chapter eleven
Trading Places
The river turned east, around another hill, on its meandering northern course. The late afternoon sun glared off the water as Deetra stood on a raft next to her blindfolded mount, surrounded by tradesmen. Some lay down on the raft, while others kept watch on the wood line on the west bank.
Alex stood next to his horse on the raft ahead of her, with six tradesman. Dylan rode on the one behind her. The horses refused to board the rafts at first but with a blindfold and some mushrooms one of the tradesmen collected they tolerated the river ride. Deetra rubbed her horse’s neck, imagining her second reunion with Ayla.
The nine men on the lead raft jumped to their feet, rocking their vessel as it circled the bend. Deetra blinked away her and Ayla’s embrace in her imagination. Something splashed into the water behind her. She twisted to see, but Killian called back to Alex from the lead raft, making her pause.
The four tradesmen and two field hands on Alex’s vessel grabbed their weapons as he turned and relayed the message back to Deetra.
“The garrison!”
No. The garrison was on the road, Deetra had seen them herself this morning. Deetra raised her hand against the glare off the river. The rafts had brought them back almost the same distance she had travelled since she’d seen them on the road earlier. The garrison must have stopped and waited. But she had no idea how they knew to detour half a mile from the road, to the river.
The first raft drifted past the bend, and Deetra’s raft picked up speed. Her horse nickered a complaint so she tightened her grip on the reins. She turned to pass the message to Dylan but her attention was pulled to the tradesmen on the raft behind her staring and pointing at something in the water, arguing and confused.
She followed the pointing fingers, and there was Dylan swimming for shore, already halfway there. He must have jumped off at the first hint of danger, before the current picked up. Her jaw clenched involuntarily and she balled her fists, struggling to see past the red haze clouding her vision as things clicked into place.
The minotaurs couldn’t afford to leave Hornstall’s defenses divided, so they had Dylan bring Hillside’s fighters to them while the masters slaughtered the rest. This way, the garrison would only be gone two or three days, instead of four or five.
The bastard had set them up.
The men on Deetra’s raft turned to her, confused. They all talked at the same time, each with a different version of: “What do we do now?”
Deetra checked the front. The men on the raft ahead of Alex, the lead, all fell to their backs and sides. One splashed straight into the river. Alex’s voice carried over the water as his men dropped to their bellies and he ducked behind his horse. “Take cover!”
Deetra and the tradesmen hit the deck. Her horse shuffled, startled. The vessel shifted, picking up more momentum as it cut through the steepest part of the bend. A man on Alex’s raft screamed and she looked up. The man rolled onto his side, an arrow in his thigh. Only a few arrows reached Alex’s vessel.
She stood back up with a shout to her men. “We’re not in range yet! On my word, jump off the side and use the raft for cover.”
As Deetra’s raft followed Alex’s around the bend, another volley of arrows arced through the sky from the wood line on the west bank. They rained down on Alex’s raft a second time. His horse reared, arrows in its shoulder, neck, and hip. It lost its footing and fell flat on top of the raft.
Red alder logs splintered and separated, and Alex and his men plunged into the river. The horse thrashed for a moment, tangled in the rope that held the raft together, and then went under. The wreckage drifted further apart as the river cut around the bend.
Holding her breath, Deetra searched for Alex. Her vessel rounded the hill and her heart sank at the view thus revealed. The minotaurs had assembled in squads on a level, grassy bank on the east side. The moment they came into view, the twang of dozens of bows carried over the water. Deetra’s horse shied and fought her grip. Arrows dotted the sky.
Deetra yelled: “Now! Jump!”
Deetra let go of the reins. The tradesmen reached down for handholds on the side of the raft. She grabbed the pointed end of one of the logs and jumped in.
Arrows peppered the deck and pack, one landing between her fingers with a vibrating thwack. The horse neighed and splashed into the river as one of the tradesmen fell over her with an arrow in his chest.
Deetra pulled her chin up to look over the deck. Her heart ached with regret over the loss of the horse. A few hundred yards down the bend, a group of minotaurs waded out into the water with long polearms. They hooked the first raft, littered with tradesmen bodies, and pulled it to shore.
The raft behind Deetra’s had followed her example and took cover in the water. Two men hung onto the raft for dear life. Arrows thunked and popped on the deck in front of her face again, a few slicing into the water around her.
The current slowed as they came out of the turn and Deetra moved hand over hand toward the back, seeking better cover from the arrows. She made it, but the archers in the wood line did not fire again.
She spotted Alex. Only a hundred yards from the minotaur squads on the east bank, he crawled onto shore. He took cover in some brush and flopped onto his back, gasping. If she swam for shore now, the current might carry her to the same area. Deetra pushed herself from the raft and swam.
The current dragged her at a diagonal. She fought just to keep her head above water. Her long arms, strong and tanned from long days in the vineyard, crawled through the river as she kicked.
The distance to shore seemed to stay constant, never drawing any closer. Her muscles burned and her body screamed for more than intermittent breaths. She gasped each time her face came out of the water.
Alex’s voice called to her. “Deetra! C’mon! You can make it!”
She checked her distance to shore and this time it was closer - twenty yards, maybe less. Alex kept checking over his right shoulder. Two minotaur squads had broken away for the others, headed his way. Deetra put her face back in the water and fought her way to him. The pull of the current lessened as she drew closer. She picked her head up again.
Dylan ran down the shore toward Alex from the opposite direction, longsword in hand. Alex saw him and wheeled around, a pair of daggers drawn. Deetra forced herself to keep swimming, still gasping and trying to get her breath - ten yards to go.
Her foot brushed against a stone at the bottom of the muddy river. Dylan swung his sword and Alex ducked. Her face dipped under water as the rock tumbled and she lost her footing.
Alex yelled above, his words muffled. Her other foot found the rock again and she pushed herself above the water.
Alex was still yelling, Dylan on the ground behind him.
“… go! We have to -”
Dylan rose up, blood dripping from his lip and nose. Deetra tried to yell, but water got in her mouth and she choked.
Alex checked over his shoulder in time to see Dylan plunge his longsword into Alex’s back. Alex’s body arched with a grunt, shoulders back. Dylan withdrew his weapon and pushed. Alex dropped to his knees and fell forward, face first into the water.
It didn't look real. It couldn’t be real.
Deetra screamed. “I’ll kill you! You coward!”
She swam for shore, vigour renewed by rage. Dylan planned this from the beginning. She had wondered how he made it through the battle at the manor without so much as a scratch.
Now it seemed obvious. He didn’t come when the bell rang or when the manor burned. It was the only part of what happened that hadn’t gone according to his design.
Deetra made it far enough to walk out of the water. She lifted her legs high, out of breath, heart twisting in her chest. Alex’s blood seeped into the river, following the current. His black hair floated around his face.
Deetra rushed Dylan, hands hooked into claws. She lunged for him. He side-stepped and kicked her in the gut as she came down
. After the hard swim, the kick stole the little breath she had left. She landed on the shore in a ball, without enough air in her lungs to cry out.
The minotaur soldiers came up behind Dylan. He smiled at her and pointed. “This is the one from the arena. Take her alive.”
Deetra fixed him with a hateful glare, Alex’s head bobbed in the water next to her thigh. Something hit her in the back of the head and the world went black.
Deetra sat inside a closed wagon in the dark, her back against the wall as it rocked and bounced along the road. Chains jingled as she lifted her hands to check the bump on the back of her head but she couldn't reach it. Her captors had shackled her hands and feet together. Her head pounded and her eyes blurred in rhythm.
The wagon slowed down to roll over a big bump in the road. The ride smoothed, and the sound of wagon wheels on stone echoed outside. The bridge. They were almost to Hornstall. Deetra had been out for a full day.
Dylan’s voice carried over the sound of horses and the wagon. “I ride ahead to talk to the rebels. I will meet you at the second gatehouse!”
His voice made her sick. She wondered if the men on the last five rafts had gotten away. Alex had reported two wagons with the garrison and she didn't hear a second one on the bridge. The garrison must have split a second time to give chase to the survivors. Good. The less that returned with her, the better. With any luck, the army chased the survivors all the way back to Hillside. It would give Ayla and Butch time.
Torchlight pierced through gaps in the vertical slat wall of her transport as it slowed to a stop. Hoofsteps moved all around the wagon and the portcullis to Hornstall clinked open. Commotion surged outside. Minotaurs, dozens of them by the sound, spoke with thick, hurried tongues. Her headache and the echo in the gate house made them impossible to understand.
A shout from the driver and crack of his whip quieted them and got the wagon moving out into the night again. Deetra half fell to her side. She righted herself and propped her aching head on her palms. The chains held her hands too close together for her to cover her ears.
Dozens of hooves clattered on flagstone all around her in the dark. The wagon picked up speed just in time to slow down again for the second gatehouse. The cacophony of hooves doubled as the inside of the wagon lit up in vertical lines again. This time another horse’s hooves joined the first two, followed by Dylan’s voice.
“They offered a trade. Follow me to the perimeter!”
Another crack of the whip and they left the second gate. The horses out front picked up their pace to a trot. The wagon shook and bounced. Through the vertical slats, she saw the temple go by. The streetlamps along the main road passed on either side in quick succession. Dylan was in a rush to get her there, apparently.
Arena perimeter… That meant Ayla and Butch held up their end of the plan. They’d held the arena until her return.
The thought of Ayla put a lump in Deetra’s throat. Since she’d left, she had wanted nothing more than to see Ayla’s face again. Now, she couldn't bear the thought. Deetra never imagined she would return a failure - just victorious or dead.
The wagon slowed to a stop again and more minotaur voices and hooves gathered round. One of them came to the back door and threw the latch. Deetra squinted against the sudden flood of light as the doors were flung open. The shadow of the arena looked darker still in the cloudy night.
A minotaur with a torch stepped aside and another, high-ranking by the gold ring on his horns, stepped behind the wagon. He reached in and grabbed Deetra by both shackled ankles. Before she could object, he jerked her toward him.
She slid onto her back with a thump. Her head bounced off the wood, causing a bright explosion of pain behind her eyes and her stomach threatened to expel its contents as he dragged her towards the edge of the wagon.
A pole slid between her shackled ankles and wrists. The two minotaurs hoisted her up, metal digging into her skin, and hoisted her out of the wagon on the pole like a pig. Blood rushed to Deetra’s head and she struggled to stay conscious as the pain increased even more. She swayed in rhythm with the gait of her captors and the sound of their hooves.
They passed the entry to the arena, her eyes closed against the flickering light all around. The familiar smells of burning pitch from the torches and musty sand greeted her. The shuffle of boots and hushed words told her they’d reached the human perimeter. The minotaurs who carried her stopped.
A human voice spoke up. “The Priestess agreed to allow four prisoner escorts up to the west gate.”
The half-beast holding the pole by her head adjusted his grip. “Who’s coming with us?”
Dylan spoke up from behind. “Just you two and me.”
Negotiations meant that the arena had reached a stalemate and both sides had come to the table to discuss options. The garrison must have split, as Deetra thought. If the rest of the men had arrived, she doubted Dylan and the minotaurs would waste more time with talk.
Dylan ordered them to a halt. “When we get there. No one says a word, but me.”
The minotaurs agreed, and they carried her down a hall that stunk of latrine. Deetra’s shoulders ached from the strain of holding her dead weight. The shackles on her ankles and wrists stripped and tore her skin with every bounce or movement, creating a constant burn interspersed with sharp, stabbing pains.
An excited human yell she didn’t recognize echoed down the hall. “They’re coming!”
Then another voice, more distant, hollered for Ayla. “Priestess!”
Deetra twisted but couldn’t see around the swishing red kilt and thick furry legs in front of her in the flickering torchlight. Empty weapon racks lay on their side in the corner. A breeze pushed sand over the floor and collected in the cracks.
Dylan’s trousered human legs stepped up alongside her. “Put her down.”
The beasts stopped and dropped her. Deetra saved the back of her head, but the pole came down on her temple. She rolled onto her side, on the cliff of her pain threshold, staring down into unconsciousness. Her body heaved and she vomited next to Dylan’s boots.
Ayla’s voice came next, far away, like Alex calling to Deetra when she dipped under water.
“Unshackle her. Wait. You!” she growled. “I should have let you die on your knees in that crypt, pig.”
She heard a smug laugh, wavering in her consciousness.
“It’s Dylan.”
“Where’s Alex?”
The fear in Ayla’s voice cut into Deetra’s soul. The traitor scoffed.
She lost track of what they were saying after that. Instead, the image of Alex, face down in the river played over in Deetra’s memory. His short, black hair floating around his ears, blood trailing into the shallows in wisps…
But she would never tell Ayla that part. She would just suffer that memory alone. Deetra blinked as the world came back one sense at a time; the gritty floor under her cheek, the stink of sweating half-beasts, the dust of the arena floor, Dylan’s laugh.
“Orcs,” the traitor said, still chuckling. “Bloodlust and balls, but no brains.”
If Dylan planned to defeat Butch and Ayla by underestimating the orc, he wouldn’t live long enough to regret it. The orc had no shortage of brains – or dignity, as he chose not to reply.
Ayla spoke next. “I said, unshackle her.”
Deetra fought the lump in her throat as they unlocked her cuffs. The cool air soothed her raw wrists. The pole slid from between her ankles, and a furry hand lifted her upper body from the ground by her wrists, cuts burning once more in his grip. A knee in her back pushed her forward until her knees touched metal and sand.
A pair of small hands, cool, but rough, touched Deetra’s cheeks and lifted her head. Deetra sucked in her lip to stop it from quivering.
“I'm sorry,” Deetra said.
“Don't be,” Ayla said and stroked her hair.
The hands holding Deetra up pulled her away. The minotaur’s body leaned and she fell against his hairy thigh. Deetra
opened her eyes. Her chains rolled and slid on the floor ahead of her to the base of a portcullis. They stopped in front of the bars, Ayla on the other side. Butch stood behind her on the arena floor, the torch in one hand reflecting off his amber eyes.
“Put them on, witch,” Dylan said.
“No! Ayla, don -” Deetra said, but a hoof kicked her in the chest. The world flashed white and her lungs wouldn't take air. She thrashed against the beast’s leg, trying to force a breath. The world greyed out again but Ayla’s scream brought it back.
“Stop it! You’ll kill her!”
A sword cleared a scabbard and Dylan yelled, “Put them on!”
Deetra drew her breath with a gasp and coughed as she let it out. Her chest whistled and rattled with a maddening tickle. Butch signalled to someone above the portcullis with a winding motion and then two pinched fingers, the torch in his other hand throwing the gesture into long, distorted shadows. The portcullis rose with a clanking sound.
It came up two feet and Ayla faced Butch, still on her knees. He bent, locked the cuffs on her wrists, and kissed her on the cheek.
Deetra wanted to scream, to tell her no, but it came out a wheeze. The taste of copper in the back of her throat made her stomach roil.
The minotaur let go. She caught herself with her hands, her chest and head crying out in unison. She laid down and put her cheek to the sandy floor.
Ayla rolled under the gate. She slid over and lifted Deetra’s head into her lap. Ayla’s breath tickled Deetra’s ear.
“Take this,” she whispered, and pressed a cold metal hoop into Deetra’s hands. “Butch will explain.”
Deetra stared at her face, her head still throbbing in time with her pulse. Her voice came out a thready croak. “What’re you doing?”
Ayla smoothed Deetra’s hair back and sniffled. She kissed Deetra’s aching temple and the headache eased immediately. “Making a trade.”
Deetra tried to sit up, and Ayla helped her.
Someone had trimmed Ayla’s raven black hair to even it out from Goreskin’s chop job. Long bangs draped over her cheeks, framing eyes filled with sorrow. Deetra propped herself on her arms to take in the sight of her. Who knew if it would be the last time. Ayla’s ice-blue eyes in the soft lighting almost made her weep.
“I don't understand.”
Ayla’s lip quivered, and her eyes flooded. “I told you Butch would explain,” she said, and wiped her eyes with her palms.
Deetra let her questions slip away. For days, always with the Abyss at her heels, she’d waited for this moment. She pressed her lips to Ayla’s. Ayla leaned in close, a fragrance on her breath.
The stitch in Deetra’s chest eased. She broke the kiss enough to sigh and Ayla placed a finger over her mouth. Noses touching, the Priestess whispered, eyes closed. Deetra pressed her palm to Ayla’s tunic, over her heart. Ayla leaned in again, brushing her lips over Deetra’s. The kiss deepened and the throbbing in Deetra’s head faded.
Then Ayla jerked away from her. Deetra recoiled, eyes opening. Dylan had Ayla by the arm. He gave them a disgusted look.
“That's enough.”
The traitor pulled Ayla to her feet as Butch reached under the gate and grabbed Deetra by the forearm. The orc dragged her under and Deetra let him. She and Ayla held each other's gaze. The Priestess’ kiss still lingered on Deetra’s lips as Butch helped Deetra to her feet on the other side.
The brazier inside the west gate made the shadows of Dylan and the two minotaurs inside leap and twist, like demons dancing. They led Ayla around the corner, past the latrines and out of sight.
Deetra looked down at her hands. In one, she held Ayla’s steel medallion.
Butch’s thick green arm gathered her in and squeezed - a hug. “This was her choice.”