Episode Eight Rescue

E ldar

All the other species from Down Below were in the factories or out in this yard working. Why is this proudborn locked up here as a spectacle?

At first, I thought he was dead, but he's propped in the corner of the small metal cell, panting.

As we get closer, I see something else. Is that a human female lying on the ground between him and the bars?

Zoron rushes to them. There are only a few skirmishes clashing in remote parts of the compound, and there are clearly enough of our comrades to take care of any stragglers. These two need our help.

"Ho!" I say as we approach. "Are you okay?" I don't know why I ask. It's clear nothing is okay. From what I can see, they're both near death.

It will be impossible to find the key to the lock among all the dead bodies littering the compound. We'll need to find something to cut them out of the cage.

"His finger," the proudborn pants. "Touch his finger to the lock." His gaze flicks to the dead human who is almost decapitated lying next to the cell in a pool of swiftly freezing blood.

After leaping off Zoron, I try to drag the man to the door, but his head is still lodged inside the cell. I could try to wiggle him back out, but decide to just give his body a good yank to release his head from his body.

Dragging the headless corpse to the front of the cell, I lift his finger to the lock. It clicks open.

"You'll need a medic," I say.

I'm not sure what's wrong with them, but it's obvious they're both near death.

"I'll find Reese," Zoron says as he takes off at a gallop through the open yard looking for the monk medic we've come to know over the last few weeks.

There are healers from other species who've joined our ragtag army, but the monk not only has knowledge of poultices and potions, I hear he has a good amount of magic. From the look of these two, they're going to need it.

I feel a pang of jealousy when Zoron returns with the handsome monk on his back. The male's features are smooth and he has an intelligent look on his face. Since I've known my mate, no one has ridden him other than me. I'm not one who likes to share.

Reese leaps off, enters the cell, and kneels next to the pair, asking questions, feeling their wrists, and smelling their wounds. Zoron and I edge closer, listening to what's transpiring.

"Starvation, dehydration, shockstick burn to the right abdomen, damaged wings, layers of scars all over his body. Conscious, but fading fast," the monk says as he examines the proudborn. Before he can continue, I call to an orc who is hustling by and ask him to bring water and food for the pair.

Pulling my water skin off my belt, I kneel on the outside of the small cage and lift the female's lips to it. Although it's clear how thirsty she is, she stops herself from downing all of it and offers the bag to the proudborn who only takes a sip and hands it back to her.

I focus on the pair, the questions Reese asks as he gently examines the female, and the sounds drifting in of the scattered fighting toward the rear of the compound. I try to pay attention to anything but the memories bombarding me of my childhood here.

Big Al, my owner, often used to point this cage out to me. It was usually for a small infraction, but sometimes just to ensure my compliance before he ordered me to do something he knew I would hate.

He'd remind me how I was a mistake. That the males who scooped me up in their hover that day had just cast a wide net and never meant to bring such a tiny thing to the Works. After all, what help could I be? I was frail, as all young elves are, and couldn't carry a full bucket or even lift a heavy axe.

He liked to repeat the story of how, when I arrived, the other men were thinking of lasering me and leaving me in the trash heap. He loved to remind me of how he "rescued" me when he took me to his rooms. His story had the same rhythm, the same cadence every time, as if he were telling a time-honored story instead of the big lie of what a generous man he was.

"I took you at my own expense so you could stay in my rooms and have a life of luxury," he'd brag.

Right. Although I should be paying attention to what the medic is doing with the pair who are too weak to do more than lie in the dirt, I can't tear my thoughts from how Big Al made me watch out of our windows at the compound. He wanted me to see the suffering of the slaves who were bad enough to merit time in this cage. Wanted me to watch them die from the heat or the cold or thirst or starvation.

"You'd better do as I tell you, elf. Or you'll spend your end of days in that box."

"Eldar?"

My mate gently interrupts my thoughts. He can feel me through our matebond. Perhaps he thinks my swirling emotions are because of the pair in the cell. Probably not. He knows my story, knows me too well.

"Eldar, did you hear the medic? He's asked for our help to move these two to a safe house he prepared in the forest."