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Dodging other humans, I race along the wall of the town, close enough that the arrows aren’t falling on top of me. At least I’ve always been quick on my feet, ready to run at a moment’s notice if the master got that look in his eye that said he needed to vent his anger. I know how to make an escape and stay gone as long as I need to.
Someone shouts at me to stop, but I ignore them just as I ignore the screams and bleeding bodies. If I can keep moving, maybe I’ll avoid an arrow or gunshot and make it out of this alive. I have to keep going.
Finally, I reach the edge of the town, where the human forces are spread thinner. A big woman sits on a horse, and she’s certainly higher up on the food chain than I am. She’s the one who notices me making a break for it, and she doesn’t think twice before she pulls out her gun and aims it at me.
I drop and roll as the shot echoes in the air. It’s idiotic to be wasting shots on me when she could be shooting at the wave of trollkin headed straight for us, but the King’s army has no pity for deserters. I tumble and leap back into a run, and while she’s busy packing another bullet, I set foot over the tree line. It’ll be much harder for her or anyone else to take aim at me in here.
My lungs burn, and hot blood streams down my arm, but I can’t think about that right now. I keep my eyes on the forest ahead of me, trying not to barrel into a shrub or a tree trunk. My legs are wearing out, and soon my body is slowing and my chest is heaving.
No. I have to keep going. If I can get out of this place, if I can leave the scent of burning flesh behind, I’ll be safe. The noise of swords and gunshots fades behind me, and yet I continue running, gritting my teeth and pressing my hand down over my wound to staunch the flow of blood.
What am I going to do about this once I do get out of here? The only place I could find medical supplies is the human military camp, but if I show my face there, they’ll know I deserted and I won’t live to see another day anyway. Or, perhaps worse, I’ll simply end up on the front lines again.
Better to take the risk and hope it heals on its own.
Not that I have any idea where I’ll go now. I’m deep in the woods, making sure to leave a wide berth between my path and the camp. Once I’m certain the woman on the horse won’t follow me, I slow down to a ragged walk.
Clenching my jaw through the pain in my arm, I trudge on as the sun gets lower in the sky. When it’s finally too dark for me to see any longer, I lie down on the bare forest floor and try to sleep, but the pain keeps me awake. The night is cold and I hug myself tight, trying to warm up. For hours I lay there, sobbing and then running out of tears again, until the sun comes back up. If I slept, I don’t remember it.
Then I’m plodding on again. Walking and walking through endless woods, occasionally crossing a river or passing through a meadow. What could I possibly find out here? I don’t even know where I am. This could be trollkin territory, where I could encounter their soldiers at any time. Or is it human territory now? I don’t know anymore.
We’re just pawns moving on a board between the King and the Grand Chieftain, back and forth, spilling more blood.
Useless cow, my master’s voice echoes in my head. Once again I’m an object to be tossed around, to be used and abused as higher powers see fit.
It’s afternoon when the trees abruptly give way. I’m up on a hill, a sharp slope leading down into a valley. A big river runs through the middle, probably big enough that I wouldn’t be able to cross without getting swept away. The grasses are a summer yellow, but beyond that is green.
A farm. Row after row of bright green vegetables and stalks of corn. Food.
I didn’t realize just how hungry I was until I gaze upon this bounty, but now it’s like a vast hole has appeared in me that desires nothing more than to be filled. My panic and adrenaline have given way to this one need, and I rush down the slope.
The farm is a lot farther away than it looked, so I don’t reach the edge of the field until it’s almost sunset and the sky is stippled purple and orange. I honestly can’t say if it’s a human farm or a trollkin one. I have no clue where I am or how far I’ve gone since the battle began.
I follow the edge of the field, keeping just inside the tall vegetable stalks so no one can spot me from a distance. I search for something ripe to eat, but there’s only raw wheat here. Damn. I press on until a building appears.
It’s crafted with wood and thatch, but in such an odd shape that it must be trollkin-made. Great. I’m right in the middle of enemy territory, like I’d feared. If I’m discovered, I might face a death even worse than desertion. And yet I need somewhere to sleep that isn’t the forest floor if I’m to keep going. I don’t know where I’m headed, but anywhere beyond that battlefield is better.
Approaching the building quietly, I keep to the shadows as the sunlight fades. The barn is attached to a big pen, and axes designed specifically for butchering hang from the walls. I shudder.
Inside the barn it’s empty and dark. The chickens squawk as I investigate, but there doesn’t seem to be anyone around.
Good. I need a real place to rest, somewhere I can get just one night’s sleep. There are a few apples tucked in a basket, likely intended for horses, and I grab as many as I can carry. I squeeze past the chickens and find a ladder leading upward to a second floor filled with hay.
Perfect.
I build a little nest out of the hay, then dive into the first apple. Oh, it’s bliss. Juice slips down my chin, but I don’t care. After devouring one, I eat another, then another. When I’m full, I lie back in the hay, relishing how even as the straw bites into my back, at least it’s not the forest floor.
I’ll take it, even with the fiery ache in my arm.
That night, I don’t even dream.
Drazak
That damn troll.
The chickens squawked like hell last night, but he refused to go look. “If it’s a coyote or a wolf,” Han’zir said, “it’s already done the deed.”
“We need to get a dog,” I’d snapped. Something to bark and scare off those mangy pests. We’ve only got a handful of cows and an even smaller handful of chickens, but without them, we’ve got no breakfast, and I can’t function without a big breakfast. Eggs, ham from that pig farmer down the way, and sometimes a piece of bread if I’ve had the sense to make any. Han’zir doesn’t bake, or really cook at all. He’s pretty useless, I’d say, but he’s good at pulling weeds, and the crops are only flourishing because of his green thumb. He knows when they need water, when they should be trimmed back, when the last freeze is coming so we can get ready to plant. He has a kind of knowing about things like that, and I’ve learned not to doubt his instincts.
