Novels2Search
Into Nothing
3 // Biting The Hand That Feeds

3 // Biting The Hand That Feeds

One slaver blew a whistle. Some sort of signal to the others. A few others rushed toward the goblins on top of a hill. A useless attempt. Goblins were dumb, but not dumb enough to attack without an assured victory. One slaver could easily take on two or three goblins, but that hill made the slavers easy pickings..

Aleister looked away, paying them no mind. It didn’t matter if the humans or goblins won. Both results would lead to the same end of slavery. Instead, he looked back at the fallen man and grabbed a small dagger attached to his leather belt. Unfortunately, it seemed like the slaver kept his sword in the wagon. Nonetheless, he shimmied his hands and cut the rope. He looked over at the rest of the children.

On the floor, a girl and the talkative boy from earlier lay still. Covered in their own blood. The arrows from earlier found some unintended targets. Aleister looked away.

Even though he didn’t know the boy at all and hadn’t exchanged more than a few words on purpose, it still hurt. That boy and girl no longer lived, but he did. That's right, hope was a prison. And he had to break out.

Aleister grit his teeth. He could wallow in his own suffering later. For now, he needed to escape.

He looked over at a weeping young girl and tried to cut her rope free as well.

“No,” she said, stopping him. Tears rolled down her face. “I already have a brand."

That's right. Someone like her is better off staying a slave and hoping to one day pay off their debts.

He didn’t get the chance to dwell on it as a slaver reached them. Upon seeing two dead, the slaver cursed and spat on the ground.

Unauthorized usage: this narrative is on Amazon without the author's consent. Report any sightings.

Aleister didn’t even entertain the idea of engaging in conversation and sprinted in the opposite direction. The slaver expected this and chased close after.

The next half an hour crawled by, feeling like a lifetime. His inflated lungs burned hotter than the forge of a blacksmith with each passing moment.

The slaver stayed behind him in hot pursuit. Aleister changed his pattern multiple times through the unknown woods. Each ended in failure. The crunch of the fallen leaves and branches, along with pieces of armor rattling against each other, grew closer and closer. It didn’t matter what he did. The slaver stayed close.

Ever so darker did the night sky grow. A cool breeze rustled the leaves. The sound of rushing water guided his path. But he stopped. He could run no more. It wasn't a matter of willpower. His body—physically exhausted. The slavers purposefully fed him the smallest amount of food and water for survival. And alas, his body could no longer burn any more flesh for energy. He turned around. His hand trembled as he held his dagger. This was it. His last stand.

The human slaver, exhausted but in a superior condition. In his usual rough and accented voice, he said, “So yer finally given up like a good little boy, have yer?”

Aleister didn’t bother to answer and slowly continued to walk backwards. He made sure the dagger pointed forward. The rushing of water grew louder.

Unfortunately for him, the slaver wasn't completely stupid, and approached him with caution. Aleister could tell from the look on his face that he knew something was up. The closer the man got, the more he would need to walk back. The problem was, the man knew exactly how far he was from Aleister, but Aleister had no clue of the rushing water’s location.

They continued their awkward dance for several moments longer. Aleister knew he didn’t have any other choice. With the last of his energy, he sprinted forward. With the dagger held in both hands, he lunged straight for the slavers' face. His actions caught the slaver off guard, but the distance, both physically and in their experience, was too great.

The slaver swept his leg and tripped Aleister, knocking the dagger sky high. He clenched his jaw and slammed Aleister into the ground. His arms and legs pinned. He battered his thick head against Aleister’s face. His nose crooked, blood spilled into his mouth. Aleister’s eyes drooped as his consciousness slipped from his grasp. However, the knocked-up dagger fell and injected itself into the slavers' arm.