There was a momentary sickening sound, then the guard collapsed and slumped to the ground. Kestrel knelt down and reached through the bars to find the keys he needed, and opened his cell door.
“Are you ready for freedom?” he asked his friends as he quickly stepped over to their cell and unlocked it as well.
“We need to go find Dewberry,” Jonson said immediately. “Kestrel-friend, thank you so much for setting us free,” he added as he left the cage he’d inhabited for so long.
“Here are the keys,” Kestrel said, handing the bundle to Jonson. “You go look for Dewberry, and set her free. I’ll stay here and keep watch to make sure no other guards come in unexpectedly.”
He watched his friends go, noting how thin they appeared as they walked away. He turned and dragged the dead guard into the back of an empty cell, then picked up his staff, and began to examine the height of the bars that formed the ceiling of the detention cells. He saw a possibility of himself and the sprites and imps scrambling up to the top of the cells, and from there possibly being able to leap up to the empty water pipe, and making it their haven for a day of seclusion.
He had five sprites and imps – he hoped, assuming Dewberry was close by – and he estimated that they would just be able to get away safely through the plan he and the Parstoles developed; each would arrive with a large empty bag, big enough to hold a sprite, and Kestrel would display himself publically, a decoy that would distract the Parstole guards so that his allies would be able to carry the freed captives away from the stadium. Kestrel would simply have to run to freedom, counting on his elven speed to outrace the pursuit he would attract.
He stood alone, nervously watching the doorway to the outside, the outside where he remembered the air was so much fresher and breathable. Incredibly enough, he realized he hadn’t thought about the air he was breathing in a long time – he’d grown accustomed to the stench of the foul surroundings.
There was the faintest sound of scuffling feet behind him, and Kestrel turned just in time to catch Dewberry in his arms as she leapt up on him and squeezed him in a powerfully emotional embrace. They stood silently, each soaking up the presence of the other, for a long minute, then pulled slightly apart, and each saw the tears that streamed down the cheeks of the other, making them each give a gentle laugh.
“Dewberry-dearest,” Kestrel adopted the sprite’s manner of pronouncing affection, “must you make me follow you so far to see you smile?” he asked.
“Kestrel-beloved, I had to know that you would leave all those wanton human and elven women you seem so smitten with,” she replied, then rubbed her nose against his. “Now, perhaps we should remain discreet since my husband stands so nearby.”
Kestrel gently lowered the sprite to the floor, then turned to explain his proposal. “I can toss each of you up onto the top bars of the holding cells,” he explained, as the small blue crowd looked from him to the web of metal above their former cell.
“And once we are all up there, I think that I could toss each of you up to the broken pipe; if you are able to climb inside it, then I will try to jump up there as well, so that we can all stay out of sight,” he concluded.
Jonson looked at him skeptically. “I think that you may be able to toss one of us just right so that we can climb into the pipes, but how will you throw yourself up there?”
“I’m just going to be an elf; I’ll try to jump and climb,” Kestrel answered. “I should be able to make it. Did you see any supplies down at the other end that we could take with us?” he asked.
Jonson and Dewberry walked together to retrieve a small stack of goods they had seen, and soon brought them back. After that, Kestrel hoisted the sprites and imps and boosted them up onto the bars atop the cages that still held various exotic animals that were also doomed to be sacrifices in the arena. He then stepped back and ran at the cages before taking a flying leap that brought him halfway onto the top of the cages alongside his fellow escapees, who grabbed him and pulled him fully onto the bars.
They all balanced and walked carefully to a spot nearly underneath the large hole in the large pipe that was suspended from the ceiling high above. “Jonson, you’ll go first,” Kestrel told his friend. He held Jonson in his hands, and carefully sighted upward, then suddenly heaved with all his might, and sent the imp rocketing upward towards the pipe.
Jonson stretched his hands upward, and his fingers touched the edge of the hole in the pipe as he reached the apex of his brief flight. He tried to grab on, but a trace of moisture dripping from the pipe made the edge slippery, and he fell back downwards, where Kestrel caught him and let him down gently.
“What about if you slung a rope over the top of the pipe, Kestrel-friend, and then you could haul us up there?” one of the sprites asked.
“Is there a rope around here?” Kestrel asked, his hopes raised by the idea of an alternative.
“They have some down by the animal cages,” Dewberry agreed.
Kestrel dropped to the floor and went the length of the dark passage to find a coil of rope that he brought back with him, then flung over the pipe.
After that they took turns, as each imp and sprite held onto the knot at the end of the rope and was pulled steadily upward by Kestrel, until they were able to flop themselves forward into the ends of the pipe and disappear within, crouched over but relatively comfortable. Kestrel was the last to go, and had to laboriously sit on the knotted rope end as he raised himself inches at a time, each pull on the rope a challenge. When he reached the pipe opening he swept his legs up and into the side of the pipe and let the sprites on that side help pull him in, after which he pulled the rope in behind him.
Their objective was complete. They had successfully gotten themselves out of the prison cages. But Kestrel knew that there were many further challenges standing between them and freedom.
Chapter 9 – Leaving the Arena
Kestrel was uncomfortable. The water pipe was a tight fit; he could almost, but not quite, rise to his hands and knees. For the most part he lay on his stomach, his head near the opening they had used to gain entrance to their hiding place. It reminded him of his dislike of confined spaces, and he thought back to the cave where he had fought the alluring monster, the fake Moorin. He had truly disliked that confined, underground space, and the tight fit of the water pipe was little better.
At some point in the night the dim flame of the dead guard’s lantern guttered out, and Kestrel and his blue companions rested in total darkness. Kestrel fell asleep, and remained that way until a nameless sprite climbed up over him and tapped his shoulder.
“Kestrel-rescuer, there is a light down below,” the imp whispered. “They are looking at the body of the jailer that was.”
Kestrel cautiously edged forward and peered down at the scene not far below. Four Parstoles and a Viathin were examining the dead guard in the cell.
“You’re telling me that a gang of sprites could do this?” the Viathin asked contemptuously.
“No, not the little blue ones, the other one,” one of the Parstoles said deferentially.
“What other one?” the Viathin asked.
“The tall alien, the pale one with so much hair. He was brought here yesterday,” the Parstole immediately replied. “He was for the sacrifices.”
The Viathin stood still and silent for several long seconds. “There were reports,” he muttered uncertainly, “that an enemy from the next feast had appeared in this world. He was allegedly captured, but escaped from a village constabulary before anyone knew what he was.
“Perhaps,” the great creature failed to finish its thought.
“If this band of escapees managed to flee from their cells, how did they manage to pass by the guards outside the detention area?” it asked.
“The guards last night swear that they remained awake, and saw no one enter or depart,” a Parstole replied.
“In the next land these blue creatures are able to move about from place to place, I’m told,” the Viathin
replied, “and the pale warrior can turn invisible.
“Check the other sacrifices, and carry out a thorough search of the stadium,” the Viathin directed the red Parstoles. “I’ll consider this further with the others.” He turned and left the detention area, leaving the small squad of Parstoles to sigh an audible sigh of relief. They picked up the body of the dead guard and departed.
Kestrel looked up and across the opening, to see Jonson looking at him. “Have you explored the pipe in your direction?” Kestrel asked as softly as possible.
“It goes quite a ways, and then there is another broken section, a hole even bigger than this one,” Jonson answered just as softly.
“Let’s go to it,” Kestrel suggested. He watched Jonson speak to the other imps and sprites, then Kestrel laid flat and let the sprite behind him climb upon his back and cross over the opening in the pipe to join them. Kestrel started to cross, when he saw a Parstole guard enter the detention area, and glance up at the flicker of motion near the ceiling.
“Hey! Escapee!” The Parstole shouted loudly.
With difficultly, Kestrel edged his hand to his back and pulled out his hidden knife, then flung it out the opening. “Lucretia, return,” he called softly a moment later as he pulled himself out of sight from the broken portion of the pipe.
He palmed the knife handle, while he heard another shout echo up from the cells, as the dead guard’s body was discovered quickly. As gently and quietly as he could, he crawled along the pipe, pushing his staff ahead of him, trying to catch up to the sprites and imps that were no longer visible in the dark interior of the pipe ahead of him. After what seemed like a very long time, he saw a glimmer of light ahead, then caught up with the small group of blue friends who waited for him.
“This is the next opening,” Jonson said, nodding to the source of the light that illuminated the interior of the pipe.
“We wait here until nightfall,” Kestrel said. “Then we go down, and there will be a group of Parstoles who are my allies; they’ll all have large sacks. Each of you should get in one of the sacks and let them carry you away to a camp site in the forest, where Pumpkin and Thorsee and Calabee are waiting.”
“We’ll see all of them tonight, beloved?” Dewberry asked. “They are that close?”
“If everything goes right, we’ll see all of them tonight, and be able to start our journey to find the way to put a stop to the Viathins in this world and our own,” Kestrel assured his friend.
After that, they all settled down to rest quietly and wait for the arrival of darkness and their rescuers.
When nightfall came at last, the hidden occupants in the pipe were tense with anticipation. Kestrel moved to the front of the broken opening, and watched carefully. There were many Parstoles wandering about, and several Viathins in view as well, all strolling in the same direction, towards the interior of the arena, presumably to see the ritual sacrifices that were due to be carried out, though without the sprites that had been expected to be used in the climax of the ceremony.
The traffic was steady, and the light streaming in through the doors and arches was turning from bright red to a duskier red, as the twin suns dropped towards the horizon. The amount of pedestrians walking through the gates dwindled to just a few, then just a handful, then no new arrivals. Only a quartet of Parstole guards stood within sight.
“Here, have the rope ready to tie around the pipe, then drop down it once I clear the area,” Kestrel told Jonson.
He held his knife ready, and had his staff in place to throw down to the ground quickly. As he watched, he saw a late-arriving group of Parstoles enter the gate, then pause, and he realized it was Gainue, Fasmet, and the others of the free Parstoles, his allies showing up with empty bags, ready to carry out their dangerous part in the escape plan.
Kestrel looked at one of the guards on duty, and tossed his knife. He watched the Parstole fall, and called his knife to return. Incredibly, none of the other guards happened to see the attack, and Kestrel quickly threw his knife again, then pressed forward, flung his staff at a third guard, and let himself drop to the ground twenty five feet below, landing on his spry elven legs, to the astonishment of the remaining guard.
“Lucretia,” he called, as he picked up his staff, and swung it at the last, shocked guard. The knife returned, and at the same time the rope came slithering down to the ground behind him. Kestrel then began wielding his staff against the remaining guard, as he heard the first of the sprites come down the rope.
The guard used its spear effectively as a pike, swinging at Kestrel in a manner similar to his own use of his staff, and the two of them extended their engagement for several seconds, as Kestrel heard more sprites drop to the ground. His opponent slashed the pike’s wicked blade in a low sweep that made Kestrel leap from the ground, and swing his staff directly over the red guard’s head. Just as the Parstole began to bellow a loud cry, the staff crashed into its skull, and knocked it to the ground, dead.
Kestrel turned to see the sprites climbing into the sacks that Gainue and his friends carried.
“Well, what do we have here?” a low voice rumbled, and Kestrel whirled to see a Viathin standing at the end of a discreet hallway.
“I felt my forces being disturbed. I didn’t realize how badly they were suffering,” the creature spoke as it observed the dead guards.
“You – why aren’t you doing something about this?” the Viathin turned to Gainue’s group, which stood still, frozen in fear at the realization a Viathin had caught them.
“Oh, you aren’t answering to any master, I see,” the Viathin said after a moment of mentally inspecting the Parstoles.
Kestrel’s friends dropped the sacks that held the sprites, and looked at Kestrel with a suddenly predatory gleam in their eyes. Without hesitation, Kestrel flung his knife at the Viathin. The knife slipped into the large monster’s chest, making the creature slump to the ground dead.
Kestrel called his knife to return as he twirled around to watch the Parstoles, to confirm that they had re-emerged from the Viathin’s control.
“Are you free?” he asked as he placed his hand to his ear stud.
“Yes, thankfully, once again yes,” Gainue answered. “Please give our apologies to the little ones.”
“I will, but let’s get moving quickly,” Kestrel urged. He stooped to pick up one of the pikes from the dead guards, then reached the Parstoles. “All of you start on your way. I’ll try to guard and distract anything that tries to follow,” he directed.
He examined the pike as the group began to exit the chambers of the stadium. It was a formidable weapon. It was much like his own staff, but the sharp blade at one end made it more lethal than his own staff. The trade-off was that the staff had the small, useful hooks at one end, and was not so intimidating in appearance, allowing him to carry the staff as a disguised weapon into many venues he would not be able to take the pike so discreetly. And of course the staff carried the enchantment placed upon it by Kai, a priceless advantage that the pike could never match.
Kestrel turned as he heard a noise. A half dozen Parstoles were charging at him from a distance, still inside the stadium, but clearly running with a sense of purpose. He unleashed his knife, and threw it at the leader of the squad, then called it back, and threw it again. In the meantime, the remaining guards ran without slowing down, halving the distance between where Kestrel stood in the archway and served as an effective block to any efforts to pursue his slowly fleeing friends.
He threw the knife a third time, as a loud roar sounded inside the arena, perhaps an indication that some ritual had been commenced. Kestrel hoped that the ceremony was a long one that would continue to run for many hours, so that the escapees would have time to clear out of the area.
“Lucretia, return,” he called again, as the remaining three guards drew so close that Kestrel threw his staff at them, then raised the pike he held and prepared for close combat.
The knife returned to his hand as the guards moment
arily slowed to avoid being hit by his staff. He flipped the knife out carelessly one more time, then swung the blade end of the pike at the Parstole on the right, as he maneuvered the blunt end of the pike to defend himself from a blow by the Parstole on his left.
His attack failed to do damage, while the attack against him likewise was rebuffed.
A Viathin appeared in the distance, followed by another pair of Parstoles. Kestrel needed to delay this group as long as possible, so that he could be sure his friends were out of sight in the darkness. Fighting was becoming precariously less feasible, as more attackers approached, and he began to think about how to flee so that he drew all pursuit after him, and away from the others.
“Lucretia,” he called as he barely dodged a slice at his legs, and he grasped the knife with just a pair of fingers as he continued to hold the pike with both hands to defend himself. With a flick of those fingers he sent the knife into the chest of the attacker on the right, then called “Mastrim”, and as the staff returned to him, it struck the last Parstole in the head. Kestrel stabbed the pike into the stomach of the startled guard, then leaned on his staff to catch his breath.
He felt worn and weary from the intense amount of battling, and wished that he had been able to bring a bow and arrow with him into the prison cells; he would be able to extend the fighting further away, in a less physically taxing manner. “Lucretia,” he called as he caught the knife that flipped up from the body that lay at his feet, then he tossed it again at the approaching Viathin.
“You’re free!” he shouted at the Parstoles that had followed the Viathin, after the monster toppled to the ground. “You don’t have to do the bidding of the Viathins any longer,” he told them as he held onto the ruby in his ear stud.
“They will place us back in their power as soon as they find us,” one of the oncoming guards protested. “There’s no point in fighting against them.”
“I’m going to the wilderness, where there are no Viathins,” Kestrel countered. “I’m going to leave this land and the Viathins. I’m not from here,” he added.
The Inner Seas Kingdoms: 03 - Road of Shadows Page 11
