Path Of The Broken

3. The Broken One-1

3

The Broken One

Ryan shivered, wind whipping around him straight through his threadbare shirt, he tugged at the edge of his cloak, trying to pull it further around to protect himself more. He grimaced; he’d grown too much in the last year and the cloak no longer fit him the way it should.

Hunching his shoulders, he glowered up at the looming figure of Tyson walking ahead of him. To call Tyson ‘father’ wasn't something he could bring himself to do. Just because the man had shacked up with his mother didn't make him his father. Then his mother had died, leaving him alone in the world except for Tyson. Tyson was a merchant, or at least liked to call himself one. He dealt with many goods but was an expert in none, and had seen better days. While alive, Ryan’s mother had controlled the finances. When she’d died, things had gone from bad to worse. Tyson's drinking and gambling habit had increased, old friends had drifted way. The people they mixed with became those his mother would never have approved of.

Ryan looked around the darkened alley. The lamps had all guttered out, probably on purpose. Thugs and thieves ran around this area; it was not a good neighbourhood. He was aware they did because he ran with them when he didn’t have to help Tyson. Saying a silent apology to his mother, he scowled. His mother would not have approved of the company he was keeping.

There had been better days once. His mother and father had been respectable merchants. Not the richest, but enough that they had sent him to the central town hall three mornings a week to learn his letters from the scholars. That became less frequent with his father’s death, and stopped altogether when Tyson came on the scene. By then they couldn’t afford the luxury anymore.

Ryan shivered, but not due to the wind this time. His head jerked up and he looked around, trying to spot who or what the danger was. It was nearby, that much he sensed.

Tyson suddenly grabbed hold of him, shoving him into a side alley.

“Hush boy, there’s an easy mark. I’d warrant we’ll eat well this week,” Tyson’s rough voice whispered down at him.

Wrenching himself out of Tyson’s grasp, Ryan breathed a sigh of relief. Carefully he eased himself off the rough stone wall and peered around Tyson’s bulk to stare down the alley at the stranger that had caught Tyson’s attention.

Dread descended on him, and Ryan swallowed and stepped back further into the darkness. The stranger glowed. Glowed in a way he knew most couldn’t see. The dark cloaked figure who walked down the alley was no one's mark. He was dangerous, the glow told him that much.

“I don’t know, Tyson, walking this late, in this part of town… He seems confident. Leave him, I’ll find us a different mark.” Ryan saw the blow coming too late and staggered back as Tyson’s fist struck him.

“Enough boy, don’t get in my way,” the voice hissed at him out of the dark as Tyson lunged forward into the alley, his cheap, worn knife clutched in his hand.

Ryan fell back onto the ground, the chill of the cold water seeping into his trousers, yet he didn't move. He watched, frozen, horrified as he felt a surge that told him the one in the alley was strong. Stronger than any of his kind Ryan had ever encountered.

The glowing figure swung around, one hand rising to block Tyson’s strike as the fiery blade he wielded in the other plunged into Tyson. Ryan felt the anger that smouldered in the man, could see the eyes flickering from the depths of the hooded cloak, the power as it flared through him. Ryan could see the man’s face from the glow thrown off the blade, his expression impassive as he looked down at the lifeless form of Tyson. He knelt down next to the body and made short work of searching him before appropriating the money pouch Tyson had stolen earlier in the night.

The man stood, his head swinging around to stare right into the damp alley where Ryan sat, frozen in fear. He seemed to know he was being observed by someone else out in the darkness, maintaining a confident grip his on his flaring knife. The man stared straight at him. Ryan shook himself and scrambled to his feet, and dashed away down the cobbled street, not knowing where he was going. He only knew he needed to put distance between him and the man. Rough, mocking laughter followed him as he ran, but Ryan paid it no attention at all. Then he heard a voice in his mind as if the cloaked figure was standing right at his shoulder, whispering in his ear.

What am I becoming?

There was no anger in the mind voice, just pain and despair.