Slave's Gamble

by Jay Stonesmith

  Wiping sweat from her brow, she counted down from three in her head. Then she lowered her injured leg to the floor. It was as if she'd just plunged it into a vat of boiling oil. She screamed inside but didn't allow the sound to escape her lips.

  She took a step with her good foot and lifted her bad. The agony dulled for a second, but the respite was going to be short-lived. She was less than halfway there, and she'd need to put weight on her wounded leg a few more times before she reached the corpse.

  Ordella closed her eyes for a moment, then slammed them open and ran the last few strides. Every footfall sent agonizing spasms jarring through her leg, but she made it and slumped down on the floor next to the dead soldier. Beads of perspiration dripped from her forehead, and her mouth was dry.

  The crown of Kelsharla on the man's tunic was soaked with his blood. Ordella reached out and touched the arrows with her fingers. Neither of them appeared to be broken, but they'd both penetrated deep into the man's flesh and weren't going to be easy to pull out.

  Taking all of her weight on her good leg, Ordella leaned across the dead man's torso. She rested her elbows on his chest and gripped the nearest arrow with both hands. She tugged. The arrow juddered upwards a fraction, but it didn't feel like it was going to slide out. There was resistance, as if she were trying to run a blunt knife through a slab of gristled meat.

  Ordella stopped pulling and rubbed her eyes. A headless arrow would be useless to her. She'd either have to cut it out or find some unbroken arrows elsewhere.

  She straightened her back and looked out across the battlefield. In front of the cave entrance, the Gilmarians still appeared to be keeping the Kelsharlans at bay. Fellbrig, with a blood-stained sword in his hand, was moving as freely now as he had been when the fighting started. Flanked by Darved and Nallia, the old man fought with lethal efficiency. He seemed to wield a sword in the same natural way that Jereth used a bow. It was as if he knew what his opponents were going to do before they made their moves.

  Ordella watched until Fellbrig had dispatched the soldier in front of him with a vicious thrust to the stomach, then she turned her attention to the forest floor. She scanned between the bodies, searching for arrows she'd be able to salvage. Most appeared to have been trampled under soldiers' boots, their shafts snapped and splintered. And those that were undamaged were too close to the enemy for her to risk retrieving them, especially with her injured leg.

  Ordella stared down at the dead body. There was no other option. If she wanted the arrows, she'd have to dig them out. She drew her knife from its sheath. The blade wasn't going to be long enough. Even if she pushed it into his body right down to the hilt, it wouldn’t reach the depth to which the arrow had penetrated. She might succeed in widening the entry hole, but the arrowhead would still be firmly lodged. She needed something longer.

  She chewed her lip and brushed her matted hair out of her eyes. The soldier must have had a sword. She glanced at his empty hands and scabbard. It had to be around here somewhere.

  Ordella inched backward, ignoring the pain carving through her leg.

  There! The dead man was lying on top of it, the sword’s hilt poking out from under his left shoulder. She gripped the handle and pulled the blade free. She sighed. If only the arrows had slid out so freely.

  Placing the tip of the sword alongside the point at which the nearest arrow had entered the man's body, Ordella lent on it with as much strength as she could muster. The sword's sharp edges cut through the man's tunic and slipped through the gap between his ribs.

  When it was in deep enough, Ordella pushed forwards on the hilt, tilting the sword as far as it would go. Then she pulled back on it, widening the incision. Blood welled around the steel, but Ordella hardly noticed. She yanked the sword out then plunged it back into his torso on the other side of the arrow shaft, parallel to the cut she'd just made. Again the blade passed easily through the man’s dead flesh.

  With the sword still in place, she gripped the arrow and wiggled it. It moved a bit more freely than before. It felt like she'd probably be able to pull it out, but she had to be certain it wouldn't get damaged. She withdrew the sword, angled the blade, then inserted it back into the corpse for the third time. She placed her hand back on the arrow.

  A shadow loomed over her. Ordella let go of the shaft and jerked her head up. A Kelsharlan soldier was heading towards her from the middle of the camp, a sword in his hand. He was huge, brawnier even than Flynn had been before his injury, and his stubbly face was splattered with blood. A rip in the front of his tunic revealed a thick coat of mail underneath.

  His eyes narrowed, and he stepped closer.

  "You filthy Gilmarian." He pointed to the man's body with his sword. "Get off him."

  Ordella withdrew her arms. Her bow was by her left foot, leaning against the soldier's body. If she could only reach it, she might be able to jerk the arrow free and send it towards the man before he knew what was happening.

  "Please don't hurt me," she said. She moved her hand to her side as if she was just shifting position and surreptitiously walked her hand along the ground. "I'm no threat to a warrior like you."

  Her heart pounded and her wounded shin throbbed in time.

  "If you spare me, I won't give you any trouble." Words tumbled from her mouth. Anything to keep him from attacking until she was ready. "I'll be your prisoner. Just please don't kill me." Her finger touched the tip of her bow.

  "My orders are clear," the man said. He turned his sword in his gloved hand.

  She had to act now. She let out an ear-splitting scream, pointing frantically into the trees to her right. She opened her eyes as wide as she possibly could.

  The man hesitated for a moment. He must've known it was an act, but his curiosity seemed to get the better of him. He took a glance over his shoulder.

  Ordella lurched for her bow and grabbed it by its handle. Her leg burned, but with her right hand she grasped the arrow and wrenched. It squelched free, its shaft sticky with blood.

  The soldier snapped his head around. His gaze settled on the bow in her hand. A look of surprise briefly passed across his face, soon replaced with an angry snarl.

  He charged, sword raised.

  Ordella brought the arrow to her bow. As she'd suspected, the groove on the Gilmarian arrow was much narrower than the ones she was used to, but she managed to place it on the string.

  The soldier let out a roar and brought his sword down in a savage arc towards her head. Ordella drew back the bowstring and launched her arrow. At such close range, she couldn't miss. The arrowhead ripped into the man's unprotected neck, burying the shaft deep into his throat. He cried out, and Ordella ducked as his sword slashed over her head.

  Somehow, the soldier remained on his feet. He dropped his sword and with both hands reached for the arrow shaft. He snapped it in half. A crimson froth bubbled from his mouth, and he gurgled as he desperately tried to draw breath.

  The Kelsharlan floundered, his feet stumbling over the body of the dead body that lay between them. Ordella tried to move out of his way. She pushed off with her legs. A wave of pain radiating from her wound crashed through her muscles. She gritted her teeth and tried again, but it was too late.

  The soldier lurched, lost his footing, then toppled forwards as if his legs had been tied together. There was nowhere for her to go. She released her grip on her bow and braced herself for the impact.

  The man's chain-mailed body slammed into her, forcing her down. Her head jolted back, banging hard against the forest floor. She tried to take a breath, but with the soldier lying on top of her, the pressure on her ribcage was too great.

  She placed the palms of her hands on the man's chest and shoved upwards. His body rose by a finger-breadth, and she filled her lungs. Using her good leg, she tried to shunt her body out from under him, but she wasn't strong enough.

  Her head started to spin, and bile rose in the back of her throat. Her arms, sheened with perspiration, buckled under the man's weight
.

  She took another half-breath. If she couldn't throw him off her, she'd at least have to maneuver herself into a better position. Using her arms she twisted her body and flipped herself over so that the man was slumped across her back.

  With some of the pressure off her lungs, she was able to breath in more deeply.

  The back of her head throbbed where it had struck the ground, and her limbs felt like they'd been cast out of lead.

  From the ground, Ordella couldn't see the fighting, but the sounds of the battle filled her ears. The cries and the shouts of the living and the moans of the dying mingled together to form a clamorous wave that ebbed and flowed to the beat of steel on steel as the combat played out. Ordella couldn't tell how close the Kelsharlan's were to victory, but surely it was only a matter of time.

  A sharp whistle pierced the din. The clash of weapons seemed to pause momentarily, and roars and cheers rose up to fill the space.

  "Protect the flanks." A man barked orders. "Don't waste arrows."

  Ordella lifted her head. She knew that voice. Jereth was on the battlefield.

  Hob must have delivered the message, and for Jereth to be shouting orders, there had to be others, too.

  Her heart started to beat faster. She imagined Hob and Merisca fighting side by side. She couldn't stay here. She had to get up and help her friends.

  Gritting her teeth, she put her hands against the ground and started to tease her body out from beneath the corpse. The broken shaft protruding from her shin snagged against the soldier's tunic. Pain flashed up her leg. Her vision blurred, and her breaths came in stuttering gasps, but she didn't pause. Jerking her leg free, she continued to wriggle until, with a final kick, she was out.

  Ordella sat on the ground, her injured leg stretched out in front of her. She picked up her bow and checked it for damage. It appeared to be intact. At least that was something. She lifted her bad leg off the floor. Using her bow as a crutch, she put all of her weight on her good leg and slowly stood up.

  The arrival of Jereth and the dozen or more Oakhaven villagers from the caves had changed the complexion of the battlefield. Now it was the Kelsharlans who seemed to be on the back foot.

  Jereth was in constant motion, loosing arrows left and right. Other archers from Oakhaven had climbed up on to rocks in front of the cave mouth. Ordella could make out Much and Garvan among them but there was no sign of Hob or Merisca. She bit her lip. Perhaps they'd remained in the cave, but she couldn't imagine Hob would've voluntarily stayed behind.

  Something glinted off to her right, catching her eye. She whirled around. A mounted knight stood in the trees, surrounded by a horde of foot soldiers armed with long spears. The soldiers were helmetless apart from one at the front of the group whose metal headgear completely covered their face. All of the spearmen wore the dark green and purple of Kelsharla, but the man on the horse was clad in purple and black. A sword and crown emblem was emblazoned across his chest.

  Ordella shuddered. It was a symbol she'd never forget. She shifted her gaze to the mounted man's face.

  Even at this distance, Lord Skerrick's clean-shaven chin and cruel eyes were unmistakable.

  What was he doing here?

  She clenched her fists. She might never have a better chance to avenge her grandmother's death.

  Thirty-Seven

  The soldiers to either side of Skerrick charged forwards, their eyes trained only on the Gilmarians in front of the cave mouth. They appeared to have no idea she was there and surged past her without even a glance in her direction.

  Mounted on his dappled gray horse, Lord Skerrick held back. The helmeted figure remained in place, too, standing in front of another soldier. This one was tall and thick-set and armed with a sword and a battle-scarred shield.

  Ordella focused on Skerrick. He sat perfectly still in the saddle, his cold eyes observing the enemy ranks. A crow patiently waiting for a dying animal to breathe its last breath.

  From the corner of her eye, she spotted a black Gilmarian arrow. She hobbled closer, every step sending strikes of pain shooting up her leg.

  The shaft appeared to be in one piece. She bent down, picked it up and examined it. One of its feathered flights was ruffled, but apart from that, it seemed to be undamaged. She licked her fingers and smoothed the fletching as best she could. It still wasn't perfect, but if she got close enough, it wouldn't much matter. She slid it into her quiver.

  Ordella took another few paces. Skerrick turned his head in her direction. She paused, then continued to stride towards him. For a moment, he just glowered at her, then a flash of recognition passed across his face. He smiled.

  "Ordella of the Warren," he said. "I did not expect to see you today. I was led to believe you had left the village." He turned to the short soldier wearing the helmet. "It would appear I have been misinformed."

  Ordella gnawed at her bottom lip. How could he possibly know she'd left Oakhaven? Surely Skerrick hadn't had the village watched. How would his spies have managed to avoid being spotted by the Owls? She took a deep breath and emptied her mind. Questions like these weren't important now.

  Lord Skerrick, the man responsible for her grandmother's death, was only a handful of paces in front of her. This time she'd make him pay for what he’d done.

  Ordella hobbled closer, her bow clutched in her left hand. She didn't raise her weapon or draw the arrow from her quiver. Skerrick had to believe she wasn't a threat.

  "That's close enough," he said.

  Ordella stopped, and Skerrick spurred his horse on. The two soldiers who had remained behind walked beside him. The hilt of Skerrick's sword, with its ornate cross-guard and round pommel, glistened in the sunlight. She'd only ever seen him in the Warren, yet he looked completely at ease upon his mount, as if he'd been riding for years. His face was a picture of self-confidence. He was clearly much more than just an inspector of the Warren's cleaning crews.

  "Drop your bow," he said, reaching for his sword.

  Ordella tightened the grip on the bow's handle. Her heart beat faster, and trickles of sweat ran down the sides of her face. She shifted all of her weight onto her good foot.

  Skerrick slowed his horse then came to a halt.

  "Don't be stupid. Don't throw your life away like your grandmother did." He nudged his horse on with a slight movement of his thighs. "Put down your weapon. You won't even have time to nock before I reach you. You'll be cleaved in two with the arrow still in your hand."

  She pushed a strand of hair away from her face and stared at him. Skerrick held her gaze, but something in his eyes told her he knew she wasn't going to back down without a fight. Skerrick dug into the horses flank with his heel. His mount moved into a trot and then began to canter. He drew his sword.

  Ordella swallowed. She didn't move. The two footsoldiers broke into a jog, but they soon fell behind their leader. They stopped and watched Lord Skerrick advance.

  He was close now. The pounding of the horse's hooves vibrated the ground around her. She took another deep breath, Jereth's words repeating over and over in her mind.

  It's just like throwing a stone. Don't think. Let your instincts take over.

  It was now or never. She whipped the arrow from her quiver and in a single fluid motion, nocked it, pulled back her bowstring and loosed at Skerrick. His eyes widened, and he frantically pulled on the reins.

  The horse whirled around, and the arrow struck Skerrick on the back of his shoulder, harmlessly ricocheting off his tough leather armor. The arrow came to rest in the grass, directly in front of the soldier with the helmet.

  Ordella looked around. Even with both of her legs working, there'd be no outrunning a mounted man out here. She turned to face Lord Skerrick.

  His horse had become skittish, and, for a moment, Skerrick struggled to get his steed under his control. He leaned forward in the saddle and whispered in the beast's ear. The horse snorted, but it seemed to relax. Using his legs, Skerrick coaxed it into a walk and set off in a broad circle
, stopping in line with the two Kelsharlan soldiers.

  "That was very rash," Skerrick said. "But I guess such foolishness must run in your family. Your grandmother wasn’t able to kill me, either." He grinned. "And you will suffer the same fate as her."

  Ordella didn't say anything. She'd run out of options. She cursed silently and wracked her brain.

  Judging by the tone of the fighting behind her, nobody was in a position to come to her rescue, and with an empty quiver, she was nothing but a toothless mutt waiting to be put out of her misery. She pulled her knife from its belt sheath and held it out in front of her. It would be next to useless against a mounted soldier, but she wasn't going down without a fight.

  A smirk curled Skerrick's lips. He pressed his booted feet against the horse's flank, urging it on.

  Ordella took a deep breath. In a few moments he would be on her, and shortly after, it would all be over.

  Her breaths came in ragged gulps, but she remained still, gripping her knife's wooden handle. He'd have to kill her where she stood. She wasn't going to give him the thrill of a chase.

  From the right, beyond Skerrick, a sudden movement caught her eye. The smaller soldier had ripped off their helmet, revealing a mass of black curls.

  "Merisca!" Ordella shouted.

  The Islander didn't pause to reply. Instead, she lifted the metal helmet above her head and, before the other soldier could react, brought it down against his temple. He moaned, and then fell to the ground. Merisca bent down and picked up the arrow laying by her feet. Clutching it in her right hand, she started to run towards Ordella.

  The grin vanished from Skerrick's face, and his eyes flashed savage and cruel. Pulling on his reins, sword in hand, he abruptly changed course and headed straight for Merisca.

  What on all Ellusia was Merisca doing with Skerrick? Ordella tried to push the thought from her mind. She took a step closer to her friend, who was holding the arrow out in front of her.