Chapter Twelve

Chap ter Twelve

“I am making soup for lunch—a family recipe.” Ironstorm is already grabbing a cutting board and vegetables. “My father says that a good soup can heal wounds of t he heart.”

“Did your father do a lot of cooking?” I don’t think my dad was ever in th e kitchen.

“Still does. Insists on it. This is his stock, in fact.” He holds up a jar of brown liquid retrieved from over the stove. Then he pauses, giving me a faux-serious look. “If I give you a knife for cutting vegetables, can I trust you not to try and kill me when my back i s turned?”

Oh, he’s got jokes. “I dunno. Got any ancient ruins around here I can raid first? It’ll help sate my b loodlust.”

With a chuckle, he retrieves a knife, handing it to me handle-first. “Go ahead and wash those and then you can start.” He gestures to the vegetables on the counter as he moves to light the stove. “Seeing as you managed to tune out everything I said on the walk home, do you have questions about what happen ed today?”

We’re using some vegetables I actually know this time. I grab a carrot to start with while I think, not really knowing where to begin. “Was that a normal... Is trial the ri ght word?”

“Trial is accurate.” He retrieves some meat from the icebox, some kind of poultry. “Other than the arrested parties being from so far away, that was fairly standard.”

“How come Redwish was the only one who talked to the ju—councilman?” I thought it was weird that no one else did an y talking.

“Because your friends did not contest the accusations, another advocate was not needed.” He joins me on the counter where we both begin to cut our respective ingredients. “Had they fought against it, or if I or any of the other rangers involved had sought any personal reparations, there would have been someone there to represent us or the city.”

“What makes the councilman a councilman?” That sou nded dumb.

“He is a member of the Tribal Council.” Finished with his cutting, Ironstorm moves over to light a pan on the stove. “Six orcs who form our head of government. In addition to making decisions for the city as a group, they also oversee trials like the one today indi vidually.”

“How did they land that job?” I’ve finished with the carrots and move on to some potatoes.

“It is an elected position, held for three years.” I hear the sizzle of the meat hitting the pan to my right. “At the end of each year, two of the seats are made vacant and new council members are voted in.”

“Are those six responsible for every trial?” Doesn’t seem enough to go around.

“No, there are other officials who also oversee trials, usually related to the position they were appointed to.” He looks over to see me finishing with the vegetables. “Add those to the pot when you are finished.”

“I didn’t even realize potatoes and carrots grew over here.” I do as requested, gathering all the chopped veggies onto the cutting board and walking it over to the pot, scraping them in with my knife.

“Originally they did not. Potatoes originated somewhere south of here.” Ironstorm removes the pan from the fire. “They were imported to your part of the world some time ago. Same as carrots were brou ght here.”

I didn’t know any of that. I step away from the pot so he can do what he needs. “What kind of meat is that?”

“A large bird found in the forests. We call it a lum’tik’bra , but I believe I have heard an elf call it a ‘turkey.’” I stand back as he adds the seared meat to th e pot now.

Never heard of it. “What’s the direct translation of the word you used?” Can’t be better than sad wood .

“Large gargling bird.” I was wrong. I can’t hold in the snort of laughter, which Ironstorm copies as he turns to the shelf with the spices and begins pulling things down. “Any more questions about this morning?”

“Not really, I guess.” I don’t know if I was hoping for a loophole, but I’ve got nothing. “They’ll be taken to the work camp in the morning?”

“Yes, first thing, I am afraid.” He gives me a sad smile.

“Then what? They start working?”

“More or less.” He shrugs, looking apologetic. “Though I cannot say I know exactly what they will be put to wo rk doing.”

“Great.” I try not to sou nd bitter.

“They will be alright.” He tries to look hopeful. “You seem like a resilie nt group.”

“Thanks.” Being resilient in a labor camp isn’t exactly something any of us trained for, so forgive me if I don’t hold my breath. Adam and Liss might stand a chance, but Nate and Corrine won’t make it a week. Any hope I had when I woke up this morning is slowly fading into nothingness. Even if I had a plan, how would I possibly get to them? In the morning, they’ll be taken from that crappy little cell outside and taken away. I spent maybe an hour or two there, but I can still remember the anxiety I felt while I waited to see if I would even be given the chance to get out of there. Silently praying that the guard would return to unlock the cell. They don’t even have normal locks on all the doors. “What was up with the door on the cell during the trial? When Adam was being pulled from the cell, the guard touched his wrist to it and it opened. I think I remember that happening at the jail too. No visible lock. What was that?”

“Hmm?” I get a confused look for a moment as he puts the spices back on the shelf. Then I see something click. “Ah, that is a recent and very helpful magical invention. Let me show you.”

After washing his hands, Ironstorm moves into the living room with me following behind him. He opens the drawer in the table by the front door, pulling out a leather wristband. “What does this look lik e to you?”

“A wristband?” It looks like what I’d seen the guard s wearing.

“Correct. It is also a key.” He wraps and buckles the strap to his arm. He’s smiling like a kid with a new toy. “They are enchanted so that when they are worn and touched to a corresponding lock, it opens. The magic in each one is tied to only function when worn by the person it was created for. If someone else were to wear this and use it, nothing would happen. A very effective way of preventing break-ins a nd theft.”

“Sounds really secure.” I don’t think I’ve heard of anything like that. Certainly not back home.

“We are in the process of converting all the locks in the ranger headquarters and the tribal hall to use them.” He begins taking off the “key” strap. “Which I am very much looking forward to having completed, because then I can stop carrying these around.” He deposits the wrist strap back into the drawer and pulls out an almost comically large rin g of keys.

I can see how that might be annoying and impractical. I can only imagine the number of doors and locks you’d have to keep track of, all the offices and equipment rooms and cells. Like the outdoor cells we were kept in. That orc guard used a key when he let me out. I guess those haven’t been conv erted yet.

“Would you mind watching the soup while I use the restroom?” He starts down the hall to the bathroom.

“On it.” I nod. I can w atch soup.

I stand by the stove, stirring the pot slowly while my mind wanders. I know I should just let it go, but I now can’t stop thinking about those keys. The key to our cell is on that ring. It might take some time to figure out which one, but it could be done, right? I sigh. I don’t know why I’m even thinking about this. Even if I could do that, how exactly would I manage to steal the keys and sneak out without Ironstorm noticing I’m gone?

I shake the thoughts of a jailbreak from my mind. I’m here to watch soup. I pull the wooden spoon from the pot and bring it to my lips for a small taste. Not bad. Other than the veggies and the “turkey,” I didn’t really pay attention to what else he added. I look down and see two jars of spices that haven’t been put back yet. I open the lids to see that one is pepper, and the other is... Shit, I know this one. We had it in the kitchen at the academy. It looks like short dried blades of grass. Maybe I should just ask.

I pick up the jars to return them to their shelf, trying to remember which side was spices and which side was potion ingredients. He really does need to organize this. I end up sticking them wherever they fit for now, and as I do, a familiar looking jar catches my eye. The potion ingredients. Specifically, the one I know contains hypnograss. I look over at the door and the table holding the ring of keys. C ould I...?

No, I mean, how would I even give it to him? I look at the pot of soup. We’re going to share that, possibly down to the same spoon and bowl. That woul dn’t work.

Stop it, David. Let it go.

Bu t I can’t .

Quickly and without thinking about it too hard, I open the jar and grab a few leaves. Putting it back, I look around quickly for some place to hide them. My eyes settle on one of the bookcases, and I quickly sprint over. I pull out the book I read yesterday on sword technique and drop the flat leaves between two pages, closing it before returning it to the shelf. I then move quickly back to my station in front of the stove, stirring the soup like I didn’t just do an y of that.

Why did I do that, exactly? I still don’t even know how I’d give it to him. Don’t even know how much it would take to knock him out. But there’s this voice in the back of my head, telling me that if I don’t do something, my friends are in trouble. Ironstorm rejoins me a minute later, taking over soup duty for me. I don’t really have anything else on my mind, at least not that I’m going to ask him about.

It only takes a few more minutes until lunch is ready. To my surprise, I actually get my own bowl and spoon. I even get to sit in a chair at the table. I want to ask why, but I’m worried he’ll take it back. I think I might know, though. He feels bad. He knows I’m still thinking about my friends and is doing what he said and keeping my mind occupied.

Which he continues to do after lunch when we go for a run an hour later, and then when he insists I take a long, hot bath afterward. He’s really going out of his way to make me feel better, which just makes me feel all the worse about what I’ve been thinking about. I’m a little glad I don’t have the opportunity to do it.

At least unt il dinner.

“Do you like beer?” The question catches me off guard, and I look up from the book in my lap. I’ve been reading the same paragraph over and over for nearly half an hour, my mind constantly pulled to other things. I’m not even sure what this book is about, something about people living in the mountains.

“I like it.” I mean, I never really drank it for the taste, but who doesn’t like beer?

“A friend gifted me a batch he brewed himself. I have been looking for a reason to try it.” He smiles. “Perhaps we can have it wit h dinner.”

“This the kind of thing orcs usually toast to?” I make sure my tone sounds more playful than my words.

He rolls his eyes and stands, walking down the hall. I hear a door open, some rustling, and a door closing, then he’s back with a small barrel in hand. It’s like a mini keg, complete with a small spout. He places it on the counter before retrieving two mugs from a shelf. And there it is: my opportunity. My eyes drift from the mugs to the bookcase and back. I might actually be able to pull this off.

Maybe.

If I wanted to , that is.

Dinner is steak again. This is the second time we’ve had it since I got here, and I still haven’t seen or heard a single cow in the area, or any other farm animals for that matter. He made it to cheer me up. And it works—food is a very easy way to get on my good side. And yet, I still feel like shit.

We both drink our beer with dinner, though I’m slower to down mine than he is. He refills both mugs after we finish eating, bringing them into the living room with us where he lights a fire. Really pulling out all the stops. He settles me on the couch, handing me my beer and putting his on the small table next to us before stepping over to the bookcase. The hairs on my neck stand up when I see his hand drift to the book I stashed the hypnograss in, but he passes over it, pulling a red book from the s ame shelf.

“I thought I might read aloud tonight,” he announces as he walks back over to the couch. “Would you l ike that?”

“Sure.” That does sound k inda nice.

It’s the story of an old orc hero named Steelrun. The tale takes place four hundred years ago, though I’m not really clear if the story is real or made up. During that time, there were many different orcs tribes all fighting for dominance. Except Steelrun. He was a warrior, but he fought only to defend, not seeing the point in the senseless violence around him. A little cliché if you ask me, but I can get into it. The story begins in the camp Steelrun called home as they were preparing for another tribe to attack.

The two of us drink our beers as he reads. I sip mine slowly, not wanting even a small buzz. Just in case. Ironstorm, however, finishes his second glass just as the story is getting to the big battle scene. He gets up for another refill, and I let him top off my mug again. If things were just a little bit different, this could be re ally nice.

Before he gets back to reading, the two glasses of beer catch up with him, and he needs to use the bathroom again. And I have a split-second decision to make. If I go through with this, I’m not sure he’ll be able to forgive me for it, and if I get caught, I sure as hell am gonna have a lot more than just a spanking to worry about. But if I don’t do this and something happens to Adam, or Liss, or Corrine, I won’t be able to forgi ve myself.

My glass is down, and I’m out of my seat as soon as I hear the door close, eyes already on the book. I tear it open, dropping the contents into my hand before quickly shoving it back in place. Then I’m back at the couch, crushing the dried leaves in my hand while standing over his mug. It crumbles easily enough with my fingers, but I really should’ve used a mortar to grind this down. No time, though. I take a breath. This is it. No turning back if I do this.

The sound of the toilet flushing makes the decision for me, and I turn my hand, dropping the bits of magical herb into the mug. I stir the liquid quickly with a finger, trying to get what’s still floating on top to sink to the bottom. I hope that dissolves enough and the beer covers any weird taste. I have to remember not to lick my finger clean, wiping it on the couch as I hop back in my seat, doing my best to look like none of that just happened.

It works. I get a warm smile on his return, and he’s got the book back in his hand, picking up where he left off. He sips his beer a second later, and I watch his face for any changes. But there’s none; he just continues reading. I relax a little after that, ignoring the growing ball of guilt in my stomach. I’m no longer drinking my beer, only pretending, but Ironstorm downs about half of his before I start noticing the tell-tale signs of drowsiness. His eyes get a little droopy. Words are said slower. A few more sips in, he’s practically slurring, and he even nods off once. Until finally...

“He held his sword aloft...ready to...strike...” The book falls gently into his lap as his form slumps back onto the couch, followed by the sound of ligh t snoring.

I wait a moment, worried that any movement might wake him up. But the second I’m confident he’s really out, I’m out of my seat and moving. I sprint to the bedroom, throwing open the chest with my clothes. I really wish I had something in black, but I end up going with dark brown pants and a dark blue shirt. I throw on some socks and my shoes ( damn, not gonna get those new boots now ) and look around for anything else that might be useful. I think about a sword but trekking through town with one of those on my back might look a little suspicious. I kinda wish he bought that bundle of rope at Brull’s now because I don’t see anything else that might be useful.

I’ve got a small window of time, so I move back out into the living room. Next is grabbing the ring of keys. I don’t have a good place to hide them, so I end up sticking them down my waistband for now. After that, I put out the fire in the fireplace. I’m not a monster. I wouldn’t let the house burn to t he ground.

Just...drug its owner so I can steal his keys and break into the l ocal jail.

I watch Ironstorm still passed out on the couch, and the guilt weighing on me feels even heavier. I think back to everything he’s done to me the past week, the anger I’ve felt, the pain, the humiliation, trying to tell myself that I’m doing the right thing here. But looking at him also makes me remember things like cooking together, going on runs, waking up in bed t ogether...

…The other stuff we’ve done in bed together.

I shake the thoughts from my head. What are you doing, David? None of this mattered before you got here , and none of it is going to matter after. The things you’ve had to do this past week aren’t really you. Don’t forget that the only reason you’ve gone along with any of it is because you didn’t have a choice. This is what you’ve been waiting for : a chance to escape with all you r friends.

I look around the room one last time. To see if I’m forgetting something, not for anything sentimental. I think about grabbing some food but not sure how practical that would be, especially when getting in and out of the jail. We can figure all that once we’re out of this place. No turning back now. I’m doing this. I blow out the lanterns and walk out the f ront door.

It’s dark outside and fairly quiet. The streets are mostly empty, and the people I see out pay me no mind. I keep my eyes to myself, one arm slightly stiff at my side as I try to minimize the sounds of the keys jangling under my waistband. I’m just a man out for a nice quiet strol l outside.

It’s about a fifteen-minute walk to the jail, and I slow down once I see it a block in the distance. Time to try to find a way in. The walls outside are tall and made of solid, smooth stone. I walk on the opposite side of the street around the building, unsure of which wall is hiding the yard with the cells behind it. I think back to being led out of the building and figure it out easily enough, but finding a way to get over it is a l ot harder.

It’s the only building on the block and the streets are all so wide that jumping from another building isn’t a possibility. There’s a pole with a light atop on one corner, but it is also smooth so climbing it isn’t an option either. At least not without getting noticed, probably. But other than putting on a disguise and going through the front door, that might be my only option. Paranoid about being on the street for this long, I duck into an alley to think th ings over.

The walls are too high for me to reach with a jump, though thankfully there’s nothing along the top preventing entry. You’d figure some barbed wire or something, right? But that’s a point in my favor. If I could jump from high enough on the pole with enough momentum, that might do it. I’m not a gymnast or anything, but when I was little, I climbed a lot of trees. Spending the last month in and out of the forest after all my skills in strength moved over into speed, some of that has come back to me. I think I hav e an idea.

I duck my head out onto the street, looking around for signs of anyone else. It seems I’m alone and that means showtime. I walk across the street and the only thing between me and the cell holding my friends is the wall in front of me. I turn so I face the light pole, putting the jail on my right. After one last look around, I take off running. As I move to the lamp pole, I bank left slightly so that I’m partially in t he street.

This will be risky, but no riskier than saving a little girl from being run ov er, right?

I turn slightly, aiming for the edge of the wall on the corner with the light. I leap, connecting my right foot with the wall and pushing off to jump higher toward the pole. I grab on with both hands, swinging around the smooth surface once before kicking my legs up and vaulting myself at the wall. I just barely catch the edge as I come down, my feet dangling three or four feet from t he ground.

Holy shit. I can’t believe I pulled that off. I almost wish someone else was here to see that.

I quickly pull myself up, listening for the sounds of footsteps and making sure I’m alone before dropping to the ground. Oof. Alright, I gotta get new shoes after this. I creep silently through the rows, carefully peering down each alley to make sure I’m not seen. These first few structures don’t look like cells, no wall of bars, just a single large door. Stor age maybe?

After a couple more rows of that, I finally see the jail cells. There are twelve cells in each row, six on either side grouped together in twos with more alleys in between. They’re all empty so far. I don’t remember seeing or hearing anyone else out here during my very brief stay, but it still seems weird. I look at the main building, trying to suss out the location of my friends’ cell. It’s dark out here, the only light on this side of the fence coming from the building itself. After passing a few more rows, I finally see a familiar looking door at the end, the one I know leads inside. This is the row our ce ll was in!

Excited but still quiet, I pull the giant ring of keys from my waistband. I hold them steady in my hands, not wanting to risk a noise drawing any attention. Not sure from who, seeing as every cell I’ve passed has been completely empty, but better safe than sorry. I can see the cell the guys are in just up ahead. I can’t wait to see the look on their—

Their cell is empty.

I look around, making sure I have the right one. I look in the cell behind me, I look in the cells next to me, then I start running up and down the rows of cells looking for anyone . They’re all empty. I go back to the cell they’re supposed to be in.

They’re already gone. They haven’t been here since this morning. They probably took them to the camp ri ght after—

I jump at the sound of a door opening to my right. Fuck , somebody’s coming. I try to run around to the side of the cell as fast as I can, praying the darkness gives me enough cover to hide from whoever just came out here. I mold my body to the wall, afraid to even breathe. Things are silent so I think I might be in the clear.

“Ati gat ?” Shit. I hear footsteps move toward me before they stop abruptly. Then they seem to go in the other direction, and I hear the door being opened again. Phew, he’s going ba ck inside.

“ Jiak dez, giz Kritar Ghun’zuf! ”

Shitshitshitshitshit. I don’t know what he just said, but it couldn’t have been good. He’s not moving, and the door is s till open.

I quietly make my way back to the far side of the cells, tucking the ring of keys back into my waistband to free up my hands. As I do, I hear a second voice start talking to the first and another set of feet stepping outside. Great. I need to get out of here now . I make my way into the far corner, staring at the wall as if that will do anything to it. How do I get out of here? I may not have thought this all the wa y through.

I peer around the corner down the row, and I can see a flicker of a light at the other end moving closer. I have to get to the other side of the yard, put more distance between us so I can think of something. I peer around the next row only to be met with a second light, and I can see the orc attached to this one. I can hear the first one getting closer. I don’t have a choice.

“ Ayah !” The orc shouts at me as I sprint across. I hear both sets of feet break into runs as they give chase. Thin k David...

The walls are still too high for me to climb, but the cells are shorter. No time to hesitate, I repeat my wall-jumping trick from outside, this time managing to catch the edge of the top of the cell. Ha! I pull myself up as fast as I can. I’m in the clear!

Then a hand wraps around my ankle and yanks me backward.

I shout as I fall and land on my ass, but I’m up in a flash. I take off again and duck down another row of cells when a massive body tackles me to the ground from behind. Hands grab my wrists as I struggle to get free, the weight on top of me not making it easy to do anything, even breathe. The body kneels up, pulling my hands behind my back, and as I hear the two voices talking again, I feel manacles being locked around my wrist s. Dammit!

No longer being held to the ground, I’m pulled up and turned around to face my new captors. I don’t recognize them, but they sure seem to recognize me. Actually, scratch that, one of them—the one that didn’t tackle me to the ground—is the same orc I talked to when I was in the cell here, with the bald head, big beard, and huge tusks. The one who took me to the arena. The other guy I don’t know. He’s taller than the orc holding me, a little thinner too but still way bigger than I am. He’s got dark brown hair in nearly the same style as Ironstorm, and his bright blue eyes flicker in the light of the torch in his hand.

“ Avakesh va Kritar Uzi’gar .” The orc holding me sighs once he gets a good look at my face. I think I actually recognized some of th ose words.

“Where are my friends?” I’m not in any position to be making demands, but that hasn’t stopped me so far.

The orc says nothing, only narrows his eyes, looking me up and down. His eyes lock onto my right hip and the metal key ring poking out from it. I try to swing out of his reach, but it’s no use; he pulls the keys from my waistband. His face looks even more displeased than it did a second ago. But rather than say anything, he turns to the orc behind me.

“ Kaj’ik Avakesh katu, mibaj va Kritar .” The orc turns and jogs away, the sound of the door signaling his full exit. I don’t know where he’s going, but I have s ome ideas.

I ’m fucked.

I’m marched inside the building and led into an office with a desk. My jailor walks me to the side of it and forces me to my knees, making it clear that I am to remain there while he takes a seat and we wait. It’s at least twenty minutes before I hear the sounds of someone approaching. The orc in a chair stands just as Captain Ironstorm bursts into the room, looking furious. I want to stand, but his gaze pins me to the floor.

“What is going on here?! ” Yeah, he’s pissed. I open my mouth to again demand for my friend’s location, but the new orc enters the room behind him and cu ts me off.

“Orim went out back to grab some equipment and saw something. Called me out to help him look, and we caught this one making his escape.” He crosses his arms. “Not sure how he got in, but he nearly made it back out. I found these on him when we grabbed him.” He holds out the ring of keys, hanging from his tw o fingers.

Ironstorm takes the keys in hand, looking from them to me, his face souring even further. The hand holding the keys clenches into a fist, and I half expect a solid ball of metal to be sitting there when he reopens it. “Why would you do thi s, David?”

“Where are my friends?” I demand again through grit ted teeth.

“In their cells.” Ironstorm’s ey es narrow.

“Bullshit.” I spit back. “Every cell out there is complete ly empty.”

“Their cells are inside .” He looks incredulous. “We don’t keep people locked up outside o vernight.”

“You kept us out there when we first got here!” I shout from my spot on the floor.

“Because we are in the middle of changing the locks on the cells, as I told you earlier today !” he shouts b ack at me.

“I tell him cells being fixed.” Great, the third orc wants to pi le on too.

“Prove it!” People can say whatever the fuck they want. Doesn’t mean I bel ieve them.

With a huff, Ironstorm yanks me to stand before roughly pushing me out the office door and across the hall.

“Remain silent,” he warns with a growl before pressing his wristband to the lock and opening the door.

This new room is more of a long hallway with barred cells on either side. We walk silently down the hall, and I see most of the cells are empty. There’s one that holds a snoring orc, but it’s the next two that contain all four of my friends, Nate and Adam on one side and Liss and Corrine on the other. They’re all asleep, but Adam stirs as we approach.

“Nnng, David?” he asks groggily. “Ev’ry th ing okay?”

“Yes, go back to sleep,” Ironstorm tells him, quickly turning me around and leading me back into t he office.

“Satisfied?” he sneers, pushing me into the center of the room.

I don’t have a response. He wasn’t lying about my friends being inside, and I guess “Orim,” or whoever that other orc is, wasn’t lying on that first d ay either.

But so what? That doesn’t change anything that is about to happen to them. A work camp is a work camp. I couldn’t just d o nothing!

Clearly unsatisfied with my lack of an answer, Ironstorm turns to orc #2. “Thank you for coming to get me. The evening is a little fuzzy, but I can help fill out your arrest report with what I can remember—”

“Actually, I’m not sure an arrest is really necessary,” the more well-spoken orc cuts him off. It’s not? “Orim and I are the only ones to see him. Perhaps it would be better if you took him home and handled this yours elf, sir.”

The two of them share a look that I can’t quite read before Ironstorm gives him a nod, straightening his posture. “Yes, I think you may be correct. Deputy Rockfang, Officer Broadedge, thank you again. I shall see you back here in a few days.” Both orcs salute him before he tu rns to me.

What just happened?

“ Come .” He grabs me by the shoulder and turns me around to remove the manacles. Then after grabbing me by the collar like a dog scruffing a pup, I am led out of the room and out of the building. The few orcs I see on our way out don’t seem to notice us. As we start the walk home, I can’t help myself, needing to know what exactly is going to happen.

“Wha—” I am yanked to a stop and turned, an angry orc i n my face.

“Not one word , David,” Ironstorm growls at me before pushing me down the road.

Getting arrested might have been the saf er option.