Escana

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by J. R. Karlsson


  The guard's disposition didn't improve any. 'I have no use for your means, nor do I see any reason not to lock you up.'

  Another guard approached the gate now, a grin on his face. 'What seems to be the problem here then?'

  The first guard gave him an annoyed look. 'Traffickers, three of them. I'm going to get a few lads from the barracks and we'll take them down to the prisons.'

  The new guard nodded at him genially as he departed, there was something entirely unwholesome about the grin he flashed Ella.

  28

  Gadtor

  The tunnel was coated in a thick residue that muffled the thud of their feet and threatened to hinder their escape. Hoarse breaths from those around him told Gadtor that his men were coming to the limit of their stamina, all excluding the indomitable Hermit who silently led their escape.

  The break in had gone flawlessly up to a point, as they often did. This was no chase through the cobbled streets into the night, their escape offered no respite and had turned into a mad dash in one direction. He expected to meet spears at the end of it if the opposition had any idea of the sewer structure. The entire night had been spent trying to lose them in the earlier tunnels but a number of them seemed to have stuck doggedly to the task. They must have caught a glimpse of who it was they were chasing.

  The walls started to close in, he knew it was a matter of moments before they'd have to negotiate the grate covering the outlet. He just hoped they had bought enough time to get clear of it.

  Someone slipped up ahead and sounded a curse as his comrades leapt over him, this wasn't what they needed. The man wasn't well known to him but he hated leaving people behind, the desperate faces of those he had plagued him every night.

  Turning to face the fallen soldier he caught a wicked gleam in his eye and instinctively jumped back as the man dove toward him, dagger in hand. 'Lord Kelgrimm will be most pleased when I greet his guards with your head.'

  The others had run on without looking, it was common practice for Gadtor to fall back to help those who struggled. Cursing once more, he knew that he had been exploited and at the worst possible opportunity. He was unarmed, exhausted and without any hope of rescue.

  His one saving grace was that the turncoat was also weary from the long chase, his lurches toward him were murderous but ungraceful. Gadtor kept giving ground in the hope that his assailant would expose himself in the slippery conditions and poor light. His fear of falling was compounded by the knowledge that the man was probably waiting for the same opening, sadly it was his only chance.

  A strange stalemate ensued, Gadtor knew it was one he couldn't afford, if he was waylaid any longer the guards would be upon him. While any attempt at fleeing would find him with a steel hilt deep in the back.

  He heard splashing sounds from both sides, either his ears were playing tricks on him or someone had returned.

  The Hermit leapt into the fray, disarming the man and knocking him from his feet with a strike of his palm. The turncoat didn't get up.

  Gadtor smiled his approval as if he were a passing friend he had the pleasure of bumping into. 'Do they have the grating open?'

  The Hermit nodded silently, beckoning him forward as the splashing feet started to grow louder.

  They leapt forward with a renewed vigour and heard how close their opponents had come from the loud shout as one of them tripped over the prone body they had just left behind. Gadtor's mistrust had been vindicated once again, had this man ingratiated himself any further he would have given away the location of the Black Quail lair in a flash.

  If The Hermit had sensed the same thing he gave no indication of it, his uncanny movement and his seemingly effortless propulsion continued to confound Gadtor, even in the heat of flight.

  They rounded the final bend and put on an extra burst of pace to clear the remnants of the sewer, it was only then that Gadtor noticed the outline cut in the torchlight, he had told nobody to wait.

  The knee compacted his breath and bowled him over into the raw sewage, he gagged at the rancid smell that filled his lungs and reeled back as dead eyes stared at him.

  He staggered to his feet in numb shock, the blood pooling around him was not his own. Fifteen of his finest men lay in various poses of terror strewn around the mouth of the sewer.

  There was no forest of spears to greet him, nor were there any calls to yield or to halt, a methodical devastation had taken place with the figure standing nearby as the only witness.

  Confusion struck him then as he sank back down to his knees, he felt a strange sense of exclusion sweeping over him. The silhouette and The Hermit were standing next to each other in complete silence.

  'Such a mysterious figure you cut fair stranger, yet I am one that is more than able to peel away the layers of pretence and gaze into the very core of your being.' It gestured flamboyantly, a bright and terrible laugh carrying over the air. 'So what's it to be this time? A terrified child shielding his thoughts? An emotional invalid that secluded themselves from the horrors of decision? Or perhaps this once there will be a respite from the drudgery and I will have a pawn to mould.' The laughter that followed cut out so sharply that it hurt Gadtor's ears, the silhouette's voice had risen a pitch in response to something. 'Well this is something I hadn't anticipated, so be it. You shall remain in this place until I have completed the inane tasks set before me by the almighty Kelgrimm the just. Then I shall crack you open and you will languish in your failure.'

  The figure turned toward Gadtor now, seemingly gliding over the wasteland. 'Your companion is stubborn to the extreme, his thoughts are compartmentalised to an intricate degree. Firstly though I must request of you the cartographic creation in your possession, pray do not make this an onerous task. I have sated my entertainment on your men, it would be a waste of energy to take the required item by force.'

  It took a moment for Gadtor to comprehend what was being asked of him, the curious tongue of the figure was largely alien to him. The tone was both mocking and sarcastic. He spat blood in its face.

  This elicited a sigh, the impending wrath he had hoped to stir never arrived, instead the strange voice came to him again.

  'You are not worth wasting any more words on, I shall end this now.'

  Gadtor sprang at the creature mid-sentence and its hand darted underneath his jerkin and relieved him of the map with a deft grace.

  He sprawled into the sewage again and twisted round in fury at this pick pocket.

  The Hermit took a step forward. The figure looked up at him, its calm vanishing.

  'You were meant to stay in place mysterious child, now do as I command you.' It thrust a gaunt arm out toward The Hermit with palm upward.

  The Hermit took another step forward.

  If the initial movement had rattled it before, the second step sent a shudder down its body, yet in spite of this Gadtor noted it had also cracked a smile. Its face had become visible and the vagueness had seemingly been dropped at the sight of this incursion. The figure seemed more substantial than it had previously, eagerness gripping it. Though Gadtor's eyes may have tricked him as he adjusted to the dying light. This wasn't a human, of that he was certain.

  'This is a strange encounter. A rogue talent so far from Levanin? I think not. If you are what you claim you are then you must also aware of what I am, cease your posturing or I shall dispose of you.' It held up a second palm and pressed into the air, pale limbs taught with tension.

  The Hermit started walking forward quicker, several shuffling paces in quick succession as if he were straining against something.

  It flung its arms down and drew its sword in response, an odd metallic ring sounded in the air as the blade vibrated with force. 'I warned them, if they chose to take retribution that I would destroy them, commencing with the fools they sent to oppose me. This is your final warning, cease your attack or be destroyed.'

  The vibrations cut out, the creature took some meaning from this that Gadtor couldn't understand. 'I see now that my chance t
o destroy you has passed. It is a true stalemate.'

  The Hermit nodded, the creature flung the map in his direction.

  'Take the map, leave this place. Your position will become untenable should you remain in the presence of the guards, which your companion shall do until you swiftly alleviate him from the stress of imprisonment.'

  The Hermit nodded once more.

  An unspoken agreement about him had been reached and Gadtor had no say in the matter. It was to the sound of marching feet approaching that he realised he was being abandoned to the Urian guard.

  29

  Re'tak

  Re'tak sniffed the air purposefully, he had found them.

  The storm front had erased their tracks but had also kept them from progressing any further. The humans would shelter in their thicker skins and claw their way out once the sands had passed.

  He had been ordered to follow their trail and had stuck to his task diligently by keeping them in range but out of sight. He didn't understand why the humans would be out this far in the first place, a sentiment echoed by his clan. Not since the days of Torr had they gained such a foothold and in modern times they had been dying in droves while falling back to the border. Why scout a position they couldn't hope to take?

  He closed his inner lids and dug his claws deep into the rock face to find better purchase, a higher vantage point may help determine their progress through the dunes as they entered the open desert.

  He had been following them for close to four days, they didn't appear to be taking any extra precautions. This couldn't help but pique his interest initially, even the most hardened travellers were constantly vigilant of the threat from his people, out here in their element they had been undisputed overlords for many centuries. The two men walked with a nonchalance that had grown increasingly irritating as the days passed. His restraint had been slipping incrementally, so focused was he on his task that he hadn't noticed the erosion until it had reached the point where his primal instincts could barely be controlled. He had no hope of capturing and interrogating them, he could not communicate with them, his observance of their seemingly meaningless and often circular wanderings being all he had to go by. Whilst killing the apes would go some way to dispel claims of his being soft, his objectives forbade such bloodshed without the divination of their purpose. As tedious as it was, he was too honourable to lie to the chieftain, nor could he conjure up a believable story given his quarry's traversals of the desert.

  The urges rose like a new brood stretching out to a dangling carcass, they whispered to him of violations and assured him of the righteousness of his impending brutality.

  They had no hope of outdistancing him. Even if the sand was packed hard he could run them down with ease. Nor could they hide long, their perspirations left a scent he could follow straight to its source. Yet he found there was no pleasure in descending upon his prey announced, the joy of the kill came from the craft of the execution, not the tactless massacre much of his herd swore by. Prowling out of sight until the final fatal pounce was his to savour, he chose to revel in elusive skill rather than the brash charge.

  In the midst of his prey-riddled mind, an unease had started to fester within the irritation. Too long had his people dominated the deserts, these bipeds held no great threat to that in spite of their bright claws and hides. Nevertheless the peculiarity of this specific incursion continued to needle at the caution others mistook for weakness. He cursed the mentality of his race silently, it was the very reason he worked alone.

  He crept down the face of the cliff using the rock to shield his movement, springing silently onto the desert floor and lying prone as he scouted out the first dune. The humans lay three dunes beyond, an adequate distance. Creeping forward, his long limbs covered the distance quicker than he would have liked, the pre-natural disposition was starting to cave his resilience. Impatience finally seized him and he bolted over the final dune with a roar.

  He saw the large pole moments too late. A blinding light caught it as it was punched upward into his ribs.

  All was darkness.

  30

  Hern

  Hern didn't bother exchanging pleasantries with the guards, he had too many misgivings about where their loyalties lay when entrusted with his bound form.

  It had been an uneventful transportation, one that neither smacked of subtlety or mockery. Instead there was a quiet efficiency about it all that suggested his plight had now been entirely forgotten about by most of the council. At this point discretion was probably virtue, there was no need to call attention to himself when he knew exactly who would be swiftest to answer.

  It was a particularly hot summer's day as they led him down the dusty streets, the local populace were out in force and paid little heed to his plight. Why would they indeed? The slave market was but the common daily grind of bartered human flesh in this swelter. He stifled a chuckle at the thought of his future owners and the unconscionable misery he'd cause them.

  For now a safe transit to his glorious locale was the order of the day. He knew little of where he was being taken beyond its near constant demand for slaves. He doubted there was a Harem so deep into the disputed desert and his mind had long occupied itself with the various grisly permutations. He had settled upon one in particular, a populist theory no doubt and perhaps an altogether too optimistic one given his disrepute. It was most likely that he was to be heroically transported to one of the various gladiatorial arenas scattered throughout the outskirts of the land. The only positive contact Je'dara had with the Empire was when it had been invited to their annual games. Apparently it was a point of pride for his noble rulers, who sent forth the strongest slaves to a variety of camps controlled by both imperial and native rulers.

  He knew of the ever-changing imperial fort in Sah'kel through a variety of tales, he was also aware it had been called Greyhawk for any number of years now. This surprised him, not that the terrible naming scheme had stuck for so long, but the implication that the current administrator had managed to run it for any length of time without disposition. The more he pondered over the possibilities the more convinced he was that this was the test that lay before him.

  His eyes drew attention away from his well worn thoughts to a familiar series of structures, huge wooden cages on wheels driven by two larger horned Urkata each. A sizeable procession of armed guards flanked either side of the cages, they were there to see him off too, how kind.

  People watching had been a favourite past time of Hern's, you could learn far more from simply observing people than was often given credit. The slave cages in particular contained an ever-changing plethora of human squalor for him to see. Perhaps he had been noted in his observances one too many times and inhabiting the very cages he perceived was a devious irony on the part of the guild.

  Had he not already learned to dampen his receptors, the overflowing misery of the throng mingled with hopelessness and some more alarmingly base instincts would have been far too much to handle. At present it felt like savouring a large fleshy buffet as his bonds were cut and he was prodded rather ungracefully into one of the cages. He purposefully avoided surveying the Negroid cage, their primal thoughts were like jagged edges to his mind, both incoherent and merciless. Instead he focused his attentions on present company, an unsurprisingly lacklustre group of varying hue and girth, their positional play like so many pieces in a game of strategy.

  The strongest and most dominant of the players were settled in their corners, their eyes like daggers on any encroachment, no doubt aware that there would be a few initial tests of their mettle for the guard's sport. The arena had little use for cowards and the men that died were a good source of meat, the few corpses Hern had spotted amongst the yellowing bones seemed to indicate that they had been packing the giant cages for close to a day with little care for policing their contents. He inspected all this with a quiet detachment, there was little here that phased him when compared to the horrors the guild had exposed him to. He would just
have to work his way from embodying a potential meal to gaining enough power to manipulate his impending release.

  The cage doors slammed shut with a wearily regimental precision, there were various mixtures of begging and pleading and not all the laughter came from the guards, though the more desperately pitched sources soon found themselves silenced. He silenced a number of them himself, finally settling beside a dispatched corpse and gnawing on one of the arms in a mockery of cannibalistic glee. He hoped that henceforth he wouldn't be troubled or encroached upon in his journey from the city streets into the dunes. It was the guild who taught him that instability is an unpredictability that requires termination, yet he had found that a mockery of such remained a useful tool.

  The cages pounded along the sandy outskirts of Je'dara and carried Hern and the rest of the slaves out into the deep desert.

  31

  Garth

  The burly smith strode purposefully up the path towards The Chipped Flagon, if Harold knew something about this there was going to be trouble.

  He threw the door open rather too hard and the resulting crash ensured that all eyes were fixed upon him in varying mixtures of surprise and curiosity. He marched up to the skinny old man behind the bar, a number of people making way for him with great haste.

  'Where's Harold?' he said, barely keeping his voice below a roar.

  Aldred set a mug down and eyed him sardonically, a quick retort forming on his lips and dying in the space of time taken to gauge the man's mood. 'He's out back,' he muttered sourly, as if wanting to say more but holding his tongue for fear of the smith's wrath.

  Garth lifted the end of the bar up and walked past uninvited, Aldred wisely made no move to stop him. He went through a small door that led to a bustling kitchen and through another door that led outside.

 

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