2412 Strilaxis 17, Velpa : Jered Axilia

Reeca's jaw hurt.

It was dark around her. Her body was twisted in a wretched position with her arms behind her and legs folded to her face. Thick ropes around her chest prevented her from moving so much as an inch.

The air was stocky, smelling like moldy fresda. The light was strange, like it's bright and dim at the same time. With painstaking kicks, her foot hit a fabric-like surface. There's not much room when she tried rolling left or right. Her wings perked with painful throbs.

Reeca's throat constricted. She's in a sack, literally.

But where that sack was and would be traveling, she had no idea. For all she knew she was in Gaimouth and would have to spend months trekking back to Carleon. A growl escaped her throat.

Poachers. It had to be them. She only knew about this because Rhys disguised himself as one once in his many journeys. He told her to be wary of them because they take fairies far away from their settlement to rob them off. Then, they would let their captives run free without anything. They won't kill but they would take what one considers valuable.

Reeca closed her eyes, frustration budding in her gut. This was how a normal transaction was conducted.

How many days has it been since she was in Anchester? What has happened to her from there?

Muffled voices exploded in her ears as her senses returned. Words blended in her ears as the men talked in Keijula, Ylanenla, and an occasional unfamiliar slang from each sub-racial dialect. Reeca counted the varying tones and judged that they were not more than five. That presents a manageable number.

She tensed. Her sword. Her flintlocks.

Even with half of her muscles bound, she could feel that she was weaponless like a newborn akrise. If those men have at least two swords, the fight would be hard. That count excluded the use of synnavaimis, but with Reeca's luck, that's where this would boil down to.

A flood of light blinded her. Reeca averted her eyes as someone opened the sack, letting in a rivet of fresh air that she greedily breathed in.

"Aye, thar goeth our li'l princess!" the stout man said, his boots level with Reeca's eyes. Reeca recognized his ancient hide boots with the laces undone from the forest. Where had they taken her?

A hairy hand reached inside the sack and grasped Reeca by her hair. She gritted her teeth to avoid crying out in pain as she slid off her fabric prison. She plopped stiffly into a cobbled floor when the man let go.

It's taken her a while to adjust to the light. As soon as her eyes could take in proper shapes, she noted open, square windows, a wooden ceiling painted brown, tables and chairs arranged inside a circular structure, and the men standing in a hazy circle around a square table while drinking from tall, wooden mugs.

Outside, she could barely hear metal striking metal, a strange whirring noise, and a dozen loud honks. She caught a whiff of coal burning and noticed the sky was painted gray with plumes of smoke.

Reeca's mind whirled. Circular buildings, metal clanking against metal, a faint smell of coal burning. Where in Umazure was this?

"Client shoulda veen hither by now," a man harrumphed. Reeca pivoted her neck to get a glimpse. This one was lean, broad-chested, tall, and inked. Swirling patterns resembling different figures splashed across his chest, his arms, and even to his cheeks. He looked older than Reeca and was almost Rhys's age, though with fairies, it's quite hard to tell.

He crouched and forced Reeca to look up to him by her chin. "Now I see why Garbin thought ya a treasure," he grinned to show teeth with black spots. "Different colors issa treasure indeed."

Reeca averted her eyes to anywhere but that youth's black-ridden teeth and hairy brows. She despised the muddy finger pressed against her chin.

"Get off me," she rasped, her voice coarse through her dry throat.

The inked youth grinned and turned to his companions. "Maybe we ain't throwing 'er off after they got them see-ers. Shall we 'ave 'er at a talent market? That voice ain't a dagrine's ass."

They erupted in laughter, the stout man, Garbin, especially the loudest.

"Aye thar li'l prissy will be worth our trudge from Anchester!" a third man bellowed. Three piercings shone from his left ear, contrasting against his dark complexion. He stood bare-chested, with only a kilt around his waist and no footwear at all. His dark eyes glared down at Reeca with blazing intensity.

Reeca pursed her lips. What was a fire sprite doing with these men?

She watched as the sprite clapped the back of another man who grinned and showed only two front teeth. Reeca peered deeper and entered trail vision. His trail was unremarkable. Only a human or a banshee have that trait.

Front-teeth man garbled something Reeca didn't catch and elbowed another man who stood mutely beside him. The man smiled thinly, his light brown hair slightly messy. He wore a vested tunic and a smooth cloak tied around his neck. His brown eyes stared into space. A Brownie, most likely.

Reeca's mind tallied all her observation of the men who captured her: Garbin who was either human or a banshee, the youth who was more likely to be a half-blood, the fire sprite, the front-teeth man who, like Garbin, might be a human or a banshee, and the brownie. It must be the brownie who sneaked up behind her. It's almost impossible to detect their presence when they vanish.

Garbin said something in their diverse language and the men erupted in laughter. Blood rushed to Reeca's face. In her mind's eye, she saw how pathetic she looked. Tied to the ground with her eyes about to become meat in someone else's salad. Pathetic. Rhys would never let her live this down if he ever saw it.

Think, Reeca.

Her mind ran through her options. It would be impossible to stand up with her legs tied to her chest. Springing up would be out of the question. Reeca rested her head on the cobbled road. The rocks dug against her temples.

The client still hasn't shown up and the men lost interest in her and instead focused on downing their ales from their mugs. They started talking about breasts and other things just as lewd. Reeca rolled her eyes. Ugh, men.

She looked around. They appeared to be in some kind of tavern but darker, damper, and smellier. A lone brownie sat on a table farthest from Reeca, not eating anything. His hands were folded calmly on the table, half of his face hidden in the shadows.

She could try calling him but with her throat dry and her voice no louder than a croak, she doubted she could draw attention before these men knocked the pebbles out of her. Also, the possibility he's one of them wasn't far-fetched.

Come on, there has to be something!

Her weapons. Where were they?

Reeca gently swiveled her neck around, seeing a wooden door with no knob. That must be the exit. If she could get out in one piece, there's still a chance. She needed a distraction and a way out of these ropes.

Her eyes roamed around the place, taking in the chairs, the table, the mugs. The counter stood in the center—all wooden and sporting festoons of different colors. It was quiet there. There might have been no one behind it.

A plan started forming in her brain. Thank the gods the client was late. If done properly, she would be out the door in five minutes.

She flexed her fingers, the ropes cutting against her wrists. A familiar warmth rushed into her senses as she called her magic to the surface. She scuttled backwards to avoid the men from noticing the light from her weaving energy. Focusing on the counter, she began her work.

The wood refused to obey her will as she tried to insert her magic through it. The ropes bit into her hands, preventing her hands from moving as efficiently as they must in performing a weaving. Reeca clenched her jaw. Concentrate.

She urged her fingers to move despite the pain and the restriction. Within minutes, the counter glowed with a distinct shade of Reeca's weaving energy. Good.

Reeca risked a glance at the men. None of them batted an eyelash on her work or noticed her movements. They continued drinking from their mugs of steaming alcohol. The youth's face had already gone a steely shade of pink.

Garbin slapped his thigh as he laughed at a joke one of the men said. Reeca shifted to her left side, biting her tongue to stifle her scream as she accidentally touched her wing. With her fingers behind her back, she summoned a small amount of weaving energy before speaking a command word in Ancient language, recalling the rysteme spell from one of the tomes she read as a child.

The weaving energy in her hands combusted into white flames. From Reeca's position, the top of the counter was at an impossible angle. The ropes kept her wrists from extending all the way. If she missed, she could burn the whole city.

A loud, piercing shriek jostled Reeca. The flame danced dangerously off her grip. Garbin frowned, trudging to the door. He flung it open and leaned half his body out.

"Oi, keep tha' wailing to yer own roof!" he yelled, his voice a bit muffled by the walls.

A strangled reply came. Garbin huffed as he returned to his drink, casting a furtive glance at Reeca. She hid the flames behind her and did her best to remain limp and helpless. The stout man harrumphed once before continuing talking to his men. Soon, laughter blossomed again.

Reeca blew a sigh of relief. At least they didn't suspect her of anything. She steeled her nerves, the flames in her fingers growing hotter. She counted in her mind, ignoring her wrist that was starting to spasm.

One. Two. Three.

The flame flickered in the sunlight as it sailed from her fingers towards the base of the counter. It exploded. Flames spread from the base of the counter and swiftly snaked on the floor. The poachers looked around wildly. Reeca took that time to edge closer to the scattering flames. She wrapped her magic at one ember and willed it to chew through the ropes.

The poachers jumped as the flames licked their soles. The fire sprite did his best to remain calm, but even he seemed unnerved. As one, the men whirled to the fire sprite and began pinning the blame on his magic. The bare-chested fairy growled and reasoned back.

Reeca bit her lip in concentration. The men were occupied for now. Her fingers twitched as she manipulated the flames. Slower than she intended it to, the ropes loosened around her. Come on, just a little more.

Her restraints loosened enough to let her move her legs. Next were the ropes around her chest, binding her arms behind her.

Just then, a knife sailed past Garbin's leaping form and landed an inch from Reeca's ear. She rolled away as Garbin lunged for her. Her head smacked into the cobbled floor as she scrambled out of his way. The stout man lost his balance and stumbled right into the fury of Reeca's flames.

Tuning her ears deaf to his screams, Reeca wiggled and cursed at the ropes. Why won't they come free?

She was still on her back, her arms painfully under her. A bolt of fire sped towards her. She swept her foot up and summoned her magic. A bright blue shield materialized from her boots and collided with the fire. Explosion rocked the tavern, taking with it the walls and the fixtures in a storm of splinters and dust.

Through the haze, Reeca disentangled herself from the ropes using flame from her fingers. As soon as her arms were free, she squinted through the fog and spotted the door.

She stretched her legs and sprang up. The door stood a few feet. She's going to make it.

Suddenly, she was catapulted sideways, an invisible mass hanging by her waist.

She tumbled to the ground. Blindly, she reached out and fired a pure blast of weaving energy in every direction. A garbled yelp to her left. Reeca punched the air. A brownie fell sideways, his limbs appearing out of thin air as his hold on his magic loosened. He dropped to the ground with his nose bloody.

Reeca made for the door again but the fire sprite blocked her way. Standing a head taller than her with muscles enough to crush her bones in a snap, hand-to-hand combat wasn't an option.

Gods, forget the door. The windows were open and free. The fire sprite advanced, somewhere to Reeca's right the inked youth ran towards her. Behind her, she could hear Garbin blubbering orders.

Reeca dashed to her left and tumbled out of a window.

Something grabbed her ankles. She yelped as her head slammed into the wall, her neck twisted against the cobbled road. With a snarl, she thrust her leg in, her magic flowing in strong torrents, driving them a step back. Her ankle came free. She dropped to the ground, her chest heaving.

This wasn't the time to rest!

She forced herself to stand up. Taking a quick look around, she didn't see anything worth using as a weapon. There were carts of hammers, chisels, and other strange tools for doing who knows what. To her right, she spotted normal brownies going about in their business, carrying satchels and muttering to themselves.

To the heart of the City. The poachers won't follow her there.

The sound of wood splintering came to her left. The men were emerging from the burning building, looking at her with murderous rage. Garbin, with half of his face glowing red, held five knives in one hand. The youth managed to find a club. The fire sprite had slung the unconscious brownie by his shoulder. They took a step towards her as she took one back.

Suddenly, the air turned cold, reminding her of the times Kymalin toyed with spirits in the forest. Reeca growled. So one of them was a banshee. She's had enough of banshees in one week!

Turning, she made one desperate choice. She ran.

More circular buildings burned in a haze past her. What's up with brownies living in circular huts?

The men advanced with steady determination, yelling and scaring brownies. Reeca's chest hurt. Her head began to feel light. She had to finish this.

Her fingers went to work as she ran, taking random things she could find and dragging them along. Reeca patched a hammer, a crank, a set of weights, and a bundle of straw. Using her magic, she flattened it to a board. Next, she chipped it bit by bit until she had what looked like a paddle.

A knife whizzed by her ear. She ducked and zigzagged along the circular buildings, the rocks in the road digging against her soles. Her focus shifted from honing her paddle into a sharp edge, avoiding obstacles in her way, and ducking as knives sailed past her head.

She passed several brownies who gawked at her as she ran. Some moved out of her way with a simple sidestep while some screamed and scrambled like they just saw a graspel, dropping their things and widening their eyes.

Reeca slammed her fingers down to her paddle, coaxing the metal to form an edge. The men shouted at her to stop. They couldn't have been far.

She rounded a circular structure and continued hitting her paddle. Passing a shelf of strange sticks, she toppled it to the ground. There was a loud clatter as she moved on. The poachers' screams faded a bit. Good.

Her fingers swept at the paddle one last time and she spun to a stop. Using what's left of her magic, she finished her makeshift sword by sharpening the tapered point.

Reeca hefted the sword. See, it wasn't so bad for a rush job. A few dents here and there but otherwise functional. Her hand tightened around the handle made from the crank she just stole.

It's time to move.

She dashed forward, the wind driving her hair away from her forehead. Damn these poachers for taking her cloak. That took days to weave!

Then, her sword met Garbin's arm. Blood sprayed everywhere as the man's left arm flopped lifelessly nearby. Garbin sputtered like a vulkraine. Reeca grinned.

The others stared dumbfounded at Reeca. She raised her sword and turned to grin at them. As if with one accord, they turned and fled.

She watched as the last slivers of them disappeared into the maze of streets. Reeca's legs shook underneath her as the sword grew heavy in her hand. As the action faded, so did her energy.

Reeca didn't know where she was. Has her flames subsided? Where were the soldiers? Surely there's some?

She should hide.

Reeca touched her breastplate and using the spare cloth she tucked inside, she willed it to transform into a hooded cloak. It morphed easily, covering her body up to her ankles in a distasteful dark green. She sighed. That's the only textile she had left.

She threw the hood over her head and pulled it lower. She started walking.

Surprisingly, only a few fairies milled about. Now that Reeca had the time to notice other details, she noted that the city was deserted. That explained the absence of a security force. What day was it? Was it a holiday? Just how much time did she spend in that sack?

She spotted a brownie hurrying along with a satchel on his shoulders. He was carrying a staff Reeca failed to remember the use.

Their paths intersected and Reeca stepped in his way. The brownie stopped to look at her. His hands shook but he did nothing to move out of her way.

Reeca stepped closer and did her best to look friendly. "What's this city? Where am I?"

The brownie bit his lip, his brown eyes flitting everywhere but at her. "You're in Depandes, miss," he ducked his head "Have a nice day."

With that, he skirted past her and disappeared into the mass of swirling roads. Reeca sighed and restrained herself from clawing out her hair.

Depandes. She was in Alkara, for Rudik's sake. She scrunched her nose up and blew a breath. Not too far from Drodham so that was still good.

But Depandes. She's at the Royal Capital. In a matter of hours, she has managed to trash their city. That's not good. She has to get out of here.

She started walking the opposite way when something speared into her mind. Wait. Depandes. Alkara.

Something clicked. Of course.

Reeca swept her eyes at the quiet city, at the brownies hurrying along to get something done. A frown crept into Reeca's face. Alkara.

She needed to find Xanthy.