by Jim Galford
“As you wish. I’m sorry, boy.”
They led him towards a tall pole, used mostly for such punishments. Estin knew he would be strapped to it and beaten until he lost consciousness—or even until he died—but he did not care. Without hesitation, he stepped up to the pole and let them tie him there, pressing his forehead against the thick wood to center himself.
He just hoped that he had done enough for the kits, if this was an ending.
*
Estin finally began to wake, having been unconscious at least the whole night and most of the morning. As he struggled to open his eyes, he could see the midday sunlight coming through the walls, letting him know just how long he had been out.
Drearily, he was thankful that the daylight meant that he would not have to face Oria and Atall for several hours. That would give him the time to at least try to act as though he were fine, though deep down he knew they had likely tended to him during the night and were well aware how badly hurt he was.
Fighting against the pain of the lashes on his back, which felt as though they had torn deeply into the muscles and possibly cracked a rib or two, he tried to sit up, but barely managed to lift his head.
“Stop trying to get up,” ordered a familiar voice, as Oria came around in front of him. “You need to lie still until the bleeding stops.”
“I’ll be fine. Shouldn’t you be out picking turnips or something?”
“Atall and I were excused for the day,” she explained, moving behind him again. She tried to cover the sound of a nervous gasp as he felt her hands touching his back, letting him know just how bad the wounds must be. “One of the taskmasters was worried about you and wanted us to stay close, just in case.”
“Where’s your brother?”
Atall cleared his throat, letting Estin know the boy was sitting near his feet, glowering.
“And this is why we don’t get into fights,” Estin offered, trying to laugh. Atall glared all the more.
“You need to be quiet,” Oria told him, applying a damp cloth to his back. The water stung horribly, but he knew if she did not clean the wounds, they would quickly infect in the filthy building. “This isn’t a joke. You could still bleed to death.”
Estin had thought time and again that Oria was the spitting image of her mother, with the same temper. He could hear her mother in her bossy orders, even as she tried to care for him. It made him smile absently, until he thought about the idea of her and her brother spending the rest of their childhood here. Given how fast wildlings grew up, there were only about two more years until they reached adulthood.
The idea of them spending what was left of their childhood surrounded by people like Stendin absolutely terrified him. Worse yet, once Oria was no longer a child, he was willing to bet more people like Stendin would appear.
“I’m fine,” he said, inadvertently whimpering as he sat up. “Stop babying me.”
The gentle brushing on his back turned into a mind-numbingly painful jab to one of the wounds.
“Don’t treat me like you can boss me around,” Oria growled, finally removing her hand from the cut. “Sit still or this will hurt more.”
Estin groaned as he finished getting himself upright, trying to find the motivation to heal himself.
Finding the strength within himself, Estin focused on the spirits and let them touch his wounds briefly. The wounds were far from healed, but he had learned long ago not to fully heal any injury that was intentional, lest the taskmasters just do it again. They could repeat punishments far more than he could heal them.
“Why can’t we sneak away some night?” asked Atall after several minutes of brooding. “I want to go back to dad’s village.”
Oria smacked her brother in the arm.
“The undead burned it, stupid.”
“She’s right Atall. Oria, don’t hit your brother or call him stupid.”
Oria frowned and flopped on the pile of ragged sheets that the three of them used, refusing to look at him, batting her tail angrily about.
“Why do you still tell us what to do?” demanded Atall, rubbing his arm and glaring at his sister. “Why do you even stand up for us? You’re not our dad and you’re not even a fox. Why do you care?”
Estin watched the male for a minute, trying to figure out how to answer.
“I made your mother a promise. You’ll do as I say until she…or your father…come back.”
They all sat there for a long time, until the sun had moved far enough across the sky that Estin could see the filtered sunlight through the western wall.
“You slept through a whole day,” Atall said finally, no longer looking quite so cross. “You missed a lot.”
Oria rolled over and gave Atall a horrified look.
“What did I miss?” Estin asked, watching Oria, rather than Atall. She was frantically trying to signal her brother to be quiet.
“There’s a rumor in the fields that some dwarven slave-trader is in from the south and the camp is actually selling people against the law in exchange for weapons. They say he’s collecting wildlings for some kind of show for his king. No one’s allowed to go out today, so that he can come by and inspect us all. Those already out are being brought back soon.”
Estin groaned, wishing that this surprised him at all. Lantonne could preach about not allowing slavery, but whatever name it went by, there was no doubt in Estin’s mind about what he was to them.
Laying back down, Estin closed his eyes and took a shuddering breath, trying to calm himself. He could only hope he had the strength to protect the kits if and when someone came for them.
Deciding to sleep until he could regain his strength, Estin curled up on his blankets, trying to block out everything else, at least for a time. As he lay there, the kits crawled onto the bedding beside him, Atall squirming under his arm, while Oria curled up near his head, her face pressed against his ears. This was how most nights had been for a long time, since the kits had finally accepted that Feanne and their father were not coming anytime soon. Once that had set in, despite all their objections to listening to Estin, they had clung to him every chance they got, refusing to be apart from him for any longer than required by the taskmasters.
It did not take long for Estin to fall asleep again, the pain from his lashings fading as his mind drifted.
The next few hours were filled with vague dreams of his childhood and the distant memories of happier times with the pack and the people he cared about. No one else was left to dispute those memories or remind him of the pain and struggles he had gone through then, too.
When he did wake, Estin realized that it was dark out and the building was full again. Dozens of snoring people made the structure rumble as he lay there, his eyes still closed as he wrapped his arms around the kits, who were now snuggled close to one another for warmth. The building’s fire had already gone out, leaving the place not much warmer than the early winter outdoors.
Estin started to drift back to sleep, but realized that someone was walking around within the building. That was a rarity, as most of the laborers were far too tired to bother getting up after dark. His instinctual first thought was that Stendin was creeping up on them, intending revenge or a second chance at Oria. He prepared himself accordingly, ready to finish the job this time if that male approached him.
After a few seconds, he recognized the sound as one of the elven taskmasters, as well as one or two others, moving through the disorganized group of laborers, whispering as they went.
Listening as best he could over the dripping of the water outside and through the leaky roof, as well as his own shivering, he tried to hear what they were saying as a change of pace. It was not common to have anyone actually enter the building after dark who did not belong there.
“Sir, this is a truly ragged lot,” advised the elf’s voice. “They were mostly found in areas where the Altisian weapons ravaged the land, so they were brought here for their own protection. There’s not much food left out in those areas, s
o most of these would have starved to death without the farms we’re having them work.”
“Don’t really care, to be honest,” laughed a deep voice. “As far as we live below the surface, your weapons aren’t doing much more than messing up our ceilings.”
“Good to hear, sir.”
“What I’m looking for, I’m betting you don’t have. The king wants some exotics. Got a ton of fae-kin in the collection, an orc to show off its muscles for the ladies, and a couple common wildlings just to say he’s got the basic’s covered…he’s looking for something weird.”
Estin shifted his tail over the children, then covered it with his arm to hide the color pattern. The last thing he wanted was a slaver to see the long striped tail and think it was “unique.”
“How weird do you want, sir? I have some rather bizarre fae-kin that…”
“He wants animals,” the gruff man cut in. “Got wolves, cats…heck, he’s even got a lizard or two. He’s looking for something different. I dunno, maybe one of those half-breeded paw-lickers…er…wildlings. Sort of looking for a monkey, squirrel, raccoon thing. Saw one once and wanted to get one for the king…”
Estin’s eyes popped open. While it was possible more than one dwarf used that expression, he had to wonder. Still, he had no desire to risk himself if this was someone actually collecting sentient beings for show. Safety was more important than curiosity.
“We actually have one that fits that description,” the elf said happily. “Though it’s…well…an angry one. The darn thing is as wild as any of the wolves or cougars we’ve caught. Very nearly killed another wildling just the other day. We were actually discussing putting it down for its own sake.”
“Angry? How angry? Can I see it?”
The footsteps were creaking on the floorboards his way now. Nervously, Estin tightened his grip on the children, just in case. If this dwarf was not one he knew and thought he could buy Estin without taking them, there would be a fight. Even if it was Finth and he tried to leave the kits, things would get ugly. Estin was willing to strike at his old companion, or abandon his own chance at freedom if it would save the kits.
“Turn it over so I can see it,” the gruff man demanded, now just behind Estin. “Damned thing looks like it’s been torn to shreds.”
The elf’s thin fingers grabbed Estin’s shoulder and gave him a tug. In another life, Estin would have torn the man’s hand off for what he had endured lately, but he just meekly rolled into the light of the elf’s torch, blinking against its brightness.
“That’s the one I want. Toss the fuzzy little monkey…wait, are those fox kits?”
Estin blinked, trying to make out faces, but the torch was practically in his face.
“Yes, though we’re planning to put them down if we sell the striped one. They’re too young to be worth the amount they eat.”
“I’ll take them too,” the dwarf said quickly. “Get them on my wagon.”
“The foxes aren’t really exotic…”
“I said, I will take them.”
“Sir, you’re not scheduled to be leaving until…”
“Shut your mouth, elf, and do as I say. I don’t pay for some butt-licking toady to tell me how to do my job.”
Estin finally got a glimpse of the dwarf as the elf raised the torch away from him. It was Finth, his clothing far finer than Estin had ever seen, with gemstones braided into his beard and an ornate axe at his back. The gemstones caught Estin’s eye the most…several he recognized as ones he had stolen from the duke’s keep in Altis.
“As you wish, sir,” the elf offered with a bow. “I’ll have them loaded within the hour.”
Finth spun on his heel and stormed off, dust rising with each heavy stomp, the elven camp administrator following swiftly behind him.
Within minutes, the elf returned, this time with two burly orcs at his sides.
“Collar and cage them,” the man ordered, pointing at Estin and the children, who had just begun to stir. “I want them boxed on the emissary’s wagon immediately.”
Strong hands grabbed Estin, dragging him from the bedding as the children were caught up by the other orc. He had a good idea what was happening and let the orc slam him face-first to the ground and fasten a heavy collar around his neck and shackles around his wrists. The children did not have that knowledge and screamed and cried, trying to free themselves from the orc, even as the other laborers began sitting up and questioning what was happening.
“Oria, please just do what he wants,” Estin hissed at the female, who was putting up most of the fight.
With a bellow, the orc reeled back, his face bloodied from Oria’s raking kick. Atall had bitten down on the man’s hand, refusing to let go.
“Get the dwarf a different pair of foxes,” the elf ordered angrily. “Put these down and find me something in a hurry.”
Estin looked over and saw the orc shake Atall free and reach for a knife at his belt. Despite having the second orc still kneeling on his back, Estin whipped his tail around, cracking his captor in the back of the head to daze him. He used the slight moment of the man’s knee lifting to slide free, rolling as he brought his bound hands down past his feet, swinging them easily up in front of him.
He dove into the orc with the knife, slamming his shoulder into the man and barreling him over onto another laborer’s bedding.
With both orcs off of them for the moment, Estin slid on his knees to the kits, encircling both in his arms.
“He wanted us,” Estin said, growling. “We will go without a fight. They don’t need to be leashed. Put us in the box already.”
The elf threw his hands up and waved the orcs onward. They practically dragged Estin by his leash, while Atall and Oria clung to his arms. They went the length of the camp this way, finally reaching a series of three wagons that were parked near the entrance to the farm camp.
“That one,” the elf told the orcs, pointing to an uncovered wagon, with a large cage in back. “Get them in and I’ll let the emissary know.”
The orcs became anything if not less gentle once the elf had departed. They literally threw Estin into the cage, while still holding the leash, so that when he tumbled inside, the leash became taught and choked him briefly. The kits they threw as hard as they could at the back of the cage, bouncing them off the far end’s bars.
“Are you both alright?” Estin asked them, flipping over in the short cage to examine them.
Both groaned and nodded at him, rubbing at bruises.
Before Estin could get a better look at the kits’ injuries, the orcs began locking wooden covers over the cage, blocking out the dim moonlight and all air that did not creep through the floorboards. At least it was dry and warmer than the building had been.
They were stuck in the quiet dark for a long time, both kits shaking nervously as they waited to find out what would happen next. A long time later, voices approached the wagon.
“…and so, I’ll be heading back to the king with his new gifts. Thank you for all your bloody cooperation.”
“Sir,” cut in the elf’s voice. Faintly, Estin could hear movement of many people nearby. “You do need to present your king’s writ before we just let you go. You know that’s procedure. Since we cannot endorse slavery, we need to see your writ to seize these debtors.”
A long silence followed.
“Of course. Second wagon back, under a false floor. Wouldn’t want just anyone to get their hands on that.”
A faint rap on the wood covering of the cage was followed by Finth’s whispered voice.
“Monkey, get ready for trouble.”
Estin hurriedly lay down in the cage, knowing that if it lurched, he did not want to fall far. He got both of the kits to do the same and then grabbed one of the cage’s bars for support.
“Sir,” called the elf’s voice, “I don’t…oh…guards!”
Shouts and cries of pain erupted as Estin heard weapons drawn. It sounded as though a dozen people had broken out into combat in sec
onds. Snarls mixed in with the din of metal weapons.
“Time to go,” called back Finth, as the wagon lumbered into motion.
The bouncing and sharp tilts of the covered cage told Estin that they were riding fast and hard, possibly even off the road. This went on for what seemed like hours, making every inch of Estin hurt from the hard floor and judging by the whimpering of the kits, they were not faring much better.
The bouncing soon slowed and the wagon came to a gradual stop. From what Estin could hear, the driver had gotten down and was walking around the back. Several clicks of locks later, the back wooden panel fell away and Finth stared up at them, his head only slightly above the bottom of the cage.
“You are a pain in my hairy ass to find, monkey,” the man grumbled, fitting small metal tools into the cage’s lock. “I damn near ran out of the duke’s jewels trying to track you down.”
“Who is he?” hissed Oria in Estin’s ear.
“He’s a friend. He helped save your mother and I a few times. You met him very briefly back in your mother’s camp.”
Finth finally popped the lock and swung the cage open.
“Be quiet coming out,” Finth warned them, glancing around nervously. “This place isn’t secure. If they find us, we need to run again.”
With the kits hiding behind him as he climbed out, Estin slid out of the cage, easing his feet down until his paws touched cool pavestones. He looked around, finding that they were in a city alley, buildings on either side large enough to shield his view of anything much. With the sky dark above, he doubted anyone would be watching the alley.
Estin looked down at Oria and Atall, who were still watching Finth with suspicion.
“You took long enough,” Estin told Finth, smiling weakly. The dwarf just spit on the ground.
Estin reached up and grabbed the thick leather collar on his neck, digging his blunted claws into it as best he could. It took a lot of effort, straining against the seams, but he managed to rip it free, taking a good bit of fur with it. He happily threw the hateful object into a corner of the alley.
