped through the bustling crowds, easily weaving in and out of the many passing folk. Behind you, he thought. He stopped at the fruit cart there before him, picking up an apple as if inspecting it.
Something brushed up against him, moving to his right; the same direction he was just heading. He shifted his gaze slightly. The fisherman from the pier, at least, a man dressed as a fisherman. His movements were too controlled. How could I have been so careless! He cursed himself, turning from the cart and heading away in the opposite direction.
Turning at the last moment, he stepped behind a large mule-driven wagon being moved by its owner, and cut through a narrow alley. The din of the square faded behind him as he lightly swept down the winding streets of South Haven. Lightly echoing footsteps followed him at a distance as the occasional Havener returned home for the evening. He quickened his pace again.