Troy's Last Chance

Chapter 2- Rhode

Rubbing my eyes apprehensively and whirling around, searching for that boy. That young man dissipated into nothing. There was no trace of him, no feasible evidence left of my sanity. I assumed I'd missed something, maybe it was a play on lighting. I reminded myself how little light there was, the sun had fallen below the horizon in no more than the couple minutes I'd stood there. Only rosy rays peaked from the mountain's summit. Crazy, the sun was high and lustrous only an hour ago- now, it was merely aglow. Shadows grew dark, threatening to swallow me. To become a prisoner of the dark and weary.

Dumbfounded, I eventually came to the conclusion that this was no figment of my imagination. He was no longer there, and I was quite certain my vision was not also impaired. At least, I'd hoped so. There were still countless wounds that I had yet to find on my body.

That guy had stolen a crate of milky cloth. He didn't bother looking for the shopkeeper to exchange currency with. He simply left- disappeared. And something told me whoever controlled this hell-of-a-place didn't take robbing lightly. I feared for him, but not quite measuring up to the fear I had for myself.

Four massive hands suddenly seized my shoulders with tremendous speed and force. In the corner of my eye, I could make out the two shockingly buff men that grasped me.

"If you wouldn't mind letting me go," I tapped a finger digging into my bone. It definitely left a bruise. "I have places to be; appointments to attend," I lied. They ignored me. Instead, one held me still while the other tied ropes around my hands and my waist. These cords were rough, unbearably tight and restricted my breathing. It was the worst timing, because my heart began to pound and I lacked oxygen. A headache grew in my skull rapidly.

They each wielded blood-coated swords. From the looks of them, they were apparently some kind of soldiers. The average civilian wouldn't be authorized to carry around weapons on their hip in a market. I struggled to pry their fingers off my arms, but it was no use. This surely didn't ease my thriving nerve.

"Oh," I began. "And while you're at it, go put on some real clothes. You know, some that doesn't make me nauseous." I know, not the-once again- smartest nor ingenious comment I could come up with, but I wasn't kidding. I could only describe their attire as 'dramatic and ugly;. The outfits were so inappropriate, it made mine look acceptable. They only exchanged annoyed glances.

One glared at me abhorrently, while the other sheathed his sword in anger, prepared to thrust it into my side at any given moment. When just in the neck of time, a short, stubby man came running toward us, breathing heavily. And I heaved a sigh of relief, silently thanking him. His silver hair was pulled into a small bun propped on top of his head. Before I could say anything else, the fat man exclaimed, "Aha!" his voice was annoyingly skittish and squeaky, it had a strange echo. And just by that, I knew he wasn't there to help. "Yes, that's her! She stole my clothing. Arrest her... uh, please," he said, suddenly timid.

The captor on my right nodded calmly, "Thirty eight euros."

"W-" I tried talking but my voice was suddenly raspy. "What?" I asked, my voice still sounding a bit edgy.

The other soldier, with boring, brown, horribly cropped hair, groaned, "A crate of white silk is worth thirty-eight euros. Respectfully pay that amount and you will receive a minor punishment for attempting to steal. Don't-well, I'm sure you know the penalty for stealing from a merchant." He elbowed his partner in the rib and sniggered. His friend, with a stalkier build and umber skin, remained silent, but agreed mutely.

Even though these guys were pushing my limits, I tried to remain unperturbed and reasonable. Just talk yourself out of this. You can stall them until you've assembled a plan. "Come on, you've got to let me go. I didn't steal it. I think you were talking about the boy."