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I turned to him. “How many people do you think are down here?”
“Hundreds?” he guessed.
“That’s right,” I said proudly, my hands bracketing my hips. “Hundreds.”
Sage
Istood on an upturned water bucket, a dais befitting that of a cottage shrew—which I was.Goddess of Life, my ass.My arms were crossed over my chest as I listened to the prisoners squabble. This was not going like I’d planned.
“Don’t listen to her! She’s going to get all of us killed,” shouted an old man above the rest.
“And what is the other option?” I retorted. “Wait patiently until the guards come back?”
“My time is limited anyway.” He batted his hand at me dismissively. Slowly, he turned, his leg muscles so depleted that he could barely lift his feet off the floor as he shuffled away, swallowed up by the crowd. A few more people turned away and followed behind him.
I was losing them.
“How do wefightguards?” asked a man to my left.
“Yeah! We don’t have any weapons!” exclaimed a woman who was standing beside him.
“We don’t need weapons. We have the numbers. We can win,” I said, my certainty resonating clearly in my tone. Weapons or not, two dozen guards were not enough to subdue hundreds of prisoners. It showed just how complacent the king had become.
“Say it works, say we break out of here . . . then what? The castle is full of guards. Don’t you think they’ll take notice of hundreds of prisoners walking through the halls?” someone in the crowd asked. I didn’t see who it was. Their concern was supported vocally by a dozen others.
“Boy, here, grew up in the castle.” I gestured to Boy, who was standing at my side. He wore a mixed expression—half excited and half ready to shit his pants. “There are hidden hallways, and he knows how to access them. With a bit of luck, we will all walk out undetected.”
“I don’t believe in luck!” shouted a younger girl, around fourteen.
I tried not to roll my eyes—of course, therealwayshad to be one. A few more voices joined in on her claim.
Okay,morethan one.
“I don’t want any part of this,” said another woman.
As if her statement were a rock tossed in water, within seconds, it rippled into waves—the crowd growing more boisterous with their disapproval of my plans.
I needed to get a handle on this before I lost them completely.
“Do none of you have something to fight for?” I yelled at the top of my lungs. My voice echoed, the message repeating, bouncing off the walls, amplifying for all to hear.
Mouths snapped shut, heads swiveling my way.
I tightened the proverbial fist, refusing to let the reins slip out of my hands now that I had them back, even if momentarily. Quickly, I continued, “Because if you don’t, if you have nothing, then I understand why you won’t fight.” I paused, more and more faces shifting my way. “But if you have something—someone—then is this not worth the risk? I’m giving you a chance to see your loved ones again. And yes, nothing is guaranteed, but if we don’t take a stand, if we yield, then you lose that chance to ever see them again.” I took a brief pause. “When the guards come, I will fight for all of you, even if that means I must stand alone.” I splayed my fingers over my chest, gesturing to myself. “I am willing to take that risk.” I looked from face to face, my heart hammering. “Are you?”
Everyone fell silent.
On bated breath, I waited . . . Would my words be enough?
Footsteps sounded, carrying a man forward. He was probably in his early thirties, but the wrinkles that webbed around his eyes, and the bags that rippled beneath them wrote of his hardships, and it made him appear so much older. But even though his face was weathered, there was something about the way he proudly stood that made me think he wore his misfortunes like a badge of honor.
“I’m a farmer,” he started, his voice gruff. “I’m used to working the fields so I don’t know much about fighting, but I do know that I want to see my wife again and hold my baby boy.” He gave me a nod. “I’ll take the risk. I’m in.”
An older woman with stiff, rigid posture came forth, her weary eyes meeting mine. “I want to see my daughter and my grandchildren again.” She gave me a confirming nod.
Next, two burly men stepped forward. The dark-haired one spoke first. “My brother and I are pugilists. Grew up learning how to fight with leather bound around our fists. We might nothave leather now, but we’ll fight. For you, for everyone. For our parents in the Cursed Lands.”
More and more stepped forward, declaring who they were fighting for—the torch of hope spreading from one to another, lighting a monstrous, burning flame.
