With the question of the torc decided, there was nothing to do but wait for Annatta's return. But the morning slipped into the afternoon in silence, and when the afternoon gave way in turn to the gathering dusk with no sign of the Djinn, the group began to concerned. But when the three discussed going after her, Nēs̆u persuaded them to wait. “She must have run into some unexpected trouble,” he reassured them, “but the Djinn is a professional and these yokels” he sneered, “are not. Just have a little faith.”
It was against his better judgment, but Jasper allowed himself to be persuaded by the older man's words. In truth, he didn’t particularly like Nēs̆u. The warrior was only there because of Tsia, and Jasper knew he would happily sacrifice them all if it meant saving his ward, which made it hard, if not impossible, to truly trust him. But there was also no doubt in Jasper's mind that Nēs̆u was the most skilled warrior in the group. As a veteran of the Imperial Guard - the true elite of the Empire - who had retired to serve the king of Sapiya, the older man had probably seen more action than all of them put to guard. If Nēs̆u trusted in Annatta’s abilities, then he would too.
Thus, by the time the first watch of the night rolled around, the group was still waiting for the Djinn's return. Since Jasper had taken the later slot the night before, this time he got the first watch. He took his post at the edge of the woods while the other members of his team curled up against their mounts to drift off to sleep. It was another dark night, with the moon mostly obscured by the clouds, and the only light he could see provided by the distant, twinkling lights of the village. Now and then he’d see a wandering light move in a set pattern – most likely some guard’s torch – but other than that, there was nothing for him to focus on.
With the others asleep, the isolation and darkness began to prey on his mind. No matter how hard he tried, he could not shake the strong impression that a creepy little girl was standing just behind him. Or maybe she was watching him from the woods, totally hidden behind the trees save for the tiniest sliver of an eye peeping from behind a trunk. It was sheer paranoia - at least that’s what he tried to tell himself - but Jasper's attempts to reassure himself felt a bit hollow. How did the gallû find me? Has she been stalking me the whole time? They were the sort of questions you shouldn't ask yourself, especially on a dark, cold night.
Finally giving into his paranoia, Jasper glanced over his shoulder. The woods were empty, and he breathed a sigh of relief. But the air caught in his throat as he saw something else at the edge of his vision. It was a peaceful night; the stars and moon were hidden behind a thick layer of clouds and there was barely any wind at all, but Jasper had seen a clump of tall grass move. He watched the area like a hawk for any further sign of movement; his heart raced wildly, but he ignored it as he began to pool a spell on the tip of his fingers. Probably just an animal.
The grass shook again, and he stormed forward aggressively, determined to banish the fear from his heart. Shooting Star waited on the edge of his fingertips, just in case, but he doubted it was necessary. But when he yanked the grass aside, prepared to blast his foe into eternity, it was neither the gallû nor an animal – unless a clay animal counted. A small, crudely shaped deer stopped walking and craned its head up to look at him.
It’s one of those votives, he realized. Bending down, Jasper picked the deer up and flipped it on its belly. His eyes scanned the message written there quickly, and his previous fear was replaced with a grin. Looks like we’ve got our marching orders. Tossing the deer in his bag, he turned back to the camp and raised his voice.
“Ihra, Tsia – time to get up!” A chorus of groans met him.
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Annatta was regretting her decision to explore the rest of the prison. Well, maybe regret was too strong of a word, but it had certainly proved to be a questionable choice.
She’d been excited when she’d stumbled upon the scouts. That enthusiasm had quickly dampened when she’d heard about the casualties.
Apparently, the half-patched window she’d used to slip inside was the site of a failed prison break. Three of the scouts had managed to bust open their doors and break through to the outside, but that was as far as they had made it before the guards caught up. Now there were five dead scouts – the three who tried to escape, and two more who had been executed afterward as a demonstration of the risks of angering the S̆addu’â.
Bastards. Her lip curled in an angry sneer, but she held her emotions in check. They’d get what was coming to them - she'd make sure of it.
Unfortunately, however, her interrogation of the imprisoned votive-maker had been interrupted by the sounds of rapidly approaching footfalls.
That was when she’d made a mistake. Her eyes darted up and down the hallway, down to the broken window she’d climbed through, and up to a smaller passage that branched off the main cell block. The passage was nearby and the window was quite far down the hall. Afraid the guards would arrive before she could reach the exit, she'd scampered to the closer passage.
She made it with only a few seconds to spare. Four guards entered the prison block, three carrying baskets heaped high with crusty bread while the fourth was burdened with a half-dozen flagons of water. The S̆addu’â villagers were a ragged bunch, but she was reluctantly forced to admit that they were not actually as shabby as she’d hoped.
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While most only sported breastplates and helmets rather than a proper set of armor, the pieces they wore were well-tended to, cleaned and polished so thoroughly they practically sparkled. Clearly either the guards' commander or the village chief had some experience with actual martial training, and passed it on to their crew. Begrudingly, she had to give the barbarians a little respect.
But the care they showed their equipment was not extended to their prisoners. Rolls of bread were carelessly tossed onto the dirty floor before the cells, while water was poured into outraised cups. In a matter of minutes, they had walked down the entire line of prisoners and returned to where they had started.
It was then that things became truly inconvenient. Rather than returning down the hall they’d come for, the guards gathered up the now-empty baskets and headed down the small passageway, straight in her direction. Crap.
Sticking to the shadows, Annatta fled down the hall as quickly as she could while still striving to maintain absolute silence. She reached the end and was faced with a split. One small passage branched to the right, while a larger tunnel continued to the left. Forced to make a decision, she dashed down the one to the right.
The narrow passage offered few places to hide, but when she heard the sounds of the guards’ footsteps approaching the turnoff, Annatta quickly ducked behind a supporting pillar and waited in its shadow. She held her breath and waited for the guards’ footsteps to drift off into the distance.
Instead, much to her horror, the patter of feet and chatter of the guards turned toward her.
Her options were rather limited now. Annatta was reasonably skilled at stealth, but without any magic skills to draw on, there was no way she could simply disappear, nor were than any places in the tunnel that offered a truly secure hiding spot. She could see only one solution – the one she had hoped to avoid. Damn it.
But Annatta was nothing if not decisive. She thrust her hand deep into her bag, feeling around for one of the many pockets she knew were sewn into the side. The first one was wrong, but in the second she found what she was looking for. Tearing the compartment open, she retrieved two small glass balls. They were pre-made this time and swirled with a dull, charcoal-grey liquid. She flicked them down the hall in the direction of the guards and pulled the hem of her shirt above her mouth into a makeshift mask.
The tinkle of breaking glass echoed down the hallway, followed by the guard's cry of surprise. “What the hell are-” the S̆addu'â's words were caught off by a fit of smoking, and she tore herself free from her hiding spot. A cloud of thick black smoke had consumed the guards and was rapidly expanding down the tunnel. She probably hadn't really needed to sacrifice two of the very expensive smoke bombs, but things had not been going her way the last few minutes, and Annatta wanted to ensure that none of them could break free and raise the alarm. She charged toward the smoke, still careful to be as silent as possible, and unsheathed her blades.
The prison guards had been trained better than she’d expected, but they hadn’t been trained to fight an opponent they could neither see nor hear.
The first guard was eliminated before they even realized they were being attacked. His shiny breastplate and helmet did nothing to protect his exposed neck. The dagger in her left hand, its edge slightly curved and gleaming with a waxy poison, tore through the tendons and veins like they were barely even there, while the one in her right whistled through the air toward the next guard.
Unfortunately, the first guard didn’t die immediately. His strangled cry as he choked on his own blood alerted the second one. To his credit, the S̆addu'â reacted swiftly, turning to his side to present a smaller target. It wasn’t enough to spare him entirely, but instead of landing a killing blow straight through the throat, Annatta’s blade lodged itself in the small space between the neck and collarbone.
He stepped forward, and his arm reached out to grab her. She twisted the blade in, digging deeper, and his arm dropped limply. Her left hand tore the blade free from the first guard and swept it across the second’s neck. Two down.
But the other two Djinn had heard the sounds of combat. Possessed of more sense - or perhaps it was just cowardice - than she’d expected, the two in back simply turned tail and fled. Their footsteps echoed loudly in the narrow hall and Annatta gave chase, pushing through the black smoke that obscured her vision.
The black smoke had stretched far down the tunnel by now, thanks to the second ball she’d committed, and the guards had yet to break free. She ran silently, allowing the sounds of their steps to act like a homing beacon through the darkness. The fourth guard had looked a bit young, and his age soon showed as she caught up with him almost immediately. Poor bastard simply doesn’t have the stats to keep up. She took care of his problem promptly. In the smoke, her first strike failed to cut cleanly through his jugular, but the second finished the deed.
Another scream echoed through the hallway, and the steps in front of her quickened. She sped up too, forced now to abandon her attempts at silence. The guard ahead of her was clearly more experienced, his stats allowing him to nearly match her pace. So he made it out of the smoke, made it past the tunnel turnoff, and dashed back toward the prisoners, bellowing at the top of his lungs. “Intruder! Intruder!”
His warning cries were cut off as surely as his mates’ had been, but the damage had been done. Shouts and cries echoed throughout the compound as the alarm was raised, and when she reached the broken window, there were dozens of guards milling about outside. Annatta was faced with a choice: try to make a dash for freedom through the mob, or find a safe place to hole up and wait for things to die down.
It was an easy decision. As her instructors at the As̆rukkat had drilled into her, time and time again, “Always play to your strengths.” Annatta was a decent fighter with her blades, but her skills were better suited to the shadows. She turned back toward the depths of the prison, determined to find a hiding place. But before she left the prison block, she had had just one stop to make - just long enough for a quick chat with a certain votive maker.