Chapter 13 - Fortitude

Now she was numb. Not numb to the pain, for her body had more bruises, cuts, scrapes, burns and other wounds than any of the others who'd been taken prisoner. She was, however, numb to the hurt. When the new summoner had joined the Elar ranks, she'd learned. They had made her watch as the demon he had summoned tortured her horse to death. They had purposely not made use of it's flesh or bones either, as her tribe would have done upon a horse's death. They left it there, to rot on the open ground, with her bound nearby to see. As the stench began and the flies swarmed over the horse that had been with her since she was just a girl and it was just a pony, she realized what kind of monsters these Elar really were. The pain they caused her was just a game to them. They wanted to break her, as they broke their horses. To turn her into a dull, compliant creature who would not buck or complain. As they had done with the Morgule.

She did not let on that she could understand and speak the language of the tradesmen her tribe had met. Mostly the Elar spoke their own language, and the Morgule they had with them spoke it as well. A few of them knew the tradesmen's language, however, and tried to ask questions of her and the other prisoners. A few prisoners had replied, but it hadn't bought them anything. They weren't beaten any less for it. In fact, it seemed to get them beaten more.

There had been a couple from her own tribe in the beginning. One had been too wounded and died after only a couple of days. The other had only taken a few wounds from the battle, but began by trying to reason with them in the tradesman tongue. The commander had beaten him across the back of the skull on several occasions until it was eventually fatal. At least he'd stopped beating anyone in the head after that, and Kyla's own headaches had gotten better. But the clearing of her mind had only brought the sharpness of her physical pain into focus.

The Elar had kept moving, progressing across the grasslands even more quickly once the summoner had joined them. She'd always been dragged to somewhere in view of the battles, usually bound to a tree to keep her upright. She suspected they wanted her to see how easily they won. It seemed as if the demon that fought for the summoner could not take damage from any weapons the tribes had to use. The summoner himself never went into battle, but watched them carefully. Kyla wondered if the demon could get free of the summoner if he didn't, and would kill him as the fire elemental had so casually killed when she had shot the first summoner.

Now they headed further in, probably towards another camp and another battle where the Elar would kill or capture the warriors of yet another tribe. There were currently four other prisoners other than herself, all from different tribes. One had been trying to kill himself the night before, writhing against the ground trying to impale his lungs on his broken ribs. Pride had kept her from doing the same. She still found herself searching for ways to escape. The others seemed as numb as she.

She kept herself focused on revenge. It was all she had left to cling to. She especially wanted their commander dead. She had often daydreamed of getting free and slipping into his tent at night to cut his throat.

But she knew that the tent was guarded--not heavily, but at the moment even one guard would be difficult for her. She couldn't think of a distraction good enough to draw the guard away without an alarm being raised that would wake the commander. No, in her dreams it was always her that woke the commander.

Eventually they stopped at a large hill. The Elar set up their camp atop it. Near one edge they set up poles to tie the five prisoners to. They were in a line with her at one end. She could see the one next to her, but not the one who had been trying to kill himself before.

She looked out at the field ahead. It would be a battle field before long, she was sure. She imagined tonight there would be a scout from one of her people creeping through the grass like she had done what now seemed so long ago.

She wondered what that other scout would think--what she would have thought--at seeing the line of prisoners here. Maybe, she supposed, that was the point. Maybe it wasn't about them making her watch the battle. Maybe she was just on display as a war trophy. That thought didn't make it any easier to watch Elar soldiers moving forward into the field. She saw them setting up traps and obstacles in the grasses. She wondered how many of her people would die tomorrow, and she wondered just what she would have to do to avenge them.

She nodded off for a while, exhausted from the day's journey. She woke up when one of the Morgule came by to feed the prisoners. Usually it was a thick broth with most of the meat strained out of it, and tonight was no different. The Morgule themselves got the stew that the broth came from, and the meat that was cooked in it. The Elar usually dined on better fare, which the Morgule cooked for them. She didn't know the name of the Morgule who fed the prisoners, as they were never referred to by name. They hardly spoke, merely nodding and scurrying about to do the bidding of the Elar that gave them orders. She had heard they were sturdy folk, despite being shorter than Kyla's people, but a closer look had shown her that the sturdiness had been lost. Most of the Morgule still looked tough, but carried a frailness about them. They've been broken, she reminded herself, looking at the one who held the cup of warm broth to her lips so she could drink. He wouldn't meet her eyes, no matter how many times she had tried. Most of the Morgule looked at nothing but the task they were doing or the ground. A sadness weighed them down.

Not long after she'd been fed, she began to hear the drums. She counted the different tones, noting that there were nine tribes gathered. She couldn't remember a time when that many tribes had come together to fight a battle. Still, with the Elar demon here, her people didn't stand a chance. Nine tribes might be able to kill some of the Elar warriors, but it was the demon who did most of the damage. She wished she could respond to the drums and let them know to kill the summoner first. She'd wished it so many times before, but this time, she feared it would be a massacre. She suddenly found herself wondering how many of her people were even left. How close were they to being wiped out, as the Morgule had nearly been? She didn't want to think about that possibility. She kept praying for Aldanara to intervene and stop the Elar, but nothing seemed to change. She wondered what her people had done for Aldanara to leave them to such a fate.

Her hopes brightened a little at something she heard in the drum messages. Night battle, they sang. That hadn't been tried by the other tribes. Then she remembered the traps set by the Elar. There would be warning enough for a defense. The Elar had anticipated the range of the bows in their perimeter defense too. There would be no snipers, picking off Elar from the grasses unless they got lucky enough to avoid the traps. Again, Kyla found herself praying to the Goddess, to guide their footsteps away from the traps. Then she let herself sleep a short while more, so she would be awake when the darkness came and the tribes would strike.

The Elar didn't let her sleep much. Some of their soldiers came and taunted the prisoners. She didn't need to understand their words to understand the tone behind them. Revenge, she reminded herself. She would get even with them somehow. But first she would have to get free.

The last battle they had lingered for a day or so after the battle. This battle was going to be larger. She could only hope that they would linger longer after this one. As long as they were keeping her from sleeping, she worked at trying to get herself free.

She did now and then manage to nod off for short periods. Nightfall came quietly. She could hear the sounds of camp life behind her: the guttural talking, the crackling of campfires. There were the metal-on-metal sounds of weapons and armor being mended and tended.

She searched the grasses for signs of scouts. The grasses would be tall enough to conceal a careful person crouching. She didn't see any of the grasses moving other than with the soft breeze.

She tried to feel the grasses with her mind, much as she might try to follow an arrow with her mind. Finally her eyes saw something. At first it was just a glint. Then it was a pair of eyes glowing in the dark. For an instant she thought the eyes winked at her, and then they were gone. She went back to struggling against the ropes, but her fingers couldn't find any knots.

It didn't matter how many times she tugged against the ropes though. Every night the same Morgule who fed them came back to wash them down and check their ropes. Though he seemed resigned to the task, he took surprising care when he did it. The Elar weren't watching the prisoners just then, and she'd noticed that he seemed to know where the injuries on each prisoner were at, and tried to be gentler with the cloth in those areas.

Most of the cleaning involved cleaning off fresh scrapes and cuts, and washing down any clothing or skin that had been soiled by body waste throughout the day. He used warm, slightly scented water, and she always felt a little better after he was done. The flies tended to leave her alone for a while after that too.

After that, he checked over each of their ropes. The Elar were smart in having the Morgule tie the knots. The former seamen certainly knew how to secure a rope. This Morgule adjusted each knot with careful attention, pulling and shifting it and sometimes retying it completely. He got to her last and retied several of the ones that bound her that night. Then, to her surprise, he gave her arm a gentle squeeze before heading back to the Morgule section of camp with his cloth and empty bucket. She looked after him, but he gave no indication that he had done anything out of the ordinary. He looked at the ground before him as he trudged along, the bucket banging quietly against one leg and the cloth dripping a tiny trail of water from the opposite hand.

She shifted her arms behind her slightly and found that the Morgule had left the main knot that bound them just within reach of her fingers this time. While she could tell that the knots binding her feet to the pole were the same secure knots she was accustomed to, he'd left the one for her arms just a little loose. Not loose enough that any passing Elar might notice, but loose enough that she could tell it wouldn't take her long to get it undone.

She left it for a moment, her heart pounding. Did he leave the others like this too? Does he know that there's a night battle coming? She knew he had left the knot loose on purpose. She wondered if he too could understand the drumsong that had told her of the coming battle. Or perhaps he'd seen something in the grasses. Maybe he'd seen even more than she had seen.

She waited until the Elar began to retire to their tents before loosening the knots any further. She didn't see any movement from the other prisoners, and had a feeling she was the only one the Morgule had left untied. She knew she needed to wait until the attack before she got herself entirely free. She made the knots loose enough that she could barely slip her hands out through them, and then looked down at her feet to start untying the knots there in her mind so she'd be able to do it quicker when the time came. Something caught her eye, next to her right foot. In the wet grass, there was a smooth, sharpened black stone. While it wasn't large enough to use as a much of a viable weapon, it would be enough to cut the rope with. She suddenly found herself praying to Aldanara again, not for her own sake, but for the Morgule. She hoped that if the Elar won the battle anyway, they wouldn't kill him for her escape.

She tried to think out what she would need to do once free. She debated for a while whether she should free the other prisoners. They weren't in the condition to be able to achieve much if freed. The act of cutting them down would increase the chances of her being caught before she could do anything else. But free they could die fighting on their feet. They were her people; they deserved that.

She decided to free one and give him the sharp stone to free the others, and then she put the thought aside and moved on. During the battle, the commander would be surrounded by troops. She would have no chance of reaching him, let alone killing him.

She focused on the conjurer. He would remain in camp. He would be engrossed in the battle. Maybe he even had to focus on controlling the demon. She felt confident she could sneak up on him. That would be her mission now. Anything after that would be secondary.

Half of the sky was clouds. The moon was a few nights short of full, so when it shone it made good light. She looked at the field of gray grasses, their color bleached out by the cold moonlight. She saw no movement, and no glowing eyes looking back.

A cloud passed over the moon and she watched the shadow's approach. The shadow reached her and she heard the whistle of an arrow. There was a muffled grunt from somewhere in camp behind her and off to the right before two more arrows whistled towards the Elar. Horns sounded quickly, raising an alarm. It was starting.

As if in answer to the Elar alarm, drums and horns began sounding from further back within the tall grasses. Arrows began to fly in earnest now and some Elar fell before they could get their armor back on. Those on watch, already armored, took up defensive positions while the others worked to ready themselves. Meanwhile, the demon stepped forward towards the grasses.

Kyla slipped her hands from the ropes, making a note of the conjurer's location before bending over and snatching up the stone. She sawed quickly at the ropes binding her feet, finding the stone to be remarkably sharp for something so crude. She sprinted over to the next prisoner and slashed the ropes binding his hands. Then she handed him the stone to let him finish the job himself.

"Free the others," she told him, turning back towards the Elar camp. The conjurer had moved to a position just behind the line of armored Elar warriors, his eyes focused on the demon. The demon had moved in, avoiding the traps the Elar had set before and was already plucking archers out of the grass and tearing them apart. The archers had all turned their bows toward the demon and their arrows bounced uselessly off it. Behind them, Kyla saw the warriors charging forward, weapons drawn. She knew she needed to act quickly.

She'd had time to figure out how the Elar camp was organized. The archers were divided into two groups, each sleeping at opposite ends of the camp. Only about a quarter of each group had been at the ready when the attack began, which meant that the others might still have bows she could get her hands on before they were done donning their armor. In good weather, they often kept their bows at the ready, slung over the front pole of the tent with a full quiver of arrows. She made her way quickly towards the nearest group, relieved to see that some of the bows and quivers were still there. She kept herself toward the back of the tents at first, hoping that everyone would keep their attention on the battle ahead of them instead of looking towards her.

She stepped carefully in the small space between two of the tents and snatched up the bow and arrows from the tentpole, quickly slinging the strap of the quiver across her chest. She reached behind and drew the first arrow, readying it on the bow, when the owner of the bow stepped out of his tent, his armor on. He reached for his missing bow, and then saw her. She let the arrow fly, feeling it with her mind. She landed it squarely in his unarmored throat and he fell backwards, grasping for it, the look of surprise still on his face. She quickly backed up and sprinted for a vantage point on the conjurer.

She crept from tent to tent. The camp was bustling with activity. Soldiers grabbed armor and weapons and moved towards the battlefield. Some were clearly more asleep than others, because soldiers kept coming out of tents as she moved. It delayed her as she hid between tents when soldiers came out. Fortunately for her, they mostly hurried along, not looking around them much at all.

They've never had reason to suspect trouble within their own camp before, she concluded. She hoped that meant she'd have the element of surprise more completely on her side. She worked on circling around so that the conjurer would be between her and the other prisoners. Once the Elar realized the prisoners were loose, she hoped they wouldn't think right away to look in her direction.

Finally she got a vantagepoint on the conjurer. She was closer than she expected, almost close enough to throw something to him. If she called out loudly he would hear her and turn. He didn't appear to be doing anything. He was just standing completely still, not seeming to pay any attention to the soldiers occasionally running past.

She had an arrow nocked and ready, crouching low between two tents, when she hesitated. At this distance it would be easy to kill him instantly. She didn't know what the demon would do then. At the same time, honor normally dictated she call to get his attention and shoot him from the front. That seemed riskier, and success was more important to her than honor. She lowered her aim a little, and put the arrow through his abdomen about where one of his kidneys should be.

The conjurer fell to his knees and ended up on his side clutching the arrow. A soldier nearby saw him down clutching the arrow, and she saw him duck down behind a tent with the tent between him and the battlefield. He clearly hadn't seen the arrow or where it had come from.

The conjurer turned and his gaze met hers. His mouth moved but if he said anything she didn't hear it. She could only hope that he was calling the demon to his aid, away from the battlefield. Die, she mouthed, and put another arrow into his chest. He sagged back and stopped moving.

A deafening roar filled the air, and she quickly threw her hands up over her ears against it. Around her, she saw Elar stopping where they were to do the same. The roar died down after a moment, and Kyla realized the demon was laughing. She looked up to see that it had come back to the conjurer's side, and now it was looking directly at her. It's hideous face was split in a huge grin and it's dark eyes looked directly at her, filled with what she could only call evil. It took a slow, deliberate step towards her, still laughing.

She snatched up the bow from where it had dropped to the ground and she ran. At first, she ran towards the battlefield, towards her people and safety. As she ran, however, she realized that if the demon pursued her, there would be no safety there. She would only ensure that the demon would kill them all. She veered course, heading away from the battlefield. She did her best to ignore the wounds of her imprisonment and the sad shape of her clothes and boots, allowing the long grasses to further wound her skin. Her chest burned with the effort of running faster than she'd ever run before, and she felt as if the edges of broken ribs stabbed into her with every step. Still, Kyla ran.

She prayed as she went, begging Aldanara to spare the tribes behind her, even if it meant Kyla's own death. She prayed for swiftness, to keep her one step ahead of the demon. In the beginning, she could hear it's footsteps, giving chase, and imagined she felt it's hot breath on her back. After a while, however, she couldn't be sure it still chased her. Eventually, she risked a look behind her.

She wasn't sure how far she had run, but the demon was nowhere to be seen. Fearing it had turned back to the battle, she made her way back, but at a slightly more cautious pace. Though fear and need gave her energy to keep going, she knew it was only a matter of time before her body gave out on her.

When she finally returned to the battlefield, she was greeted with a more grisly scene than she had ever witnessed. It didn't take much to determine what had happened. The demon had turned on both sides, and utterly decimated them. Her people lay dead along with the Elar, some killed from the wounds of battle between them, others torn limb from limb by the demon. It looked as if it had feasted on some of them while it was at it, heads and limbs torn from bodies by jagged teeth. Bits of bone spat back out within lumps of foul-smelling, slightly-smoking saliva. The demon had used it's magic abilities too, and she saw corpses charred beyond recognition.

The demon seemed to be gone by then, so she checked both camps for survivors. There were none. Morgule and Elar bodies were strewn across the Elar camp, and even the children and elderly of the tribal camps had been killed. When she came to an altar of Aldanara, not unlike the one she had prayed at the morning she had gone into battle, she fell to her knees and wept, wondering what had been done to make the Goddess forsake them so. She laid down on the ground and cried there until there were no more tears left within her. For a while, she slept as well.

It was a horse that woke her. A single horse that seemed, somehow, to have survived the battle. Perhaps it had run when it's rider fell and only now had come back. It nuzzled at her hair until she looked up at it. She spoke softly to it as she gathered what supplies she would need for travel. She discarded the Elar bow and arrows for weapons of her own people, taking them from the fallen warriors of the field. She re-clothed herself in fresh clothes from the tents in the camps. She surveyed the camps and battlefield one last time, setting the scene in her mind and her heart in stone before riding off towards the lands beyond the grasses of her people. The Elar would go there next. Somehow she would warn them.

And somehow, Kyla promised herself, I will avenge my people.