Only Way Out

Everything had gone sideways. The fleet lay at the bottom of the harbor. Their retreat over the mountain passes had been sealed by the Ethrael. His men had been picked off by the Queen’s Bulwarks. Only Mirothan remained.

Voices echoed off Gazrae’s walls and he dove into an alley and its shadows. The queen’s guard swept past. Thankfully the guard and not the bulwarks.

He was the last. For now.

If he didn’t make it to the temple now his only way out would not last long.

Mirothan listened as the footsteps faded and the street lay empty when he glanced out. Whatever night traffic the city boasted had melted away at the guard’s uproar.

A pale blue cloak fluttered, abandoned on a line. Darting out, Mirothan yanked it free as he moved, swinging it over his clothing.

That eased things. Never had he regretted his distinctive commander’s uniform before. He wore it with the pride of Unirath, but here it might as well have been a flare in the darkness so distinctive from Westergras garb.

The cloak helped though, and he waded between shadows and guards until the temple rose before him. He stopped outside the gateway outside.

A shadow moved within stepping into the torchlight resolving into her. Brilliant red hair. Flowing robes over armor. A sword resting on her shoulder.

A scowl locked onto her face.

Elaydia, the child queen of Westergras had found him. Mirothan fell to his knees. “Mercy.” He clasped his hands together.