her head. An ugly bruise marked one cheek, but she held her head high, glaring at the slavers.
Jack and Narm ducked off the trail, taking cover amid the giant mushrooms. Narm studied the slaver caravan and scratched at his chin. “I count eight,” he said. “Four or five, and I would say that we could charge on in and rely on surprise to see things through. But eight, I am not sure.”
“I’d settle for getting Seila free of them,” Jack said softly. “We can send word for the authorities to scoop up the rest when they reach the surface. Hmm … what if you created a distraction up by the head of the caravan, draw their attention away from the captives by the posts? I can slip in and cut her loose while the slavers are looking the other way.”
“If by distraction you mean attack them all by myself, then I have concerns about your plan,” Narm answered. “One on eight sounds even less appealing than two on eight.”
Jack handed the half-orc the hand crossbow he was carrying. “Here, try this. Circle around to those rocks over there, and shoot one or two of Balathorp’s men. Shout something drowish while you are at it. If they chase after you, retire into the forest here. I’ll meet you back by the pastures.”
“I don’t know any drow expressions.”
“Try
“What does it mean?” Narm asked.
“I have no idea, but drow shouted it at me when they were angry. Now go. I will wait until you make your presence known before I move in.”
The half-orc took the crossbow in hand and hurried off into the shadows, crouching to keep low. He was surprisingly stealthy when he put his mind to it, Jack noticed; Narm vanished from sight within twenty steps. Jack composed himself to wait, observing the caravan. Balathorp appeared once or twice, issuing instructions to his slavers before heading away to check on some other task. He seemed impatient, and Jack decided that Balathorp was browbeating his minions into hurrying their preparations.
Suddenly there was a cry of alarm from the front of the caravan. One of the hobgoblins staggered back several steps and collapsed, drugged by the poison on the drow quarrels. From somewhere in the gloom Jack head a rather deep and raspy bellow of
Jack whispered the words of his invisibility spell, and darted up the road. The shadows were deep and dark beneath the mushrooms; in a few moments he was close behind Seila, crouching in the shadow of a tree-sized fungus.
“Seila, it is I, Jack,” Jack whispered.
The young noblewoman started in her chains, and looked back toward Jack. Her eyes opened wide, and she looked left and right, seeking him. “Jack,” she whispered back. “I thought the drow were going to kill you.”
“I enjoy the most peculiar luck, including enemies who are occasionally quite helpful,” he replied. None of the slavers were close by, so he knelt by her and began to work at the lock to her manacles. He had no key, but that was hardly an insuperable challenge; Jack knew from experience that the locks on such devices were necessarily simple, and only needed to be resistant to opening from whoever was wearing them at the time. He started with the point of a dagger, searching for the release mechanism. “Are you hurt? Did that fiend harm you?”
“He stripped me and told me what he would do, but no more,” Seila said, her voice shaking. “I think Balathorp wanted to ransom me back to my father for a fortune, but not before he … before he … oh, I don’t want to speak of it.”
“Say no more. I will have you free in a moment.” Jack bent his efforts toward prying open the lock of the manacles, trying to be as silent as he could.
He opened one lock, and turned to the other-and just at that moment a heavy cudgel whirled through the shadows, striking him across the shoulders. The surprise and impact threw him off his feet, knocking the wind out of him. His invisibility faded as he lost his concentration on maintaining the spell, and he sprawled on the cold hard ground by Seila’s feet. What happened? he wondered, shaking his head in confusion until he realized that someone had thrown a heavy club at him, just barely missing his head.
“Jack, behind you!” Seila cried out, a moment too late.
“Ravenwild,” a familiar voice snarled. “I thought I heard someone playing with Seila’s chains.” Cailek Balathorp stood fifteen feet away beneath the towering mushroom, a sneer of contempt beneath his leather hood. “I had thought the dark elves would see to you, but it looks like I can settle our score personally. What an unexpected pleasure.”
Jack picked himself up, his shoulder aching from the slaver’s club. “Well, I had thought the Watch would see to
Balathorp drew the sword at his hip and grinned wickedly, advancing on Jack. Jack glanced around, looking for some potential advantage or distraction, but nothing leapt to his eye. Several of the slavers were thrashing about the rocks and mushrooms at the head of the caravan, apparently in pursuit of Narm, but others were turning back this way. He took a deep breath, drew the drow rapier he carried, and advanced to meet the slaver. He needed to defeat Balathorp quickly and quietly, before the rest of the slaver’s gang came running.
The slaver lunged forward and aimed a thrust straight at Jack’s belt buckle. Jack parried and riposted; Balathorp’s blade leaped to meet his own, and the duel was on. Balathorp was tall and had a significant advantage in reach, but Jack was quicker. They were a close match in skill, but Jack faced one crucial problem: Time was not on his side. The shrill song of steel beating against steel already rang in the air, and Jack could hear the shouts of alarm from the rest of the slaver gang. Even if he could wear down Fetterfist and best him in a fair fight, he could never hope to beat five or six at once; he was no Myrkyssa Jelan, after all.
Balathorp recognized Jack’s vulnerability, too, and he grinned as he shifted to the defensive, switching to cautious jabs and quick slashes. “You fool,” he said to Jack. “Did you think to steal my wares? You will pay with your life … or better yet, you will join your dear Seila in chains.”
“Not this day, I think,” Jack replied. He took a step back out of sword reach, and invoked his spell of invisibility again-something he was not sure he could do, but the growing swell of the wild mythal’s power seemed to invigorate his arcane talents as it increased. Balathorp swore and backed up himself, swinging his sword in a wide arc to fend off any invisible rush Jack mounted. The rogue watched the slaver’s sword whip past once, then twice, before jumping inside his reach and sinking his rapier into Balathorp’s black heart.
The stricken slaver groaned and staggered. “A base ploy,” he gasped.
“For a base foe,” Jack snarled. His invisibility spell faded, spoiled by his sudden lunge. He snatched Balathorp’s keys from his belt, then kicked the slaver off his swordpoint and hurried back over to Seila. Several of Balathorp’s thugs saw the whole thing, taking in the scene with cries of dismay, but Jack coolly bent down to Seila’s manacles and opened the lock with the slaver’s keys.
“Jack!” Seila called, looking over his shoulder. Running footsteps and roars of challenge grew loud behind him.
“I know,” he answered. He grasped her hand and brought to mind his spell of shadow-teleport. An instant before the thugs’ blades skewered both of them, Jack and Seila vanished into the cavern gloom.
Hand in hand, Jack and Seila made their way through the gigantic mushrooms of the drow cavern, retracing the path they’d followed in their first escape from Chumavhraele months before. Behind them Balathorp’s slavers vainly scoured their area around the crossroads for any sign of the noblewoman and the rogue, but Jack’s spell had carried them two hundred yards or more in the blink of an eye-there was no trail for the slavers to follow, and Jack had no intention of lingering any place their enemies might blunder into them.
“We seem to be making a habit of this,” Jack said to Seila as they hurried along. “Remind me to hide a change of clothing and some good food and drink somewhere around here for the next time we find ourselves fleeing the dark elves’ domain.”
Seila squeezed his hand and shook her head, even though she smiled. “I should have known you would find a way to slip away again.”
“I had some timely help. Myrkyssa Jelan set me free; she’s down here with a band of sellswords, looking for a way to throw a handful of peppers in Dresimil Chumavh’s bowl of cream. I came straightaway to find you.”
“I can’t believe that you came back for me a second time, especially after my father treated you with such
