by Jim Galford
“I understand,” Estin said hopelessly.
“Start walkin’.”
Struggling with the weight around his neck, Estin followed the guidance of the sailors. Several let go of him, leaving only one in front and behind. A gentle creak from in front let him know that they were about to step onto the plank. When he did, the wood bent under his paws, tilting dangerously and nearly toppling all three. He soon managed to correct his balance and continued on, carefully putting one paw in front of the other. He made his way down until his toes felt rough old wood that did no bow or shift.
Estin strained his ears once he was on the dock, managing to pick out the sound of another coming down the plank. Once they reached the bottom, the same sounds came again as the last group came down. Judging by the creaking each time, Shortbeard had not lied: all three of them were carrying weights.
Almost as soon as the last of the sailors reached the dock, someone yanked the weight off Estin’s neck. He heard the stone clatter on the wooden dock, followed by two others.
“Gonna be a short walk from ’ere to th’ wagon,” Shortbeard explained, grabbing the front of Estin’s shirt and leading him along.
“How much did they pay you to treat us like this?” Estin asked, getting only a throaty chuckle in reply.
He was led onto damp ground that was packed from many years of people marching over it. Faintly, he could hear whispers on either side as he was dragged onward. The residents of the town, he realized.
“What is that thing?”
“Did you see its tail?”
“Is that a fox? A deer?”
“What’s going on? Are they criminals?”
“I’ve never seen Shortbeard bother with ropes…think they’re dangerous?”
“Some kind of animals. Hide the children.”
Soon he had been pulled past the gossiping people and out into another part of town. It smelled so strongly of horses and other cattle that Estin could easily identify it even through the stench of the bag he wore. Another few steps later, Shortbeard forced Estin to stop. He was then pushed sideways until he fell, landing on his shoulder in what felt like a wagon. Before he could react, a chain was wrapped around his neck with almost no slack in it, keeping him pinned to the floor. Beside him, he heard two more chains drawn loudly, along with Feanne’s growl of annoyance. She was certainly restraining herself far better than he had expected. Once, he would not have been surprised if she tore the wagon apart to free herself. In the time—the years—he had been gone, she had learned a touch of self-restraint.
For the first few minutes, Estin lay in the wagon and gathered information about where they were from the faint sounds around them. The wagon eventually lurched into motion, and Estin could hear Shortbeard and others talking near the front. Taking a risk, he felt around with his tail, trying to determine whether they were alone in the bed of the wagon. First, the tip hit someone beside him, and he heard Feanne whisper his name in reply. She was directly beside him. Reaching farther out, he found Alafa on the far side of Feanne, who squeaked a little when he bumped her. Feeling around the rest of the wagon, he found only old wood and a low roof overhead. They were separated from the pirates and likely hidden from anyone watching the wagon.
“Feanne,” he whispered, shifting to face her as much as he could without choking himself. “Can you free yourself?”
A faint jingle of chains let him know she was checking. “No. The chain is bolted to the floor. I can claw through the board in time, but it will likely take days and break my claws. The wood is too strong to pull free.”
“Since when do your claws break?”
“Since the Miharon was no longer quietly napping inside me. Stop arguing, Estin.”
The rattle of a chain and grunting from somewhere past Feanne made Estin’s ears perk. “Alafa?”
“We can’t chew through it either,” she replied, sounding crestfallen.
“You’d have to get through the sack first…”
“What sack? Oh, like the ones they put on the two of you? I don’t have one.” As if to confirm she could see, Estin felt Alafa’s hand come down on his head, patting him. “They didn’t tie me up either, but they did chain me.”
Thankful he at least had eyes in a sense, Estin asked, “What can you see? Can you tell where we’re going?”
For a moment he heard Alafa fidgeting, making her chains rattle loudly. “We’re in a big wood box, but there are a lot of holes in it. I see brown grass outside and smell three dwarves and a mule or two. I also smell a river or beach.”
Estin left it at that, waiting patiently for the wagon to stop. He had expected a short trip to wherever they were being taken, but hours passed slowly and his tongue and nose began to dry out as they lay there. His stomach soon began to ache. Eventually Alafa let him know the sun had set. And then she let him know dawn was visible through the slats of the wagon. When he was beginning to worry they might be in danger of being forgotten until they had passed out from dehydration, the wagon came to a stop. Estin heard the dwarves hop down off it.
A new voice to Estin’s right and outside the wagon spoke loudly. “Are ye Shortbeard?”
“Aye!” Shortbeard shouted back. “Ye th’ lord’s man?”
“Your payment is in the back of the carriage,” the man replied, and Estin picked out the sound of horses shifting in harnesses. “Throw them inside when you take the money and then lock the door. You stay and we take ’em from here.”
Shortbeard grumbled softly beside the wagon. “Ain’ puttin’ ’em in there till I see that we ain’ bein’ shorted what we was promised! I don’ know you, an’ I ain’ th’ trustin’ sort.”
All around, armor creaked and weapons clattered as they were readied. The wagon driver was not alone. At a guess, Estin estimated there were a dozen people. He could not be certain how many were on each side, but if Alafa was right and there were only three pirates, they were seriously outnumbered.
“You aren’t being shorted a single coin,” the man replied. “Take your bag and go. My master ain’t negotiating.”
“Everything’s a negotiation,” Shortbeard answered. The wagon creaked open, and the chain around Estin’s neck was pulled away. Shortbeard pulled Estin off the wagon and onto his knees, tugged Estin close, and put a knife to his throat. With his hands still chained behind him, Estin could not really struggle. “I’m wantin’ double what we agreed to. Took longer to find both than I was thinkin’.”
The air around Estin remained tense for a long time, with no sound that would tell him what was really happening. Then, he heard a sigh from the direction of the other man.
“You might wanna rethink that,” he told Shortbeard. “Right now I have a dozen men on your boat. They will burn it to the water if you keep arguing. If you kill any of these three, I’m to burn your boat and kill every person on your crew. Either take what you agreed to, or lose your life and boat. Your choice, dwarf. I’ve been sitting in this here port too long to feel like fighting over this.”
Estin felt the knife press a little deeper into his fur before finally easing somewhat. Shortbeard dragged him forward and stopped when Estin was close enough that he could hear the creaking wood of another wagon or carriage only inches away. Estin heard a jingle of coins and a loud hrumph.
“Aye, is even more than I asked,” Shortbeard announced, sounding almost disappointed. “We goin’ let it go this time.”
“Wise choice,” the other man replied, his tone smug.
Shortbeard dragged Estin forward into the carriage and shoved him down onto a padded seat. A moment later, as he heard the females being brought in, he was surprised to have someone untie his hands. Before he could thank them or attempt to pull free, they yanked his arms up and tied them again—to a metal ring on the ceiling, judging by the feel. He was barely able to sit without the ropes pulling on his shoulders.
“Safe travels, wildlings,” Shortbeard said, laughing as he walked away. Estin heard the door of the carriage close
and a lock click shut outside.
“Feanne?” he asked once he was sure they were likely alone.
“I’m fine,” she answered from across the wagon. “I also still cannot cut myself free. They used chains on my wrists. I did not hide my claws well enough.”
“I’m here too,” Alafa said, off to Estin’s left. The pirates had separated them from Feanne, likely because she was the only one who looked dangerous in her own right. “Got ropes on my hands and feet now…and my nose itches. Can either of you reach my nose?”
The wagon lurched and accelerated. By Estin’s best guess, the driver was pushing the horses hard, trying to put some distance between himself and the port. Estin guessed the rapid pace would last long enough to get them away from Shortbeard, but an hour or more later, the horses were still running hard.
Using his tail to smack the side of the wagon as hard as he could, Estin was pleasantly surprised when he heard a window slide open in the direction of the front of the wagon.
“What is it, wildling?”
“Where are you taking us?” Estin asked.
“North,” the man replied before shutting the window again.
Estin tried to settle into his seat, but the ropes on his wrists made that almost impossible. “You two have been out here longer than I have. What’s north of here?”
“No idea,” Feanne admitted, sounding strained. She was up to something, and Estin could not imagine what. All he could hear from her side of the carriage were creaks of the wood boards.
“The big maps Blue Horn kept said there was a river that flowed from a hundred miles or so north of the port, out to the sea. If we’re going north, we’re probably following the river,” Alafa said. “I saw about ten cities that way, but we haven’t been to any of them. And my nose still itches. Estin, can you poke my nose with your tail? Please?”
“I can’t scratch with my tail,” he replied, annoyed with her constant shifting of attention. Her actually knowing what the map for the region looked like, though, was quite the boon. He nearly lost focus as Alafa thumped her face into his shoulder, actually trying to rub her nose against him. “How far does the river go?”
Alafa stopped rubbing her face long enough to reply. “All the way up to the mountains that separate the western lands from Urishaan. They might be taking us to Urishaan. It’d be where I’d go if I was Liris.”
“Liris?” Estin demanded, fear replacing his drive to escape. “She’s alive?”
“Not really. Raeln broke her. Then I threw her in a hole. And dropped a rock on her. And more rocks. Then we buried the hole. I didn’t mean I think she’s coming, but if she did, this feels like what she’d do, right?”
Across the wagon, Estin heard Feanne grunt and her chains creak loudly. He swore he heard wood cracking, but it was not loud enough to be sure.
“How far up the river before there’s a good place to escape?” he asked, returning his attention to Alafa once she had stopped rubbing her face on his shoulder.
“Escape? Nowhere. They’re all little villages from what I remember. Blue Horn said they barely have supplies to handle their own people. I doubt they could hide three wildlings, or would want to.”
A loud crack and thud from the other side of the wagon let Estin know Feanne had done something big. He heard her moving, and then she sat between him and Alafa.
“I used my paws to tear away at the wood in the ceiling near the ring,” she explained. “If you hang upside-down, it is easy. Let me get the bag off my head and I’ll help the two of you get loose. We will kill the driver when he comes to feed us, and we can be back to the port in a few hours.”
From the same side as Feanne but a little farther away, Alafa asked, “Can we just knock him out? You know I hate all the blood when you kill people.”
“He put chains on us, Alafa,” Feanne countered.
“Aren’t you used to people doing that by now?” Alafa asked in reply. “I mean, it’s not nice, but maybe furless are too stupid to know we don’t like it. It’s not like they whipped us or tried to stab us this time. Let’s just hit him on the head a few times, okay? Is five times enough?”
“Stab?” Estin demanded. “Who stabbed you two?”
Feanne elbowed him in the ribs. “This is not about you, Estin. Let us decide how we want to proceed.”
The carriage abruptly stopped, and Estin heard both Feanne and Alafa groan. They had been too busy arguing to bother freeing themselves. A second later, the door opened, though with the sack still over his head, Estin had no idea what to make of it.
“Thought there was a lotta noise back here,” the wagon driver said as several people came into the wagon.
Estin heard Alafa squeak and then the jingle of chains as Feanne was pulled away. Strong hands grabbed him and unfastened his hands from the hook overhead. The moment his hands were free, Estin kicked out, connecting solidly with one of the people. He kicked again with both feet and took a man’s legs out from under him. Before he could try again, others grabbed hold of him and dragged him from the carriage.
The next hour was little more than a blur of pain as Estin was beaten from head to paw with what felt like sticks. Once he could no longer resist, they dragged him by his ankles, letting his head bounce on the ground. He was so dazed and sore that he could not manage to do anything more than lay there as rock after rock tore through his clothes and skin. Minutes after that, he was thrown back into the carriage, dazed and barely conscious as they began rolling again.
Unlike the previous stretch of road, the driver and his colleagues made no attempt to tie Estin down again. Instead, he lay on the floor for hours, until he felt strong enough to pull himself up onto the bench seat he had been on during the first leg of the trip. In doing so, he found Feanne already flopped on the seat. She seemed to be unconscious.
The ride went on for most of that day and well into the next, though at a far slower pace than before. Then the driver stopped the carriage abruptly. Those helping him came in again, grabbed Estin, and dragged him outside.
While two men held him in a kneeling position, a third yanked the bag off his head and shoved a mug of water over his muzzle, forcing him to drink or drown. Once he had choked down a few mouthfuls of water, they stuffed some kind of sweet pastry in his mouth. Then they put the bag over his head and tied it to his neck before he had managed to swallow.
Estin had barely managed to choke down the food when he was shoved up against the rough bark of a tree. A man’s voice near his right ear said, “Urinate now or you’re doin’ it in the wagon. Next stop isn’t for a while. You mess yourself and you won’t even get a pail of water tossed at you for hours.”
Shifting his arms, Estin found the men held him tightly, preventing any real movement. “Give me back my arms or you’re going to have to do this for me,” he said, smirking at the annoyed expressions he had to assume were aimed at him. “If you’re really that interested in me, I’m not going to argue, but a little help is all I’m…”
A fist struck Estin across the jaw, dazing him and taking him off his feet. The next thing he knew, he was lying in the wagon again. His bladder ached, reminding him that causing a scene had probably not been his best choice ever.
“You had to be that way?” Feanne asked as the wagon started rolling again. “If there’s anything the two of us have learned, it’s not to argue when kidnappers are actually being civil. You rather earned that one, my love.”
“You got kidnapped that often?” he inquired, but they just giggled in reply, making him wish he had not asked. Somehow both of them giggling was even worse than hearing Feanne do it.
The wagon reached a steady pace. Hours passed, and the feeding ritual was repeated, though Estin managed to keep his mouth shut this time. The respite was followed by more hours lying on the floor of the carriage. Estin felt broken, too tired to even try to escape, listening to the endless squeaking of the vehicle’s wheels. About the time he was ready to scream out of fear and frustration, the carriage
stopped yet again.
This time the men did not rush to pull Estin and the others out. Instead, he heard faint conversation outside. Alafa and Feanne groaned and sat up, though they too seemed to be confused by the lack of rough hands forcing them to eat and drink.
Estin got to his feet to see if he could hear the people outside by putting his ear to the door, but it opened as he did. As before, the men grabbed him and dragged him from the wagon. Instead of stopping a few feet out to feed him or demand he urinate on nearby brush, they continued dragging him across the rough, sandy ground. They threw him down hard, and a moment later, Feanne grunted as she hit the ground nearby, followed by Alafa. If they were all being moved at once with a man on each arm, that told him there were no less than six people with them. Dangerous odds.
Twisting the rope on his wrists, Estin tried to slip his hands free, but the knots were too tight. He pulled until he could feel blood in his fur, though the ropes only loosened a little.
A sudden snarl to Estin’s left warned him that Feanne was reacting to an opportunity to escape. He heard a man yelp in pain and then the pounding of clubs on flesh. Try as he might, Estin could not get the rope off his hands to be able to help her.
Then the area was quiet again. To his relief he heard one of the men mutter, “Got her under control. Help me get her back over with the others.”
Estin stayed where he was for a while, unable to muster the strength to fight for some time. His whole body still hurt from the earlier beatings. He could feel open wounds all over, though the general ache that clouded his thoughts made it difficult to gauge how badly hurt he really was. What he did know was that he was in no shape to fight, assuming the opportunity even presented itself. Still, if fighting meant the difference between the three of them living or dying, he was more than ready.