"Caught Up"
The glint of the sun gleamed on my slender sword as I drew it from it's scabbard.
The slave trader spread his arms threateningly, an impish grin on his face. "I wouldn't do that if I were you, pointy-ear."
Frustrated, I looked at the his companions, all thirty of them, who formed a half-circle besides their master, cornering me against the barred wagon. Seeing no other escape and inwardly cursing my idiocy in allowing myself to be trapped like this, I sheathed my sword in one swift motion and held up my hands.
Instantly, the circle tightened and my sword, knife, bow, and quiver were ripped from me and I was shoved into the wagon, falling into the hay. Behind me the door swung shut and was locked from the outside with a sharp click.
Leaping up, I was at the door in a flash, staring out through the bars with growing dread in my heart as I realized there was nothing I could do. Ignoring the jeering calls of the slaver traders at my pitiful attempt to escape, I settled into the back corner of the cage, nearest the door.
Leaning my hooded head back against the bars, I thought of what Quinn would've thought of my rather embarrassing capture.
(Number of her age) years of not being caught, not even being thrown into a town jail for pilfering bread, and now I'm being carted off to work in the slave mines.
My late mentor would've laughed, probably knowing I could get out and wait for my return. Once I got back, I would have to endure days of mocking, immediately followed by a detailed demonstration on how not to be captured by slave drivers.
My lips twitched in a half-smile. Quinn's advice would be extremely valuable in this case. Unfortunately, one cannot expect humans to live as long as elves. We must linger on, a mere presence in the world.
Sighing quietly, I brought myself back to the issue at hand.
I could escape, but there was the matter of my weapons to think about. All of Elvish make, they had been given to me the day I was cast out of Eryn Lasgalen. If you ask me, that was the elves' consolation gift, "we're throwing out a young elfling into the wilderness never to return, but we have properly supplied her, Nienna, lady of mercy, we have appeased you."
Ai! The injustice of it all...'nay, now is not the time.' Mentally, I quoted Quinn, something I had been doing a lot after his death and gradually my anger simmered down.
Inhaling, I considered my options. My weapons have never been handled by someone other than me or Quinn, since I have avoided all forms of life for so many years. Honestly, I was more than a little nervous about having them away from me. More to the point, I didn't even know where they are!
Rising, I peered through the bars. Sure enough, in the wake of my wagon was another, loaded with countless weapons and on top glimmered my silver sword. I gritted my teeth and turned, beginning to pace my cage. As my boot hit the hay-covered wood floor, a wrenching jerk signaled the start of the journey. With a whinny from the cart horses, we set off at a walk.
Wrapping my hands around two of the bars, I tried to look at the bright side of things, which had never been one of my strong points. For most of my life as a ranger, I'd had Quinn at my side to add some humor to whatever depressingly hopeless situation we were in.
I was in the last wagon, which means I was closest to the weapons. That would make the grab-and-go mission I was plotting in my head much easier.
Another good point, I was in the cart alone, which differed from all of the wagons ahead of me. They were packed with prisoners, and only when the last one was absolutely bursting, they would fill up another. It seemed I was the slave driver's final wagon. If I was in the cart alone and I made an attempt to flee, I wouldn't have to worry about anyone but myself and no one would get in the way besides the guards, obviously.
If I were to get out, I would be much faster than the guards walking besides my cage. I could overtake them, but there were archers perched on top of several of the wagons.
The slavers were obviously old hands at this. Sitting down in the center of the dusty hay, I deemed my current plan as unrealistic- I was going to wait until they'd opened the door for some reason, knock out the guards and loot them for keys, and if there was one, unlock the weapon cart and run, if not, steal a guard's sword and break the lock. If I had been extremely lucky, I would've sliced one of the cart horses free from its harness and galloped away. But since it was unlikely they'd open the door for any reason aside from throwing in new prisoners, the plan was useless.
There was also a high possibility the archers would've hit me, and though I would've taken that risk to be free, I wouldn't have made it far with an arrow in my shoulder.
So I resolved to escape once we reached our destination and they had to let us out. Thinking that through, I soon realized that that plan was worse than the previous. No doubt wherever we were heading was crawling with slave drivers. I had to leave now. But how?
Wrapping my black cloak around myself, I huddled against the bars of the cage once again, closing my eyes. The rocking pace of the plodding horses lulled me into the land of sleep.
An undefinable period of time later, I awoke to the sounds of a struggle and faintly comprehended that the wagon had ceased moving. Standing blearily and tripping over my own feet, I managed to regain my bearings enough to witness the fight outside my cage.
What I saw jolted me awake. A family of humans, adorned in ragged clothes of poor farmers, were thrashing around in the grasp of the guards.
The oldest, a man with a scraggly grey beard and desperate green eyes saw me and shouted. "Help us, stranger!"
I narrowed my eyes from under my hood. It was apparent he did not know I was an elf; if he did, he'd be asking me to cast some sort of spell to send them back to their farm. Humans have some warped ideas when it comes to my kind.
By the Valar, how could I help you while I'm locked in the same cage you're going to be thrown into? I dared not say that aloud. My accent would be a dead giveaway. And mentioning the Valar, the Powers the elves believe in, would be a bit of a no-brainer.
A child with golden hair screamed shrilly and fought in the arms of her captor. Her mother kicked at the slaver holding her daughter and he gave a hoarse shout of pain and released her. For a second, I thought they would get away, but the slaver was on them again in the blink of an eye.
The scuffle sent clouds of dust and grit flying, creating good cover for my own getaway. I prayed they would open the door to fling the family in before the air cleared.
Luckily, they did. Fumbling for the lock, one of them swung open the door and the rest began to muscle the unfortunate family into the opening.
Not a moment wasted and, not believing my luck, I pounced, shoving the family and guards out of the way and sprinted towards the weapon-laden wagon.
Yells of indignation and the scraping of swords being drawn behind me quickened my pace, a harsh reminder of how fast I needed to get this done.
I swung up on the bars of the wagon, shielding myself from arrows, and made the realization that I had nothing to release the lock with. With arrows whistling around me, I ducked down, self-preserving instincts kicking in.
Cold steel pressed against my neck announced that he guards had reached me. Flinching away, I plunged my arm through the bars of the cage and grabbed the first item my fingers touched. It was the sheath of my knife and thankfully, the knife was inside.
Figuring I had about two seconds before the first sword cut off my head, I rolled away, springing to my feet a couple yards away from the wagon. The knife gleamed wickedly in my hand, as if it somehow knew that it's thirst for blood would be quenched.
Five guards approached me, their own swords polished and ready for action.
Somewhere in the back of my mind, I hoped the family had enough sense to run while the guards were distracted, but that thought was soon eliminated as the rush of battle took over.
My hood fell back, revealing my slanted ears and fine-boned Elvish features. I spat at the guards and spoke in Sindarin, "Filth! Watch and see your fate from the man before you as I strike you all down!"
The slavers, not understanding, were completely oblivious to my insult. One stepped forward with an ugly sneer. "Speak your pretty words all you want, elf. They are meaningless to us."
Switching to the common tongue, I replied fiercely. "Not when they speak your future, human, and when that future holds the bite of my knife, you'll wish you'd paid more attention." Then, I spun into action, leaping forward and bringing the hilt of my knife across his jaw, splintering the bone, and in the backstroke, slitting his throat.
The man dropped to the earth with nary a sound. The other men watched him fall just as I had predicted; terror started to twist their faces.
Smirking in satisfaction, I made quick work of the other guards. There is no mortal who can keep up with the sword of an elf.
Swiftly grabbing the key from the belt on the body of one of the guards, I unlocked the wagon door and snatched the rest of my weapons, dashing towards the cover of the trees.
Once safe into a small grove deep into the leafy forest, I dropped down, leaning against the gnarled stump of a tree. Throwing my weapons next to me, I whispered to myself. "I told you I could do it, Quinn."