Since this story is soooo stinkin’ long, it is broken down into bits of chapters. And it is “Demetri” Ki, not “Demitri.” And also, Ki, if you will remember when we were quizzing each other on the names of our story characters, and there was no one in your story named Demetri or Paul.
“C’mon, Demetri, we have to go! NOW!”
Demetri groaned in protest and rolled over. However, Paul had other things in mind; he tried to drag Demetri off the lice-infested mattress while threatening, “Don’t make me slap you!”
Paul’s threat was enough to make Demetri roll into a sitting position, and from there, to half stand on the floor. “All, right, what did you haul me out of bed for?”
“Look for yourself,” Paul answered, pointing out the small window. Demetri peered out.
“Dang, how’d they know we were here?” An angry mob was clustered on the doorstep of the filthy inn, becoming angrier by the minute as the door refused to open.
“The innkeeper told them,” Paul grumbled. “Dirty, lying cheat. The wulves are coming, and following the wulves are soldiers. We should get a move on.”
Demetri sighed. He was still tired, but if the door was jammed, the wulves would make sure it wasn’t. Pausing only to make sure his long, ornate-hilted sword was still in its sheath, he and Paul left the room rather quickly.
“How do you plan to get out, seeing as the door is out of the question?”
“The window in the kitchen.” Demetri wondered if this would work, since the window in the kitchen was only slightly bigger than the one in their room. But Paul’s plans usually worked. Demetri stopped in front of the kitchen window and studied it for a minute, then drew the sword and stabbed it. Instead of shattering, the glass vanished, leaving a not-so-perfect escape route.
A crash sounding from the front door informed the two friends that the wulves had arrived and were howling and clawing the door down. Demetri vaulted through the window, but got stuck halfway.
“Go, Demetri, they’re coming!”
“My butt is stuck, help!”
“I here voices! It must be them. Over this way!”
Out of desperation, Paul kicked Demetri in the rear as hard as he could. Demetri flew out the window and face-planted in the dirt, while Paul scrambled out after him. They ducked around the corner to see if anyone had noticed. Someone stuck their head out the window, and unfortunately, a beam of sunlight glinted off Demetri’s sword hilt, which flashed brilliantly in the dim light.
“AHA!” the man yelled. “Send the wulves!” Demetri and Paul ran away at these words. The man retreated inside and grabbed a young boy who had joined the mob because it was a cool thing to do and ordered, “Run to the barracks and tell those soldiers to hurry up.” The boy, looking very frightened, nodded and ran, too.
Three wulves skidded around the corner, but when they saw that Demetri and Paul were too far away to howl at, they gave chase, but their sense of smell is not as good as a wolf’s, and they soon lost their quarry in the crowded streets of Mahzi.
“So how do you plan to get out of town now that everyone knows we’re here and is looking for us?” Demetri asked.
“Get down to the docks and take a sailboat.”
“I don’t like stealing.”
“Well, what’s your idea? We can’t just walk out, ’cause they’re watching the gates, and even if we had the money, we couldn’t buy horses, ’cause they’re watching the stables.”
“And, chances are, they are watching the docks, too.”
The “they” Demetri and Paul were referring to were King Arran’s soldiers. They were after him because the king wanted the sword, but Demetri had been told not to not let him have it. He had been awoken in the middle of the night, two weeks ago, when something flying had knocked a hole in his ceiling and dropped the sword through it. Demetri had pulled the sword out of his floorboards and read a small piece of parchment attached to it: Take this sword to the Temple of Dykus, but if the King gets it, you’ll be sorry.
So Demetri had taken the sword to Paul’s house, and they both set out to find this Temple Dykus. Along the road, Demetri had spotted a sign that had originally read “To Tammykus” but it was so old and peeling that it did look a bit like “To Temple Dykus.” So Paul and Demetri went this way, on the wrong track completely.
“Aauugghh!” Paul yelled. They had arrived at the docks, which were swarming with soldier who had just noticed the pair. One of the soldiers had just tried to behead Paul, who had barely enough time to parry with his own sword.