In Wilder Lands Page 7

  Though she had been relatively docile in letting them manhandle her until then, as soon as the leather strap was placed near her head, Estin watched as Feanne exploded into a flurry of claws and teeth. Everything said to her had rolled off without reaction, but attempting to place a leash on her did even more to upset her than it did Estin. She seemed to go insane in that moment.

  Claws grabbing for any exposed flesh, Feanne ripped into the guards, slashing faces and crippling hands anytime they came near. More than once in the tussle, Estin thought he saw her tackle a guard and try to bite his neck or shoulder. Seconds into the fray, the soldiers were trying to scramble away, as she dragged them back and continued to maul them.

  Blood flew everywhere as the wildling tore at her captors. With the blood came chaos as the hall emptied in a rushed panic, with screams and a stampede for the door. The room cleared quickly, while Feanne continued tearing at the guards, even as they tried to get weapons drawn on her. One managed to get his sword out, only to have the female rake his hand with her foot and kick the weapon away. She was on him instantly, her hands tearing at the man’s face until Estin could not even recognize him.

  Then, just as abruptly as the fight began, it ended swiftly when the orcs reached the melee. Both waded in, kicking and punching at anything that moved, then tossing bodies aside that were human. When they reached Feanne, they both kicked at her until she stopped moving and just curled into a fetal position, even pulling her tail to her body to keep from being stomped anymore. They kicked her a few more times after that, then one dragged her to her feet and wrapped the leash around her neck. Feanne barely seemed aware of the leash, her eyes unfocused as she tried to get her feet under her and failed.

  With only the two orcs, the duke, and three guards who were not severely bleeding left in the lower hall, Estin found himself halfway over the rail of the balcony before Varra grabbed his arm and dragged him back. He wanted so badly to go to the female’s aid.

  “No!” she hissed, nearly pulling him over backwards onto the balcony. “You will be leashed too if we go now…and maybe me too, which is unacceptable. No leash on gypsy!”

  The orc threw Feanne to the floor of the room, looking up to the duke for direction, while holding the leash tightly.

  Lying on the floor, Feanne crawled to her knees, trying to get up, only to have the other orc punch her in the back, driving her to the floor again.

  The duke looked around his empty hall and uttered a short but profane rant to several gods that Estin had not even heard of before, before standing up.

  “Get her out of here. Do not ever allow another non-citizen into my hall under pain of execution,” the duke demanded, then turned and stormed out of the hall via a hallway near the throne.

  The orcs glanced at each other, then down at Feanne. Without another word, they dragged her from the room by the leash, with her choking and attempting to get onto her feet as they disappeared from Estin’s view.

  Until the moment Feanne was out of sight, Estin watched in terror, staring not at her, but at the leash that choked her. He could see his own mother being treated similarly, making him feel as though he had just failed her all over again. The feeling made him sick to his stomach, wanting to vomit, run for safety, or fight for Feanne out of principal.

  “Why would you stop me?” Estin snapped, glaring at Varra, feeling like he was as guilty as those who had beaten the female. “I might have been able to help her.”

  “You do not know her and she does not know you…do not throw away your life for a stranger,” Varra chided, then raised a finger to her lips, pointing towards another section of the balcony, where it wrapped around the throne room.

  Squinting at the area she indicated, Estin realized that there was a figure standing there, as well as another farther down that side.

  “Archers?” he asked more calmly, trying to see how many of them were over there. “Do you think they saw us?”

  The faintest scratch of leather sole on stone caught Estin’s ear and he spun in time to see a large human with a crossbow approaching them from the steps they had come up. The gruff older human froze as Estin turned on him, raising his crossbow to fire.

  Varra must have seen the man too, stepping between Estin and the crossbowman. She spoke words Estin could not understand—though vaguely familiar from atop the building where she had created the magical bridge—and swept her arm across them both in a shielding motion. As she did, the crossbow fired loudly and the bolt flew true, but struck an invisible barrier and clattered aside on the stone floor.

  “Run!” Varra urged Estin, drawing her daggers from her belt. “Get to a window and get out! I will exhaust my magic far too quickly if we stay to fight.”

  Drawing the sword he had brought with him, Estin started to rush at the crossbowman, but the man flew backwards down the stairs, tumbling to a stop at the bottom. Estin glanced back at Varra, who was now sweating, but waved him on.

  “Just go! I can hold the others. Get out of the keep! I meet you outside town.”

  Estin could see the other crossbowmen now, racing around the balcony to get to their side for a clean shot at them. Trusting that Varra knew what she was doing, he dashed down the stairs, keeping his sword close to his body to block any attack that might surprise him as he entered the hallway at the bottom of the steps. As he went, he drew his dagger as well, knowing any extra weapon would be handy if he were found out.

  Finding the hallway empty, Estin took off to his left, remembering vaguely a window one floor up and at the end of another passage. It would be a short run and he was sure he could make it before reinforcements could arrive.

  As Estin ran, he heard shouts behind him, along with the ‘twang’ of crossbows. Seconds after that, he could make out the din of weapons clashing, but this faded rapidly as he reached the next floor. With his bare feet pounding against the cold stone tiles, he raced towards the nearest outer-wall room, which was farther down the hall.

  Estin reached the door, panting, and moved to shove the sword back into his belt for safekeeping, when he realized something out of place on his belt. Reaching back, he felt the cool metal lip of Varra’s goblet hooked over one of his pouches.

  Varra had been quite clear that she considered that goblet worth risking her life over. If she had sent it away with him…

  “Damnit!” he growled, spinning on his heel to go back for the gypsy. He would not let another person die when he could at least try to help, let alone one who was key to him getting paid.

  Nearly tumbling down the stairs, Estin arrived at the foot of the steps in time to see Varra facing off against a Turessian at the far end of the hall. The dark-clad human was facing away from Estin, blocking Varra’s escape.

  With remarkable speed, Varra slashed at the robed man, sending scraps of cloth flying. He advanced on her, never even attempting to block her attacks, even when she stabbed him squarely in the chest.

  “Die already!” she cried, kicking the Turessian in the chest. The man barely rocked, then grabbed her by the wrist with his left hand.

  “Varra!” Estin shouted, starting to run towards the conflict.

  As he did, the Turessian twisted Varra’s wrist sharply, breaking it with ease, the eerie crack echoing through the hall for the second before she screamed. The man seemed unmoved, twisting again to free her dagger from her limp hand. Turning the dagger over in his hand, he drove the blade into Varra’s chest hard enough to thump her body against the wall behind her, before yanking it right back out, sending a spray of blood across the hallway.

  For a moment, Estin stopped and stared as Varra staggered and the Turessian took a step away from her. Varra wavered briefly, looking past the Turessian at Estin, then down at the goblet on his belt. Without a word, she collapsed onto the floor in a heap, blood pooling around her.

  The Turessian remained over her only a second, then turned and gazed back at Estin, faint red eyes glowing under his hood, framed by the tattoos he had seen earlier on the
man’s face. Where Varra’s weapons had torn at his clothing, Estin could see sickly grey skin and gaping cuts that did not bleed, all of which were closing as he watched them.

  “What in the planes…,” Estin mumbled, nearly dropping his sword. His fingers felt numb.

  When the Turessian took its first step towards him, Estin’s trance was broken and he took off at a dead run. He had no idea if the creature would follow him, but he knew he could not risk it, choosing random directions and stairs in the hopes that it could not track him through the keep.

  It was almost an hour of running through the keep before Estin collapsed in a empty kitchen’s corner, flopping between two bags of flour that he hoped might at least partially conceal him. He lay there gasping for air, seeing the flickering fireplace light through his eyelids as he tried to find the strength to run again.

  Estin at last opened his eyes and looked around the room once his heart rate had slowed and he felt that he had escaped the Turessian for the moment. Painful sadness wracked him, thinking of what he had seen, watching the girl die to ensure his escape. He tried to hide from the feelings, burying his face in his hands for a little while until he was able to compose himself and remind himself that he was still being hunted.

  This kitchen was vacant, despite it likely being almost noon. The size and type of pottery scattered about hinted to Estin that this might be used more for evening feasts, than for midday meals. If that were true, he only had a bit of time before the servants would arrive to begin preparing the evening meal for the duke.

  Rolling onto his knees, Estin began to stand when he heard someone coming. Dropping back behind the bags of flour, he pulled one bag over him, keeping his sword between himself and the bag so if someone moved the bag, he could strike quickly.

  “Savage little bitch,” grumbled a deep male voice as heavy footfalls entered the kitchen. “Damn near clawed my eye out. Help me find a rag to stop the bleeding.”

  Another equally gravelly voice, “Let it scar. I wouldn’t go to a healer to fix scratches from some little wildling whore.”

  Estin ground his teeth and peeked around the edge of the bag, verifying that it was the two orcs from the throne room. One was rooting around the kitchen, while the other stood in the middle of the room, grinning at the first one.

  He turned as slowly as he could, noting which of the three doors they had opened to come into the kitchen.

  “Bah, get me to the tavern. I’ll pour some hooch on it until I feel better. Next time I see one of those fuzzy rodents, I’m breaking it in half.”

  The two left through the far door, still muttering.

  Not about to waste another minute, Estin slid out from under the bag and made for the door the orcs had entered through. Once he was out into the darker hallway, he bent low to the floor and sniffed at the stones, picking up the scent of the orcs easily. He noted which direction they had come from, hurrying down one hallway, then another, until he came to a large window on his right and a descending staircase ahead of him.

  Estin checked the window and found that he was only a little more than twenty feet from the ground and the window faced the outer wall of the city, where there would be fewer guards on patrol. It was a quick and sure escape.

  The deep-throated barking of at least a dozen dogs pulled his attention to the staircase. He hated hunting dogs, having been chased by them far too many times in his life.

  Not even thinking, he sniffed the floor again, picking up the odor of orcs, a dwarf, dogs…and oiled leather. All four scents came from the direction of the staircase.

  Estin stood in the hallway, repeatedly checking for anyone approaching from either direction as he debated what to do. The window was the obvious answer. Varra was dead, some crazy glowing-eyed monster was chasing him, there were two hulking orcs looking for a good reason to stomp him, and his own punishment would likely be as bad or worse than Feanne’s had been when all the wealth in his pouches was discovered. He did not know the fox and had no obligations to save her. Any obligations he had were to Varra and those had died with her.

  He even went so far as to lean out the window, watching for any chance of being caught escaping there, but found none. He really had no reason not to run. It was the obvious choice…he really should just head out of the keep and never look back.

  Still, knowing that one of his kind was nearby, likely being tortured or killed set off something inside him. Feanne had showed more backbone than he could have imagined possible for a wildling, standing up to the very people who would gladly sell her to the highest bidder. That should not have swayed Estin, but he found himself wondering if there were more like her, more wildlings like his parents who were still free.

  Muttering, Estin turned back to the staircase and took a deep breath, knowing he was being incredibly stupid. The little voice in the back of his mind told him that he needed to get his priorities straight and save himself—but he ignored it and began down the stairs, fighting himself each step of the way.

  Halfway down the steps, Estin began to strongly smell the odors of a kennel. He proceeded more carefully, descending the spiral staircase as quickly as he dared, trying to be wary of anything coming up. As he went, the barking became louder and the smells grew overpowering—dog feces, wet fur, old straw bedding, and ever so faintly the two orcs and Feanne’s clothing.

  Estin reached the bottom of the steps soon enough, finding himself in a small entry room with an iron-bound exterior door. The scents were extremely strong now, coming through that door. He doubted it was more than ten feet between the door and the source of those aromas. Now, he could even smell Feanne’s actual scent, a musky predator’s odor that tickled at some buried instincts to stay away.

  Evaluating the place he was in, Estin realized this was a defensible entry location for the keep, but otherwise useless to him. There were no hiding places, nowhere to climb, and no other way to get to where he could gather more information without risking himself. The fox wildling was somewhere past the door.

  Lifting the latch on the door, Estin eased it open slowly, checking for anyone on the other side waiting for him. Outside, he saw the courtyard of the keep, with a large stable off to his left and a dog kennel on the right. The kennel was filled with cages built for reasonably-large dogs—the large brown mutts that the duke used for hunting. Those were the same dogs that had chased him at least twice when he had come near the keep and been seen.

  At this time, every one of the fifteen dogs were outside their pens, standing in a tight circle around a single cage that had been dragged to the middle of the kennel area. A few passers-by glanced in at the dogs, but kept walking past.

  The dogs were barking, howling, and biting at the bars in an effort to get at something inside, sometimes fighting each other for position around the cage. From where he stood, Estin had a limited view of the kennel area and he could not make out much, but did see a flash of blood as one of the dogs snagged something inside the cage.

  Easing the door open slightly more, Estin could see a single dwarf leaning against the wall of the keep near the door Estin was coming through. The dwarven man was watching the mayhem with arms crossed over his chest, grunting and chuckling at the ruckus.

  He quickly sized up the dwarf from a cursory look at the man. The dwarf’s beard hung nearly to his knees, indicating age and a belief in his own skill. That might mean he was a dangerous fighter, but could also be merely a matter of ego. He also noted that the dwarf’s beard was shaggy and unkempt, but he was not as sure what that could mean. From what Estin could see, the dwarf bore only a thin and slightly pointed stick as long as he was tall and no other weapons.

  Just as Estin was motivating himself to step out and strike at the dwarf, the shorter man marched up to the cage, jabbing through the bars with his stick.

  “No clawing me dogs!” he hissed, stabbing at the contents of the cage roughly. As he did, the dogs moved aside, giving Estin a confirming glance at Feanne inside the cage. The dwarf’s stic
k was leaving bloody spots on her fur as he jabbed her.

  The wildling was wedged tightly in the dog-sized iron cage, which forced her into a kneeling position, huddled into a ball to keep her arms, legs, and tail far from the bars where the dogs could nip and bite at her. All of Feanne’s jewelry was gone. Much of it appeared to have been torn from her, leaving bare patches where the fur had been scraped away, including a deep cut in her right ear, where an earring had been torn free.

  Estin had had enough, rushing from the doorway up on the dwarf. He acted without thinking—at least not thinking about what he was doing. Instead, he was seeing Varra’s death again, and somehow lashing out at the dwarf did some small part in redeeming his conscience for failing to save her.

  His blade drove deep into the dwarf’s back, deflecting off bone as the dwarf grunted and fell. The dwarf rolled when he hit the ground, gasping and whimpering as he clutched at his neck.

  The dogs reacted immediately to the dwarf’s cries, leaping on him like they would a rabbit. The original victim forgotten, the dogs tore into the dwarf as a pack, only making him scream more.

  Estin had to move fast, knowing the dogs would realize that he did not belong there soon enough. He rushed to the cage, where Feanne remained curled up tightly, trembling as she buried her face into the dirt at the bottom of the cage. Her fur was torn in many places, matted with fresh blood. Tufts of hair were missing where the dogs had just barely caught her. All around her, the dirt was stained with droplets of her blood from her many cuts. Swelling down the length of her muzzle from her left eye had closed the eye completely, likely from the beating she had taken from the orcs earlier.

  “If you are freeing me, do so now,” she croaked, just barely raising her head. She was still shaking slightly as she looked up at him. “Otherwise, open the cage and let the dogs finish me while you run. I can at least be your distraction while you escape. I believe I have the strength to hold them for a time.”