by Philip Smith
“Ouch! Hey! What gives?” yelped Twostaves.
“Sorry, that would be the two spades we baked into the bread.” She smirked.
“Spades? Really?” Robert said, skeptical.
“That’s our plan. You have a better one?”
“What plan!? Giving us two shovels the size of a squirrel’s pelvic bone to tunnel out of here is not much of a plan!”
“Would you rather I snag one of the large ones off that wall over there and hope they don’t notice you using it to dig a hole?”
“She has a point, Robert,” Twostaves noted. “We can keep these concealed on our person much easier, and if someone bursts in we can pitch them a lot faster than we could those clumsy wood shovels.”
Paige glanced at the door nervously. “I’ve only got a few minutes, so you two dunderheads listen up, you hear me?”
Neither of the dark shapes made any further commentary.
“Right. Hanburg said there is no real foundation to this building. The logs are set straight into the earth, so you could burrow right under it like a weasel in a hen house.”
“And then what? How are we to get past the gates or up over the wall. Have you thought of that?”
“Do you need me to draw up an itinerary for you?” Paige spat. “There are ladders you could steal from the outbuildings, a pile of crates, pole vault with a wagon tongue, I don’t care! That is going to be up to you two.”
“Alright, fine. We’ll improvise. What about once we’re over the wall?”
“Head back towards the south. If you come to a dry creek bed, turn and go along it till you get to the crest of a gully. There is a clearing at the base of it with a large tree in the middle. That’s our rendezvous point.”
“And how long will we all wait before heading out?”
“When everyone gets there, naturally.”
“I mean, what if complications arise? What if one of us gets caught? How will the others know we’re in trouble?”
“Hanburg won’t let that happen. We’ll all get out. We just have to focus on the timing is all.”
“He has a point,” Twostaves interjected. “Say one group gets trapped. What will the other group do?”
“Well, like you said,” Paige said, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “We’ll improvise.”
“Alwasu,” Robert said, his voice tight with frustration. “We have to consider the very real possibility that one or more of our group might not get away. Are you prepared to move ahead if that happens?”
Paige glared at him. It was a problem she was all too familiar with, but she refused to believe they would fail like that. They couldn’t afford to.
“Let’s hope and pray it doesn’t come to that,” she said finally. After pausing a moment, Robert shook his head.
“It’s daft.”
“Yeah, well, this whole adventure is daft. That’s kind of why you brought me to this lot.”
A pounding on the door warned the princess that her time was drawing to a to a close.
“I must go. I have one more loaf to get to Din,” she said, jumping up to exit the barracks. She groped her way to the door, ready to return to the beautiful sunlight beyond the stuffy, thick walls of the shed.
“Paige?” Twostaves called meekly.
She hesitated. “Yes?”
“Can we still eat the bread?”
Chapter 10
Whispers in the Dark
Dinendale peered through a crack in the door while he waited for the streets to quiet. He resided in one of the coal storage sheds behind the blacksmith’s shop with nothing more than a hole-riddled wool blanket. The buildings of the village barely housed the villagers themselves, much less separate slave quarters. Because of this, the slaves were often times locked up in the shops in which they served. Dinendale was lucky. His master had chained one of his legs to the wall, but it was better than the complete shackling he’d been told some of the other masters practiced. Despite the predicament, Dinendale knew his fortune. This was being treated well compared to a slave of the empire; tea and crumpets compared to what he had once endured. He touched his forehead and felt the jagged scar tissue, his constant reminder of Shauden cruelty.
It had been three days since Paige had stopped by the shop for Hanburg’s hinge. She’d sweet-talked a young apprentice into allowing him a “humble loaf” which, unknown to the young smith, hid a small chisel. Dinendale had found this out the hard way, much to his incisor’s dismay. Though his tooth hurt, Dinendale felt grateful for the tool since each night the blacksmith polished and then locked away every chisel, swage, punch, and drift he owned.
Through the cracks in the wood planking of the coal shed, he could see the people gathered in the square. The sun set over the village. The people gathered tonight for the Hallowed Moons Feast in the center of town. The drums and pipes began to play gaily, and Dinendale had only to wait for the people to finish congregating at the center of town to enact his escape plan.
The elf had to hand it to Hanburg – the man was a genius. He had planned the massive escape heist for all of them in a matter of a few days, and had thought out every detail. If they succeeded, Dinendale would risk a later trip to this village to personally thank the councilman. If they didn’t succeed… well that wasn’t an option he could accept. After all, he’d busted out of worse dungeons than this tiny coal shed. And they had run out of time.
The stream of people began to die down as the panpipe and fiddle music penetrated the still night air. Dinendale pulled the tiny chisel from the crack in the stone wall where it had been hidden for the past few days. He slid as close to the back door as his leg shackle would allow him, looking carefully at the door hinge and preparing to enact his plan. The dark elf took a deep breath, then began to work the chisel into the pin on the hinge.
◆◆◆
Paige and Abenya sat for a moment’s rest after having helped the townspeople prepare for the feast all day. Watching the people gather in this manner brought swirling memories of the night her parents died. So many customs here reminded her of the home she no longer had. She and Abenya gazed at the rows of plank tables outside the council house, set to accommodate the entire village. This evening they all would feast on the rich food that cooked on every hearth in the town. White deer hides covered the tables, each hide decorated with small chestnut branches still sprinkled with their reddish-brown nuts. The fire roared in the center of town a little before sunset.
As the throngs of villagers gathered, Paige looked in awe at the array of dress; bright colors and woven tapestries of fine cloth adorned each person. Old women hobbling with canes and young toddlers barely able to walk without holding to their mothers’ skirts showed off their festive attire. Red poinsettias decorated nearly every flat surface in the village center, while evergreen boughs wrapped around every post. Paige licked her lips as she saw tables laden with all assortments of meats, both skewered and grilled, on large circular iron grates.
Abenya had loaned Paige a dress of the purest white buckskin adorned with innumerable blue and sea-green beads. The beadwork formed shapes and swirls reminiscent of the riverbeds that dotted the Wild’s highlands. The garment’s sleeves fit to Paige’s arm, from the shoulder to just past her elbow where they widened and draped to expose her forearms. She looked down at the painted tattoos drawn by one of Hanburg’s neighbors. Paige’s key shone brightly against the white dress as the flickering firelight licked her pale skin. Her hair was braided and wrapped around her head like a turban of coiled blonde rope.
“I can’t tell you enough times how amazing that dress looks on you,” gushed Abenya. Her own dress looked equally radiant, made from dyed scarlet cloth with gold trim and a mink fur collar. She gave a quick spin, enjoying the motion of the tasseled sleeves and the swirl of the heavily layered skirts. Paige blushed and shrugged.
“I’ve never really been one for dresses,” she muttered.
Abenya smiled sweetly. “Not to worry. You’ll be back in you
r old clothes very soon,” she whispered, taking Paige’s hand and patting it reassuringly.
Paige felt a tap on her right shoulder and turned to see a young villager with curly red hair and a face full of freckles. His dancing green eyes creased with his large, toothy smile. The lad couldn’t have been any older than fourteen, but he grinned at the foreigner girl with zealous confidence.
“Yes?”
“I’m Cloudlah Yarven,” he introduced himself taking a slight bow. He wore tan buckskin trousers held up by brown leather bracers over a crisp white shirt, with a golden sash tied around his waist.
Paige forced an awkward smile. “Paige,” she replied, polite but utterly jargoggled. His grin broadened.
“Would you give me the honor of this dance?” he asked.
Paige’s half smile froze on her face as she glanced to Abenya for help.
“Just one dance won’t hurt,” Abenya said with a knowing look. “We have a little time to kill. It’d be best if witnesses saw you in the open.”
Paige couldn’t believe she was even suggesting this, but the girl motioned her forward.
“Can’t be at a dance and not dance, right?” Abenya nudged, and Paige tried to hide her nervousness behind an incredulous gasp.
“But, Abenya,” she started to protest, but the girl shoved her forward with a grin. The boy pulled Paige towards the dancing circle. The flute and lyre players whipped up a lively tune, while a worried, foreboding sense settled into Paige’s stomach.
She felt out-of-place in the ring of dancers twirling around the fire. The drums thundered as she and Cloudlah spun in unison. Memories of her recent tragedy began flooding back, and it seemed that every time she spun about, Derak’s face flashed before her. The image was not there of course, disappearing and leaving her with the grinning, red-haired youth before her. The music was new and the steps were slightly different from how she had learned them, but the activity wrent her heart in twain as the emotions hit her with a vengeance. Paige swallowed as she thought on how she would never see home again. In contrast, the curly-haired youth was enjoying himself immensely. The exotic girl in the village was dancing with him. All his friends gawked while their own partners looked as if they’d each taken a swig of soured milk.
At last the drumming stopped. Paige nodded politely to Cloudlah, eager to leave. She hurried back to Abenya, who smiled broadly.
“What?” Paige demanded sullenly.
Abenya hid a giggle. “Nothing,” she smiled. “But you caught every young man’s eye out there.”
Paige’s jaw dropped in disbelief. She turned and noticed several young fellows starting towards them.
“Abenya!” Paige hissed, “Do you have any idea of how badly this could compromise things?” The girl’s smile waned as three young men approached them. Paige looked to Abenya for a rescue.
“May I have this dance, miss?” asked the first fellow. Paige could only nod, numb. As the young man led her into the circle, she glanced once more at Abenya. Realization blanched the girl’s face. How would Paige slip away now?
◆◆◆
“Come on!” Dinendale grunted, to no one in particular. The elf had the chisel wedged in the pin that secured the door hinge. The smith hadn’t been joking; they were extremely well made. Just a little more and…there! He had it. Once he’d pushed it past the tight spot, the pin slipped through like a hot knife through a block of fresh cheese. Dinendale smiled, satisfied. He had only one more to go before scaling the wall to freedom.
He paused a moment as he looked at his dirty, rough hands holding the small chisel. It wasn’t too long ago he had been escaping the very prison he was now escaping to return to. Was he absolutely out of his mind?
If he was honest with himself, there was a tiny part of him that wanted to get out and run in the opposite direction as far as he could. The hell he had been through at the hands of Shauden masters had left scar tissue all over his body and across his spirit. He’d spent months feeling hollow and empty after clawing his way to freedom from that stone chasm, as if the gaping maw of that castle’s gates had taken a bite out of his soul as he left it beyond the horizon.
But there was more at stake here than his own personal fears and trauma. There was an innocent girl being held captive in a place where he’d already lost one friend. He knew what would happen to Olivian if he left now. There was also the matter of this ancient page that Feridar was so desperate to get his hands on. Dinendale couldn’t leave Paige to bear that burden alone.
“Get over yourself,” the elf muttered to himself, rising to his feet, ready to split the last hinge.
◆◆◆
Jesnake felt squeamish. The trough was the only means of escape available. One chance, that was it. If he messed up, he was dead. If he didn’t try, he was as good as dead. He slid his hand across the aged wood of the water trough. Pine, strong and durable.
As the miller closed the shop, Jesnake had stashed a rolling pin in the barrel of wheat still waiting to be ground. When the miller left, Jesnake retrieved it, waiting until he was quite sure all the people had left his area of the village. Once the soft sound of drums fluttered through the air, he deftly jammed the wooden rolling pin into the steel waterwheel, stopping it temporarily. The water began spilling out over the sides of the trough, washing the dust from the floor away as it headed to the door.
Jesnake took a quick breath as he drew the knife Paige had given him. This could go horribly wrong. If someone noticed the water pouring into the streets, it could blow the entire plan. He hesitated for one moment, then swung himself as high into the trough as he could reach.
The freezing water rushed down, biting at his fingers as the elf sank his blade deep into the pine. He hadn’t realized how forceful the current truly was. It soaked his sackcloth shirt and trousers, making them heavy. He gritted his teeth and began to inch forward, grasping the side of the trough with his left hand as he withdrew the knife. Reaching forward as far as he could with his right hand, Jesnake once again stabbed the knife deep into the wood. Pulling himself up as far as he could, he repeated the process over and over, concentrating on the rhythm.
Reach, stab, pull.
In only a few moments, he’d climbed fifteen feet, almost to the top.
Reach. Stab. Pull.
He took his time and held his breath until he had pulled himself to the knife and wedged himself to a point he could take a breath. He dug his slender toes into the swelling hemp of his sandals, making sure to put pressure into them to keep them from slipping off; they were the only thing giving him traction in the slick trough.
Reach. Stab. Pull.
Only one more stab to go before the elf could reach the small opening. He smiled in spite of himself.
Reach. Stab. Pull.
“At last,” he whispered, triumph edging his voice. He pulled his left foot up to get a grip until suddenly, his world shifted from dreamland to nightmare. In his excitement to be finished with his climb, he moved too quickly and one of his hemp sandals slipped off his foot. It had soaked up the water like an oil lamp’s wick and now slid heavily towards the strained wheel. The sandal thudded against the carefully-wedged rolling pin, and Jesnake heard it snap, offset by the sandal and shattering under the force of the current against the blocked water wheel. Slowly, the gears began to spin, and the groaning of the giant millstones echoed forebodingly in the small mill.
Their motion caused the trough to vibrate, and the knife blade slipped out of the water-softened wood. Jesnake slid downwards. His heartbeat went ballistic. He clawed desperately at the slick wood as he fell towards the razor-sharp wheels.
◆◆◆
Robert heard the beating of drums afar-off as he pressed his ear to the dirty barracks wall. With sweaty palm, he grasped the wooden handle of the small trowel. The sleepless work of the past few days was about to pay off. He nudged the dosing Twostaves. The lowland giant moaned in protest.
“Come on, Eöl, let a chap have some rest!”
&nb
sp; “Get up!” hissed Robert. “We haven't spent the past nights digging under the wall for nothing!”
“The hole isn’t ready!” Twostaves yawned nonchalantly. “It’s not deep enough to roll under, and too small to squeeze through.”
“We can make it, but we need to move NOW!”
“Why?”
“Because, you lumpy lard-jar, the guards just went for their rum. We’ll have a few minutes tops.”
Twostaves snorted. He didn’t appreciate being compared to a lump of lard, but he was used to Robert’s constant run of insulting comparisons.
“What about the leg shackles?” Twostaves said, shaking his chained ankles.
Robert sighed, agitated.
“Last time they locked us up, I slipped a pebble in the mechanism on mine. It kept the lock from closing all the way.”
