Going Feet First Ch. 06

From her expectations of how the "civilized lands" were supposed to be, this level of the prison, which consisted of a main hallway with fifteen doors on either side and one barred door on the end, was a let-down. Her room, which she suspected to be like all the others, had two rusting and unkempt cells on opposite sides of each other with a decrepit table in between and a torch on the wall beside the door. Too few guards, too little intimidation factors, and poor handling of prisoners. She could have killed the guards that were supposed to escort her many times over from all the little slip ups they had made hauling her down here.

Pathetic.

"'Lobbing' off your head? Just what the Hell did you do to earn that? Kick his ass at fucking soccer or did you fuck up his face so bad that he can't say 'lop?'" a gruff voice asked in an almost amused tone

The Assassin clenched her fists and readied her claws as she looked back to the shadowed corner of the cell. She could make out the silhouette of a person, human by the scent, male by the voice, sitting in the corner with his head resting against the wall as if to sleep. No details could be made out until her eyes adjusted, but something had already struck her as odd.

She had her claws emerging from her fingers and she braced her legs to pounce.

"Neither," she replied, still trying to make sense of his apparent joke, "my crime was being born Ra'zorlich."

"Wha-" the man wondered as his head suddenly pulled away from the wall. "A woman...? Wait, what the fuck kinda creature are you?"

Petra frowned as he fumbled around and brought himself up onto his feet. The way his body shifted, how his silhouette moved in the torch light, he was not like other humans around her. There was mass to his muscles, but precision to his movements. This put her on the defensive instantly. Powerful or not, one false step and she'll be using his corpse as a pillow.

"Well? It looks like we're stuck in this shithole together, may as well get familiar. I want to start with what the Hell you are."

"I'm a Neko. Haven't seen my kind before?"

He shook his head, and leaned back against the wall, wincing as his right shoulder made contact with the stone. "No. Lions, tigers, cats, yes. But no felines prowling on two feet where I come from."

Her claws slowly retracting, Petra moved to the wall to her left and took a seat on the floor against it. "And where do you come from?"

"Iowa," he answered. "The Hawkeye State of America, as if anyone here would know where that is... Where you come from, Kitten?"

America? Petra wondered, thinking back to Galen's words the day they met the Drow.

I'm an American demon, he had said.

Americans hail from America?

"Atzla forest, east of this city," she answered. "What crime brought you down here?"

She heard the distinct huff of a stifled chuckle. "Smashing a grunt's nose, knocking out a voodoo fucker that cast a hurt spell on me, brawling with more guards when they brought me down here... knocking out at least two of them..."

It was Petra's turn to chuckle. "A fighter. I like you already. What is your name?"

"Staff Sergeant Flaxen, but call me Flak."

"Petra Dihyor. First Claw of the Ra'zorlich Shadow Stalkers."

"First Claw? Sounds important."

"As does Staff Sergeant. Is it a higher rank than 'Private?'"

Flak's posture stiffened up; he pushed off the wall and squared up his shoulders as he fully faced the Neko. She couldn't make out his face in the dark, but she could guess there was a frown on it or at least a look of confusion.

"Where do you know that rank from?"

A grin curled up on Petra's lips.

"You are not the first American to come to Atzla. You are one of the few still alive, but not the first. The one I know bears the rank of Private, and I was curious if that rank was of any significance."

His chin lifted, he possibly smiled. "Private is more than a few ranks below me, it's just one step up from recruit. The Private you know got a name?"

"Galen."

His mouth opened, then closed, then he nodded with what sounded to be a relieved sigh. "Galen Martin, I know the name."

It was Petra's turn to be surprised. "You do?"

He nodded. "He was on the roster for the plane that went MIA. A plane I was supposed to find before I wound up here. You know where he is or how to find him?"

At that point Petra shrugged, locking eyes with her potential ally. "I have an idea."

...............

Twilight fell before the night and surrendered the last of its day's-end glow to the encroaching tide of stars. The cool breeze, the fresh air, the cricket singing someplace on the cliffs above, it was all a welcome change of atmosphere for the young Private sitting in the driver's seat of a prison box-wagon. His darkvision was active as they kept drifting up toward the infinite expanse of starry sky above. An unconscious smile pulled on the corners of his mouth as he admired what he saw.

Even if he was in the Sundered Trench with Redding not too far down the road, he was on the surface again. He was out from the stone-entombed world below in the fresh air and open sky. And once he fulfilled his promise to the Sun-Kissed, he would be free. Free to find Celia. Free to restart his journey in finding some way back home. Free to hunt Pretayus and Fretheim down and put them both in the ground. With that last thought, his fingers tensed and his body grew slightly more aware of the pistol on his hip.

The two horses pulling his wagon, acquired from slain knights of Redding's forces, followed the road of the bottom of the Trench without any input from their driver. With only a small lantern just bright enough to light the road ahead to guide them, their familiarity did well to ease the tense edge on the Private's nerves that he hid within. They made it appear as though this were a normal route for him, like he belonged here. Attention avoided meant he could get his prison wagon to his destination without interference.

He hoped nobody in the city could sense the level of magic wielded by two Commandants riding in the back.

If there are two Commandants brought in, the eagerness of their King would have us all brought to him straight off, Jrastra had reasoned back at the planning table.

And we could both keep track of the situation from the tip of the spear, Dreek had agreed.

Here's to hoping to God and Necela that this plan works, Galen thought as his cart was pulled onward to another turn in the jagged, zig-zag pattern of this split in planet the humans here called home.

"Relax," Jrastra ordered from the back, her Empathy drawing a sense of relief over the Private like a warm blanket.

His eyes moved towards the back of the wagon for a moment, then returned to the front as he cycled his lungs, breathing out slowly as he rolled his fingers over the reins of his horses. A new city ahead, matching the description of something he would find in a history textbook if he looked up the days following the medieval age. Knights on horseback, foot soldiers wearing chainmail and carrying swords or longbows. Streets paved with stone and long rows of densely packed buildings filled with his "kind."

Back among humanity again... he thought, leaning back into his seat and adjusting the helmet on his head. Here comes the next step in this great adventure. The next step to get her back.

The horses followed the road straight again and Galen kept scanning the area ahead to the furthest distance he could see. After a few minutes, the glow of life appeared as the edge of his dark-sight. Then came the stone base of a building, then a massive door at least twenty feet wide and forty high in the side of it. His horses drew him closer, and more of the building came into view until he realized where he was.

"Redding. The main gate," he said aloud, staring up at the wall taller than the reach of his altered dark-vision.

He looked back to the group of well-armored men stepping forward from their posts in front of the gate. Four moved to his right, three to his left, while three more approached him directly with lanterns in hand. Breathing slowly and calmly, he pulled back on the reins of his horses to slow them to a near snail's pace.

"Show time," he muttered breathlessly.

The wagon shifted then, a slight rock that was almost too subtle to notice if one of the wheels didn't start creaking while one of the horses grunted as though taking on a new burden. Galen's eyes narrowed as he reached out with his senses. A third hum of life rode along just below him, clinging to the bottom of his wagon.

"We got a guest..." he cursed in a harsh whisper as the gap between him and the Redding guards closed.

"I feel him," Jrastra hissed back. "Redding rats are too close. I'll keep their focus off of him, but he dies inside the wall."

Fuck! If he gets caught we are screwed! the Private cursed mentally.

As his wagon rolled up on the trio of knights that came forward to meet him, Galen pulled on the reins and gave a firm "Whoa" to bring them to a stop. His darkvision gave way to his natural eyes in the lantern light and the red and yellow bars painted down the center of their chest pieces came into view. Gritting his teeth, Galen adjusted himself in his seat and looked out into the darkness on his left and right toward the life signs that he felt.

"Kind of late to be approaching the city gates, stranger," announced one guard as he walked up alongside Galen's horses, eyeing the beasts up and down.

"Not for what I carry," Galen replied, his voice low and growling.

He knew no man in this place saw any Wild West film and doubted any would catch him emulating the mean cowboy act. He hunched his shoulders with the best look of "pissed-off" he could manage. A corner of his mouth drew up in a snarl while he pushed out a lower lip to emulate it holding a wad of chewing tobacco; his brow wrinkling as though smeared with a permanent frown. He glared at the guardsman and inwardly smiled when the men hesitated in his step toward him.

"Oh yeah?" he swallowed. "What kind of load do you carry that warrants coming up on the city in the early eve?"

Shifting in his seat, Galen leaned back and glared at the archers positioned on balconies above the gate. "I heard about a rich bounty on some Drow, the ones that wear yellow armor. I came to collect on it."

"You don't have Sun-kissed in the back of your wagon," the guard stated, immediately moving that way.

"Get too close and the spell won't protect you," Galen warned, glancing at the bewildered looks of the other two men in front of his horses.

The crunching of gravel underfoot continued and the Private tipped his head down and shook it slowly. Through his senses he knew the man was coming to the door at the back of the wagon, that the two groups which had circled around his flanks were now positioned to the left and right of his transport. And whoever was holding on to the bottom of his cart was holding their breath.

When that knight stepped up to the small window in the iron-backed door of the cart to look inside, the last words he spoke were, "Galaeus' holy wrath he does."

His screams shattered the peace of the night. He hit the ground flailing while the others went into panic, but Galen relaxed in his seat. He shut his eyes and breathed as he waited until those screams turned to gurgles, then to silence. In moments the life that he could feel at the back of the cart finally went dark.

There were whispers all around and in response the Private audibly sighed.

"I warned him," he declared. "I want inside the city, and I want my bounty. I got two Commandants in back and unless you want me to 'accidently' drop the keys to their shackles into the wagon there, I want my money."

Boots shifted as the knights surrounding the cart took steps in retreat. Another guard approached Galen, giving the wagon a wide berth as he moved to the Private's side.

"You said two Commandants?" he asked, and Galen nodded.

"What I heard when my men and I killed off their squads." Galen shrugged. "Word is they were more valuable, so if one wasn't nice enough, I got two. Now where do I get paid?"

The guard's jaw sagged as he struggled to get himself together. Turning toward the city gate he nodded, his feet barely able to keep him upright as he stumbled along. One of the other men had to approach him and take his arm over his shoulder in order to keep him from falling flat or fainting outright.

At the gate the guard being carried gave the steel portal two quick raps and, following a short pause, a final heavy smack. Chains rattled, gears started clicking, and with surprisingly few squeaks, the double-door entrance into the city swung open. Every guard then moved aside to allow Galen though, enabling him to breathe easy before he clicked his mouth to get his two horses moving forward.

First objective accomplished, he thought, riding past the mighty gate into the heart of the wall.

Two men in plate armor immediately approached Galen's wagon, but were intercepted by the light-headed guard that had ordered the gate open. Whispers were passed between the three, and following a look of shock and awe, the two knights hesitantly nodded and approached Galen while the gate guard headed back to his post.

"We're to escort you to the castle," one of the men stated. "With what you got back there, the King is going to want to see to this personally."

"He better give me the damn reward himself, too," Galen growled. "Let's go. Mind your spacing with the cart."

He snapped the reins to his horses and the two animals started moving forward. His escorts took immediate positions on his flanks, though still holding a distance between themselves and the wagon as ordered. Their distance, along with their reluctance to even glance in the direction of the wagon, was yet another calming factor for the Private as they moved forward onto what he guessed to be Redding's main street.

Either side of the road was lined with locked up shops and closed down stalls. On the rooftops one could spot the silhouettes of several bowmen standing at the ready with their weapons out, though with their arrows still sitting in the quiver. Cavalry patrols could be heard roaming the adjacent streets, and there were stationary guard posts evenly spaced out across the city blocks. So many eyes were watching, and there was still that somebody riding along the belly of Galen's wagon.

A lot of people are going to die if he gets caught... the soldier griped to himself. Where is Dreek's contact?

He had to meet up with the Commandant's surface friends eventually. If he kept to the path he was made to memorize from the map, he would encounter them at some point. Hopefully...

The entourage continued along the lamp-lit street for a good five or six minutes before it came to what Galen figured to be a main square. A trio of knights on horseback held position in the middle of the area, their lanterns casting a flicking light on the bronze statue standing atop the three-tiered, marble fountain behind them. As soon as the noise of the Private's cart caught their ears, they had eyes on him and their voices dropped to low whispers. Adding to the armed presence were the pairs of guards stationed every thirty feet around the edge of the square in between the merchant stalls and shops.

That's a lot of troops.

As he pulled the reins to one side to guide his prison wagon to the left around the fountain, the three men on horseback stiffened up and adjusted their seating. The middle knight of the trio, a man in full plate armor glittering with silver trim trotted forward. Scowling Galen shifted in his place and glanced to his rifle across the floor boards of the driver's seat.

One in the chamber atop a mag full of rock and roll. This goes south, we'll be fine.

One of the horsemen moved his mount in Galen's way while the other took up a position on his left. That knight with the silver trim then casually traipsed his horse up along on Galen's right. Both of the men escorting the cart noticeably relaxed in the presence of the riders, giving not-so-subtle nods of comradery to them as they drew close. Grumbling, the Private stopped his wagon and waited as the leader rode up alongside him, inspecting his cargo and approaching the front of the wagon.

"A little late for a prisoner delivery," he commented, stopping his horse beside the driver's seat.

The Private eyed the man in the full steel helm sitting less than three feet away, doing his best to mask his nervousness with feigned fatigue and attitude problems as he snarked, "Not with my prisoners. Mine don't wait."

"He's a bounty hunter, Captain," chirped one of the escorts. "He has a pair of Sun-kissed Commandant's locked up in the back. We're to take him right to the castle."

"Sun-kissed?" the Captain echoed, his head turning to the back of the wagon. "As in Drow? The ash-skinned Elves with the pointy-tipped ears?"

Both Galen's eyes narrowed. "Commandants. With the pointiest ears of any."

He could almost feel the weight of the Captain's gaze as it fell on him once more. "And you came to cash them in for some shiny coin?"

"From the king himself, I hope. Considering the amount on the bounty and how much I lost catching these two."

"Fair enough," the Captain replied before he looked to the two escorts. "Both of you return to your posts. I'll personally lead our guest and the captives to the castle."

A look of surprise came over the two men, though Galen kept quiet.

"Sir?" they questioned.

"Go," the Officer ordered more firmly.

"Yessir," came the unified reply.

The two men turned, and though one of them chanced a quick look back, started back toward the direction they had come. Both the horsemen then moved away from the wagon into defensive positions to his left and rear while the Captain motioned his head forward. The Private gave an affirmative nod and snapped his reins to motivate the two horses in front of him to start moving.

Under the moonless sky with only the streetlights to guide them, the four rode out of the square and back into the streets. A few minutes had passed in the silence, with only the clops of hooves against stone and the squeak of the wagon wheels to fill the void. Jrastra's influence had to press in on Galen's nerves to calm them as the Captain refused to say a word.

Long after they had seen any sign of the heavy presence of the city guards, the Private took a deep breath and finally asked, "We have friends among us?"

Right then there was a crash of steel against stone, and he snapped his head right to see one of the Captain's riders had fallen from his saddle. The knight was writhing on the ground and clawing at his helmet in desperation though he made no alarming noise. There was a squeal, his legs kicked, but with one last gurgle, he went limp.

"Now we're all friends here," the Captain announced, bringing a jumpy Galen's attention back to him.

"It's been a while, Captain Devon," Dreek announced from the cart. "You ,too, Aius."

"My lady," replied the knight riding behind the wagon.

Galen blinked, his eyes wide. He glanced at the back of his wagon, then at the Officer on his right. The steel helm looked back at him, an unseen gaze meeting his and bringing an odd sense of ease to him. Then the man nodded.

"You must be Dreek's newest agent. Pleased to meet you."

"Likewise," Galen replied, reaching for his rifle lying across the floorboards behind his feet.

The Private brought the rifle up and clicked the safety to the off position. His voice low, he leaned in toward the knight captain, who took the cue and leaned in as well.