Photo Prompt 1

[Originally written 6/7/2007]

Stephen leapt from the side of the tower. There were too many people that had seen his cast his spells that he knew he would be marked. Even if he could get away from the tower and into the crowds undetected, it would be almost impossible for him to make it out of the gates without being identified.

 It was a deperate plan, he realized, but the only way he could find to escape. If it backfired, well, all he could do was hope for success.

* * * * *

It was near dusk the previous night when he had been captured. Stephen had been dining in a pub, the place boisterous and the alcohol flowing, when the place suddenly became silent. Stephen was still laughing loudly when he realized what was happening.

 “Stephen, Minstrel of York, you are here-by under arrest for the crimes of conspiracy to commit treason, destruction of the king’s property, and witchcraft,” the deep voice sounded from the door. Stephen had been staring at the individual while she announced the charges. She was a beautiful blonde, with green eyes that Stephen could see from across the room. He knows the eyes well.
 “Madam Catherine,” he said, standing quickly as several armed guards began moving around the tables towards him. “We really should quit meeting like this.”
“Watch his hands, ” she yelled at the men. “Secure them well once you have him.”
Stephen firmly grabbed the sides of the table and lifted, lurching the table forward as best he could before throwing his hands wildly about. Small flashes of light shot towards each of the armed men, stunning them where they stood. Stephen began moving towards a window and patrons, laughing with him a few moments earlier, were now shrieking and drawing away from him as he approached. Stephen grabbed a chair and threw it towards the large glass window. The chair hit the window with a thud before it scuttled to the floor.
Stephen ran towards the bar, and the door for the backroom, where the owner was standing in his way.
“Not in my establishment,” the owner growled, holding a cleaver in his right hand.
Stephen focused on the metal and it began to glow. The owner yelped in pain as he dropped it, grabbing his hand as it became singed from the metal in the handle. Stephen pushed past him and into the kitchen, scrambling for the back door. He ran out, into the night, and into the arms of another group of guards.
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