Slave's Gamble

by Jay Stonesmith

  A dozen strides ahead of her, Hob reached the top of the hill.

  "You've got to see this," he said. "I've never seen anything like it."

  Ordella scampered up the remaining few yards of slope and stood next to him on the summit. She surveyed the landscape in front of her and breathed in.

  In the distance, Gilmar's northern wall snaked across the hilltops for hundreds of paces in both directions, like a giant black wyrm lazing in the sun. Two large towers rose from the wall's center, flanking what appeared to be a pair of enormous wooden doors. Blue and gold flags fluttered from the top of the towers, and the whole structure gleamed, catching the light as if it had been glazed in smoke-colored glass.

  Hob let out a whistle. "Those towers must be higher than a sanctuary oak."

  Ordella nodded, but it was hard to think of Oakhaven's trees without her mind also focusing on how the village had looked when they left. She pictured its buildings engulfed in flames and its paths and clearings littered with the bodies of its people, their blood drenching the soil.

  She shook her head. She couldn't change what had happened. She had to focus on the present, the task at hand.

  Ordella peered at the doors. They seemed to be the only way in or out of Gilmar from this direction, but it was hard to be certain from so far away. She glanced over to one of the towers and ran her eyes from its base all the way up to the top.

  A soldier looking out from the crest would be able to observe the whole plain between the wall and the forest's edge. Even if you used the hillocks to shield your movements, it would be impossible to advance on the wall without being spotted at some point. A shiver twitched down her back. There were probably eyes trained on them at this very moment. Ordella bit her lip. Hopefully, they wouldn't be deemed a threat and would be allowed to approach.

  "With all these slopes, it's hard to work out how long it'll take us to reach it," Hob said. "It's probably farther than it looks, and it looks quite a way off." He turned to her. "If we want to make it by nightfall, I think we need to get moving."

  *****

  Gilmar's northern gate was built at the top of a steep bank. A flight of stone stairs zig-zagged their way up the slope until they reached a cobbled area at the foot of the doorway.

  Ordella crouched down in front of the first step and ran her hand over its surface. It was made from dozens of flints, split in half and knapped to fit snuggly into place. Their exposed cores were black, and, just like the stones covering the walls and the faces of the towers, they provided a sheened finish. Even in the evening gloom, the flight of stairs reflected the moonlight. A glimmering seam splitting the hillside.

  Ordella felt Hob's hand on her arm and stood up.

  "I owe you an apology," he said. His face was serious. "Even though I’m not convinced your plan will work, I had no right to be rude to you when I didn't have a better idea of my own."

  Ordella stifled a grin. He'd obviously been rehearsing this speech in his head. She studied his face, and their eyes met.

  "I'm sorry, Ordella. Truly I am," he said.

  Ordella put her arms around him and pulled him in close. His heart beat fast against her chest.

  "I know you are, Hob, but there's no need for you to feel that way." She rested her head on his shoulder. "Honestly. I'm just pleased you came with me."

  His body relaxed against hers, and his breathing slowed. They stayed like that for a few moments, then Hob abruptly jerked free of her embrace and stepped back.

  He looked up at her, his eyes filled with worry. He reached for her hands, squeezing them tightly.

  "Promise me, Ordella. Promise me that when you go up and speak to them, you won't do anything that will get you in trouble. Plead with them, beg them if you have to, even give them the name you have on that scrap of parchment, but don't push too far. Don't give them cause to clap you in irons and throw you in the cells."

  Ordella nodded. "Don't worry. I'm not intending to become a prisoner. I've had my fill of that in the Warren."

  Hob didn't look completely convinced, but he gave her hands another squeeze and then released his grip. He tugged on the straps of his pack and repositioned it with a shrug of his shoulders.

  "Do you want me to come up with you, or do you think it will work better if you go alone?"

  Ordella glanced up at the towers. "I'm guessing they already know you're here, so I think we should go up together. But," she said, "let me do the talking. Even if you think I'm going off track." She pushed a strand of hair away from her face. "I've told you that I'm not going to put myself at risk, but you have to trust me."

  "Agreed," Hob said.

  Side by side they walked up the flint staircase, the northern gate looming over them like a shadowy eagle peering down at its prey.

  Thirty-One

  Ordella and Hob stood before the heavy wooden doors. Twice her height and wider than a cart, they were made from thick oak planks riveted together with iron studs, and resembled the doors in the Warren that were locked by the guards to separate the cleaning crews from the Rabbits. Ordella brushed the surface of the weathered wood with her fingers. Hopefully, whatever was on the other side of these doors would be significantly less terrifying.

  She glanced at Hob. "Should I knock?"

  He shrugged. "I suppose so.”

  Ordella balled her hand into a fist and banged it against the wood with a dull thud. The door didn't shake at all. She waited.

  A panel slid open, revealing a small rectangular gap covered over with a tightly latticed metal grille. Ordella took a step back. The opening was just above her head, but if she stood up on tiptoes, she was able to peer through it.

  A flickering orange glow escaped between the spaces in the mesh, and a pair of brown eyes stared back at her.

  "What do you want?" said a man's voice. "This gate is closed, and it will remain closed until King Rellmar says otherwise." His tone was gruff, and the words came out quickly, as if he'd repeated them many times before.

  "I am Ordella of Rittle and of Oakhaven." She glanced at Hob and then returned her eyes to the opening. "And my companion is Dorley of Oakhaven." She paused. "We have come seeking Gilmaria’s assistance."

  She stopped again, expecting the man to interject. He remained silent, so she continued.

  "The Border Wood village of Oakhaven has been attacked by a large force of Kelsharlan soldiers. The survivors have sealed themselves in a cave to the west of the village, but they won't be able to hold out for much longer. We are here to request that troops be sent to drive off the Kelsharlans and save the lives of those who are being besieged. Without Gilmaria's help, they are almost certain to die at the hands of our shared enemy."

  Out of the corner of her eye, she spotted Hob clench his fists as if he was willing the man on the other side to take their request seriously.

  "I'm afraid Gilmarian soldiers no longer patrol the Border Wood. This wall now marks the northern extent of the kingdom." The man’s voice was matter of fact, but there was a trace of something else. Remorse, perhaps?

  Ordella rose up on the balls of her feet and studied his eyes. He met her gaze for a moment and then looked away.

  "My father was a Gilmarian soldier," she said. "He, like dozens of others from the Border Wood, gave his life in service to the King. Surely you're not going to refuse to help fellow Gilmarians in their time of desperate need? Surely my father's sacrifice was worth something?"

  The man blinked. "Gilmar won't help you.” His voice was different this time. Strained. As if he was having to force out the words.

  Ordella's heartbeat quickened, and her pulse throbbed in her temples. She breathed in and could feel Hob's eyes on her. He was probably silently urging her not to push too far. She didn't look at him. Something told her that the man on the other side of the door was more sympathetic than his words suggested.

  "It's cowardice, isn't it?" she said. Hob groaned to her side. "It's simple cowardice. I can think of no other reason why you won't lift a fin
ger to help people who have helped you." She waited for a response, but none came. "I don't know how you can live with yourself, hiding behind your thick walls. You're nothing but plump, toothless dogs curled up in your kennels, while your kin are wolves, shedding their blood and giving their lives fighting your enemies."

  "That's enough," the man said. "I can see that you are upset, so I'm going to ignore what you just said to me." He rubbed his eyes and sighed. "If it was up to me, I would grant you all the troops you need. But it isn't my choice. The Council has made a decision. The King has spoken. Gilmarian troops are no longer permitted to patrol north of the walls. As much as I regret it, there's nothing I can do for you." He cleared his throat. "You and your friend are welcome to set up camp on one of the hills, make a fire even, but you must be gone by first light."

  Ordella clenched her fists. He wasn't going to budge. His hands were tied too firmly behind his back.

  "I demand to see Fellbrig. The Master of the Guard," she said.

  The man's eyes opened wide, and then he chuckled.

  "You're not really in much of a position to demand anything, are you?" He laughed again. "Besides, Fellbrig is now a Councilor. He certainly doesn't have the time to meet with the likes of you. I bid you goodnight."

  The panel slammed shut in front of her. She screwed up her face. He'd definitely wanted to help her. How many others inside the walls felt as he did? If only there was more she could do.

  Hob walked over to her.

  "You tried your best.” With his hands on her back, he eased her around until they faced the steps. "Let's go before he changes his mind about us camping here."

  They started to descend the flight of stairs. Ordella gazed out into the black. Somewhere out there her friends were barricaded in a cave surrounded by the enemy. She clenched her fists. If she didn't get them help, they would die.

  Ordella put her hands to her head. What else could she have said or done? She reviewed the conversation in her mind. Then she stopped, shrugged off her pack, opened it and rummaged through its contents. Finding what she was looking for, she ran up the stairs to the door and hammered on it with her fist.

  Nothing happened. She waited for a few breaths longer, than banged on it again.

  The panel slid open.

  "You again,” the man said. "I thought I told you our conversation was over."

  "Please give this to Fellbrig.” She rolled up the square of embroidered fabric she'd found using the pendant key and posted it through one of the gaps in the grille.

  The man lent forwards and pulled the cloth through to his side. He unrolled it and studied the symbol. A look of surprise flashed across his face.

  "How did you get this?"

  "It used to belong to my father, Ardenn of Rittle."

  He nodded, his eyes bright.

  "How do I know you won't pocket it and keep it for yourself?"

  A smile cracked his lips. "You don't," he said. "You should have thought about that before you handed it over."

  She closed her eyes. How could she have been so stupid? With Dunder gone, that scrap of cloth was the biggest clue she had to finding out more about the fate of her father. She sighed, tears forming in the corners of her eyes.

  "Don't worry," the man said. "I promise you, Councilor Fellbrig will get it as soon as my watch ends."

  The panel closed again, this time with a gentle thud.

  *****

  Ordella woke with a start, ready to run, her heart thudding in her chest.

  She glanced around. It was nearly pitch black. The only light coming from the thin sliver of moon in the night sky and a dim glow escaping from the towers' windows.

  She sat up and blinked a few times until her eyes adjusted to the gloom. Then she peered into the darkness.

  What had made her so anxious? It must have been a dream, but the remnants of it were slipping from her mind, moving too quickly for her to latch on to, like grains of sand running through her fingers.

  She stood up. Her clothes were moist and they stuck to her body. Her hair was damp, too. She shivered. Pulling her rotclaw cloak tighter, she slumped back down to the ground.

  Hob snored somewhere off to her left. For a fleeting moment, she considered waking him but decided against it. At least one of them should get some rest.

  Shutting her eyes again, she went over her conversation with the Gilmarian guard. His face had definitely registered something when he'd studied the embroidered cloth. Either he'd seen the symbol before, or he simply recognized the cloth's value. She sighed and rubbed her face with her hands. Hopefully, it wasn't the latter.

  Foolish girl. The words echoed through her mind. The soldier's never going to pass the cloth to this Fellbrig. It was Skerrick's voice. She could see his cruel face in her mind’s eye. And even if he does, do you really believe a member of the King's Council is going to help the likes of you? Your friends are going to die in the cave and there's nothing you can do about it. Skerrick's lips curled into his familiar sinister smile. You couldn't save your grandmother, and you will not be able to save them, either.

  Ordella snapped her eyes open. Skerrick's face disappeared.

  She kicked at the ground. Perhaps Hob had been right all along. Maybe they weren't meant to come here. If they'd stayed in the forest, maybe they would've found a solution, an opportunity they could've exploited. She sniffed. She'd been kidding herself thinking the city of Gilmar would provide troops to break the siege.

  A lump formed in the back of Ordella's throat, and her eyes filled with tears. She laid back down on the ground, burying her face in her hands, her whole body wracked by sobs.

  She closed her eyes again. In the corner of her mind, a figure came into view. Cloaked in dark gray, he wore his hood pulled low over his face. His gait was stiff, and he held a stick in his left hand. He walked closer until he became all she could think about.

  Something loped to the man's right. An animal appeared. She'd seen the beast before, and its master too, on the far side of the clearing after they'd left Rittle.

  The animal turned its head, its ghastly face a mismatch of canine and human features. It snarled at her then looked away.

  She watched until the pair disappeared.

  Where had they gone? They were still out there, somewhere in Ellusia. She pictured them striding from the forest and onto the grassy plain. Her breathing became ragged. She desperately wanted to open her eyes, but she was afraid they'd be standing before her. She squeezed her eyelids tighter together, clamping them shut.

  Ordella rolled onto her side and concentrated on the regular pattern of Hob's breathing, matching hers to his. Her muscles were heavy, and her legs ached. She pulled her cloak over her head and waited for sleep to take her.

  Thirty-Two

  Ordella lifted her head. The sun was just beginning to rise from behind the hills, and the dew-drenched grass glistened in the early morning light.

  Hob was already awake. He'd rolled his blanket and was sitting on his pack, chewing on a strip of dried meat. He looked at Ordella then turned towards the Gilamarian wall that ran along the hilltop behind him.

  "Doesn't look like they're coming," he said.

  Ordella sat up and rubbed her eyes. She stared at the flint towers and the wooden door and took a breath. Of course they weren't coming. Her head dropped. Not only had she lost the chance of saving her friends, but her father's embroidered cloth had gone, too.

  "If it makes you feel any better," Hob said. "I would've been convinced by your speech. If I was the man at the doors, I mean." He put down his jerky. "You did everything you could, Ordella. It's not your fault that the message wasn't passed on or that this Fellbrig didn't respond."

  Ordella sighed.

  "For a moment," she said, "I allowed myself to believe that our journey was going to end in success. That we'd leave here with the help we came for. But I can see now how foolish that was."

  "It's not your fault. If they had a shred of decency, the Gilmarians would've he
lped us. But, then again, they should never have closed the gates and stopped the patrols in the first place. We shouldn't be surprised. They let the Kelsharlans kill all the other villagers. Why should Oakhaven's people be any different?" He clenched his fist by his side. "I knew they wouldn't come."

  "Did you now!" A loud male voice rose up from the slope behind them.

  Hob whirled around and Ordella stood up. She glanced down to the floor. Her bow, unstrung and propped against the pack by her feet, would be of no use to her even if she could reach it in time. She widened her stance.

  In less than a heartbeat, the top of a man's head emerged into view, followed by the rest of his wiry body. He was old with a full, neatly-trimmed gray beard. He wore mottled breeches, the color of grass and leaves, and his brown tunic was weathered and stained. He appeared to be unarmed.

  The man strode over to join them at the top of the hill.

  "Who are you?" Hob said. "And what do you want?"

  The old man ignored him. Ordella wasn't really listening either. She'd spotted something in the man's hand. A cloth. Her father's cloth.

  The man followed her gaze.

  "Yours I presume?"

  Ordella nodded and took the piece of fabric from him. She smoothed it out in the palm of her hand, running her fingers over the rippling sea and the embroidered branches of the leafless tree.

  "So that would make you Ordella, daughter of Ardenn," he said. "The last time I saw you, you were a babe in your mother's arms."

  Her eyes widened. She looked up. He's visited Rittle.

  "You have your father's eyes," he said

  Her mind was alive with questions, but before she could speak, the man turned to Hob.

  "And who might you be?"

  "I'm Dorely. No. I'm Hob," he said.

  "Well make up your mind, boy.” He smiled at Ordella and raised an eyebrow. Hob's cheeks reddened, and he lowered his head.