Page 94 of Elvenbred

She tried to squint through the bright light and see where she was. She didn’t recall being on this side of the compound, but she could see Haldeen’s Tower looming up on the far side of the buildings. She guessed she saw the service side of things now, rather than the guest side she had experienced before. The tunnel had emerged from the slab side of the building, with no ornamentation, suggesting this part of the estate lay on a slope … what had been five or so levels down from the courtyard side. The Tower gave her an orientation of sorts.

The back of Haldeen’s estate, or this part of it anyway, lay hard-by the city wall, with a grassy sward that might have been a small pasture once, but was now littered with abandoned and unused equipment and pieces of torn-down Machina. Still, if she could get Rock this far, it would be a straight shot for him … it, to get to the wall, get through, and out to freedom.

She could hear the sounds of combat, the same sounds she had heard in Haldeen’s Tower on the day she had arrived and when she had witnessed her first attack.

The officer called for her to bring the ’lances, and just as she turned to comply another soldier plowed into her, his head turned and not paying attention. They both went down in a pile of arms, legs, and clanking bronze firelances. She saw stars as his head connected with her nose and she spurted blood. He also managed to step on her foot as they went down.

“Get up and follow!” the subaltern snapped at her. He turned and yelled orders to others milling around, and a gang gathered, loaded up with firelances from the cart. The subaltern then led them up the hill, angling along a ramp zig-zagged back and forth across the deepest parts.

Triana sat up, and pushed the soldier off of her. He groaned in turn and rolled over, then stood. She pinched her nose hard, trying to stop the blood. He held his hand out to her, holding out an expensive silk handkerchief. She didn’t feel the least bit badly about getting blood all over it. Once she had the flow stopped, she tried to give it back. He waved it away.

He was older than he had first seemed, and an officer of some sort. She took his hand and he helped her stand. She tried to take a step, and swore at the pain in her trod foot. “Sorry, miss,” he said. He looked to say something else, but three flying shapes passed close overhead, their wings buzzing and humming. Triana looked up.

“It’s bad,” he said. “Skydancers. The Kings Reserve.”

“How bad?” she asked.

“Bad. Bad.” he replied, “I’m told the Shield’s down, and we’re getting swarmed. If they don’t get it back up, it’ll be the end of the city. And if they launch an actinic, it will wipe out everything living in the area, friend, foe, bugs, grass, trees, everything. Actinics don’t care.”

Triana tried to reconcile his calm words with his stricken expression. “I’m Moragen, by the way. Lord of the Shitters. I was here checking the sanitary sewers when all this brewed up.” She recognized the sangfroid now … the trait they issued every noble. Never let the underlings see the fear, and laugh as the tides swept over you, even if you were gibbering in terror inside.

She bowed, as she thought she was expected to. “Triana, my lord. Just a go-and-fetch-it.”

“Trey-ana,” he repeated, “a pretty name. Trey-ana, you’d best get inside, if you can. Only stone walls will save you if they set off the actinics.”

“Yes, my lord.” She bobbed her head, and started back towards the massive doors that led back into the hillside, and the service portals for Haldeen’s estate. She found the pain diminishing as she limped, and while she couldn’t put her full weight on her abused foot, she could get along. In fact, if I can just get a shoe or a bandage on it, I’ll be alright. Still … she exaggerated the limp, because it might get her out of being dragooned into another job that would take precious time from escaping. She smeared some of the blood on the handkerchief back onto her face.

Her eyes had adjusted to the bright day. She looked up. She could see that while most of the sky bore the slight greenish cast that she took as normal for this hated place, the portion directly overhead shone with the usual warm blues she was used to. More evidence of the Shield being down.

She had found a way out for Rock, but still had not located a control rod or other means of getting him out of the stable cage. Another group of soldiers ran towards the tunnel into the hillside. A guard stepped out of a small room or alcove that Triana hadn’t seen. There. A guardpost by the door, to watch comings and goings. She turned her face away, and in case it was one of the guards who fed her. She raised one hand to scratch her eyebrow and peered at him. She didn’t recognize him. She exhaled heavily. Not easy, but easier than otherwise.

Keeping her face turned away in case another guard turned up, she looked for her stick. She didn’t see it. She picked up the only thing that looked reasonably like a weapon. The firelance. It was longer than the stick she had before, and she held it across her chest, angled from left shoulder to right hip, as she’d seen her brothers do when they trained with quarterstaffs.

The guard made only a brief effort at questioning the soldiers … the chap still trying to follow orders given before the attack, and unaware of just how foolish that all was now. Still, Triana would have to deal with him. She waited until the soldiers had proceeded in. For the moment, it was just her and the guard. She approached him, clutching the firelance across her chest. She did her best to put on a frightened and innocent expression. Half that task proved easy.

“Where you goin’ lad?” he asked. “You know you got no shoes on, right?”

She looked down at her feet, then glanced up. His eyes had followed hers. She gave him a sweeping uppercut with the firelance, bringing the tube up from her hip and catching him on the point of the chin. She heard the crack as his mouth clicked shut and his head snapped back from the force of the blow. He sprawled backward.

He was larger than she, but not that much larger, and she had the strength of desperation. She dragged him back into the small room, and to her joy saw it was the guardroom. A single cot with a neatly made bed. A foot locker. A rack for weapons, another for uniforms and armor. A small alcove at one end with a curtain for a privy. Boots! Several pairs of boots! A table with what she knew would be the eternal paperwork of guarding … rosters, lists, calendars, passwords, the eternal detritus of those who endeavor to stay awake while surrounded by crushing boredom.

She did a quick search of the room, starting with the foot locker, and looking for one of the control rods that would open Rock’s cage. She had stared at one enough when the guards held it to know it by sight … but so far she hadn’t seen any rods, much less the one she sought.

She felt panic rising. She had been in the guardroom too long and someone would be coming soon. She looked around in desperation. It would have to be somewhere close, and somewhere routine. But where? Her eyes landed on the privy alcove. She went to check.

She pulled the curtain back and saw the chamberpot, the reading stool, and the metal box that had been affixed to the wall.

Who in the hell puts a strongbox in the loo? Still, she’d found it. She made quick use of her fibber-key, but it had taken enough abuse for one day, and she was agitated and rushing. She snapped the tool as she tried to work it into the lock. She swore sulphurously. She tried to summon her magic, but couldn’t concentrate, nervous as she was.

All right, the hard way then. She looked around for something to hit the strongbox with, and saw no better candidate than the bronze tube … the firelance that she had used to lay out the guard. She ran to the tube, fearful of the noise she would make and anxious about how long she had been in the room. She held the bronze tube awkwardly and struck at the box three times, trying to bash the lock open. It yielded on the fourth blow, with the lock remaining intact and a hinge breaking away. She grabbed the cheap metal door with both hands and ripped it away. A group rushed by the door. She froze, certain they would see the sprawled guard. They continued on, intent on their duties.

She turned back to the box and immediately saw the control she wanted. She grabbed it, and ran for the passage, making only the briefest of detours to sort through the boots. She checked each pair each in turn, holding the sole against her foot to find the closest match. Once she had that, she fled the guardroom, making another side trip to pick up the discarded stick that she saw on the ground next to the tunnel entrance. Control rod and boots in one hand, and stick in the other, she sprinted for the stables and Rock’s cage, still limping slightly.

The frightened chaos and confusion she passed in the halls and the rapidly clearing passage-ways suggested this would be an ideal time for Rock to make a break for it. She had seen the back of the city wall, and if she understood the memories he’d used, he could use his pseudopods and dig under or go through the wall. Though first, she had to get him out of the room.

She ran down the two ramps. Soldiers ascending the ramps ducked out of her way … bare-footed, bloody-faced, hair-streaming, and arms loaded with gear. She got to the correct floor and passed the stables, then had to backtrack. She slipped in between the stable doors, and closed them behind her. Rock remained where he had been, still “tasting” the bars. “I got it!” she said in triumph. “Well, I hope I have, anyway.” It looked like the rod the guards carried, but she really didn’t know if it would work. She looked down at the rod. Black with five raised decorative little shells.

She pointed the rod at the cage door and pressed the top shell. The mage-lights in the room went on, flickered, and went off again. Rock continued to glow helpfully. She pressed the button again. A few mage-lights flickered. But most stayed dead. She tried the second, and a fountain of water perfect for washing came up from a vent-hole in the floor of the cage. “Oh, you bastards!” she swore. “Seriously?”