At first, Pirin tightened his grip on his sword. There were…ten—no, twelve—soldiers surrounding him and the Saltspray warrior, but if he was quick about it, he could get on the other side of them, and then he would only have to fight from one direction.
He leapt to his feet, swinging his sword at the crowd of them to push them back. The nearest two jumped back, and another caught the sword on his shin. It bounced off his greaves. Pirin considered unleashing a Shattered Palm on them, but if any survived, they’d report it back. He couldn’t go leaving a trail and alerting people to the presence of a wizard.
Another soldier leapt at him from the side. He ducked away, then slammed the pommel of his sword into the ostal’s neck. The soldier crumpled.
Pirin took a step back, trying to retreat back to the trees, but he only made it one step. The tip of a sword pressed into his back. “Drop that sword,” another soldier commanded. He turned to the Saltspray. “And stand up!” Three more soldiers sprinted down the path behind him, cutting off Pirin’s escape.
Pirin would have given anything for an enhanced body right now. A little extra speed and durability would have helped. As it stood, his Essence channels were tired and aching, and he had used—or leaked—a lot of Essence with all of the Shattered Palms he’d used.
Wizard or not, a sword through the spine would still kill him. He opened his fingers and let his sword clatter out of his hand. The soldier stayed behind him. Others encircled him and the Saltspray man, pointing their swords and preventing anyone from moving.
One of the soldiers, an ostal with a jade-green pauldron, stepped forwards. “Ah, just where the old man said. A Saltspray and…” he walked over to Pirin, flicking the shoulder of Pirin’s coat. “And whatever this is. Detain them.”
“Now, uh, wait a minute, sir,” Pirin said, keeping his hands raised. “I was just trying to—”
“One more word, and we’ll put a sword through your back,” the ostal snapped. “A scrawny labourer like you won’t be a devastating loss.”
Pirin shuddered. But his hair hung over his ears, shielding them from sight, and for the moment, there was no other sign he was an elf. If the sun had been out, it might have been a different story, but the sun wasn’t out.
Gray’s shadow passed overhead, high enough that she could have been mistaken for a regular bird. Pirin shook his head frantically, hoping she would get the signal to stay away. There wouldn’t be much she could do against fifteen soldiers with swords. She must have taken the hint, because she let out a chirp and circled around again. Hopefully she’d stay out of harm’s way.
“Avelt, the collars,” said the ostal with the green pauldron. “I hear the Saltsprays brought some wizards with them. Us non-wizards can’t be too careful, can we?” He laughed a little, then beckoned one of the soldiers over. “And it’ll make it easier to grab you.”
“Yes, low-marshal!” The soldier carried two thin metal collars. Both had an umberstone disk in the center, and when Pirin looked closely, he spotted a rune. Laar, for disruption.
They snapped one collar onto the Saltspray’s neck, and another onto Pirin’s neck. The umberstone pressed directly against his skin. He tried to cycle his Essence, but the channels in the neck were an essential loop for any cycling pattern, and it was impossible to prevent the Essence from jumping into the rune without extreme Essence control—which he didn’t have. As soon as the Essence hit the edge of the rune, it fizzled out, and the cycle died.
“You like these?” the low-marshal gloated, bending down and sneering in Pirin’s face. “The Red Hand came up with the idea a few years back, so if you are a wizard beneath all that…criminal-y-ness, don’t even think about it. You won’t overcome these.”
Pirin cut off all his patterns and hauled the Essence he had left back into his core. He feared if he put any more Essence into the rune, it’d start glowing, and they would know he was a wizard for sure—that was the last thing he needed.
“Now, let’s get a move on,” said the low-marshal. “I’m sure we’ll find plenty of work for you two back at Dulfer.”
Pirin sighed, but he knew better than to open his mouth. He expected to feel worried, or concerned for himself in some way, but the soldiers didn’t seem too…terrifying. He’d dealt with worse.
He just had to wait for the right moment.
Besides, escaping from this would be another way of pushing himself, wouldn’t it?
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Dulfer’s Reach wasn’t a large island, and it was only midnight by the time they arrived at the other side—and at the largest city. From what the soldiers had said, Pirin assumed it was just called Dulfer.
The entire city was built on a sandstone platform that reached out of the gently-sloping shore. From the side, the platform reminded him of an enormous hand with its fingers curled up. The city nestled into the palm of the hand, clinging to the fingers. Its buildings were simple, just like those in the village on the other side of the island, except the buildings here were stacked atop one another so high that they looked like a pile of mud in the hand’s palm.
A walkway wound up the sandstone wrist, crossing back and forth to compensate for the steep slope. When Pirin narrowed his eyes and looked really hard—which was difficult without his eyeglasses—the sandstone appeared to be carved from blocks as tall as a horse and twice as long.
Carved a very, very long time ago, from how smooth and weathered it was.
When they were halfway up the wrist, Pirin caught a glimpse of the distant harbour. It was nestled into a bay to the west of the hand, and although the glowing, torch-lit piers were too distant to make out any details, he thought he could see some Dominion navy ships lingering in port.
At the top of the hand, they passed through a gate in a wooden stockade. The soldiers led Pirin and the Saltspray man through the village. The walkway continued up the palm of the sandstone hand, winding around houses and storefronts.
At nighttime, the city was nearly empty. Only a few vagabonds staggered across the street, as well as a stray cat. But wherever Pirin looked, there was a cracked foundation, or crumbling daub. A few buildings had even collapsed entirely.
To be safe, Pirin glanced down at the sandstone floor beneath them. It showed no sign of damage—only the structures built on it.
“Ah, see it now, boy?” The low-marshal chuckled. “Good! ‘Cause that’s what you’re going to be cleaning up! These awful tremors have been shaking the whole island, and it’s tearing the place apart. We’re putting all the criminals we can gather to work!” He raised a finger, then turned to a soldier behind him. “Do us a favour. Round up those two vagrants, will you? No one will weep if we take them with us.”
At the end of the path, they reached a small cobblestone keep. One of its outer towers had collapsed, and a few of the ramparts were rubble, but walls were walls, and Pirin figured they’d keep most prisoners in.
His fingers itched. First, he’d have to get the collar off. Then he’d have to get out and subdue as many guards as he could. He’d rely on his Bloodline Talent as much as he could, altering the minds he could and knocking out anyone who he couldn’t affect.
Before they passed through the portcullis, Pirin took one last look up at the sky, where Gray still circled, following at a distance. She glided down to one of the towering sandstone fingers and perched on its peak. From this far away, she was barely a speck.
Then they passed through the small fort’s portcullis. It deposited them directly into a hallway. Pirin paid close attention to every turn they made; he’d need to know it for the way out. Left, right, up a staircase, then left again.
They arrived at a long hall of cells. “Put these two in solitary until we can determine how well they play with others,” the low-marshal commanded. “We’ll put them to work tomorrow morning!”
Pirin had no plans on staying any longer than necessary. Aside from Gray, Alyus, Brealtod, and Myraden would all be concerned about him. He figured Myraden would probably be out looking for him by now.
Maybe she thought he’d travelled further inland…
As they walked, Pirin glanced at the Saltspray man. “I’m not your enemy,” he whispered. Only the Saltspray would be able to hear him; the clanking armour of the soldiers drowned out everything else. “And I’m no friend of the Dominion.”
The man said nothing.
“Your Sect has been labelled criminals, I take it? They’re arresting you on sight?”
After a few seconds, the man nodded.
“I don’t know anything about this place,” Pirin whispered. “I swear on the Eane, we just landed here seeking refuge from the Rustlers. But then I heard about your sect, and apparently, you have some wizards. I don’t want to fight; I—”
“You held a sword to my throat,” the man hissed.
“You attacked us first,” Pirin said. “And you bombed the air harbour.” When the man didn’t reply, Pirin added, “I’d appreciate it if you told me about the wizards.”
“So the Dominion can take them away?”
Pirin sighed. “To learn from them. I already told you, I’m not with the Dominion.”
Before he could say anything else, the soldiers shoved the Saltspray into a small cell. Then, they pushed Pirin into an even smaller cell just beside it. It had a single barred door, and it was barely large enough for Pirin to stretch his arms out in all directions. The only light came from a small window high up on the wall—faint torchlight from the outside city. It didn’t even illuminate the far wall.
He turned around, just in time for the soldiers to slam the barred door in his face. A lock clicked shut.
“Rest well, boy!” the low-marshal sneered. “You’ll have a busy day tomorrow!”
Pirin snorted, knowing full well they’d find the cell empty tomorrow morning. As soon as the soldiers marched away, he sat down in the room’s corner and began to fiddle with the collar. The soldiers had already taken his sword and his haversack, and they had made sure his pockets were completely empty.
As far as Pirin could tell, the collar locked at the back. Any attempt to bludgeon it off by ramming the wearer’s neck against something…well, it’d probably break the wearer’s neck before it snapped the collar off.
Pirin sifted around the floor, feeling for any rocks he could find to attack the lock precisely with. But, as soon as he reached the corner of the room, his hand bumped against a hard leather boot.
A low flute-tone sounded.
Pirin gulped.