Voices called out, and for a moment, the man roused from his dreamless slumber. The acrid smell of smoke choked his nostrils, causing him to cough and wheeze. His eyes refused to open, but he felt hands lifting him, felt his feet slide across the ground, and bounce down the steps. Voices he could only barely understand called out to him, then to each other.
"Avdren! Wake up!" It sounded like Beatrice's voice; the fear in her tone was palpable.
"He's alive, but barely. The fire was quenched in time. He needs a healer." This voice was male and heavy with authority. "Someone get to the temple. Get a cleric. By the gods, do it fast."
Avdren coughed again and choked on his saliva, his head spun, and his eyes refused to open. He tried to speak, but pain lanced through his head again. He cried out before the blackness took him back to its painless embrace.
"What happened here, Beatrice? Did you see?" The man knelt over Avdren's limp form with a hand supporting the back of his head. Beatrice tore a strip from the hem of her dress and knelt, wiping at the face of the motionless form.
"No, Simon. I only saw the smoke over the rooftops by the markets. A few others saw it as well. When we came to investigate and found it was the Brents' home, someone ran off to fetch whoever was on duty." She paused in her cleaning attempts and looked up to meet his gaze. "I'm guessing you had seen the smoke too, or they wouldn't have gotten to you so quickly."
"Yes," he mused, "I did. I was patrolling a few streets down from here and thought I smelled smoke. As I was coming up the hill, the plume came into view right as Ed came running down the hill to get me. Who put out the fire?"
"I did. You know I've always had an affinity for water spells. I couldn't let this house burn." Beatrice sighed and looked toward the barely standing walls, still smoldering despite the thorough drenching she had given them. "Forgot how many people around here aren't aware I am a sorceress. Thought a few of them were going to run off screaming." A humorless chuckle escaped her lips. "Simon. It wasn't him. You know that, right? The boy was in a bad place, but he wouldn't do this."
"Yes. I know." Simon grimaced. "It's why I hoped you had seen something." Footsteps rang out on the cobblestones as a pair of figures rushed into view. One was Ed, who had run off toward the temple, and the other was Mason Stronghand. He was one of the dwarven priests from the nearby temple of Dran and a practiced healer. The stout cleric wasted no time in his duties, quickly moving next to Beatrice and kneeling. A warm light suffused his hands as he began to chant a prayer in Dwarvish, clasping one hand tight around the amulet at his neck and placing the other on Avdren's chest. The soft glow intensified as tendrils of it ran up and down the young man's body, tracing the veins beneath his skin. After a few agonizing minutes, the glow began to sink in and diffuse. Mason rocked back and ceased his chanting, letting out a slow breath.
Avdren's eyes opened with a start, and he tried to sit up, his gaze darting wildly around him. He gasped, his breath coming in ragged bursts. Strong hands held him down, and someone put a waterskin to his lips. Cool liquid poured into his mouth, and with an effort, he swallowed. He tried to open his eyes, blinking against the late afternoon sun. "Peace, Avdren." Mildred's soothing voice reached his ears. "You're safe now. We've got you." He glanced around, meeting her gaze. Her hand went reflexively to her mouth, and she choked on her words as their eyes locked. "Oh, you poor boy. What happened?" She reached out, touching the side of his face. "What have they done to you. Mason, what is this?" The dwarf's face entered Avdren's vision as the sturdy man leaned over, gazing at him with a practiced eye.
"I... don't know," Mason pulled at his beard in thought. "It's arcane in nature, but beyond that... Son, look at my hand. Follow me finger for a moment with your eyes. Aye, there's a good lad." Avdren tried his best, but with growing apprehension, realized that as soon as the healer's finger crossed to the left side of his face, it disappeared from view. "Shite, I was right. Ye cannae see o'er there." Mason's original accent slipped out more as worry creased his brow. "What'er that be, it's blinded his eye. I be sorry, laddie, there is nae I can do."
Avdren reached up and felt his face. It didn't feel different, besides the blood dried on his cheek. "Please, help me up. I need to stand." The shock was evident in his face, but there was determination in his voice. Mildred moved back, Mason moving over and taking his arm. Someone else grabbed his left arm and lifted as well. With a grunt of effort, they got him up. He swayed for a moment, but the firm hands held him straight as his equilibrium returned. He glanced over, seeing who was bracing him. "Oh, I should have known someone would have gone for you, Simon." The ghost of a smile touched his lips. "Thank you, all of you." He tugged his arms free, wheeling himself about to face the house. "Ahh... that explains the smoke. He did say they started a fire." Avdren went to take a step forward, but Simon's hand clasped his shoulder in a firm grip.
"Who, son. Who started the fire? I need a name. No one saw anything." There was iron in his voice. He locked eyes with Avdren and squeezed his shoulder. "You need to tell me. I need to report it and get a search party out."
Avdren pushed the hand away and took a step. His voice was a hoarse whisper as he looked at the remains of his family home. "Don't bother. I don't know his name. They took what they wanted and they left. In a wagon. He was a wizard, too, or some other sort of mage." Avdren grimaced in pain and took another step.
"What did he look like then?" Simon's tone brooked no rebuttal.
"Well dressed, middle-aged. A scar on his right cheek. His eyes were... strange. He said 'Don't bother trying to remember my name, nobody ever does.' Then he laughed. One of his men, Richter, I think, got upstairs somehow without me knowing. Set my spell book on fire." Reflexively, Avdren reached into his shirt pocket, fishing out the pack of tobacco. He placed one to his lips and stood dumbly for a moment before he realized. "Oh... right." He spat the cigarette onto the ground in frustration, crushing the rest of the pack in his hand. Dripping water caught his attention, and he looked towards the crumbled walls. A puddle of water shone in the sun's reflection, and he staggered over. The reflection that looked back up at him seemed to be a stranger. Covered in ash and blood, his hair was plastered to the top of his head with sweat and grime. Avdren sank into a crouch, looking intently at his eye. There was indeed something there. It almost looked like it was carved onto his iris. It looked like the cracks that formed around a hole in the ice, or shattered glass. Jagged and branching out from his pupil in ever smaller lines. He recognized it, though he couldn't tell the others. A tear rolled down his cheek, one at first, then more. He slammed his fist into the cobbles and snarled. He tried to reach for his magic out of habit, finding nothing. The tears flowed freely. He threw his head back and screamed, and in a moment Mildred was there, her arms around him. She held him as he sobbed.
Behind them, the crowd dispersed with gathering speed. Mildred held Avdren close, shushing him with gentle coos. Simon stepped forward, opening his mouth to speak but quickly closing it again. Instead, he stepped through the burned doorway, looking around. There was glass everywhere, and in places the wood still steamed and smoldered. As he stepped further into the room, his gaze fell on two charred corpses. Stooping down, he inspected the bodies. "Shit." He swore, before standing up and exiting back onto the street. "Avdren?" Mildred tried to silence him with a glare, but he pushed ahead. "Avdren, did you kill those two men?" The crying slowed and stopped. After a moment, Avdren met Simon's gaze.
"Yes." The response was emotionless, monotone. He pushed himself to his feet. "They rushed me. I stopped them. It was that simple." Avdren absently brushed at his shirt, knocking soot on the ground. "I'd guess they were meant to delay me long enough for my spell book to be burned. Pawns to be sacrificed." He spat on the ground. "Bastards deserved worse."
"Maybe so, but it's still murder."
"Who's going to arrest me, then, Simon? You? Piss off. They attacked me. It was self-defense." Avdren's good eye was fire and rage. "I'll kill all those worthless shits, if it's the last thing I do."
"Avdren," Simon said as he rested a hand on his broadsword. "Those men? They're wearing city guard uniforms."