Chapter 34 - The Chase
Ruth’s furious scream cut across the compound. “Sound the alarm! They’re escaping!”
The guards, roused from their complacent watch, scrambled every which way, their lantern beams slicing through the shadows. But the Shy and kobolds had already slipped beyond the first sweep of their search. Their careful tunneling led them to an exit point shielded by dense shrubbery, while their diminutive size made them difficult for human eyes to spot in the dark of night.
Ruth stormed ahead of the bumbling guards. “Spread out!” she bellowed, harshly enough to make the nearest guards flinch. “Check the perimeter, the barns—everywhere!”
The chase quickly devolved into bedlam. Guards went off willy-nilly along random directions, poking at every little object or creature that crossed their paths. Too large to follow the hole from the workshop, they fumbled blindly, the tunnel route remaining unplumbed. They fared no better outside the walls, their stiff boots stumbling over tree roots, their limbs getting scratched to shreds as they peeked through the underbrush. False tracks, either from birds or squirrels, led them around in circles.
Ruth’s fists clenched, her nails digging into her palms. “Useless peons!” she snapped at a passing guard. “They couldn't have gone far! FIND them!”
As the night wore on and exhaustion set in, the hapless humans grew increasingly desperate. They bumped heads as they crawled across the grounds, drooping eyes fixed on the dirt. They waded through mud and manure, cursing and groaning loudly enough to warn their quarry well ahead of their movements. The alarm bell continued to clang—a harsh reminder mocking their failure.
A guard jogged up to Ruth, a muddy mess. “They appear to have vanished, ma’am!” he panted.
She abruptly seized him by the collar, dragging him close enough for her spittle to land on his face. “Do you want to explain to Overseer Rhiannon herself how you let her prizes scurry free?”
Flung aside, the guard hurried away with a stammered, “No, ma’am! We’ll keep looking.”
Ruth's voice, sharp as a whip crack, cut through the din. “Sniff them out with the hounds! They’re flesh and blood. Not fairies who can fly away, you fools!”
Burning with frustration, sweat plastered strands of Ruth’s hair to her forehead. She had underestimated the little pests, mistakenly believing that their wills had all been well broken. The Shy could be crafty she would admit, but how did that group of kobolds—those silly, docile lizards—also manage to slip out?
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Rhiannon calmly observed the commotion through her window overlooking the compound. All this fuss barely merited her attention, she thought to herself as she padded back to her desk.
She traced a finger idly along the surface of the arclith lode in her drawer, as if the gesture was soothing to her. “The Sunshy…” she spoke, partly to herself, but more for the benefit of the other person in the room. “Losing them would be such a bothersome setback. We’ll need to adjust our production, perhaps. But we still have most of the kobolds. They can still lay eggs.”
“And I’m confident that…” She started teasingly, looking up at Uiska’s former cage and its new occupant. The Deepshy was lying on the pillow with his back to the overseer, pretending to have dozed off. Shrinking the kobolds had taken a lot out of him, and he realized the importance of building up his strength and energy for whatever was coming for him.
“…That real magic would offer far more opportunities than simple clockworks ever could,” Rhiannon declared, clearly addressing her musings to Veyran.
A rare sensation broke through her meticulously rational stream of consciousness—a fleeting, frivolous pang of loss for the pika. For all the pampering she’d lavished on the adorable creature, he had chosen to go with the Sunshy.
She would miss the little traitor. But sentiment was weakness. And she had no room for that in her heart.
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The escapees wove their way through the dense foliage, their miniature forms making them near invisible in the moonlight. The Shy carefully skipped from the shadows of one shrub to another. To them, the bushes loomed like towering trees. The kobolds, their slightly larger forms just ahead, moved with tense uncertainty, still unused to navigating a world at this scale. Their tiny clawprints pressed into the slightly damp earth, resembling those of quail, geckos or other similar wildlife.
Uiska bounded forward, his powerful legs carrying him effortlessly over gnarled roots and rough rocks. Sylven had him bringing up the lead with Brynnal, the pika’s nose and whiskers both valuable sensors for danger. The faint glow of his arclith shard pulsed against his harness—still holding just enough energy for at least one cantrip, if they needed it. Sylven hoped they wouldn’t have to use it, and wasn’t even sure which trick to pull, but he was determined to make it count.
Noticing how their prints, however small, still created discernible patterns, Sylven made a snap decision. “Scatter across the bushes in pairs!” he passed the instructions to the Shy down the line. “Sweep your prints and split up, our trails should vanish in the undergrowth. We can regroup at the hollow oak over there!”
The Shy and kobolds darted in different directions, trying their best to blend into the vegetation, fallen leaves and twigs. Within moments, the single-file trail they had left was gone, leaving Ruth’s search party with nothing but fragmented traces too small to follow, erased by their own lumbering steps.
Brynnal, their advance scout, moved swiftly through the terrain to reach the hollow of the oak. He came to a halt, his sharp eyes immediately spotting something out of place. Tiny knots of varied fibers were tied around a metal pin and inserted carefully into the wood framing the hole in the bark, leading into the hollow of the trunk. It was distinct, intentional.
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“Jerrik,” Brynnal murmured, kneeling beside it. He traced the delicate strands with a fingertip.
When they regrouped inside the shelter of the tree, Brynnal explained the discovery to the others.
“These are a Sunbrave’s work. Look—Shy scouting symbols. See this?” He pointed at a subtle pattern woven into the fibers. “J for Jerrik. And this here—southwest. That’s our direction.”
“He made it this far,” Alvon affirmed, relief tinging his voice. “If he left one here, there’ll be others if he made it any further. We just have to find them.”
They resolved to watch out for more markers, hoping that each would lead them closer to, if not the missing Sunshy, at least a safe refuge.
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The hounds were loosed. They loped forward, noses pressed to the ground, taking deep snuffling breaths. Their handlers urged them on, shouting commands as the dogs picked up the scent of their fleeing targets.
One hound stiffened, then let out a long, triumphant howl, signaling that it had found a trail. The others surged past him, tearing through ferns and low-hanging branches, their powerful bodies carving a path to their quarry.
But the escaped captives had prepared for this.
Sela clenched her fist, signaling to the other Shy and kobolds. They took out round little baskets, each containing a group of their trained ants, totaling dozens. They crawled out of their temporary cages and quickly sought out the instinctive call of their nest, marching back in the direction of the compound. As they made their way, they sprayed bursts of pungent acid, effectively masking their carers’ scents. Any approaching guards or hounds that they came across were swarmed. They climbed up boots and paws, slipped beneath clothing, biting at exposed skin and unmentionables. Snarls and curses filled the air as the pursuers were stopped in their tracks, swatting at the biting insects and stomping the ground, muddying the already murky trails even further.
Uiska chittered excitedly as the hounds were held back, sprinting ahead with Brynnal as Sylven regrouped with Vikka, watching the mess unfold behind them from a safe distance.
Ruth pushed forward, her frustration mounting with every wasted second. The tiny tracks had either been erased, or were too scattered to follow. The thick underbrush had swallowed any lingering prints.
A guard cursed as he tripped over a root. Another swatted at the ants still biting into his ankles. The hounds sniffed wildly but whimpered in confusion, unable to find a reliable scent.
Ruth’s kicked at a bush in fury, sending loose leaves flying. The hunt, which she had first been enjoying as an opportunity for sport, had unraveled into a humiliating catastrophe.
Finally, with gritted teeth, she called out sharply. “We’re done here for tonight,” her voice burdened with reluctant defeat. “But you all better be back out sniffing around at the crack of dawn.”
The exhausted guards hesitated, then, one by one, fell back in line. Their shoulders sagged and their faces were grim at what the next few days would entail. No one spoke as they retreated, heavy with the weight of their failure. And for Ruth, the disgrace burned the deepest.
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As the guards trudged back to the compound, Sylven scanned the group, ensuring everyone was accounted for. The children clung to their parents, their wide eyes reflecting both fear and relief.
Vikka and her kobolds huddled together as a distinct cluster, the language barrier still causing some awkwardness, on top of their impending return to their regular size.
“Being small has its benefits,” Vikka’s tail tapped the dirt for emphasis as she conferred with Sylven about their next steps. “But I’d feel a lot braver if I were bigger.”
"We should take advantage of our low profile as much as we can. We need to start moving again before dawn," Sylven said firmly. "Brynnal, you said the marker pointed southwest?"
The Sunbrave scout nodded, holding up the tiny knot of fibers. "If we keep heading in that direction, we might find more markers—and hopefully, safety."
Sela stepped forward, her expression resolute. "Then we move southwest. But we need to be careful. Ruth won't give up easily, and neither will the guards."
Uiska chittered softly, his nose twitching as he sniffed the air. Sylven placed a hand on the pika's head, checking on the arclith shard. “Uiska can continue lead the way,” he proposed. “His senses are sharper than ours, he can warn us of any danger. And at worst, we can use his shard to get us out of a sticky situation.”
After a quick nap and snack to recharge, the group cleared out of the hollow just before sunrise, trying their best to blend seamlessly into the sounds and shadows of the forest. As they traveled, Brynnal kept a keen eye out for more markers. It wasn't long before he spotted another—a small carving on a tree trunk, barely visible in the moonlight. The Shy symbol was unmistakable, pointing southwest.
"He's leading us somewhere safe I hope," Brynnal mused. "If he got this far, there’s a good chance he’s still out there. He’s laid out this trail with care."
Sylven nodded, a glimmer of optimism breaking through the tension. "Then we follow it. All the way to the end."
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Back at the compound, Ruth stood in the courtyard. She scanned the sorry, defeated group, her eyes blazing with fury.
"This isn't over," she growled. "We'll regroup, and we'll find them. No one escapes from me."
The guards exchanged uneasy glances, but none dared to argue. Ruth's reputation was well-earned, and they knew better than to cross her.
As the guards dispersed to rest and prepare for the next phase of the search, Ruth turned her gaze up toward the overseer's quarters. Rhiannon was still looking down at them from inside, her silhouette visible through the window. Ruth's lips curled into a sneer.
She thinks she's above this. Ruth thought to herself. But with production and morale down, she'll see just how much she needs me.
With that, Ruth turned on her heel and strode toward the barracks, her mind already racing with plans for the next day's hunt. The pests had slipped through her fingers, but it would only be a temporary reprieve.
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The woods grew darker and more foreboding as the Shy and kobolds pressed forward. The trail of markers led them deeper into rougher territory. Each served as a beacon in the vast wilderness, full of plants and animals that were both unfamiliar and oversized to the Shy.
At a certain point, Sylven couldn't shake the feeling that they were being watched. Ominous sounds and movements kept intruding into his awareness. He glanced at Uiska, who was trotting ahead with his usual confidence, but even the pika's whiskers were twitching on full alert.
"Stay close," Mara whispered to the group. "We don't know what's out here."
The words were barely out of her mouth when a low growl echoed through the trees. A branch snapped. Then another. Something heavy was moving. From the shadows emerged a pair of glowing eyes. A beast stepped forward—hulking, tusks glinting in the half-light.
Uiska let out a warning squeak, his fur bristling. The boar snorted menacingly at the creatures who dared block his path.
"Back away slowly," Brynnal instructed calmly. "Don't run. We don't want to provoke it."
The others obeyed the Sunbrave, deliberately slowing down their movements. The boar peered at them with curious, beady eyes, its massive body tense and ready to charge. But as the Shy and kobolds retreated, the beast seemed to lose interest, turning its attention back to the forest floor. Its tusks rutted the soil, eventually unearthing a sizeable, strong-smelling truffle.
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When they were a safe distance away, sheltered in an abandoned burrow, Sylven let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding. "That thing was huge," he whistled.
“Yeah, and it would have made for really good eating!” Ilkin sighed.
"Do you mean the boar, or the truffle?" Sylven chuckled, finally allowing himself to relax. “But we really need to be more careful.”
"We can't afford to let our guards down," Mara nodded, “and not just for the humans.”
After a full day in the wilds, the escapees began to dare hope—hope that they might one day return to the caldera, far from the reach of their captors. The forest, once a place of fear and uncertainty, now felt like a sanctuary, its shadows offering protection instead of danger.
The chase wasn’t over, but they had bested the giants. That night, as they slept beneath the stars, their children no longer merely dreamed of freedom—they breathed it.