She stared at the key in her hand, and the flap that had dropped back down when the human moved away. He had left the rock light shining on the floor of the cage.
Behind her, Varga moved. “What in the—?”
“Quiet!” Diavla hissed. “We might have to sneak out.” Who knew who or what else was out there? She hurried over to the lock on the cage, the key clutched in a death grip. Don't drop it, don't drop it, for the love of all the spirits, don't drop it… She put the key in the lock and tried to turn it. It wouldn't budge.
“Let me,” Arven told her, moving up beside her. She waited until he had a firm grip on the key before letting go. Arven grunted a few moments, scowling.
“Is it backwards?” Diavla wondered. Arven looked at her, then twisted the key in the other direction and they all heard the clank of iron as the door unlocked. Arven pushed the cage door open against the flap's resistance, the heavy fabric lifting awkwardly out of the way. He jumped down at once, then leveraged the door wide open.
“Out, out, out!” he whispered, looking around.
Diavla was next out of the cage, her bare feet landing on beautiful, beautiful earth for the first time since they were abducted three months back. She moved out of the way and spun around, taking in everything quickly.
Fear spiked as she spotted three humans in bedrolls, but then realized that the bandits had been killed where they slept. She kept turning, and found the human who had given her the key slumped down against one wheel of the wagon. There didn't seem to be anyone else around at all.
It only took her a moment to put the story together. If there's no one else here, and we're not on the road, we might have died of thirst or starved to death before anyone found us. He was surprised to see us, realized the danger, and gave us the key with a smile.
“He saved our lives,” she murmured. “Deliberately.”
“Quick! Spread out, grab weapons, and find the tokens!” Arven urged. Orvan, then Brallik, climbed down out of the wagon, and Orvan helped Sheema, unceremoniously grabbing the short woman by the waist and legs and lowering her to the ground. Varga darted out next and immediately ran around, searching. Young Rillik followed, eyes moving constantly. Finally, Kervan climbed down and Arven let the cage door slam shut again.
“What do you think happened?” Kervan asked.
“The human is alone. I think he crept in and killed the bandits who killed the slavers. He must be a survivor from the caravan,” Diavla surmised, getting her first look at the other five wagons. “Probably a guard.”
“Yeah, I doubt a merchant could have done all this,” Kervan agreed, staring at the scene. “There are only three bodies here. And I don't see the leader. Does anybody see the leader?” he called to the others.
“Found him!” Arven called. He was a short distance into the trees.
“Does he still have the tokens?”
After a pause, Arven said, “I don't think so. I'm not being blocked from touching anything.”
“If the leader doesn't have them…” Diavla stepped over and crouched down next to the human. As she suspected, there was a pouch in his hand still, the same one she had seen him pull the key out of. When she went to touch it, her reach stopped, a handspan away. The control magic was creepy, so she pulled her hand back quickly.
“The human has the tokens.”
“Then he's our new master. Found the tokens!” Kervan called. Arven nodded and came back into the clearing. Wordlessly, he accepted a dagger from Varga, who then ran off again.
“Did you see his face?” Diavla asked, looking at the young man on the ground. “He didn't even know we were here.”
“Well, he's dead now,” Rillik gloated.
“Out of the way!” Sheema pushed past and crouched next to the human. For a moment she examined him, then let out a noisy breath. “He's not dead, but he will be soon, at this rate.”
“Sheema, you aren't thinking of Healing him, are you?” The boy looked offended. He had lost both his parents in the raid on their village, and had far more hate in him now than was healthy.
“Have you forgotten that the collars will kill us if nobody has the tokens for too long?” Kervan reminded Rillik.
“Diavla, shall I try to Heal him?” Sheema asked.
“Do it,” Diavla told her, noticing that everyone seemed to be accepting that she was in charge. That's what I get for stepping up sometimes during the trip when Orvan didn't.
“Can you even Heal a human?” Brallik asked skeptically.
“I don't know,” Sheema snapped. “Shut up and let me find out!”
Will the spirits of this land listen to her? Diavla wondered. Out of habit, she took a cleansing breath when Sheema did, remembering long ago temple lessons. For a minute, Sheema just closed her eyes, presumably questing out with her spiritual sense.
A metallic clattering noise distracted Diavla, who turned to see Varga next to a messy pile that had just fallen out of another wagon. “Found the weapons!” she called cheerfully. Arven, Brallik and Rillik hurried over to her. Kervan kept watch over Sheema, and Orvan moved over to the campfire and started searching.
“Oh, spirits, hear my plea,” Sheema chanted softly. She pulled the knotted rag—calling it a bandage would be an insult to bandages—away from the wound and laid her hands directly on it.
“She'll need water,” Diavla declared, then stepped out into the middle of the camp. “Did anyone find water, or a bucket?”
“Closest water's a stream ten minutes that way,” Varga called, pointing. “This isn't a good camping spot.”
Orvan brought Diavla a bucket before she could start griping. I'm not water blind, Varga. That's what I need the bucket for. She kept the complaint to herself, however. There were more important things to deal with at the moment.
Diavla looked at the older elf beside her with concern. You should be the one in charge, but… “Thank you, Orvan. Would you bring water from the stream for Sheema to clean up with?”
He nodded and took the bucket back, still without speaking. “Arven? Could you watch over Orvan?”
Arven looked up, holding a short sword and a dagger, and nodded.
Diavla turned to Kervan next. “Would you stay on guard for Sheema? I need to search for something she can use for bandages.”
“Certainly. Bring me another dagger from that pile first. Let me know what you find in the wagons.” Diavla nodded and did so. She mentally counted off the wagons's contents.
The cage… grain…fabric! Perfect! Diavla moved on, for the moment. The reek from the next wagon alerted her. Alcohol. Good to know… She shone the rock light into the fifth wagon and frowned.
What in the world and sky…?
Eight black crates sat in the back of the wagon with spaces in between. There was non-Elvish writing on the outside of each. One of the crates looked damaged, freshly so. Diavla poked at it for a moment, then shrugged and moved on.
The last wagon had all sorts of ironwork, decently made as far as she could tell. She doubled back to the fabric wagon, pulled out a bolt of something white and thin, and used a dagger to cut off a large piece. Struggling a bit, she hefted the entire bolt and moved it to the edge of the wagon, then decided to let one of the men carry it over. At least, we'll have something slightly better than these cursed sacks to wear. Just the thought of getting a proper bath made her almost ready to jump in that distant stream Varga mentioned, freezing temperatures or no.
Suddenly, Diavla was flooded with emotion.
She started crying with relief that they were out of that cage. Yes, their situation was still dire, but even this was so much better it felt as if her heart would burst. She let herself feel the feelings for a minute, then reined them in and sniffed, blinking. Work to do. More crying later, she promised herself.
∘ ⛥ ⛯ ⛥ ∘
The elves spread out, looking through personal effects and supplies. Varga found some kind of sweet berry jelly that they reserved for Sheema's needs, and Orvan improvised a meal for them from other items. They had all been hungry for a long time, since their captors had never given them quite enough food. Arven declared himself to be on watch so that everyone else could eat in peace, and stood atop a wagon seat, looking around at the alien forest, chewing on something like jerky he'd found. Sheema finally finished working on the human as much as she could, and fell asleep. Diavla found her a blanket.
For the next hour, the elves looted materials: food, clothing, more blankets. They also dragged the bodies of the dead humans from the campfire and left them in a pile a short distance away. When Sheema finally stirred, she devoured a lot of the jelly with the strange human-made bread.
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They gathered around the fire to discuss the situation. Since Orvan was still being quiet, Diavla got things started.
“Well, Arven says the woods are dark and mostly silent, so there aren't any humans nearby. It's been two days since we were in a city, judging by the sounds. It's been two months; we could be almost anywhere in Durathin by now. It's good fortune that we're in a forest, even if many of the animals and plants are foreign to us. We should be able to hide in these woods while we get our bearings.”
“We have food for several days at least, if we can trust everything that the humans eat,” Kervan added. “We've collected the coins and they come to about twelve gold pieces all together. We have daggers and swords for everyone, but no bows. Arven and I will start making spears for those that prefer them. As for clothing, we've got some looted from packs, and fabric to use to make more. For shelter, we've got the wagons so far, and should be able to build something better once we find a good spot.
“How long do you think we have before we are reported missing?” Brallik asked. “Also, what kingdom is this? I'm pretty sure we're not in the Empire any more, at least, but there are a lot of different human countries, aren't there? How are elves treated here? Will the humans hunt us on sight?”
“I'm hoping this human here can help us with some of that, once he wakes up.”
“We don't have a common language,” Brallik protested.
“We'll use him to learn the human tongue, and we'll be able to pantomime some things.”
“Also, what are we going to do with the human, anyway?”
“Well, he's our master, so we can't kill him. The most we could do is let him die, and that's a bad idea. We would have to find another human to come here and pick up the tokens, within a week. Better the demon we know.”
Kervan answered. “Besides, like Diavla said, we need to interrogate him. We need information, badly. So I would advise against leaving him unconscious longer than necessary.”
Diavla had felt obligated to bring up the option, but she was squeamish about the thought of letting the man who saved them die, so she was grateful for Kervan's support. “We'll see what he has to say. Sheema, when do you think he will wake up?”
“Not before morning at the earliest. The longer he sleeps, the better for him.”
“All right. Obviously, we need to keep watches at night. Who feels up for it?”
“I will,” Arven said at once.
Orvan raised a hand, but didn't speak. There was a pause, then Kervan sighed and raised his hand. “I'll take the third watch.”
“Thank you,” Diavla told the men. “The rest of you, find what blankets and clothing you can to get comfortable for the rest of the night. Don't worry about it if you have trouble sleeping. I'm pretty sure we're either staying put or getting a late start tomorrow. Talking to the human is going to take hours at least. But get what rest you can. There's no telling how far we'll have to travel tomorrow for safety. Varga, can you figure out how to take care of these animals? I don't even know what they're called.” Diavla gestured vaguely at the draft animals that pulled the wagons.
“Sure enough. I've already made friends with some of them. I'll bring them more water and deal with feeding them in the morning.”
“I suggest that each of us make sure we have a pack and fill it with useful items, just in case we need to run from hunters. Orvan?” The older elf looked at her. “Do you think you could figure out a breakfast for us in the morning?”
Orvan sighed and nodded.
“Thank you. If we don't have to run, we can spend tomorrow getting clean, making clothes, and talking with the human. Does this sound like a plan to everyone?”
“Should we tie him up?” Brallik asked. “Maybe he doesn't know he's our master.”
“No need,” Sheema said with a yawn. “He's not going anywhere tomorrow if he wants to live out the week. Just don't leave weapons in easy reach of him and we'll be fine.”
“Tomorrow, I'll keep watch on the road, get some idea of how busy it is,” Arven declared.
“Good idea, thank you. If I'm forgetting something else important, let me know. But for the moment, I'm exhausted and I'm going to try to sleep.” Diavla felt overwhelmed, but she did her best to project confidence. The survivors from Kilder Vald needed to stick together.
∘ ⛥ ⛯ ⛥ ∘
The next morning, Diavla awoke with a start, shivering and stiff. When she remembered where she was, she almost wept again with gratitude. Sky overhead. Soft earth beneath me. Freedom to move. I'll never take them for granted again, she promised herself.
The sun had not quite risen yet. Unfamiliar bird calls filled the air in a mild cacophony. The other two women were still asleep, huddled up to her for warmth.
She lifted her head slowly. She could see Kervan perched on a wagon seat, slowly turning his head to scan the area. When he saw her awake, he nodded in greeting. She saw that Orvan was also up, tending the fire.
As Diavla sat up, Varga grumbled and rolled away, then woke as the chill of the ground hit her. With a sleepy scowl, she pulled her makeshift clothing tighter around her. After a moment, and a sigh that very obviously said that she'd rather be sleeping, Varga got up and dragged herself over towards the animals, stepping easily around or over the others with her long legs.
Sheema didn't wake, which wasn't surprising. Healing was exhausting for both the Healer and the patient. Diavla tucked the warm blankets around the smaller elf, then stood. Nothing much had changed in the night, which was good. She walked into the woods to answer nature and then checked on the human.
He was still asleep. With the blood washed off, he looked like he might actually be a bit handsome once the swelling on his face went down. He was young, and since he was human that meant that he was really young. Diavla reminded herself that while humans did not live as long as elves, they developed faster. His age was probably analogous to hers, near enough.
Her eyes tracked down along his body. He had black hair like her own and was very well-built, big and almost obscenely muscular by elven standards. Their biggest mistake was not making sure this one was dead.
She stared at him, remembering his face from the night before. What stuck in her mind was how relieved and happy he looked when he found the key. He actually cared, about people he hadn't even met yet. Elves, even.
Although, the humans around here might not even be at war with us. I'm pretty sure Brallik is right and we left the Empire when we crossed the mountains. Then again, they allow elves as slaves in this land, so we can't hold out too much hope for fair treatment.
Shaking her head, she picked up a bucket and walked to the stream for water, one hand on her dagger, wary for threats in the strange forest. Some creatures were the same on both continents, some were similar here and at home, and some were unique to one place. Varga would likely have a wonderful time befriending the local animals, if she managed to avoid getting eaten for being too friendly with the wrong predator.
The walk back took much longer, because Diavla had overestimated how much she could carry, and decided to be stubborn about it. I haven't gotten to be active in months, of course I'm weak, she reminded herself. Eventually, she made it back to the camp, having only spilled a little along the way.
Kervan had found tailoring supplies in the fabric wagon, and was already cutting cloth for simple garments. Orvan started some of the water boiling, experimenting with the grains, trying to figure out how to make a porridge. Arven had managed to loot clothing that came close to fitting him, including some leather armor, and was packing up a few bits of dried food to take.
Diavla felt a touch awkward with Arven. He was a great guy, but he had some feelings for her which she did not reciprocate. Varga also wanted her, but her friend was easygoing enough to take no for an answer and not give it another thought. Being stuck in the same cage with them both for a couple of months had probably burned out a lot of feelings, she hoped. Romance had been the last thing on anyone's mind, with no privacy and knowing that they might be separated at any time, sold to different buyers.
She walked closer to Orvan and warmed herself by the fire. “Good morning.”
“Mmm.”
Diavla prodded him. “What do you suppose happened to the other two we saw last night, the ones whose bodies aren't in that pile?”
Orvan stirred the pot, frowning thoughtfully. “Maybe that was what the argument we heard was about, and the shouting. They were looking for their missing companions.”
“The two wandered away, or fled. Maybe they found something valuable and lightweight, like jewels, and ran off so that they wouldn't have to share.”
Orvan shrugged. “Ask the others. Oh, and someone should burn the bodies if we're not leaving this spot today.” Once he said that, Diavla could almost see him lose interest and withdraw into himself again. She was glad to have seen even that much life in him. The elder had acted dead inside ever since his beloved wife perished in the raid on Kilder Vald. Diavla keenly felt the loss of many herself, but her family lived in the city.
She walked over to Kervan and shared her thoughts about the missing humans. He nodded, even while he stayed bent over his sewing. “Arven and I talked about that after you went to sleep. That's one of the things we were watching for. Either our human was carefully picking them off one by one and their bodies are scattered through the forest, or they ran off and haven't come back overnight, which means they likely are still on the road headed somewhere else.”
“Another thing to ask him when he wakes. Will you help me learn his language?”
“Certainly. The two of us are probably best suited for it,” Kervan said matter-of-factly.
“Good, thanks.”
Over by the fire, Orvan made a noise of disgust, then dumped the contents of the pot out and started over.
Sheema woke, and after a couple of minutes went over to the human and inspected his body. Diavla drifted over to watch. So did Rillik, Brallik and Varga. Sheema looked at them and declared, “I'll be busy for a little while. He needs a lot more Healing. Diavla, would you cut me more of this fabric?”
Diavla fetched the cloth from Kervan, and left the Healer to her work, as always a little bit jealous of her abilities. Maybe I should have tried harder at the Temple, she thought, not for the first time. But the spirits choose who to listen to, and Healing spirits apparently never cared much for me.
By the time Orvan had what he considered an acceptable breakfast ready, Sheema had changed the human's bandages and Healed him until she was completely exhausted. Varga had scrounged up a total of four buckets, but no soap, which was disappointing but not surprising. Kervan cut towels out of a different fabric, and the elves spent a while getting as clean as they could manage down at the stream. Everyone felt worlds better for that, at least once they had warmed up at the fire and their teeth had stopped chattering.
They tried on the found clothing, even the most patient of them unwilling at this point to get back into the dirty, shapeless sacks they had been forced to wear in the cage. Fresh clean pieces of linen gave them rudimentary undergarments. Impressively buxom, Sheema had long since learned the art of wrapping her breasts without crushing them. Diavla didn't have to go to such elaborate lengths, but it was nice to have support again. Varga had nothing much to worry about in that area, so a single cloth band suited her fine.
They couldn't find any pants that would fit over Sheema's hips, so she made do with a simple skirt Kervan fashioned for her. A gigantic shirt kept her a bit warmer. Likewise, they all made themselves closer to presentable, though footwear was still lacking.
Breakfast was odd, but tasty. Everyone savored it and said nothing until they finished it all. “Orvan, despite everything, you remain a genius of a cook,” Diavla praised him, to the general agreement of the group.
“Thank Brallik. He tasted all the different foods to make sure I wasn't going to poison everyone,” Orvan delivered in a perfectly deadpan voice.
Brallik stared. “What?”
Varga burst out laughing. “Our hero,” she snorted, loving his expression.
“You're joking, right, Orvan? …That was a joke, right, Orvan?” What made it funnier was that Brallik was known as a glutton back home. The middle-aged elf had lost a lot of weight in the cage and it wasn't flattering to his appearance. Hopefully, exercise would help.
Even Diavla felt a smile on her face for a moment, then it began to ache. Ow. My smiling muscles haven't been used in ages. She absently rubbed the sides of her jaw.
After breakfast, she recruited Brallik and Orvan to burn the bodies of the humans. Varga pitched in, being fairly strong herself. Then Brallik was assigned to tend the second fire, since he wasn't doing much else unless prodded.
By late morning, Arven had returned. “Only one person rode by, looked like a messenger on an all-white zenayu.”
“They have white ones?” Varga asked curiously.
“Apparently.”
“Headed north or south?” Diavla asked.
“South.”
“So, news of our departure from the last city isn't outpacing us yet,” Kervan commented, independently matching Diavla's thoughts. Out of the corner of her eye, she spotted Sheema, kneeling next to the human and waving at her for attention.
“Diavla! He's coming around.”