It was hard to keep track of time in the prison. The guards’ rounds were fairly predictable, which allowed Annatta a decent amount of freedom to go where she wanted, but unfortunately, after her little brawl in the hallways, they had redoubled the guard outside. She thought she might be able to take them all out, as long as she caught them surprise, but she didn’t fancy her chances at taking them down quickly to escape before the rest of the village was roused. Thus, she haunted the halls like a ghost as she waited for Jasper and others to show up.
She was left waiting far longer than she’d expected. She’d assumed Jasper would be worried enough about her to rush right through the village, consequences be damned, but apparently cooler heads in the party had prevailed. When they finally did appear, it was only after a full day had passed.
Curled up on a small ledge hidden in a dark corner, Annatta was woken from slumber by screams and shouts that pierced the stillness of the village. She roused herself immediately and ran to join her friends, but with two mages, the group made short work of the guards; the fight was over before she’d even made it to one of the windows to watch. She arrived just in time to see them charge through the front gates. Spinning around, she headed off to meet them.
Her route was delayed when she caught up with a group of guards that was also racing toward the entrance. There were eight of them this time, more than she was really comfortable taking on by herself, but the element of surprise was on her side - it never even occurred to the guards that the foe was already lurking behind them
The first three died quietly, her strikes landing fast and true, but the sound of their bodies hitting the ground alerted the others. The fourth spun around with his weapon already in hand, a boar spear stout enough to gut her from head to toe. She deflected the blow with her left dagger and lashed out with the right, killing the guard instantly, but a frenzied melee broke out as the remaining S̆addu’ă descended upon her. Anatta’s skill and levels won the day - it certainly helped that many of the guards seemed strangely weakened - but she still ended up taking two sizable gashes to her left leg that she had to tend to before she could continue. The time lost was more precious than she realized.
Downing a healing potion, Annatta finally reached the hall that led to what had once been the foyer of the opulent manor before it was transformed into a prison, and rounded a corner just in time to see the tops of Jasper’s and the other’s heads disappearing through the floor that had melted like wax. The Djinn darted forward, and peered anxiously over the edge, trying to assess how far the drop was. Her heart was racing - she could only imagine Lord S̆arrābī’s reaction if she had let his precious nephew die - but her hesitation had cost her again.
Like a carpet being rolled out in a procession, the floor reformed right before her eyes. Abandoning her caution, Annatta tried to jump through the quickly closing hole. Unfortunately, the spell was faster than her, and she bounced off a fully reformed floor. She stomped on the floor speculatively, just in case it proved to be fragile, but the stone didn’t even budge. Crap. Now what?
Annatta hesitated for only a second. She quickly dismissed the idea of trying to go after her party. She had no idea where they had fallen to, but she felt confident that between Jasper and Tsia, they’d find a way to survive - two mages ought to be more than enough to handle whatever this crappy little village could throw at them. But with her backup having fallen through - quite literally - there was no one else to free the prisoners, and if she knew the cowardly S̆addu’â as well as she thought she did, they wouldn’t hesitate to use them as hostages.
Spinning on her heels, Annatta raced back down the hall toward the prison block.
Her intuition was quickly validated. The sound of frantic footsteps chased after her. Magnified into a cacophony by the cramped, arched stonework, Annatta couldn’t tell how many guards were racing toward the cells, only that it was far more than the few she’d fought. She redoubled her pace, trusting that the sound of their own running would be loud enough to drown out her own thudding footsteps, and tried to gain as much space between them as possible.
Just before the hall entered into the main prison block, it intersected with another passage that ran perpendicular. It was clear that at one time, back when it was still a manor rather than a prison, the area had been the entry to something grander.
A twin pair of doors guarded the entrance to what was now a prison, but the area in front of the doors, where the passages intersected, was ornately decorated. Each of the four corners was held up by twin pillars, from whose tops four arches rose to meet in a vaulted ceiling.
A series of masterfully carved statues lined the walls on both sides of the doors. A series of torches burned behind them, backlighting their faces which had been purposefully obliterated, but they remained marvels of artistry that would have turned many a head in the capital.
Annatta’s soul, however, was not that of an artist. Ignoring the sculptures, she raced straight for the doors that were wide propped open. She quickly dislodged the stones holding them and pushed them shut. She ran along the row of statues, snuffing the torches out, and then rifled through her bag.
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She pulled out a row of glass orbs, laid them down in a row beside her, and then retrieved the two vials. She filled each of the orbs about halfway up with the pink powder before she opened the green liquid. Her hands shook, a mixture of haste and nerves, as she poured it into the first orb and immediately stopped it up.
The clatter of footsteps and shouts approached fast as she moved down the line, and by the time she’d reached the third to the last, she knew she wasn’t going to finish. Abandoning the last two, she scooped the orbs up and dashed into the dark shadows behind the statues.
About twenty guards charged into the entryway, but they weren’t alone. A motley mix of other S̆addu’â crowded close on their heels, pushing and shoving to such an extent that the doors barred their way more effectively than she could have ever hoped - pressed tight by the crowd, the guards were unable to swing the doors open.
“Get back,” they roared, turning on the villagers, and Annatta took the initiative. Taking one last deep breath, she pulled her shirt above her lips and tossed the orbs out in quick succession.
Perhaps if the crowd had known what the gas was, most of them could have held their breath and run away before its toxic fumes took hold. But in the chaos, the mountain Djinn didn’t even notice the debilitating mist until one body after another began to slip unconscious to the floor.
The guards lasted a few seconds longer than the villagers as their helmets filtered out some of the gas, but it was their training that betrayed them. Once they realized they were under attack, rather than immediately fleeing, they turned to search for their foe. Their search was in vain. Almost in unison, the guards joined the villagers on the ground without ever catching sight of the Djinn ensconced in the darkness.
Annatta waited a few breaths to ensure that they were truly incapacitated before emerging from the protective shelter of the statue. She stared at the unconscious S̆addu’â for a moment, feeling a slight bit of distaste for what she was about to do. Then, slipping her daggers free of their sheaths, she got to work.
She’d disposed of about half the guards when an alarm went off in her head. Years of training had taught her the value of trusting in her intuition, and she rolled to the side immediately. It saved her life, but she was not quite quick enough to avoid the large stone spike that erupted from the ground where she’d just been crouched. It tore a deep gash into the side of her arm, ripping a scream of pain from her lips. “Shamsha’s Rays,” she cursed as she leapt to her feet.
Her eyes met her attackers; it was one of the villagers, but judging from the bright yellow tunic and the ornate silver belt the man wore, she guessed he was probably the village chief. He was also a mage. Damn it.
Her feet moved faster than her mind, throwing her free of the ground a fraction of a second before another spike rose from the ground.
In a perfect world, she’d never be forced into single combat with a mage, but the Royal Guard didn’t simply train for ideal conditions. Abandoning all her usual tactics, Annatta embraced the one strategy that might save her life - being utterly erratic.
Rather than trying to close the gap with the mage, she flipped backward. It was the right move; expecting her to charge him, a pillar of stone thrust its head impotently from the earth, nowhere near where she was.
She zigged to the left, hoping the mage wouldn’t predict that, and committed another crime against good sense - she threw her weapon. The dagger from her left hand spiraled end over end toward the mage.
Reacting promptly, a shield of earth surged from the ground in front of him, but her dagger missed the mark anyway. A small smirk crossed his lips as the dagger flew a foot to the right of him.
“That’s the best you can do-“ he started to say, but his eyes narrowed as a ping echoed behind him. He didn’t get a second shield up in time to block the dagger as it rebounded off the wall and into him. The dagger cut a nasty gash down his upraised arm before falling to the ground. It wasn’t a killing blow, but still, Annatta was proud to have drawn first blood.
Taking advantage of his distraction, she darted closer to him, zagging to the right shortly before a pillar of earth rose in her previous path. She might have successfully closed the distance with him if fate had not intervened.
But she lost her footing as the ground shook violently beneath them, so violently that the mage too was thrown down beside her.
She quickly rolled to her feet, ready to renew the battle, but the mage thrust out his hands with his palms raised non-threateningly.
“Wait,” he commanded. She darted to the side, expecting some trickery from him, but the S̆addu’â’s eyes were glued to the unconscious guards. They stirred in their slumbers, groans rumbling from their throats, and Annatta watched with fascination as the purple streaks that striated their skin suddenly flared with light.
The glow subsided shortly, but once the light had faded, it was clear something had changed. The edges of the marks were stained a dark yellow, almost the color of festering pus.
Annatta’s grip tightened on her daggers, her body slowly tensing as she pondered making an attack on the distracted mage, but she was too slow. His eyes snapped up to meet hers with a knowing smile.
“No need for that now,” the S̆addu’a stood up and waved his hand dismissively at her. “It seems your master has won his battle against the Ilābun.” The man spat on the ground.
“I ask that you leave my people alive, but the prisoners are yours to take.”
Her brows knit together in confusion. “You’re giving up?”
The mage shrugged. “If your master can kill that thing, he can certainly kill me, and personally, I’m rather attached to my life.”
Her gaze hardened in understanding, confirming what she’d always known about the mountain Djinn - they were a bunch of cowards. “What about your guards?” she asked.
“Those purple bastards?” The man snorted. “Do with them as you will.” Not bothering to wait for her response, the village chieftain turned his back on her and started to walk away.
She contemplated plunging her dagger straight into the cocky bastard’s back, insulted by his obvious dismissal, but Annatta wasn’t quite certain who’d win in that battle. In the end, practicality won out over pride. She disposed of the remaining guards but, as he’d asked, she left the villagers alive. Then she entered the cell block.