The Gift of Battle. Morgan Rice

all fell silent.

      “Then how long can we live down here?” Merek asked.

      Silis shook her head as she glanced at their provisions.

      “A week, perhaps,” she replied.

      There suddenly came a tremendous rumble up above, and Godfrey flinched as he felt the ground shaking beneath him.

      Silis jumped to her feet, agitated, pacing, studying the ceiling as dust began to filter down, showering over all of them. It sounded like an avalanche of stone above them, and she examined it as a concerned homeowner.

      “They have breached my castle,” she said, more to herself than to them.

      Godfrey saw a pained look in her face, and he recognized it as the look of someone losing everything she had.

      She turned and looked at Godfrey gratefully.

      “I would be up there now if it weren’t for you. You saved our lives.”

      Godfrey sighed.

      “And for what?” he asked, upset. “What good did it do? So that we can all die down here?”

      Silis looked glum.

      “If we remain here,” Merek asked, “will we all die?”

      Silis turned to him and nodded sadly.

      “Yes,” she answered flatly. “Not today or tomorrow, but within a few days, yes. They cannot get down here – but we cannot go up there. Soon enough our provisions will run out.”

      “So what then?” Ario asked, facing her. “Do you plan to die down here? Because I, for one, do not.”

      Silis paced, her brow furrowed, and Godfrey could see her thinking long and hard.

      Then, finally, she stopped.

      “There is a chance,” she said. “It is risky. But it just might work.”

      She turned and faced them, and Godfrey held his breath in hope and anticipation.

      “In my father’s time, there was an underground passage beneath the castle,” she said. “It leads through the castle walls. We could find it, if it still exists, and leave at night, under the cover of darkness. We can try to make our way through the city, to the harbor. We can take one of my ships, if there are any left, and sail from this place.”

      A long, uncertain silence fell over the room.

      “Risky,” Merek finally said, his voice grave. “The city will be teeming with Empire. How are we to cross it without getting killed?”

      Silis shrugged.

      “True,” she replied. “If they catch us, we will be killed. But if we emerge when it is dark enough, and we kill anyone who stands in our way, perhaps we will reach the harbor.”

      “And what if we find this passageway and reach the harbor, and your ships aren’t there?” Ario asked.

      She faced him.

      “No plan is certain,” she said. “We may very well die out there – and we may very well die down here.”

      “Death comes for us all,” Godfrey chimed in, feeling a new sense of purpose as he stood and faced the others, feeling a sense of resolve as he overcame his fears. “It is a question of how we wish to die: down here, cowering as rats? Or up there, aiming for our freedom?”

      Slowly, one at a time, the others all stood. They faced him and all nodded solemnly back.

      He knew, at that moment, a plan had been formed. Tonight, they would escape.

      Chapter Eight

      Loti and Loc walked side by side beneath the burning desert sun, the two of them shackled to each other, as they were whipped by the Empire taskmasters behind them. They trekked through the wasteland and as they did, Loti wondered once again why her brother had volunteered them for this dangerous, backbreaking job. Had he gone mad?

      “What were you thinking?” she whispered to him. They were prodded from behind and as Loc lost his balance and stumbled forward, Loti caught him by his good arm before he fell.

      “Why would you volunteer us?” she added.

      “Look ahead,” he said, regaining his balance. “What do you see?”

      Loti looked ahead and saw nothing but the monotonous desert stretched out before them, filled with slaves, the ground hard with rocks; beyond that, she saw a slope to a ridge, atop which labored a dozen more slaves. Everywhere were taskmasters, the sound of whips heavy in the air.

      “I see nothing,” she replied, impatient, “but more of the same: slaves being worked to their deaths by taskmasters.”

      Loti suddenly felt a searing pain across her back, as if her skin were being torn off, and she cried out as she was lashed across her back, the whip slicing her skin.

      She turned to see the scowling face of a taskmaster behind her.

      “Keep silent!” he commanded.

      Loti felt like crying from the intense pain, but she held her tongue and continued to walk beside Loc, her shackles rattling under the sun. She vowed to kill all of these Empire as soon as she could.

      They continued marching in silence, the only sound that of their boots crunching beneath the rock. Finally, Loc inched closer beside her.

      “It’s not what you see,” he whispered, “but what you don’t see. Look closely. Up there, on the ridge.”

      She studied the landscape, but saw nothing.

      “There is but one taskmaster up there. One. For two dozen slaves. Look back, over the valley, and see how many there are.”

      Loti glanced furtively back over her shoulder, and in the valley spread out below, she saw dozens of taskmasters overseeing slaves, who broke rock and tilled the land. She turned and looked back up at the ridge, and she understood for the first time what her brother had in mind. Not only was there only one taskmaster, but even better, there was a zerta beside him. A means of escape.

      She was impressed.

      He nodded in understanding.

      “The ridgetop is the most dangerous job post,” he whispered. “The hottest, the least desired, by slave and taskmaster alike. But that, my sister, is an opportunity.”

      Loti was suddenly kicked in the back, and she stumbled forward along with Loc. The two of them righted themselves and continued up the ridge, Loti gasping for air, trying to catch her breath beneath the rising heat as they ascended. But this time, when she looked back up, her heart swelled with optimism, beating faster in her throat: finally, they had a plan.

      Loti had never considered her brother to be bold, so willing to take such risk, to confront the Empire. But now as she looked at him, she could see the desperation in his eyes, could see that he was finally thinking as she was. She saw him in a new light, and she admired him greatly for it. It was exactly the type of plan she would have come up with herself.

      “And what of our shackles?” she whispered back, as she made sure the taskmasters were not looking.

      Loc gestured with his head.

      “His saddle,” Loc replied. “Look closely.”

      Loti looked and saw the long sword dangling in it; she realized they could use it to cut the shackles. They could make a break from there.

      Feeling a sense of optimism for the first time since being captured, Loti perused the other slaves atop the peak. They were all broken men and women, hunched mindlessly over their tasks, none with any defiance left in their eyes; she knew at once that none of them would be of any help to their cause. That was fine by her – they did not need their help. They needed but one chance, and for all these other slaves to serve as a distraction.

      Loti felt one final hard kick in the small of her back, and she stumbled forward and landed face-first in the dirt as they reached the peak of the ridge. She felt rough hands drag her back up to her feet, and she turned