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“You won’t regret this. Find your brother and make your escape while I dispose of the guards.” Strongman bounded through the opening.
“Wait! Do you want to use my blade?”
“Keep your blade for yourself. I’ll have weapons of my own soon enough… I’ll take what I need from my brother’s guards.”
He smiled, but the fire in his eyes made Markaeus glad he wasn’t Strongman’s enemy. Strongman disappeared into the stairwell, and there followed a series of thunks, crashes, and gurgled cries. Not waiting to determine Strongman’s success or failure, Markaeus dashed down the hallway to find his brother.
“Haegen!” He called his brother’s name, no longer caring if he awakened all the occupants of the holding chambers. “Haegen!”
“Markaeus!” His brother’s answering call beckoned him to run faster.
“Haegen!” He arrived at the gate, swinging it open wide.
Haegen emerged, enveloping him in his arms. “What’s wrong? Has something happened to Grandfather?”
“No, Grandfather is well. He sends his love.” Markaeus pulled off the top cloak and handed it to his brother. “Come! We’re escaping!”
“The gate is open!” cried a boy behind Haegen.
Sudden inspiration struck Markaeus. “Yes! Yes, the gate is open. You’re free. All of you. Everyone!”
Haegen stood frozen as the other children scurried about, waking one another and pouring through the open gate.
“Come on, Haegen. We need to hurry.”
“I wonder if I should take Furry with me, but she just had her babies. I suppose I’ll have to leave her behind.”
“Your rat will be fine without you, Haegen. And I’m sure you’ll find more pets. You always do.” Markaeus snatched his brother’s hand and tugged him down the crowded corridor, springing open every gate along the way to the surprise of the occupants. Now there’ll be more targets to chase than sentries to find us.
*****
Arista crouched in the doorway, blade at the ready, peering round the corner into the dimly lit passageway. She shivered in her lightweight trousers, cinched on with a rope at her waist and rolled up to accommodate her shorter legs. Likewise too long, the borrowed shirt hung almost to her knees. The previous occupant of the chamber must’ve been quite tall. But Arista wasn’t complaining at the fit, so grateful was she to be in dry clothes. Her damp hair hung in tangled tresses down her back, tied back for the moment with a bit of twine. Her feet were covered only in wool stockings, and she was grateful for them though they folded on the ends of her toes. She would’ve abandoned the oversized stockings as well, had she not needed the storage for a few more blades. Having lost her metal blades in the transport, she had only the ceramic left, a less than ideal situation, as she wasn’t nearly as adept at throwing the lightweight blades.
Though her brother preferred a short sword to throwing knives, her small stature put her at a decided disadvantage in a close fight. So Arista had practiced archery and knife-throwing hour upon hour, long before she developed a gifting in weapons.
That she and Jireo had come from such timid parents had long been a mystery. Her father, though he volunteered in every battle, used his dexterity gifting primarily to fashion leather boots and scabbards to be sold at market. Her mother, gifted in intelligence, watched the warring of the clans with sad eyes, loath to give up her children to their passions. However, she admitted her children had been warriors almost from birth, their constant combat a source of many cuts and bruises until their punishment changed from backbreaking chores to confinement within the house. At that, the two learned to keep their sparring verbal, thus avoiding the dreaded loss of freedom.
As two sentries scurried past to disappear around the corner, Arista decided to break for the next alcove. She poised to spring out, her muscles tight, when a hand clasped around her mouth and another circled her wrist. A hairy hand. That of a man.
She tried to bite, but the hand held too tightly. Twisting with all her might, she jammed her free elbow into his ribs, but he only increased his vise-like hold. She stomped her foot on his, too late remembering she had no boots. As he drew her backward into the room behind them, she went limp, her weight pulling them over forward. Feeling his arm slacken, she threw her head back. A crunch. A grunt. She thrust her knife down and back, breaking his grip. The knife connected. Another grunt.
He grabbed her wrist, twisting it behind her until the knife dropped away. Securing her other wrist, he locked them behind her in one strong hand, slapping the other over her mouth again, just as four sentries ran past going the opposite direction of the previous guards. He moved them backward into the dark chamber, kicking the door shut with his foot.
“Glare it! You cut me, you little wildcat, and probably broke my nose.” His voice rasped in the darkness. “Though you’re only a child, I’ll not afford you any more gentleness.”
“I’m not a child; I’m a warrior. Let me go!” She struggled against him, but he leveraged her arms up behind her. The crack of light from under the door revealed little in the dark room, but she could sense his mass. He was at least a head taller than she was, maybe more.
“You’re no warrior, though you fight with more grit than most. I know who you are, child; you’re one of the children who’ve escaped from the secure chambers above. Be still—I’m not your enemy. I saved your life from those guards, and I can show you the way out.”
“Let. Me. Go.”
“If I release you, will you swear not to fight me?”
“Will you swear not to detain me from my purpose?”
“I have my own purpose, and I don’t want your presence to interfere.”
