by Jim Galford
“You cannot afford to repay me,” he told them, giving Oria an angry scowl. “The only value you have here is as a mercenary, teaching my soldiers, which you were overheard saying you wished to cease. If you are leaving, you have no further worth. Aside from that, it is the girl’s debt, not yours.”
“We will find a way.”
“Even if you did, that covers only my lost property,” Desphon noted dryly. “The attack on me is punishable by death, if I so choose it.”
Leaping to her feet, Feanne crossed the room in a single step.
“Do not threaten my children,” she warned, her voice dangerously low. Oria could see that her mother’s fur was standing on-end. She was ready for a fight. “Take your blood money as we can collect it, but do not make threats.”
“By law, your child must repay me and I know she cannot,” Desphon countered, not backing down at all from Feanne. “Those who cannot repay their debts are sold on the slave market to cover the costs, though I will be kind and simply let her stay here as my property…”
Feanne erupted, grabbing the closest soldier and throwing him bodily into the hallway. Before the other could react, she had caught Desphon by the throat and dragged him back into the room, where she slammed him against the wall, snarling as she did so.
“Mother!” Oria cried, trying to get up, but her head was still too fogged.
Just outside the door, Oria could see the remaining guard gesturing to someone else down the hall before he drew his weapon.
“I and my children will be leaving here before morning,” Feanne told Desphon, her voice low and dangerous. She still held him slightly off the ground, pinned to the back wall of the room. “You will not endanger my kits.”
At the sound of the guards approaching, Feanne waved one hand back toward the doorway, while keeping Desphon held by his throat. Thick green vines filled the opening, sealing the room.
Though barely able to form the words, Desphon managed to choke out, “Don’t…care…about…kits. Let the…boy…take them…for all…I care.”
“You are trying to use this as an excuse to keep us here,” Feanne hissed, pulling Desphon’s face closer to hers. “Why should I not kill you for trying to profit off of my family?”
Clutching at her hands in an effort to free himself, Desphon choked and gagged, but could not reply.
Suddenly, the vines filling the doorway exploded inward in a hail of ice and plant sap.
Standing in the doorway, Oria saw one of the wizards that had trained Atall, backed by the group of soldiers. The wizard stepped back, though he kept his hands free and appeared ready to counter any attempt by Feanne to use magic against them.
The soldiers poured into the tiny room, very nearly trampling Oria as they did so.
Feanne fought as best she could, while trying not to release Desphon. However, in the tight confines, many of her abilities were useless. Her magic required too much time to concentrate and she had no room to move out of the way of her attackers’ weapons.
Within seconds, Feanne hit the floor beside Oria, the soldiers continuing to beat her with the hilts of their weapons. When Oria tried to crawl over to help, she felt another impact against her head and the room went black.
*
Oria woke some time later, her whole body aching. Bloody and skinned patches of flesh were visible all down her arms and she guessed that the rest of her was in a similar condition. Looking at her wounds only made it worse.
Sitting alongside her, one of the unnamed male kits held a bowl of water and a damp rag that was stained red. He stared at her as she tried to get up.
“How long was I out?” she asked her little brother.
“Atall said you’re hurt,” the little wildling answered, his big eyes wider still as he looked over her injuries. “Mom’s not back.”
That snapped Oria out of her pain-induced lethargy. Her mother was nowhere to be found.
“Where’s Atall?” she asked, using the wall to help herself stand. Nothing felt broken, but she did feel as though she had been trampled by horses. Sadly, she had to admit that she knew exactly what that felt like.
What did catch Oria’s attention, aside from pain, was a long chain that had been fastened from a manacle on her right ankle to a thick metal ring set into the wall.
The little male fox shrugged at Oria’s question.
“I need more than that. Where are the others?”
The kit thought a moment and then offered, “Atall told us to stay back in our room while he looked for mom.”
“So how are you here?”
The kit grinned, showing off tiny but very sharp teeth. “I followed your smell. The elfses didn’t care if I came in.”
Oria could not help but smile at the kit, giving his head an affectionate rub. She eyed the thick canvas tarp over the doorway, wondering how many guards they had left outside. She was willing to bet not many, but more were probably watching her mother.
“Good work,” she told the kit. She then lay down on her side, facing the door, hoping she had a good angle to see out. “Go back to the room. I’ll find mother and let all three of you know what’s happening.”
Nodding vigorously, the kit hopped to his feet, leaving the water and rag behind as he hurried from the room.
Oria narrowed her eyes most of the way as her brother threw open the canvas door, using her position to see what was outside. By the time the cloth had fallen again, she had been able to make out just one guard in the candle-lit hallway.
Sitting back up, Oria shifted her attention to the manacle on her ankle. It was loose enough that she could move her foot comfortably, but not so much that she could slip it past her foot without doing serious damage to her upper or lower ankle. The only way to remove it appeared to be by way of the lock that held it closed.
Turning the lock over in the palm of her hand, Oria tried to see into the keyhole, but the single lamp on the wall was far too dim to give her any real view. She would have to be more creative.
Oria slid her first finger’s claw into the lock, tapping at the inside to get an idea of the simple device’s design. Her claws were perfect for the exploration, but she began looking around the room for something to use as a pick, knowing her claw would likely snap if she twisted it wrong. Picking the lock with her claws would have been easiest, but she had not inherited her mother’s stronger claws.
As her gaze shifted around the room, Oria noticed a few small bits of bone near the wall, likely left behind when they had cleared out the tomb to use for housing. These, she grabbed with her free hand, hoping they would be sturdy enough for a try or two.
A few more taps inside the lock and Oria had a pretty good idea of what she was up against. It was not a complicated lock, but tricky enough that someone untrained and without tools would have been unable to do much. To Oria, it felt like a blessing that they had thought so little of her.
“Oh Yoska,” she whispered to herself as she fitted the bones into the lock, feeling them grip onto the part that would need to turn. “I’m betting you never thought I listened to you. All those lectures on how to escape from an angry woman and here I am, doing just what you told me to.”
She twisted the bones, feeling the tumbler move just before the lock popped open. As she finished the turn, one of the bones snapped cleanly off, but she did not need it anymore.
Oria worked quickly, but made sure to stay silent as she removed the manacle and set it aside, where she would not accidentally bump it.
Searching the room again, she tried to think how she was going to escape. Fighting was not an option, as badly bruised as she already was. That left outsmarting her guards, which Oria had to believe would not be difficult. Elves against a fox, she had her money on the fox every time.
With limited options, Oria began looking around at the ceiling. The room was too large to brace herself between the walls, but the uneven stonework had possibilities, as did the metal stakes above the door that held the canvas sheet in place.
>
Oria got back up, pacing the room as she eyed the stone blocks that made up the ceiling. Most were smoothly-fit, but some had moved over time, creating the occasional hand-hold.
This was one area for which Oria knew she had her father to thank. Feanne would never have considered climbing something to be a strategy worth considering. Father’s breed had been climbers and he had insisted on Oria and Atall learning the basics of it. Now, she thought that might just pay off.
Oria picked up a small rock and tucked it into her shirt before she got herself ready to climb. She looked at her sharp claws and then back to the stones, wondering if she really could do what she was thinking of trying.
Digging one hand into the cracks between the stones, Oria pulled herself up a little ways and then did the same with her feet, getting herself off the ground. Using her other hand, she pulled herself a bit farther, and after several minutes, she had managed to get up into the corner of the room’s uneven ceiling, where the lamp barely provided any light. She slowly reached out her left leg until she could put weight down on the metal stake above the door, easing the burden on her claws. She knew she must look ridiculous, straddling the doorway, but getting out was far more important to her than how.
Putting all her weight onto her feet and one hand, effectively bracing herself between a wall stone and a ceiling one, Oria pulled out the rock from her shirt and hoped for the best as she threw it at the manacle.
The loud ring of stone on metal echoed off the walls and almost immediately, an elven man rushed into the room, looking around in obvious panic.
Wasting no time, Oria caught the falling canvas with her free hand, then let go of the ceiling. She rolled as she landed, darting out the open door as fast as she could and let go of the canvas to let it fall behind her. She had reached the nearest intersection at a full run before she heard the soldier call out the warning to others that she had escaped.
Oria ran to the nearest intersection in the tunnels and headed down the less-used one. She repeated this pattern of avoiding places she might be discovered until she was far into the back tunnels of the tomb, where guards were rarely sent. There, at last, she sat down and rested.
Fear for her mother and Phaesys made her want to go on, to make sure they were safe. She wanted to know that Phaesys had been told that his childhood friend was dead. She wanted to check on Atall to see how he was handling his own loss. She needed to know her mother was even alive. There was so much she had to do.
Instead, Oria sat there in the dark and cried.
Years of running from corpses, fighting to stay alive, watching her parents risk everything to keep their children alive just one more day flooded into her. The memories of the previous day floated across her mind, the staked bodies tormenting her.
Oria fought to put aside those memories, the way she had always let the horrors she had seen wash over her, but they would not go. Instead, they were replaced with the thought of her mother, her brother, the kits, and even Phaesys impaled on spikes and left to be picked at by birds. The pain of that thought felt like a crushing weight on her already bruised body, making it hard to breathe between sobs.
It must have taken an hour or better for Oria to finally come to herself, weakly wiping away the moisture of tears that had matted much of her facial fur. Sniffling, she stood up and thought through what she had to do.
Phaesys could wait, she assured herself. Given that it was his father that had ordered their arrest, she needed to deal with him last. Moreover, she needed time to think about what she would do when she met him again.
Her mother was the highest priority, but the moment Oria tried to free her, the soldiers would mobilize. Many of them feared Feanne enough that they would not hesitate to bring everything they had at their disposal to capture her again.
That left Atall and the kits. If Oria went after either captive first, the kits were in danger. She knew she had to mitigate that first, or everything else she did would have to be planned out with the expectation of someone trying to hurt them.
Traveling by the back tunnels as much as she could, Oria kept her desert hood up much of the time to avoid being recognized by the few people she passed.
Most of the elves of this land normally did not notice a wildling any more than they noticed a fellow elf. With only perhaps a dozen wildlings in these tunnels, that advantage in escaping was lost and she was forced to avoid pretty much everyone, just in case they were looking for her. The soldiers she always avoided, but other people she hurried past with her tail close to her body and her head as far back in her hood as she could manage.
Given the number of detours and times that she had to stop and wait for a guard to pass, Oria took a good portion of an hour just to cross to the living quarters of the complex. Once there, it was a short trip to her family’s room.
Ducking in under the tarp they used for privacy, Oria froze when faced with Atall, who had clearly been mid-spell, his hands aimed at her threateningly. Behind him, the three kits peeked out at her, going quickly from fear to grins as they recognized her.
Flicking his wrist in dismissal, Atall let the magic dissipate harmlessly in a puff of smoke and heat that Oria could feel even several feet away. Saying nothing, he sat down and pushed a pile of food back in front of the kits.
“Atall, where’s mother?” she asked him, closing the cloth door behind her. “What did I miss?”
Shrugging, Atall looked over at the kits. “They ate. We slept. They’re eating again,” he said, his voice hollow, as though he were talking to her from far away. “Nothing else.”
Oria stepped over the female kit and slapped Atall as hard as she could, knocking him over backward. The kits squealed and scattered to the edges of the room, but watched intently to see what was happening next.
“What is wrong with you?” demanded Atall, coming to his feet. “You’re back for a minute and the first thing you want to do is hit me?”
“Now you sound like someone ready to fight,” Oria answered, stepping back from him. “I need you focused.”
Growling and grumbling, Atall sat back down, though he kept a close eye on her.
“You need to take the kits and go,” she continued, not the least surprised by the angry glare Atall gave her. “You’re a lot better equipped to protect them and I’m better suited to freeing mother.”
Atall looked skeptical, but answered, “Okay. Where would I go?”
“Get to the old den. It’s an easy place for all of us to find, but not many people here other than Phaesys know about it. Once we meet up there, we’ll travel somewhere else.”
“I’ll wait no more than a few days,” Atall warned. He got up and looked around at the things in the room, likely appraising what to take. “After that, I’ll assume you’re all dead.”
“That’s more than fair.”
Atall began tossing food and other items into a shoulder-bag, while the kits scurried about the room, trying to act like they were helping, but not knowing what to bring.
Not willing to wait around and risk her family by staying, Oria turned to leave, but was stopped by Atall, when he stepped in front of her. Held in Atall’s hands was his fang-shaped dagger, a match for the one taken from Oria when she had been captured by the soldiers. He held it out to her, offering it.
“I can’t take that,” she said, pushing away the weapon. “It means a lot that you’d offer it, but father gave that to you. I’ll find mine again before I leave here.”
Jaw clenched tightly, Atall grabbed Oria’s hand and pushed the weapon into it, closing her fingers on the sheath. She tried to hand it back, but Atall shoved her hand aside and walked past her, gathering up the kits in their preparations to leave.
“Be safe,” Oria told the four of them with her best attempt at a reassuring smile, getting happy waves from the kits, who had no idea how dire the situation was. Atall never looked up from his packing.
Slipping from the room, Oria pulled her hood up again and moved as fast as she da
red through the groups of refugees, making her way down to the large room where announcements were routinely made. She had expected to use the room as a pass-through to get back into the section where prisoners were kept, but found herself facing a row of soldiers blocking the hallway. Past them, she could see a group of orcs, ogres, and others that had been forced into the room and packed so tightly that they could hardly move.
The refugees from the gypsy camp, she realized, turning to go back the way she had come before she was recognized by the soldiers. As she came around, head low, she found herself staring at the broad armored chest of a human. Not daring to look up, she sniffed, recognizing that it was Norum, the head of the soldiers, the worst possible person to run into.
Oria attempted to walk around him, hoping he had not recognized her, but the burly man hooked her arm, twisting it to pull her hand away from her dagger.
Attempting to reach across herself to get her weapon with her other hand, Oria found the sheath already empty as the man plucked it away from her.
“Don’t call out,” Norum warned her, pushing her out of the main hall and into a collapsed side-passage.
Snatching her arm free, Oria looked for an escape, but the man had her trapped in the alcove. She would have to go through him if she was to go anywhere.
“Back away, human,” she warned him, trying to sound as intimidating as her mother always had. In desperation, Oria even attempted to mimic her mother’s aggressive stance, with claws spread, ready to strike.
“I’m not one of those piss-poor soldiers out there,” the man countered, taking a step toward her. Unexpectedly, he held her weapon out to her, hilt first. “I’m also not from the area. I want to see that little rat buried under the laws he claims to uphold.”
“Desphon?”
“Yep, that’s the one. I’ve trained soldiers across three lands, but never worked for someone as useless as him. You’ll have to understand if I don’t work against him directly, though.”
Oria cautiously took her weapon back, sliding it into its sheath.