by Billy Wong
One hand around Jacques' throat, he squeezed as hard as he could, try to crush it between his fingers. The man gasped, eyes widening at his bloodlusted strength. Eli smiled, sensing his advantage. He tried to add his other hand to the choke, but Jacques' arm came up to deter it. Still, he continued to squeeze with all he had, pushing the mage back while he did in an attempt to keep him unbalanced. He wanted Eli to kill him? Then kill he would. He'd wring the breath from him, and with that deed prove the Paladins hadn't mastered him. But then, wasn't this what they wanted? He pushed that unwelcome thought to the back of his mind. It didn't matter if the victory would be hollow. He just needed something.
Grimacing, Jacques choked out, "You... this isn't..."
"What, you son of a bitch? Don't like it when you're actually being killed? Your face is hilarious! If only you could see how pathetic-" Suddenly he felt heat against his elbow, followed by searing pain. He yelled, instinctively releasing the hold to grab at his burning arm. Jacques kicked him in the chest, knocking him down. He raised his arms to defend, but then saw the mage wasn't pressing the attack. He glanced at his elbow to see it bubbling up with blisters and realized he had in fact been burned. His opponent had touched the torch to his skin, turning a large portion of it livid red.
Coughing, Jacques smiled. "That was... good anger. But it seems I shouldn't have neglected to use my full-frontal shield. Now I will."
Eli stared despondently. "What?! Why... why are you so unfair?"
The mage motioned with his fingers for him to come. "Like I said, you want something? You'll have to earn it."
He had no idea how. He did have magic of his own, but it was solely defensive not to mention weaker and less refined than that of his more experienced adversary. Wait, he could have used it to defend against the torch if he had been paying better attention—but that still left the question of how to get in any meaningful offense if Jacques could conjure an even more extensive barrier. Nonetheless, he could figure that out later. He stood up, walked grimly towards his grinning enemy. For now he just had to keep trying, pushing forward—and maybe, scant hope though it was, if he could defeat this foe he could find a way to beat the others and save Sam too.
#
Hours turned to days, and days to immeasurable stretches of time as Sam's own body tortured her in her cell. Her waking hours were a hell made up of immense pain, nausea and terror. She shook constantly with agony covered in sweat, puking now and then. The guards didn't bother cleaning it up, so she had to use her half-emptied food plate to scrape the vomit into a corner when she could muster the strength to crawl. Most of the time, she felt too weak to do even that. Her pain and weakness were such, she feared she could die at any moment. She didn't know exactly what was happening to her, but maybe her body had come to rely on Drugamor's power and fell apart without it... and the faraway plane where he dwelt hung far out of reach now.
Oh gods, how it hurt. Sometimes she found herself rolling up balls of dirt to resemble the nuts and putting them in her mouth, but couldn't bring herself to swallow and ended up spitting them out along with more puke. She thought sometimes about killing herself, but that too was beyond her. They didn't provide any eating utensils with her soft food, and she couldn't break the metal plate to give herself an edged tool. Even in her current state, the other possibilities that came to mind like swallowing her tongue or bashing her brains out on the wall were too disturbing for her to go through with.
Suspended excruciatingly between life and death when awake, Sam sought as much as she could to flee to the world of slumber and dreams. Yet even there she could not escape. Sometimes her dreams would begin pleasantly, with her reunited with her playhouse family or accompanying Drea on adventures, only to end with her being torn apart by daimons with the helmets of Paladins. Sometimes they would eat her piece by piece while she somehow remained alive, rape her in every orifice with gargantuan spiked members or cut her open and pour boiling oil inside her very organs. She could swear she felt the torment as much as if it were real, and woke up sobbing, the pain still there. Their bestial voices continued to hound her, laughing, whooping and mocking her powerlessness against them. The line between reality and dreams blurred as they even attacked her in the cell, and she couldn't tell if she was sleeping. There was no escape. No escape.
One time when the guard passed by, she muttered to him, "I'm so done. Come in here and finish me already." He ignored her and walked on.
In her more lucid moments though, she realized she couldn't give up. Drea and Cordy had both survived incredible damage to their vitals, the agony of which must have been greater than what she endured now, so how could she succumb so easily when she wasn't even wounded? No matter how slim the chance of her getting out of here might be, she had to keep it alive. She fought to hold onto her self, to retain her willpower and drive to help Eli for a time when she might put them to use.
It eventually got better. Her body hurt less so that she could stand again, and walk. She no longer vomited so much, and her appetite slowly returned. Her spasms decreased until they were only a frightful memory. Yet the daimons still haunted her dreams, albeit not as vividly. Maybe they weren't only a product of her forced separation from Drugamor, and she would only free herself from them when she defeated her enemies in reality. But her strength hadn't fully come back yet. She exercised how she could when the guard wasn't looking, alternating between doing hundreds of pushups, situps and squats each day, straining against the chain that bound her to the wall to build up her muscles. She also practiced fighting against imaginary foes, and found thankfully that her body seemed to remember to some extent how it had moved with Drugamor's blessing and she wouldn't be starting over from scratch. Even her old strength wouldn't be enough. She'd need to become stronger than she had ever been. She lost weight with her self training, but her limbs and trunk became leaner and harder, and the exercises grew ever easier.
One day she overheard the guard talking to another Paladin. "I wonder what we're going to do with her now that the boy's being moved."
"Moved, huh? I guess the Lord Paladin is ready to take over now that he showed the guts to injure poor Jacques."
Sam bit her lip with anxiety. Moved? They clearly referred to Eli, and if she didn't get on it before they took him too far, she might never be able to save him from whatever they intended. She had to make her exit soon, but how? There was no way she'd break the chain that held her, nor the manacle, and even if she could the iron bars didn't look too fragile either. Her best hope of escape lay with the guards then. She prayed whoever was on duty held both the keys to the manacle and door, or else she would be screwed. But how could she get within range to take those keys, anyway? She couldn't just go with any halfassed plan like pretending to be sick, since if they saw through it that might be the last chance she got. She remembered her delirious thoughts of killing herself and got an idea. If she could fake a suicide attempt, the guard should come in to check on her, and... but she had no tools with which to pull off such an act. Unless... she did have something sharp-ish that could simulate a suicide by blade. Her teeth.
She waited until it sounded like the other Paladin had gone, then nibbled at the sides of her wrists, not daring to bite the actual bottoms for fear of severing the veins for real. Her stomach turned at what she was doing, but she forced herself to keep at it until skin tore and blood flowed freely. Trembling a bit she smeared it over her wrists and the floor, making sure it was spread out enough to look like her life might be in danger. She then shrieked twice as if doing it once for each cut wrist and lay down on her side, arms stretched out.
The guard's footsteps hurriedly approached. "What the... how did you get a blade in there? Are you alive?" She didn't answer. "Dumb kid!" The cell door squeaked open, and his feet thumped closer. "Not like we've lost much if you're dead." His roughly callused hand touched her arm as he prepared to roll her over. Now.
She burst to life, snapping her legs up to seize his arm between them. As
he reached up to defend against a hold, she grabbed at the hilt of his sheathed sword. He reacted fast enough to thwart her, fingers closing around her bloody wrist. Time for the backup plan. Sam swung her leg to club him in the head with her manacle, momentarily stunning him. She looped the chain over the back of his neck and jerked down, pulling his throat tight against the shin she moved under it. As he gagged and released her other arm to claw at the chain, she yanked his sword free and touched it to his neck.
"Keys?" she asked, pushing the edge against his skin for emphasis.
"You don't have the balls to-"
She slammed the pommel into his temple and he dropped limp atop her lower body. She could just search herself. Shoving him off, she found the ring of keys at his belt and tried them on her manacle beginning with the smaller ones first. After a few attempts it opened with a clack, and she bound him in her place before stepping out of the cell. She saw no Paladins in the immediate vicinity, but knew she wouldn't be so lucky as to get all the way to the exit without encountering any. Since fighting her way out didn't seem realistic, she figured maybe she could use a hostage. She wasn't confident they would value the life of the guard enough for him to make a good one, though, plus it'd be tough dragging him around while unconscious. She needed a hostage whose special skills would make them less expendable—the mage. Recalling how he preferred to stay in a room near her and Eli's due to being picky about others' snoring, she headed for it. On the way out of the prison area she spotted her axe and pack sitting in an open closet, though her nut pouch was nowhere to be seen, and took them along. She kept the Paladin's sword too, tucking it into her belt.
Though it was only a short ways down the hall to the guest rooms, she counted her blessings that she made it there without being caught. She eased open Jacques' door, praying he would be inside. If he wasn't there and somebody noticed her missing from her cell or the guard woke up before he came back... Fortunately, blankets rose and fell over his slumbering form in bed. As she got closer, she realized he looked sick, face sallow and breathing labored. Right, he had been injured by Eli, though she didn't know how. She hoped he could move around. She nudged his chin with the blade of her axe, drawing a droplet of blood, and he startled awake.
Far from trying to scramble away like a healthy person might have, he just gazed weakly at her. "Y-you..."
Sam put a finger to her lips. "Shhh, or I'll cut your head off right here. Where is Eli?"
"He was already sent away, to the Lord Paladin."
Darn. She would have to go after him then, but her priority had to be getting out of here first. "Now, get up."
He struggled to climb out of bed, having to hold onto the corner post for support. Good considering how he had treated Eli, but potentially bad if he collapsed. Nothing she could do about that except wish for the best. She got behind him, pushing him in front of her with her axe at his throat, and took the waterskin from atop his dresser too before leaving the room. She'd need something to hold water in traveling back, after all. Going through the hallways, she passed Paladins, but her threats to kill the mage kept them at bay. Working so far... She entered the dining room. Leland looked up from the table where he ate a bowl of soup, stood to bar her path.
"Out of the way," she said, forcing her hostage up on his tiptoes as she pulled her blade closer against his neck, "or I'll kill him."
He drew his sword. "Will you? What happens if you do? Do you think you'll be able to walk out of here then?"
"Uh..." Stubbornly she pressed forward, willing Leland to move out of the way. He wouldn't risk it, she told herself. If he tried anything, she could easily slice away Jacques' life before he reached them. He had to acknowledge her advantage—he thrust forward. Her eyes widened, and she jumped aside just in time as his point burst from Jacques' back. What? The mage toppled backward as the blade slid free of his ribs, fingers twitching over the wound before he froze in death.
"You thought to call my bluff. But Paladins do not bend easily to threats." He fixed cold eyes on her. "You've murdered one of our number. It is more than justified to dispose of you now."
"B-but you killed him!" She heard footsteps all around as other Paladins surrounded the room, and her hands shook around her haft.
"When we join the order, we do so accepting that our lives may be forfeit should we become a liability. You are the one responsible for his death."
"That isn't fair..."
Leland rolled his eyes. "The naivete of youths, to whine about fairness. What is fair about thinking your friend is entitled to freedom, in lieu of fulfilling a greater purpose for the benefit of all? If you are so insistent on being selfish, you deserve to die."
Sam screamed at him, "What is this purpose?! You don't even know. You blindly follow your superior's vision, but how can you expect us to do the same? If you don't let us know what the goal is, how are we supposed to even judge whether we approve of it?"
"Your approval is not needed. Authority is granted to those who know better than the masses. Rather than act as petulant children rebelling in ignorance, you should put your faith in it."
"How can you call yourselves humanity's protectors, if you barely view those you claim to protect as worthy of consideration as human beings? As for your authority, I don't respect those who don't respect me." Her eyes narrowed. Though the odds were stacked against her, with Paladins filling the doors around her, she wouldn't quit until the last drop of life left her body. She raised her axe. "If you place so little value even in the life of your own comrade, I won't feel remorse for killing you either."
He chuckled. "You, kill me? That must be a joke. Even with your drugs before, you were no match."
She put on her best assured smirk. "If that's what you think, tell your men to stand down and prove it."
Leland raised a hand. "Very well. Let us have a proper duel, not interrupted by you comically humiliating yourself."
As he lifted his sword before him in a fighting stance, she weighed their respective advantages. He was taller with more reach, heavier, stronger, more skilled, and more experienced. She was younger, which might not be a real advantage if it didn't put her physical attributes above his, and probably more nimble—that was it. Judging from their previous fight, she wasn't even faster. She probed at his defenses with quick cuts he guarded with ease. He threw a lightning riposte, making her heart skip a beat as she just blocked while stepping away. Leland followed up immediately with more blows, putting her on the back foot. He herded around the room at the end of his longer weapon, sweat soaking her clothes while she frantically parried and dodged to keep the quicksilver blade from reaching her. In desperation, she thought to slow down his assault by making him defend more. She tried to push forward with offense of her own, only for him to sidestep one of her first chops and lay open her arm. Sam grimaced as she backed up again, feeling the hot wetness run down her skin.
She couldn't match him skill for skill; if she continued attempting to do so, she'd lose. What could she do to even the odds? She glanced around, snatched up a cup and threw it at Leland's face. He cleaved it out of the air with a grin, dividing it into two neat halves which tumbled across the floor. She threw a plate, same response. Maybe if there was food or drink in the vessels, it splashing out would do better to distract him, but all the ones she saw were empty. Wait—Leland's own bowl. He hadn't finished it, had he? Ducking a slash at her head, she darted to the table where it'd been and looked. Half full. She picked it up, held it with one hand while brandishing her axe in the other.
She didn't throw it right away, wanting to make it count. Leland sneered. "You're going to try and blind me with soup? You really think you'll beat me with such a rudimentary trick?"
"If you think so little of it, why don't you come on, huh?" she asked, preparing to hurl it.
He faked a step towards her once, twice, causing her to spill some of the soup when she made to throw only to abort. Shit... "What are you waiting for, girl? Do it."
She charge
d swinging her axe, then after he leapt back tossed the bowl at his face. He struck it in midair with his palm, propelling it in return towards her. She blocked with her forearm, but what liquid remained inside flew over it and into her face. Sam backpedaled trying to blink her eyes clear, blinded for an instant by the very soup she had thought to gain the upper hand with. Leland's sword flashed in. She parried, vision still blurred, but couldn't adjust fast enough to stop his backswing from nicking her chest. Not a deep wound, but her bleeding arm already weakened her and if she lost more blood...
Leland chased her around, making her bump painfully into tables, benches and cabinets in her hasty retreat. She swatted a shelf's worth of condiments at him, but he dismissively brushed aside what reached him like nothing. She hopped atop a long table looking to take advantage of higher ground; he stepped onto the bench and kicked her off so that she crashed through another table. He pounced chopping down. She rolled, finally got a hit in as she cut his leg.
"You've improved," he observed. "How did you do that while imprisoned?"
She shrugged. "I just had to, so I did."
Yet they still weren't evenly matched. He assailed her with a swift flurry, and another burning gash opened over her ribs. She tripped over her own feet evading a swipe that would have gutted her, rolled back from a downward slash and hit her head on a bench. Groggily, she watched Leland bring his sword arcing down at her face. She avoided it by dropping to her back, the blade biting into the bench but not going through. She slid under the attached table to buy herself time. As she heard him free his weapon with a grunt, she got an idea.
Sam kicked with every bit of force she could summon, flinging the table up towards Leland. In a rare moment of clarity where time seemed to slow, almost like Drugamor blessed her again, she saw the tip of his sword emerge from the wood as he cleaved down through it. She jumped up swinging her axe over his blade just after it passed. Her axehead went through one of his forearms and grazed the other. He howled, instinctively dropping his sword to grab at the stump. As he stood there with no defense, she thought to finish him like she'd said. But if she did, she would never leave this place. Instead, she spun behind him and took him hostage in turn, axe to his neck.