Slave's Gamble

by Jay Stonesmith

  "Go on then," she said. "What are you waiting for?"

  Hob put his arms out in front of him and shuffled forwards. Leading with his hands, he squeezed himself into the tunnel until only his legs were dangling out. It was if he'd fallen into a snake's mouth and was just about to be swallowed whole.

  Ordella crouched down and tucked the pendant hanging around her neck into her tunic. Hob's feet slowly disappeared into the black, and she gripped the rough edge of the rocky opening.

  "Hey! What are you doing?"

  A raised voice somewhere off to her right, and the accent was unmistakably Kelsharlan. Ordella stayed where she was.

  "Get going," she said, hoping her whispered words would carry to Hob’s ears. "I'll follow when I can."

  Ordella stood up just in time to see a brawny Kelsharlan soldier clamber up onto the rocks in front of her. He had a sword in his hand, and his purple tunic was bloodstained and ripped. She stepped away from the entrance. Surely he hadn't realized what she was doing.

  "Come here, child," he said. "Arlo won't hurt you." His lips curled into a smile, and he stretched out his left hand.

  Ordella took another stride away from the opening. The soldier's eyes flitted up and down her body, a ravenous wolf sizing up a meal. Ordella shuddered. At least he was focused on her and not the tunnel.

  "Don't be shy," he said. "Come with Arlo. A young girl like you shouldn't be in a place like this. I'll take care of you. We'll escape together." He took a step towards her.

  Ordella bent down and picked up a piece of shale. It wasn't as heavy as she'd have liked, but it would have to do. She waited for him to take another stride, then she tossed it underarm at his head. His eyes traced the path of the rock. Ordella guessed he would sidestep it without any trouble, but she didn't wait to find out. While he was momentarily distracted, she sprinted off the rocks onto the valley floor.

  "Playing hard to get," Arlo said. "I like that. It will make it all the more satisfying when I catch you."

  His heavy footsteps pounded behind her. What could she do? She wouldn't be able to outrun him forever. If only I had my bow.

  Her path was taking her towards the pile of rubble sealing the cave mouth. If she didn't do something soon, she'd be forced to clamber over them, and her pursuer was sure to catch her.

  She increased her pace, then abruptly spun around and sprinted back the way she'd come. The soldier, only a few strides behind her, flailed at her as she passed him by, his face a mixture of surprise and annoyance. His fingertips brushed her tunic, but she darted beyond his reach.

  "You little bitch," he said. "Now you're really for it."

  She drove on, leading him in the direction of the slope where Fellbrig and the others were stationed.

  The gap between her and the Kelsharlan had grown larger, but her legs were heavy, and her lungs burned. She'd hoped that the old man or one of the other archers concealed in the undergrowth above her might have picked him off by now. Perhaps they'd moved to a different location or had been killed themselves.

  Her breathing was becoming more ragged, and her strides were starting to shorten. If she kept running, he'd catch her in the end. She touched the knife hanging from her belt. Perhaps there was an alternative.

  Ordella threw herself to the ground, trying her best to make it look like a stumble. If Much could sell it convincingly, then so could she. Ordella cried out and clutched at her leg with her left hand. With her right, she drew the knife from its sheath and held it tight against her side, hiding it with her body.

  She turned her head to face the soldier. He'd slowed to a walk, his eyes shining and his mouth contorted into a wicked smile.

  "You're mine now.” Putting his sword back in its scabbard, he strode up to her and bent down by her head. He reached for her. His black gloves reeked of a mixture of sweat and damp leather. Flecks of dried spittle encrusted his lips. Ordella held her breath, resisting the urge to move. For this to work, he had to be close. The man stroked her hair, smoothing it away from her forehead.

  Now! Ordella jerked up and in the same motion arced the knife towards his throat. The man abruptly whipped his head back, and her blade sliced through nothing but air.

  The Kelsharlan seized her wrist in his right hand, his vice-like grip sending jolts of pain shooting up and down her arm. Her fingers unclenched, and the knife fell to the ground.

  "You're a feisty one," he said. "I'm going to enjoy this."

  He grabbed her by the front of her tunic and hoisted her to her feet. She flailed with her arms but didn't connect. The man let go of her then immediately struck her across the face with his right hand. The blow spun her head around and her vision blurred. A jarring pain juddered across her cheek and down into her jaw. She stumbled to the floor, the iron taste of blood on her tongue.

  Ordella blinked and turned her head in the direction of the soldier. The flash of a blade was accompanied by the unmistakable ring of a sword being drawn.

  Her pulse hammered through her body. She clenched her fists, tensing her muscles for what was to come. At least she'd managed to lure him away from the cave entrance.

  An image of Gwenith lying on the Warren's floor burst into her mind. She took a breath.

  I'll be with you soon, Grandmother.

  Thirty-Five

  The soldier screamed like a wounded animal.

  Ordella opened her eyes.

  The man's sword landed at her side with a clatter. He lurched one way then the other, staggering like a drunkard. An arrow fletched with black feathers was sticking out of his head where his left eye should've been. He tried to claw at the shaft with his hands, but his arms stuttered and shook as if they were no longer under his control. He let out a final cry, then his knees buckled, and he fell backward. He crashed to the ground, and there he remained, quiet and still.

  Ordella took several deep breaths. She stared up at the ridge, but she couldn't locate the archer who'd saved her life.

  Wiping blood from the corner of her mouth, she scanned the valley side and the tunnel entrance. No Kelsharlans were anywhere nearby. With the enemy seemingly driven towards the middle of the camp, she'd almost certainly be able to reach the opening to the cave's back entrance without being seen.

  But what would be the point?

  Surely Hob must've reached the main chamber by now. She longed to see Merisca and Jereth and the others, but there'd be no sense in delivering the same message twice. If she could retrieve her bow, she'd be much more useful out here.

  Ordella opened her mouth, touching the bruises left by the man's hand. Painful, but no bones seemed to be broken. She leaped to her feet, picked up her knife, and ran towards the slope, zig-zagging her route to make herself a more difficult target for any Kelsharlan crossbowmen. She didn't slow when she reached the base of the valley side. Instead, she charged through the undergrowth, pushing aside bracken and nettles as she made her way to the top of the ridge.

  The slope appeared to be deserted. There was no sign of Fellbrig or the others, but her bow and quiver of arrows were right where she'd left them, leaning up against the trunk of a silver birch tree.

  She wrapped her fingers around the bow's handle and picked it up. There was something comforting to its familiar weight and, once she'd strapped her quiver to the right side of her belt, some of the tension seemed to leave her back and tired limbs. At least now she'd be able to protect herself.

  From her vantage point, she surveyed the Kelsharlan camp below. Dozens of dark green and purple-clad bodies littered the floor, but the bulk of the enemy forces had weathered the initial attack. They had arranged themselves into a rectangular formation with troops facing outward along all sides. Numerous arrows stuck out of their interlocked shields.

  A loud whistle sounded to her right. She turned but couldn't see the source. More whistles from farther along the ridge echoed the first, then they were replaced with savage shouts and cries. The undergrowth seemed to come alive. Led by Fellbrig, the Gilmarians, with swords
drawn, charged down the slope.

  Ordella narrowed her eyes. The old man reached the valley floor first. Flanked by four other soldiers, he headed through the smoke towards the Kelsharlan shield wall. A number of Gilmarians from the opposite ridge had also mounted an attack on the other side of the Kelsharlan ranks.

  Ordella rose to her feet. Part of her yearned to join them, but she'd only get in the way or get herself killed. She'd be more help if she held back.

  The troops led by Fellbrig were now only a few paces away from the enemy.

  Ordella chewed her lip. The Kelsharlan line seemed to be holding firm. She breathed in. The soldiers weren't going to scatter. Fellbrig and his men would be cut to pieces.

  A shield to the left side of the formation dipped slightly, ducking below the height of its neighbors. Fellbrig adjusted his course and headed straight for it. When he was only a few paces out, he turned side on and slammed his shoulder against the shield's painted surface. The Kelsharlan behind it stumbled back, and the other Gilmarians followed their leader through the gap he'd created, widening the hole like a spearhead pushing through a chink in a coat of mail.

  In the space of a few heartbeats, the Kelsharlan ranks splintered. Pockets of frenzied combat broke out all over the battlefield, and the clang of steel against steel rang across the valley.

  Ordella scampered half-way down the slope. Now that the shield wall had collapsed, she'd be able to fire on the enemy. She drew three arrows from her quiver, clutching them between the fingers of her drawhand.

  She nocked the first one to her bowstring and loosed it at the Kelsharlan nearest to her. A slender man, clutching a sword in both hands. She didn't pause to see if her arrow had found its target. While it was still in the air, she fired her second arrow into a group of three enemy soldiers who were fighting side by side with their shields still locked together. The shaft whistled past the helmeted head of the man in the middle, and the trio wheeled to their right.

  Nocking her third arrow, Ordella targeted the same man, following his movements with her bow. Everything around her seemed to fade away, and the sounds of the fighting rang distant and muffled.

  She released the arrow. It leaped off her bowstring, soared into the air and impaled the man in his neck. He fell back, showering the soldiers on either side of him with droplets of blood.

  They pushed him out of the way and stepped together, but they weren't quick enough. A Gilmarian soldier raked her sword across the legs of the man on the left. He shrieked and dropped to one knee, then slumped forward as the point of the woman's blade pierced his gut.

  Ordella ran her hands through her hair. She checked her quiver. Only six arrows left. If she was going to make best use of them, she had to get closer.

  She looked over the battlefield. There was now no pattern to the fighting. No formations. No planned charges. No structure at all. It was as if a dozen separate conflicts were taking place all at the same time, mostly spread out along the far side of the valley.

  In the middle of the camp, the tents that had caught fire had nearly burnt themselves out. Around them, the bodies of Kelsharlan soldiers littered the floor.

  A pile of water barrels had been stacked just beyond the tents. If she could make it there, perhaps she'd be able to hide behind them and fire on the Kelsharlans unseen.

  Drawing three arrows, she ran down towards the base of the slope. She picked her way through the deserted camp. The acrid smell of smoldering canvas and charred flesh filled her nose. She coughed and gagged.

  The barrels weren't too much farther. Ordella sprinted the last few strides, slumped down against the stack and placed an arrow on her bowstring.

  Something thudded next to her boot, embedding itself deep into the forest floor. A crossbow bolt. Ordella tucked her legs close to her body and peered to the left. Where had it come from? The hiss of another quarrel pierced the air. It zipped past her right ear before thudding into the side of a Kelsharlan corpse lying on the floor behind her.

  With her bow out in front of her, Ordella scampered to the end of the pile of barrels, ducking behind them.

  Judging by the angle of the bolt sticking out of the ground, the crossbowmen had to be up high. Ordella peeked out, scanning the few sanctuary oaks that were still standing, somehow having survived the Kelsharlan flames and axes. There they were.

  Two men holding crossbows stood in the middle of one of Oakhaven's remaining rope bridges. It was like being back in the Warren, with the guards high up on the tops of the walls or leaning over the viewing platforms training their weapons on those below. She took a breath. But in the Warren, she hadn't been armed.

  Ordella peeped around the side of the barrel and focused on the men, noting their positions on the bridge. She ducked back into cover. Another bolt slammed into the barrel, close to her face.

  She closed her eyes for a second and steadied her breathing. She pictured the men, recreating the scene in her mind's eye. Then she snapped open her eyelids.

  The arrow was on her bowstring, and two more were clasped between the fingers of her right hand. She'd have to be quick.

  One. Two. Three. Ordella spun to her right and jumped up, facing in the direction of the bridge. She launched the first arrow then, almost immediately, the second and the third. A quarrel missed her at head height to her left, but Ordella didn't react. She stared at her targets.

  Her first arrow was too high, and it zipped harmlessly over the men's heads. But the second caught one of the men on his arm. The third passed between them, causing the other man to stumble back and lose his grip on his weapon. Now was her chance.

  She drew her last three arrows and took a step forward. The injured man raised his crossbow and fired. Instinctively, Ordella juked left. The bolt hissed through the air and struck her on the side of her right shin. White hot pain seared through her flesh. She winced but didn't look down. She had to stay focused.

  Shifting her weight to her left leg, she loosed her arrow. It flew straight and true, striking the man high up on his right shoulder as he hurried to reload his weapon. He moaned and fell to his knees. In less than a heartbeat, Ordella fired another arrow in his direction. This one piecrced him just above his ribcage at the base of his neck. He crumpled backward and sprawled against the bridge's roped sides.

  The other Kelsharlan whirled to his left, picked up the bow he'd dropped, and started to run along the bridge. Ordella nocked her final arrow. She traced the man's left to right movement with her bow.

  Trying to ignore the throbbing in her leg, she took a breath, then loosed. Her eyes followed the arrow's path. It hit the man in his flank. He lurched against the bridge's side. Grasping for the rope handrail, it seemed for a moment like he'd managed to regain his balance, then he tumbled, his momentum carrying him over the top of the barrier. Screaming, he plummeted to the forest floor.

  Thirty-Six

  Ordella staggered back to the barrels and sagged down against them. Her wound burned fiercely, as if the edge of a nettle leaf was being constantly ground against her bare flesh.

  She breathed in deeply through her nose and inspected the wound. The bolt was still impaled in her flesh. She prodded the skin around the shaft and winced. Her fingers were coated with blood, but not as much as she'd been expecting.

  Should I pull the quarrel free? If only Merisca were here, she'd know exactly what to do. Ordella chewed her lip. It wasn't worth the risk. The pain now was just about bearable, and removing the bolt might cause a bleed she couldn't stem.

  Keeping her weight off her injured leg, Ordella twisted into a position from which she could observe the battle through the gaps between two of the barrels. The fighting seemed a lot closer than it had before. Her ears rung from the near-constant clashes of swords, and her nostrils were filled with the cloying smell of warm blood and feces. She coughed.

  It was hard to gauge exactly what was happening, but it appeared as if the Gilmarians were slowly being pushed back towards the rocks and rubble piled up in fron
t of the cave's main entrance. Although their arrows had reduced the Kelsharlan force, Fellbrig's men were still heavily outnumbered.

  Ordella flexed the muscles in her wounded leg. Bolts of pain scythed up her shin and into her thigh. Ordella grit her teeth. She certainly wouldn't be chasing anyone down. She glanced down at her empty quiver. But with all her arrows spent, what use could she be?

  Perhaps she was better off staying here, pretending to be dead. Surely Hob had managed to rally the people of Oakhaven, and hopefully Fellbrig's plan would work just as he'd imagined it. She'd played her part as best she could.

  Ordella rubbed her eyes. But what if things went awry? What if the old man's strategy failed and the Kelsharlans were victorious? What would fate have in store for her then? She'd be sent to the Warren, and most likely not as part of a cleaning crew. This time she'd be one of the Rabbits. She shuddered. She'd do anything to avoid going back to that place.

  Gripping the rim of the barrel with her right hand, and holding her bow in her left, she pulled herself up. She'd find some more arrows or die trying.

  The body of a Kelsharlan soldier was sprawled on the floor a dozen or so paces from where she stood. The whites of the man's eyes stared sightlessly at the sky, and his helmet, which had presumably rolled off his head when he hit the ground, lay next to him, glinting in the sunlight. Two arrows stuck out of his chest. Fletched in black feathers with dark shafts, they'd been fired from a Gilmarian bow. Ordella rubbed her face. With tight grooves for the string of a traditional longbow, they'd be harder to nock than the arrows Jereth made her use, but they'd certainly be better than nothing.

  Ordella breathed in. She could just about tolerate the pain in her leg, but it was only going to get worse when she tried to walk without the support of the barrel. Tentatively, she levered herself along the edge of the stack. Then, pausing for a moment, she took her first unaided step.

  A jolt of pain seared through her shin. She immediately lifted her injured leg. She took another long breath. The arrows were only a few strides away. All she had to do was get to them and pull them free.