by Lee Bezotte
Soaking his bread in his stew, Son held an indignant stare. “Why?” he demanded.
“Because a man like Ocmallum doesn’t make mistakes, and neither do his associates. If he ran you over with his carriage he would blame you, and probably have you flogged for it,” the man answered.
Faymia seethed at the thought of such an evil man. “Then what do you propose we do?” she asked.
“Our best bet is to let me go to the castle alone. I can bring it up in conversation with him and we’ll see if he’s willing to tell me,” Tcharron suggested.
“Alone?” Son protested. “How do we know you won’t just stay in there and turn on us?”
The slaver smirked, “You don’t, kid. You’ll just have to take me at my word.”
“Okay,” Dulnear broke in. “And what if your plan fails?”
Tcharron folded his hands and stared at them for a moment. Then he answered, “Ocmallum does not appreciate uninvited guests, so there is that chance. If my plan fails, then I guess we’ll do it your way.”
The man from the north leaned back in his chair and folded his arms. “Fair,” he said. “Tell me about the estate.”
The slaver’s smug demeanor began to crack as he described the property. “There is only forest surrounding the estate,” he explained. “But a wall defends it. There is only one gate, and it is guarded by archers. The castle is vast and cornered by turrets. Ocmallum rarely leaves the northwest turret, as it gives him the greatest view of the road leading in. He is terribly paranoid and is usually well-guarded.”
An uneasy feeling began to creep up Faymia’s neck as she heard the estate’s description. “What do you mean by well-guarded?” she asked.
“He has a small army of slaves, soldiers, and warriors alike. If your plan is to storm in there, then you would do well to make other plans.”
Dulnear leaned in and asked, “Does he sleep in the northwest turret?”
“Yes, he uses it as his office and his bedchamber. Everything his needs is delivered to him there.”
“Why have a castle if you’re just going to stay in one room?” Son mused.
“Like I said, he has a small army living there,” Tcharron said. “Listen, I’m not exaggerating when I say that your chances of getting to him are very slim to non-existent. For years, unhappy family members and their hired mercenaries have tried to reach Ocmallum to get him to release loved ones. Their dead bodies are left hanging along the outside wall as a warning to others.”
“We will do what we must,” Dulnear stated. “Dead bodies do not frighten me.”
Faymia nodded her head in agreement, but she was deeply afraid. Reaching under the table, she hid her hands, hoping no one could see them tremble.
Maren had no idea where she was. The interior of the city was a labyrinth of narrow, winding alleys that occasionally opened up to access the backs of shops, offices, and dwellings. Many of them looked so similar that she couldn’t tell if she was passing the same doors or just ones that looked the same. The gray sky gave little sense of direction and seemed so far away, blocked by the gigantic, drab stone buildings. Her only hope was to keep moving forward, hoping that one of the alleys would eventually intersect with a city street and she would be able to find her bearings. Adding to her predicament, she knew that Kugun was in pursuit, and stopping to catch her breath was not an option.
“Ye can’t run forever!” the man’s voice called out, echoing off the walls. He wasn’t moving very fast. He didn’t seem to have the need. He knew the alleys well, and only needed to listen for her footsteps as she ran from hiding place to hiding place.
Maren nervously massaged her ear as she ran into an access area and hid behind a stack of crates outside a shop’s rear entrance. She couldn’t run inside and ask for help because Kugun owned her and she would just be returned to him. She watched as he lumbered into the opening, looking around for her. There were few other places to hide, so she had to dart into another alley before she was discovered. As soon as the man’s back was toward her, she ran across the opening and into one of the passages.
“Girly!” Kugun yelled as he turned to see her go. Picking up his pace, he jogged in after her.
Maren’s heart beat like a rabbit’s as she sprinted through the twisting maze of brick and trash, always with the sound of her owner’s heavy gait behind her. Coming to another opening, she saw a handful of men unloading the contents of a wagon into the back door of a shop. As she hastened past them, Kugun yelled out, “Stop dat girl!” and one of the men reached out for her, scooping her up off the ground.
Maren bit down hard on the man’s arm and he cursed as he let go of her. Without a moment’s hesitation, she scurried off into another alley. She could hear the laughter of the man’s companions echoing through the maze and Kugun’s footsteps slowing down. Filled with renewed hope for escaping, she ran ever faster.
As she moved, she noticed that the air in the alley was getting more difficult to breathe. It grew pungent and thick. The buildings seemed older and taller, and the light was growing dimmer. I’m running toward the city center, she thought to herself, and dread began to set in.
The passageways grew narrower and the refuse was piled higher, making speed more difficult to maintain and stealth impossible. Squinting, she could tell that there was a section of decaying building that had spilled into the alley, blocking her path. Maren knew she had to turn around and head back in the direction she came, but now Kugun, and a group of men, were waiting.
She turned around and ran, hoping that her owner was still in the opening, apologizing to the men. Instead of running all the way back, she turned right at the first intersection of alleys that crossed her path. As she rushed through the damp, dim corridor, she noticed the sound of heavy running feet behind her. With lungs burning and knees aching, she ran even faster. Suddenly, she tripped over something that felt like a burlap sack filled with rot. Stumbling to her feet, she noticed something strange. There was a wall directly in front of her, and on each side.
“Dead end,” Maren whispered to herself, and she felt weak all over.
Maren surveyed the dead end. There were trash piles taller than she was, and it reeked of decaying vermin. She could hear Kugun enter the narrow alley and knew that she would not be able to run past him to escape. She went to the corner of the dead end with the highest amount of rubbish and began to bury herself with it as she laid down.
As filthy rainwater began to soak her hair, she smelled something that triggered a gag. Looking around, she saw the rotting corpse of a stray cat, its tail nearly brushing her face. She wanted to move and hide elsewhere, but she knew it was too late. Her owner was nearby, speaking cruelly, “Girly, I know yer in here. Come out, come out, wherever ye are.”
Maren said nothing. She concentrated on breathing silently, but it was difficult since the odor was so horrific and her body was attempting to heave.
“Come out, little one,” he continued. “I have some pie fer ye. I’m gonna cram it down yer throat!”
The girl closed her eyes. There was no point in keeping them open since she was blinded by the garbage piled over her face.
Listening, she could hear the man rummaging through piles of trash, turning over crates and shifting old papers and empty burlap sacks. Then, it unexpectedly grew quiet. She knew that he hadn’t walked away, but he wasn’t making any noise. She curled her hands into fists and let the memories of Dulnear training Son fill her body. Her lip curled and her brow furrowed as she waited.
Suddenly, the trash that she had piled on top of herself was thrown off and Kugun was standing over her. His face was pale and glistened with sweat. “I’m gonna cut yer ears off, brat!” he taunted as he reached for her.
Maren quickly grabbed the tail of the rotting cat and swung it at the man, hitting him squarely in the face, scattering maggots through the air. He stumbled backward, wiped his cheek, and sniffed his hand. Immediately, he began to vomit, but still blocked the girl’s exit. She stood with th
e carcass still in her hand, wondering if she should initiate another attack before the man regained his composure.
“When I’m done cuttin’ yer ears off, I’m gonna kill ye, girly. The brothel is too good fer ye!” he yelled as he wiped his trembling mouth and stood up straight.
From the corner of her eye, Maren spied a broken mop handle. She knew she couldn’t reach it before Kugun grabbed her, so she flung the cat at him as hard as she could. While the man flailed to keep the putrid remains from touching him again, she ran and grabbed the handle as quickly as she could.
“What, are ye gonna—” he began to say before being interrupted with a smack to the neck.
“Neck, knee, temple, foot, shin!” Maren shouted as she struck each of those places on Kugun with force and precision.
“Youch!!” the man groaned, stumbling backward. Rubbing his temple, he lowered his head, growled, and ran toward Maren, swiping her off the ground by her neck and slamming her against the alley’s back wall, causing her to drop the handle, and she struggled to continue breathing.
In an instant, the girl reached around his arm with both hands and began clawing at his face, leaving bleeding scrapes and gashes under his red, drooping eyes. He dropped her, and she shot between his legs to get away. Kugun reached down, cursing, and grabbed her by the ankle, whipping her back in front of him, dangling her in the air upside down.
Face wounded and bleeding, the man snarled like a combatant animal. Huffing, he flung Maren against the alley wall to his left. The girl hit the wall hard with her back, then dropped to the ground, partially buried under rotting papers.
Maren coughed, trying to breathe, but was only able to exhale. The alley felt as if it were spinning and she was sure that, if Kugun didn’t kill her, she would die from not being able to inhale. She forced herself onto her hands and knees and groaned as tears filled her eyes and panic clutched her body. From the corner of her eye, she could make out the man’s lumbering movements toward her. She took the smallest of breath, and then another until she could stand up and face him. When she did, she noticed that his movements seemed strange.
Kugun took a small step forward, then another back again. His face looked as if he might vomit again, and he clutched his arm. He moved his mouth and Maren thought he was trying to say something, but he dropped to his knees instead, then onto the ground, and rolled onto his back, now grabbing at the front of his shirt. Finally he released a gurgling sound, and he just laid still with eyes wide open.
Maren ran over to the broken mop handle and clutched it tightly. She then walked over to the large, lifeless body of her owner and stared at its face. The alley felt like a tomb, and the still silence seemed unnatural. She reached down and closed Kugun’s eyes, then quickly retracted her arm. Massaging her ear with her free hand, she stared at the man’s face to make sure he wasn’t going to move again.
“Hey, poop-snot,” she whispered to see if he would respond. “I don’t want your pie.” She then gave him a whack across the face with the broom handle. She jumped back, just in case he revived suddenly.
Wanting to make doubly sure that Kugun wasn’t going to move again, Maren hit him again, this time causing a tooth to pop out and stick to his lip. Surprised by the sudden appearance of the yellow tooth, she dropped the makeshift weapon and ran out of the alley as fast as she could.
As Maren approached a familiar open area amidst the many alleys, she could hear men shouting to each other as they finished emptying a wagon.
“She got you good,” she heard one of them say.
“If I see that brat again, I’m going to whoop her!” the other man yelled back.
She paused for a moment, considering her next move. Her hand shook as it reached for her ear, and her heart refused to slow down. Though she saw Kugun die, she possessed a lingering fear that he was slowly trudging behind her, still wanting to strangle the life from her.
She made herself small and watched, trying to make no sound. When all the men had gone inside the shop, she darted across the opening and into the alley that she believed led toward her owner’s shop.
Zigging and zagging around crates and rubbish, Maren ran as fast as she could without looking back. Eventually, she came to another familiar open area. She saw her cage sitting next to the back door of Kugun’s shop. Running through the still-open apartment door, she grabbed as much food as she could carry in a bindle, then dashed back out.
Still panicking, she ran down the alley that had brought her to the shop days before, and found herself out in the open street.
CHAPTER TWELVE
The Road is Long
Maren squinted as her eyes adjusted to the daylight. The hard, gray sky was clearly visible now and the world around her felt raucous and manic.
Knowing that the street ran uphill as it moved toward the city center, she turned left where the alley spilled out and made her way down, hoping it would lead her to the gates, and out toward the countryside.
Clutching her bundle of supplies from Kugun’s apartment, she walked deliberately and swiftly along the narrow sidewalk, often stepping around other walkers, forcing her to travel in the street at times. As she did, the mixture of voices and activities toyed with her thoughts, causing her chest to tighten and her hands to tremble.
“She’s a slave!” she swore she heard a beggar woman call out.
Passing a shop, she was certain that the merchant standing in the doorway was the man who had visited Kugun the day before. “Where’s your owner?” she thought she heard him ask.
Avoiding eye contact, and any questions, Maren willed herself to keep moving forward. Moment by moment, her disdain for the great city grew, and she felt she needed to reach the outside of its walls or it would pull her in and consume her like quicksand.
Somewhere in the commotion, she thought she heard a voice shout, “There she is! She killed Kugun!”
The girl bit down hard, catching her cheek, and the taste of blood filled her mouth. A feeling, like a blow to her lower back, struck her, and she ran.
As her strides grew longer, the downward pitch of the road caused her to move through the air as if she were taking leaps rather than steps, and she narrowly missed a cart full of vegetables that was parked in front of a pub.
Eerily, a voice rang out above the crowd, “Get back here, girly!”
Maren glanced back as she fled with all of her might. No one seemed to be paying attention to her. Almost running directly into a large man sweeping the front of a shop, she weaved just in time and leaped into the street, coming face-to-face with a pony, then ducking and continuing her descent.
Many more leaps, a tumble, and a mad sprint later, she reached the city gates. As she did, she paused and looked back up the congested street. The crowd, the activity, and the unruly clamor continued as it always had, oblivious to the strange little girl in the filthy formal dress.
As Faymia crouched behind a large, fallen tree trunk, she could see archers stationed along the top of the wall around Ocmallum’s estate.
“How many do you see?” Dulnear asked, squinting to make out what she was seeing.
“Three,” she said. “But we have no idea what lies behind the wall.”
“Hell,” Tcharron said from behind. “Hell is what lies behind that wall.”
“What do you mean?” Son asked, kneeling next to the man.
“I mean that Ocmallum has warriors from all over Aun guarding that place. Malitae from the southern islands, swordsmen from the north, and others that come from parts unknown.”
Faymia’s angst caused a ringing in her ears. The sound made it difficult for her to focus fully. She took a deep breath, turned to sit leaning against the log, and looked at Tcharron. As she did, the memories of being the man’s property pressed down on her neck and she recalled the abuse, the shame, and the violation she’d suffered by him. An angry tear formed in the corner of her eye and the surrounding woods seemed to appear out of focus.
The slaver pushed his eyebrows do
wn and asked, “Why are you looking at me like that?”
She wiped the tear away, swallowed, and said, “I only have one thing to say. I forgive you.” Perhaps it was the distress of their predicament, or maybe it was the fatigue of carrying bitterness, she did not know. She only knew that, in that moment, she needed to say those words.
“What??” the man sputtered.
“I forgive you,” she said again, this time more clearly.
Tcharron looked away for a moment, then met her eyes again, “You made a choice,” he began.
“I know. I have no one but myself to blame,” she replied. “But I need you to know that I release you.”
The man’s crouched legs seemed to give out and he fell back, sitting on the ground. His face softened, and the harshness faded from his eyes. He stared at the woman with an expression that suggested he was searching for words to say. Eventually, he murmured, “Thank you,” and he turned his eyes toward the tops of the trees.
The woman felt awkward for saying the words, but relieved of the burden of holding them in. Holding her eyes on the upward-gazing slaver, she said, “Thank you for helping us find our friend.”
“Well, I suppose—” the slaver began.
“If Tcharron’s plan fails,” Dulnear interrupted, “we will need to find a way into that turret without rousing everyone.”
Faymia blinked and looked at her husband, shaken from her conversation. “What do you suggest?”
“Perhaps we can use the cover of night,” Son said.
The man from the north raised an eyebrow and kept his eyes on Ocmallum’s castle. “I think you might have something there, Son.” He then turned and sat next to his wife on the ground. “How many ways are there into that turret?” he asked Tcharron.
The slaver brought his eyes back down from the treetops and thought for a moment. “Outside of Ocmallum’s chamber is a vestibule, and there is only one staircase that leads up to it. However, the staircase lies at the end of a long hall which can be reached from three different doors from the inner courtyard. Since many of the men are drunk or otherwise preoccupied at night, you may have a chance of making it to the staircase without encountering too much trouble.”