Chains

I ran, tripping over my feet as something - probably blood - made the rocks slick. Chains hung from my wrists, but the man had cut through them earlier like a hot knife through honey butter, so at least my hands were free. The cliff face was sheer and unforgiving, and I could hear the baying of the war hounds behind me, not giving chase but fighting for their master's lives.

When the Drummonds had attacked my captors, most of the slaves had been freed, and I had run with them in an attempt to disappear. I wasn't one of them, but after months of living with them I looked similar. My rich cloth had been replaced by dirty rags, and the bangles that I'd worn so proudly on my ankles and upper arms had been confiscated very early on.

Now I wore thick grey clamps with chains that had once loosely linked my arms together, and my feet were most likely cut in several places. I hadn’t run like this in nearly a year, and my body wasn’t happy with me.

I could remember coming to the capital of Kar so long ago, the glittering river beside the sprawling city filled with ships and boats of all kinds. Mountains rose to the side, and the waves of golden grass gave way to the ocean in the distance. It was in an ideal place for most trade and I'd been in awe of its beauty.

As a royal ambassador, I'd complimented the city's gorgeous stone structure, and the way the streets we walked down smelled faintly of nectarines and apples. The way the children played on street corners with balls of cloth, and the way the cattle in the market stalls were healthy and fat.

We went towards the palace on their horses, the roughly cobbled streets with plain, cramped buildings turning into wide roads with tall mansions. Their whitewashed stone sides were covered in places with marvelous colored tiles, others with creeping flowers that rose on trellises.

Our guards were accommodating, handing us off kindly to the palace servants, who in turn welcomed us and our personal guard. They led us away, me and my handmaidens being gifted with a handsome set of rooms called a 'suite'. Delicate sweets with sugar crusted over them waited beside chilled wine on the main table, beside a heavy missive with a dark wax seal.

The wine was tart, the sweets soft on the inside, filled with a fruity mash that made my teeth ache in a good way. The letter was, roughly translated, an apology that his Highness the prince had not met us at the gate. It explained that there was a meeting that could not be escaped, and that the King himself would arrive that night - they looked forward to meeting us at dinner.

Rosetta, one of my maids, made a sour face, saying she thought it rude to dump us in our rooms alone without anyone to speak with. However, before I could speak, a knock at the door was revealed to be a guide who offered to show us the palace and surrounding gardens.

I cannot remember much from that afternoon, to be truthful. Until dinner, things are a blank, but I recall the candied nuts and jams that were served hot at the start of the meal with a thick spiced yohgurt. Dainty porcelain cups like nothing I’d ever used were filled with a bitter drink that I’d wasn’t a fan of, but cream made it so I found it nice enough.

The things I can remember are the way the stuffed pig fell apart in my mouth, and the way I loved the hot cider that turned out to be heavily drugged. From there things are fuzzy. I hear hushed voices in my dreams, and breathing in my ear. Pain in my side and cramps in my arms as shouts rang out before they were cut off by a horrible gurgling noise.

There’s a flash of fetid smells and something mushy coating my leg when I think I briefly woke up, but it wasn’t for long, and the next time I awoke, it was in the dark.

From there things only got worse. I had been taken as a political hostage, but in secret. They had a woman replacing me in public, and held me only as a last resort. I wasn’t treated very well, but I was fed daily and only beaten when I tried to escape or if I disobeyed.

I can’t say how long I was hidden, but I know that I saw the full moon many times before the screams and shouts came from outside the dark room my group was kept in.

I never saw my handmaidens or guards again, and my hands had callouses and bruises covering them. We were given medical attention, but were still treated as the slaves that most of the others were.

Now I stood at the edge of a drop off, my only possible choice at the bottom. Behind me was death, and before me was probable death, but the valleys and mountains were a patchwork of jagged, white tipped peaks. There were thick trees everywhere and wide spaces were rivers gleamed. It was night time, but the moon was out and fires were everywhere around me. In what light there was, it held a kind of savage, ruthless beauty, and my breath was stolen from me by it.

Screams of horses and the dying cries of men and women echoed off the walls that I had fled from. I didn’t bother to glance back; I knew what I would see. Instead I looked for the best handhold, ripping the bottoms of my breeches off. Wrapping the strips of cloth around my wet, bloody feet, I used another strip to tie each in place and keep it from falling off.

Kneeling, I edged backwards slowly, very carefully taking hold of the first grip and letting my foot find the next. From here I could see the battle, fires flaring all over the fields. It wasn’t a siege, but a massacre. The Drummonds knew what they were here to do, and thank god they had known foe from neutral. Not having anything against us, they had released us solely because the more people to fight our captors the better.

At least, I assume that was their reasoning - I didn’t stop to ask.

Looking, away as they scene drew out of sight, I focused on my climbing, nervous fingers making sure to test each hold before putting weight on it.