Race to Til-Thorin

CHAPTER 9
ESCAPE

When you’re on the run, just remember, you don’t necessarily have to be the fastest.
…just faster than the last guy.

The popping noises resounded through Wendell’s head as the bones of his jaw and neck realigned. UNGH! With each pop, he sighed with relief. The pounding throb in his temples subsided and his vision finally came into perfect focus. Dax was hastily pulling him through the front door of the Roadkill Tavern, Alhannah and the wizard close at their heels.

“Why are we running?” he asked, pulling from Dax’s grip. Wendell glanced back at the wizard, who wore a frantic expression. “What’s going on?”

“Right,” Chuck sighed, “microwave version.” He ushered Wendell forward, guiding him between buildings, towards the Market exit. The wizard looked left and right, over his shoulder and even up at the ceiling. “I brushed you aside to hide your identity from Istul,” he started rapidly. “I’m sorry, my boy. Truly. Thule’s not here, but his henchmen are.”

Wendell quickly followed without having to be prompted.

“Four Vallen soldiers—scouts, sitting in the tavern, saw what you just did—then left without a word. That doesn’t bode well for us.” He flipped around suddenly and squeezed Wendell’s shoulders like an excited father, “Even though I’m SO proud of what I saw back there!” He quickly looked him up and down, “You ok? Any open wounds, missing fingers or toes?”

“I’m good…” Wendell started, trying to put the pieces together.

“Ya got yerself noticed,” grumbled Dax, peeking around a corner and waving them forward.

“…and that means?” Wendell gulped.

“Were screwed.” He stopped and threw himself against a wall—each of them following Dax’s example. “If we’re lucky,” he whispered, “we can get out of here before they catch us and deny it ever happened.”

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