Shorn: Chapter 25

Despite his confident words, Shorn was troubled when he set off into the darkness, carrying his spear and a pouch of food Melda had hurriedly prepared for him. He was not worried about the guards. They would present no real trouble, especially if he acted during the night. Once he removed the sentry, the others would be easily neutralized.

His fears stemmed from the consequences if he failed. Sweetwater would be destroyed. He would have condemned the very people who trusted him. If the soldiers came, it was likely they would not limit themselves to the town. Outlying farms would be in danger too. Melda’s was far enough away that they might not find it, but that was a possibility he couldn’t allow.

He would simply have to trust that a solution would present itself. It wasn’t the first time he’d undertaken a mission without a clear plan of how to execute it. Several times his superior officers had sent him to a hot point with an objective and not much else.

With that, he put the problem out of his mind and set himself to covering ground. He knew that if he left the problem alone, his subconscious would continue working on it. Fortunately, he had time still.

 

Sweetwater was quiet and dark when he passed. The road was empty except for the possum he saw crossing the road with several young on her back. By the time the sun rose, Shorn was leagues down the road.

He stopped on a high point and surveyed the road behind him. As he’d expected, there was no sign of the slavers yet. He hadn’t expected them to start this early, but if he knew one thing about missions it was that reality often completely upended expectations. Survival meant checking and rechecking, leaving as little to chance as possible.

Shorn drank some water and chewed on the bread Melda had sent with him. He still had no real idea what he was going to do. Every idea he had ran into the same problems. If he killed Merks, Sweetwater would pay the price. If he rescued the slaves but left Merks alive, the slaver would hunt them down again, and most likely Sweetwater would suffer.

The best idea he had so far was to rescue the slaves and then intimidate Merks. Let him know he’d have to deal with Shorn if he went back to Merinoth and told anyone. How likely was that to work, though? Once Merks was safely back in Merinoth, he’d probably decide to take his chances.

In the distance, Shorn saw the wagon appear, moving slowly his way. He stowed his water skin in his pack and continued walking.

At sunset, the slavers stopped to camp in a clearing beside the road. They didn’t check their back trail or scout the campsite. Clearly, they weren’t concerned about anyone following them.

The guards built a fire and sat around it, swapping stories and passing a bottle. The slaves were chained to a tree. All of them but Moll essentially collapsed on the spot, only sitting up to eat their meager dinner rations. Moll sat down and glared at the guards, who ignored her. Merks spent the evening in his wagon. His aide sat by the wagon, leaning up against one of the wheels.

Shorn watched from the darkness as the camp slowly went to sleep. One by one, the guards wandered off to their blankets. Only one of them stayed up to keep watch, but he stayed by the fire, staring into the flames, so Shorn knew he wasn’t going to be a problem. The light went off in the wagon. The aide crawled under the wagon to sleep.

Eventually, only the guard on watch and Moll were still awake. He looked around and then got up and walked over to her. She went very still and watched him approach. He stopped a few steps away. He was the burly guard who drove the wagon.

“What?” she growled. From the way she held the extra chain in her hands, Shorn could see how badly she wanted to wrap it around his throat.

“It’s a cold night.”

“No, it’s not.”

“You’re hungry.”

She shrugged. “Not really.”

The burly guard made an exasperated sound. “I’m trying to help you.”

“No, you’re not.”

“You want a blanket? Maybe some food?” He got a furtive look on his face. “I could even lay my hands on some wine. You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

Her hostile expression never wavered. “What do I have to give you?”

“Nothing much. A little companionship is all. It’s lonely on the road.”

She bared her teeth. “I’d rather bed a porcupine. If you come near me, I’ll bite off something valuable. I promise you that.”

His expression changed instantly. Gone was the attempt at friendliness. In its place was cold rage.

“Stupid bitch. You could have made this a lot easier on yourself. I gave you a chance.” His whip was hanging from his belt. He pulled it free and shook it out. “Now I’m going to have a different kind of fun with you.”

The crack of the whip was loud in the night air, so loud it should have awakened the other guards. But evidently they were used to the sound, because none of them woke up. Only the aide tossed in his sleep. The whip left a bloody line down Moll’s arm. She flinched but did not cry out, only glared at him defiantly.

The slaver struck her again. This time a cry of pain was wrenched from her lips, but she did not look away.

The slaver struck her a third time, tearing her thin shirt. Shorn’s hands were aching from how tightly he kept them clenched. It was painful not being able to do anything.

The slaver looked over and saw that the aide was sitting up now, watching. With a disgusted noise, he coiled up the whip and turned his back on Moll. He went back to the fire and sat down.

Shorn stayed there, watching Moll for some time. Now that the slaver was no longer looking at her, she let the brave face go. Tears ran down her face, and she was shaking.

Shorn considered revealing himself to her, to give her some hope. But in the end, he decided not to. There was too much risk. Feeling sick at heart, Shorn retired to his own bed.

 

Shorn was up early the next morning and on the road before the camp was awake. This day passed the same as the previous one, with Shorn staying ahead of the slavers, racking his brain for any ideas.

The next few days passed the same way. They passed the villages of Tidvale and Rocky but did not stop.

After Rocky, the road led up into some mountains. Though not as tall or as steep as the ones Shorn had passed through before meeting Melda and her family, they were still formidable and would take several days to cross. From what Melda had told him, the kingdom of Merinoth lay on the far side of the mountains. The countryside was much more populated, with numerous towns and even small cities along the road to the capital. His chances of being seen would be much higher. It would also be harder to escape with the fugitive slaves. Which meant he really needed to figure out a solution before then. Even if it was a bad solution.

The slave wagon climbed up into the mountains, the horses straining to haul the heavy load up the narrow road. The first day was all uphill and very slow. The second day saw them in the mountains proper. There were still plenty of steep slopes, but they weren’t as long, and they were alleviated by regular downhill stretches.

By the third day in the mountains, Shorn was starting to get worried. He was fast running out of time.

That night, as he did every night, he stood just outside the reach of the firelight listening. All six guards were sitting around the fire. The slaves were chained to a tree. All of them but Moll seemed to have resigned themselves to their fate. They stared listlessly at nothing, or lay curled up on their sides, trying to sleep. Moll was watching the guards, her eyes dark with violence. Her wrists and ankles were in bad shape because she wouldn’t stop trying to get the chains off. He’d seen her try to pry them off with a stick, and one night she banged on them with a rock until one of the guards heard and whipped her a few times. Her shirt was covered in dried blood and badly torn.

The wagon door opened and Merks stepped out, followed by his aide. The aide was carrying a folding, wooden chair, which he set up near the fire, then bustled back to the wagon. Merks took a seat. The aide brought him a steaming mug and a foot stool, then took up a spot behind him.

“Almost there, gentlemen. I toast you on another successful run. We’ll be paid handsomely for our efforts.”

“We’re getting bonuses this time?” It was the burly man who drove the wagon. Shorn had heard him called Eldis.

“None escaped us, so yes.”

Eldis grinned and raised his mug, the others all following him. Even the aide smiled faintly. “Here’s to going home with coin in my pocket.” They all drank.

When they’d quieted down, Eldis said to Merks, “Now that you’re here, maybe you can settle an argument. Deril here claimed there’s some kind of monster loose in this area, a big, ugly thing with red fur, yellow eyes and long teeth. He says it hangs its victims in trees to eat later. You’ve traveled through here a lot. You ever see anything like that?”

Merks waved a hand lazily. “Every place has foolish rumors.”

Eldis cackled. “You see? It’s just an old woman’s tale. Nothing more.”

Deril’s expression had darkened. He put his hand on the sheath at his side. “I know you’re not calling me an old woman, Eldis. Not unless you want to see the sharp end of my dagger.”

“No violence, boys,” Merks said. “You know the rules. Kill each other when this is over if you want but not before.”

Deril took his hand off his weapon, but his expression was still angry. “You wouldn’t be so cocky if you’d seen what I saw at Fanethrin.”

“Yeah, we know,” Eldis said. “A white-skinned monster with one eye. You told us before. You never shut up about it.”

The two argued some more. Merks finished his mug and headed for the wagon. His aide picked everything up and followed him. Once everything was stowed, the aide rolled up in his blankets under the wagon. The guards began to drift off to their beds as well. Eldis was the last one up. He walked over to the slaves.

He crouched near Moll but not too close. From a pocket, he took a piece of bread and held it up. “How about it?”

Though she had to be starving, Moll didn’t even look at it. She kept her gaze fixed on the guard’s face, murder in her eyes.

“You know you want it,” he wheedled. “There’s cheese and meat too. All you want.” He waved the bread back and forth. “You just have to do something for me.”

Finally, Moll’s eyes went to the bread. She licked her lips. “That’s right.” Eldis moved a little closer, holding the bread out—

Moll leapt at him suddenly, clawing at his face. Her nails drew a line of bloody furrows down his cheek. Eldis cursed and hammered her with his free hand, dropping her to the ground.

Instantly, she was back up and throwing herself at him again. But now he was out of reach. His face red with rage, Eldis grabbed his whip and began hitting her wildly.

Each strike tore away strips of flesh. Shorn winced, knowing it had to hurt terribly. But Moll didn’t cry out or try to get away. She glared at the guard defiantly, daring him to do his worst.

The guard kept striking her. She was bleeding from a half dozen fresh wounds, and he was showing no signs of slowing down. Shorn tensed. If he didn’t stop soon, Shorn was going to act, the consequences be damned. He wasn’t going to stand her and watch her be beaten to death.

Eldis finally stopped. He was breathing hard by then. He spit on her. “Stupid, stupid girl. You deserve what’s coming for you.” He wiped blood from his face and went to his bed.

Moll stared at him for a while, hating. Eventually, she slumped to the ground, a small moan of pain coming from her. Shorn wanted to go to her right then.

Shorn left and went to his camp, hidden in the trees behind the camp. An idea was starting to come to him.

He sat there in the darkness, eating his food, working the idea over in his mind. There was no hurry. He wanted to make sure the guards were all sound asleep before he acted.

First, he had to get rid of the horses.

(If you're interested in reading more of Shorn's story from the time before this current one, go check out Wreckers Gate. It's book one of Immortality and Chaos, the series where we first meet Shorn. I will warn you that he doesn't appear until book 2, though!)

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