Prison Break

“There are appearances to maintain, so you will be my captives. You will not be harmed.” The robotic, unfeeling nature of the Wrathbourn’s voice was unnerving, but it made it hard—more like scary—to question her. Gar didn’t seem too fazed by it, as he was making goo goo eyes at her the whole time she talked. Boys.

After our meeting, we were led to a tent. It was empty, besides a few sets of manacles. Without ceremony—and none too gently—we were forced into a seated position and our hands were secured in irons. Even Praxis, who was out cold from the battle, was placed in manacles and dumped on the ground. If it weren’t for his unconscious grunt of pain, I might have thought the impact killed him.

After the guards left, I scooted over to Praxis to make sure he was all right. It seemed sleep was the best thing for him at that point. Behind me, I heard a thump followed by a grumble and turned to find the Admiral, battered but alive, on his knees with his hands bound before him.

I scurried over to him and tried to inspect the bruises and cuts on his face, but he shooed me away.

“Quit yer frettin’, woman. I’m fine.”

It turned out that he was in a foul mood over the drow taking the ship and crew. As the captain, he felt responsible. We tried to reassure him that there was nothing he could have done against a force that strong, but he still sulked the entire night.

We were down six crewmen, according to Admy. Two were killed during the takeover, and the rest weren’t able to survive the icy waters when they went overboard. For a small crew, that was a significant loss, but we would still be able to manage the boat on our own if the Wrathbourne was true to her word.

I said some silent prayers for the souls we had lost and felt horrible that we hadn’t included the Skall as part of our deal with this girl.

She didn’t seem completely unreasonable. So, maybe if I asked her really nicely, she might agree to let the Skall go. It was worth a shot, right?

I had wanted to talk to Gar about what he knew of this girl, but he promptly went to sleep as soon as we entered the tent, muttering something about ‘third watch’ before he started snoring and drooling on the ground. I knew he would only wake when his hunger pains stirred him.

With the Admiral still quiet and broody and Praxis sleeping off his wounds, Varis was my only option for company. But even he was in a foul mood, still brooding over being left out of the fight for so long, trapped in some ‘mirror-world’ the Wrathbourne had put him in—not that I wanted to talk to him anyway.

I missed books.

The drow guards had already taken all our weapons and most of our gear. I pleaded with them to let me keep the books, but I guess they thought they might be spell books. With no one to talk to, I finally found myself drifting off to sleep. The next morning, just as Wrathbourne had said, we were ushered to the galleon and put below deck in a large holding

cell. The Skall and other slaves were put in the hold, a level below us. At least we had a small port hole. I spent the better part of the next two weeks looking out that port hole, if only to get a sense of day and night and the passage of time. The Admiral’s mood eventually lifted, and he regaled us with some stories of his travels—his affair with a mermaid, how he earned the nickname 'salty cheeks,' and the time he fought Xalyon's royal fleet at the Boneyard. He started repeating the same ones a week in.

Gar told us a little bit about his childhood in the Underdark. Since that was where we were going, we needed all the information we could get. We certainly weren’t getting any details from the Wrath girl. It had been two weeks and we hadn’t even seen her.

Praxis spent several hours a day exercising; even more so now that there was nothing really to do. One-handed push-ups and bicep curls with barrels of … whatever was stored down here with us in our cell. I think he grew a little bigger each day while in captivity. Even the guards started giving him strange looks as they walked past our cell.

I just longed for a bit of privacy. I mean, I had never had a room to myself as I was growing up, but I had only ever shared a room with my sisters—not boys. Oh, and the smell! The smell came from everywhere! Weeks had passed since any one of us had had a proper bath. I started rationing my water allotment: half to wash with and half to drink.

I found myself looking forward to what came next just because it would be something different from the monotony of the ten-foot square cell covered in filth.

Just past two weeks into our journey, she came to our cell. The guards went rigid as soon as she walked in. She didn’t seem to pay them any attention as they diverted their eyes and moved from her path.

She spoke in elven with no hint of a harsh, drow clip in her speech, though her tone was anything but friendly. “When we arrive you will be escorted to your new cell in the slaves’ quarters. Try to escape at any time during transport, and you will be killed without hesitation. You may think you passed my test, but the only thing you earned was your lives. One misstep and even that will be forfeit.” She leaned closer, bracing her hands on the bars, her face contorting into a sneer. “When you see an opening, take it.” Her voice was barely above a whisper. So quiet, I doubted I heard her correctly.

She turned and walked away, leaving the guards snickering over our tongue lashing. Much later, when the guards had gone back to their usual, relaxed state, I confirmed with the others what I heard.

For another week we waited for the opportunity to escape, but none came.

A few days later, the subtle rock and pitch of the ship changed. We had docked. The guards began unloading crates and slaves from the lower deck. Even with their preoccupation, a guard still stayed posted at our cell so there was no chance of escape. Besides, they took Varis’s lock-picking kit.

More guards appeared at our cell, speaking in drow. One of them stepped forward and unlocked our cell. Six guards led the five of us to the upper decks and off the boat into the opening of a cave system. This was it. The Underdark.

We were led through a maze of tunnels. I tried to keep track of them, to learn them, but there were too many twists and turns to count. We ended in a long hallway, lined with cells. Most were filled with still figures, watching our progress.

We were ushered into a larger cell, and the door was closed behind us. The guards left us there without a word. “They didn’t lock it,” Varis whispered under his breath, pressing his face between two bars and looking up and down the corridor. I looked at the lock and discovered that he was right! This must have been our moment. “Yes, that was her. She left the door unlocked.” Varis was at least careful to keep his voice down.

“You go about freein’ this slave while I go get our ship back,” the Admiral gruffly whispered. I opened my mouth to protest, but I knew he would be too stubborn to hear reason.

We waited for the point of time when the guards were the furthest away from our cell to make a run for it—us, further into the complex, and the Admiral, out of it. I hoped this wouldn’t be the last time I saw him. With one last look at his retreating form, I steeled myself for the journey ahead.

Trying our best to be stealthy, we pressed our backs to the rock wall, hiding in the shadows until guards passed. Slowly, we picked our way through the complex, following crude arrows drawn on the stone at each turn. I didn’t know where they would lead, but hoped we were going in the right direction.

The tunnel system opened up to a large cavernous room with suspended catwalks hanging from the ceiling. Below, guards were eating their meals and talking in low voices. I assumed this was probably where the arrows led to. Men always seemed to be preoccupied with food. Even now, Gar was looking longingly at the trays of food below.

Silently, we walked across the catwalks, disappearing into another darkened tunnel. We had made it past the large room without drawing any attention. I didn’t know how we had managed that, but didn’t pause to question our good fortune. Maybe for once, luck was on our side.

The corridor had hallways branching off. Some led to open rooms with tables and people milling about. Others led to hallways with single doors at the end. Again, there was a crude arrow, pointing down a wider hallway with doors lining both sides and the largest door at the end. We listened carefully at each door before opening it. One by one, left then right, all empty room with small beds with a chest at the end. Varis decided to go straight for the larger door at the end of the hall. He listened, found it silent, and then tried the handle.

This one was locked. We caught up to him when as he was turning away from the door, just to see it open.

“It took you long enough,” the Wrathbourne intoned ushering us into the room.

This room was larger than the others we had inspected. There was a tidy bed, a chest of drawers, and a small mirror affixed to the wall. There was no ornamentation, apart from two tiny figures carved from stone resting atop the chest of drawers.

They were miniature winged horses, one carved out of rose-colored stone and the other jade. I bent to pick one up and …

“Don’t touch that,” Wrathbourne snapped, causing me to nearly jump out of my skin. She scooped the figures into her hands and they disappeared beneath her robe.

She cleared her throat, opened the chest and reached inside. Pulling out three sets of guard uniforms, she handed one set to Gar and the other to Varis.

“Oh! It was you who drew the arrows,” I suddenly realized, forgetting to use my inside voice. Everyone looked at me strangely for an awkward moment and then returned their attention to the Wrathbourne.

“You two will pose as guards,” she turned toward Praxis and I, “while you will be slaves, escorted to the breeding cells.”

“Breeding cells?” Praxis asked.

“Yes, that is where they are holding my mother.”

Her mother? I felt a pang of guilt. I had clearly misjudged Wrathbourne. I thought Wrathbourne wanted this slave for some personal gain—that they had a useful skill for Wrathbourne to exploit. This was a personal matter for her. A matter of the heart.

Wrathbourne removed her cloak and unfolded the last set of guard clothes for herself. Beneath her cloak was a slim, elven form covered in black from head to toe. A red-stoned belt hung from her hips, accentuating her womanly form. The features of her face were delicate, but harsh. Her skin, a pale grey, was unlined from age, though I had no idea how old she was. She wore a delicate circlet that ended in a red gem that matched her belt. The stones seemed to glow with an inner light as if they were enchanted. Perhaps they were.

After she had donned the tunic and hood of a guard, she turned to me. Her eyes honed in on me, wide and dark, flashing indigo in the pale light. A cloth appeared in her hand. She used it to wipe the grime of captivity off my face. Her fingers raked through my tangled hair, pulling several strands out by their roots. I didn’t dare protest.

After cinching my belt tight and unbuttoning the top two buttons of my courtiers clothes, she assessed her work. With no more than a nod, she then turned her attention to Praxis.

“Shirt. Off,” she commanded. Praxis complied. She handed him the same damp rag to clean himself. Next, she pulled out two sets of manacles and placed them on Praxis and I. Ugh. The chafed and abraded skin from the weeks aboard the galleon had no time to heal, and we were back in irons … again.

I slipped back into the role of an obedient slave and allowed Gar to lead me by my upper arm. Wrathbourne led the way, as only she knew the way, and the rest of us followed along silently.

Up ahead was a large door flanked by two guards. They looked up as we approached and pointed at Gar, speaking in drow. I watched Gar struggle for a response, looking at Wrathbourne and then back to the expectant guard.

They were getting impatient, their tone of voice more rude than before. Gar made a sweeping motion with his hands as if presenting Praxis and I as explanation. As Wrathbourne hadn’t stepped in to help, I knew I needed to intervene.

“What are they going to do with us?” I tried to make my voice sound meek, but strong enough to be heard. I saw Gar’s hand come up as if to backhand me and instinctively dodged in fear. That was a big mistake, because Gar missed me and hit the guard! It wasn’t that hard of a blow, but the guard was obviously upset. This wasn’t going well at all!

Finally, Wrathbourne stepped in to talk to the guard. He looked Praxis and I over and responded, “You will find out soon enough,” in broken elven. We were ushered through the door into another corridor with multiple hallways and alcoves. This place seemed endless.

After a few more twists and turns, we arrived at another set of guards. Great. They were posted at the entrance to an open room with solid cell doors lining the walls. Behind the cell doors you could hear the sounds of squalling babes. Again, we were stopped. Again, they seemed to want answers from Gar who apparently hadn’t learned the language in all his years of captivity. Again, I decided to intervene.

“Why are there so many babies here?”

The guard stepped forward, her lip curling in a sort of grimace. She roughly grasped my jaw in her hand, turning my face this way and that. A tug on my ear. A pinch on my belly. The woman groped and prodded me as if examining a specimen.

“She’ll do well,” she said with a look of appreciation as my stomach roiled. For a moment, it felt like I was back on the Free Country.

We were allowed into the breeding pits and placed in the second cell to the left. Once the door closed behind us, we had to form our plan. The cell was roughly hewn stone, formless with ragged juts and outcroppings. Looking around, Praxis saw something out of place. There was a patch of stone that looked different from the rest. On closer inspection, he uncovered our gear, covered by a dark grey blanket in the corner! Our gear!

We hastily dressed and stashed our disguises back in the grey blanket. Varis, with his lock-picking tool in hand, would go with the Wrathbourne to free her mother. Meanwhile, the rest of us would deal with all the guards.

That didn’t seem like a fair trade-off. Two people unlocked a door while the rest of us dealt with the eight or more guards I had counted? Why couldn’t I have taken up lock-picking?

It did feel good to have my things back—my weapons and my books. We opened the cell door as quietly as possible and crept into the hallway. Large stone walls obscured our view of the center of the room and also provided us with some cover.

We would take out the guards making their circuit when they came our way and then head toward the guards posted at the door. After we, hopefully, dispatched them, we would take on the five or six left.

The first two guards went down in less than a minute, but I worried we had made too much noise dispatching them. The next two by the door proved a little tougher, and by the time we had felled one, we had drawn the attention of everyone else in the room.

I only hoped we were providing a good enough distraction for Wrathbourne and Varis to free her mother. Maybe they would be coming to help soon. They weren’t. I worried that the loud boom of Praxis’s gun had alerted everyone in the complex. If more guards entered the breeding pits, we wouldn’t make it out of here alive.

I think it was that thought that made us more effective against our enemies. Maybe, if we could deal with them before anyone else showed up, we could manage to slip out of here and avoid being caught.

Just as we had defeated the last drow guard only a few feet away from her mother’s cell, Wrathbourne appeared through the wall with her mother in her arms. I went to help her as Praxis and Gar ran into the room to deal with … whatever Varis was wrestling. I didn’t understand it, we had gotten her mother out. So, w

hy were they still in there?

After a few more moments of me keeping watch on the two double doors, and simultaneously whisper-shooting at them to hurry up, they finally emerged from the room after a big thunk rang out. Wrathbourne placed her shaken mother on her feet to test if she was able to walk. The elven woman was slightly taller than her daughter, though her posture was hunched. She had pale white skin, slick with swear, and raven hair that hung lankly down her back. She looked as though she were just waking up from a fevered dream, disoriented by her surroundings. Would she be strong enough to make the journey out of the Underdark? Would we?

~Zaly