A heartbeat felt like an eternity. The only sounds were the hiss of the gaslight and the trickle of rain on the roof. The tip of Valerius's sword hung motionless an inch from Kael's face, held by some unseen force. It simply wouldn't move.
Valerius, a man who had never been given a reason to doubt his own strength, grunted and pushed. His muscles bulged, and his veins stood out on his thick neck. It was like pushing against a mountain. The sword did not budge.
Confusion was evident on his face before settling into malice. He knew magic. He'd seen wizards conjure sparks and seers read fortunes. This was something else.
"The Black Art!" Valerius bellowed, retracting his sword. The sudden release of pressure sent a spike of pain through Kael's skull. His unfocused view of the world intensified. "He's a sorcerer! He killed Finnian with his black magic and now resists the Law! Subdue the traitor!"
Just moments before, I had seen him as nothing less than the embodiment of righteousness. The remaining guards, their devotion to the Captain being far stronger than their own beliefs, reacted instantly. They saw their virtuous commander, and they saw a confused Kael standing over a dead body.
Two guards surged forward, batons raised.
A panicked Kael scrambled backward, tripping over his own feet. "No, get away, it's not safe!" He didn't think about fighting, only about creating distance.
The first guard planted his boot on a patch of cobblestone where Kael had just been standing. The stone, which had been dry a second ago, now gleamed with an oil slick. The guard's foot slid out from under him, slamming him into his partner.
Kael didn't understand what had happened, he only saw an opening. He staggered to his feet. He tasted the wet, metallic flavor of blood and realized his nose was bleeding. The pain in his head was a constant, drilling pressure.
The main door was blocked by Valerius. Kael's eyes darted around the warehouse, landing on a crumbling and damp section of the side wall. It was his only way out.
"He's making a run for it! Don't let him escape!" Valerius roared.
Kael ran. He heard the whistle of something flying past his ear, the dagger Valerius had forced into Finnian's hand. He didn't dare to look back. He braced himself and threw his entire weight against the damaged brick wall.
He was a strong man, but not strong enough to break through solid brick. Yet, as his shoulder made contact, he desperately thought, It has to break. It was almost as if the thought sank into the wall itself.
There wasn't a solid crash. Instead, there was a sickening groan. The wall's stability had presumably rotted from the inside. Bricks and mortar turned to sand and gravel around the point of impact. Kael stumbled through the newly made hole, and tumbled out into a narrow, rain-soaked alley.
He landed hard on cobblestones, the cold sting of the rain refreshing for his burning face. He sucked in a breath of the air he had once thought of as order. Now it smelled only of his own fear.
"Seal the block! The fugitive is armed and dangerous!" Valerius's voice, now distorted by the wall.
Kael forced himself to his feet. Every one of his muscles screamed in protest. The world still had a shimmering quality to it. He pressed a hand to his bleeding nose and began to run.
He navigated through the winding alleys he knew better than his own reflection. Every turn he had once used to corner thieves, he now used to hide from his own comrades.
He was the rat now.
He found refuge in a polluted space beneath a small bridge spanning over a drainage canal. His guard's uniform, his symbol of honor, now defiled with grime and his own blood. He huddled in the darkness, shivering from the cold, and listening to the distant shouts of the men who were hunting him.
His shield was shattered. His faith had died back on that warehouse floor. His title was now "fugitive." All he had left was a terrifying power he didn't understand and a pounding in his skull. For the first time in his life, Kael was alone.