Alliances

The captives complied, shuffling as far back as the tight confines allowed. The door opened slowly. Two guards held swords leveled at the captives. The third advanced cautiously. He took hold of Kerian’s arm and hauled her out the door. Eye closed, head lolling, she allowed herself to be dragged like a sack across the rough planking. When she cleared the door, it slammed shut again.

The captives heard a muttered exchange, the tromp o booted feet on the cobblestones, then silence. They exchanged outraged looks.

“She lied to us!” hissed one. “She got herself out and left us here!”

In their preoccupation with the female prisoner, the guards had forgotten to leave food and water. The elves cursed the lack cursed their own stupidity for believing the lies, and cursed the dwarf for making them believe.

“What are you waiting for?”

Thirteen pairs of eyes went wide at the sight of the Lioness’s face in the small window. In moments the captives were out of the wooden box, staring in astonishment at two human guards lying unconscious (or dead?) in the shadowed lee of the cage. Kerian’s face bore several new cuts, and a gash on one arm bled freely, but she held a bloody sword in one hand and a ring of keys in the other.

“How—?” the dwarf began.

She shoved the keys at him, saying, “Let’s go!”

A dozen sets of keen ears allowed them to avoid detection as they wound their way around the crowded cages. Their greatest challenge was keeping excited prisoners quiet as they skulked by. Few guards were to be seen, which worried Kerian, but the lack was soon explained.

Several trestle tables had been set up near the center of the square, and the guards were enjoying a raucous meal. Fortunately, most had their backs to the row of cages. The prisoners were generally so docile, the guards had grown contemptuous and did not watch them closely.

Kerian, acting as lookout, signaled the others when it was clear for them to skirt the opening between the cage rows. Singly or in pairs, all twelve elves made their way across the naked gap, leaving Kerian and the dwarf to bring up the rear.

They found themselves in a back street littered with refuse. Still, the open air was a balm to those choked by the stench of too many goblins and humans in close proximity.

“Now what?” asked one of the elves, and the others looked to Kerian for an answer.

She itched to find an armory. But she had no idea where to go, and anyway, her band of fugitives was not made up of stalwart soldiers, so she shrugged. “We run. Quietly and carefully, we run.”

To their left, the narrow street connected with a larger avenue, better lit and, hence, not appealing. To the right, the street dead-ended at a gate. Coming from that direction was the smell of horses. A mounted escape posed its own problems, but the added speed and mobility made up for those, Kerian decided.

With the sword-wielding Lioness in the lead, the little group made for the gate.

It wasn’t long before she began to regret her decision. Two members of her little band, a pair of brothers who made their living fishing, confessed they could not ride. She told them to double up with others, but the brothers were afraid of horses, and none of the rest wanted a passenger anyway, not with Lord Olin’s cavalry likely to be on their heels. The escapees fell to arguing in loud whispers.

They were hiding behind a pile of garbage just outside the corral. Every moment they delayed brought closer the time when their absence would be discovered and a search launched. Yet all Kerian’s exhortations wouldn’t move the elves one step closer to the corral. Furious, she told the brothers to make it out of town on foot.

The corral was unguarded but for a couple of stable boys. One had just returned with their supper and they had gone into the tack shed to eat.

Crouched low, the elves entered the corral. Kerian had told them what to do. They would mount quietly. Each rider would lie low on his horse’s neck as Kerian opened the gate, then the animals would be whipped to a gallop. Riding in a body, they stood a good chance of making it to the stockade before anyone could stop them. At the stockade they’d have to trample anyone trying to bar the way. It wasn’t much of a plan, but considering what she had to work with, Kerian knew it would have to do.

They’d barely begun to mount the horses when shouts rose from a nearby street. Kerian froze, listening, and it quickly became apparent they’d been missed at last.

“Go!” she hissed. She boosted the last elf atop a horse, and rushed to the gate.