CAUGHT

Again it was raining. The rain went off and on for the past several days, but the clouds never went away. It wasn’t even much of a rain, more like drizzle. Leck looked up at the gray sky with hatred. “You probably can’t give a good rain if your life depended on it.” He said softly and intensely. Ever since his capture, he wasn’t allowed to go anywhere but the quarry and back to the gremlin outpost. Every day was the same: Woken up at dawn, shoed to the quarry, which was a mile away from the outpost. Break stone and carry as much of it back to the outpost. Unload, and repeat the procedure until nightfall. Sometime in the afternoon, he and the other slaves would be given food consisting of meat and some wild vegetables. After all work was done, they would be given the same food, and it was always undercooked – lunch or dinner. At least there was plenty of it; Leck never went hungry – although he did get stomachaches from time to time.

            There were sixteen slaves including Leck – all were men. Most were farmers, but there were two who used to be soldiers – as Leck found out after his first few days. One of the two took Leck under his wing, and helped him out whenever Leck needed it. The soldier’s name was Fighil. The man was of average height, in his early thirties with shoulder length blond hair. Like the rest of the slaves, Fighil mostly kept to himself, and Leck virtually had to bully him into talking;  “I have a son about your age back home,” he admitted one late evening, about a month after Leck’s capture. I didn’t see much of him for the last ten years, and it looks like I won’t be seeing for another ten, if at all. He would be about your age now,” Fighil gave him a sidelong look, “I can’t help him, but by helping you, maybe I…” he left it hanging.

Some slaves attempted to run away, but most were caught and brought back. All of the escapees were beaten to death in front of the whole group as an example. This was considered great entertainment by the gremlins, which surrounded the runaway, and threw rocks at him until the man wouldn’t get up. At that point he would be thrown into the fire. Always closed his eyes, and prayed to Mishirak, god of death - that the man died quickly. Another major form of entertainment were  ‘The Fights.’

            It was ‘The Fights’ that Leck hated the most. Every five days, the gremlins gathered in the evening after dinner, lit up several torches and ground fires, and made the slaves fight against one another. Usually on fists.  Most of the time one on one, sometimes two on two. From time to time, the ‘gladiators’ would be given sticks or clubs as weapons. The fight would last until one of the slaves went down and couldn’t get up. Leck didn’t fight often, but he had his share of broken ribs, and bruises. He learned all kinds of tricks from Fighil and from watching the soldiers fight, and although he wasn’t nearly as strong as the older slaves, he was faster than most of them. Fighil told him after his first fight, “If you don’t want to get your nose broken again, learn to move faster. Otherwise you’ll last about as long as a runaway slave.” And Leck learned.

Sometimes a gremlin would disobey an order, and he would be forced to fight with a slave. The gremlins really went wild during those fights, because if the slave got the slightest advantage – which wasn’t often, the spectators would throw his opponent a club or a sword. If a slave refused to fight another slave, he would be tortured until he agreed, or until he died. Usually no one refused to fight another gremlin, even if the fight turned unfair. At this point of their lives, the slaves hated the gremlins more than anything else.

Another notion that revolted Leck out of his pants, were the gremlin children, which tried to behave like their gremlin-fathers. At first Leck was surprised – what were children doing in a war-outpost? Then it came to him that they were born here – as a result of the male gremlins’ need for pleasure. The parents placed no hold on their rascals, and there were times when Leck had to fight for his life with many of them. Never before in his life had he imagined any children being this cruel. Any time he was alone, he had to constantly watch out for flying rocks, a rope stretched low to the ground, and other similar traps. There were twenty or so females that cooked, chopped firewood, and made clothing. All of them were very busy at night. Leck couldn’t remember a night when he wasn’t woken up by a screams and moans. Those screams were worse than any other torments that were provided in the camp. He had no choice but t shut them out, as if they didn’t exist. At first it was hard. But now… He wasn’t sure who he was anymore. There was filth and perversion all around him, but he didn’t care. Most of his emotions left him. Except hatred. And fear. And maybe a little bit of hope. Whatever common sense he had left within him, was directed toward survival. There was an enemy behind every tree, every rock. There were traps set up everywhere. When he was in the company of others, he tried to put on a calm appearance, but his nerves were always stretched into a tight rope.

It was getting colder. Leck tried not to think about it, but he couldn’t deny the fact that winter is well on its’ way. His clothes wouldn’t serve him very well; there were more holes in them than he could count. How long has he been here, five months, six, seven… Now, it wasn’t important. How long would he stay here, that was the big question.

Another two or three weeks went by, and the first snow came. The slaves were informed that a band of gremlins would be stopping by in a few days. The visiting band had their own slaves, and one group will face the other. Because of this important event, the slaves were given a ‘day off’, so they could sharpen their combat skills. They were divided into pairs, and a gremlin was posted with each pair, to make sure they didn’t spend their time in foolishness. Leck was made to fence with one of the soldiers, and though he was the best swordsman of all the slaves, Leck wasn’t much worse. He knew he would be made to participate in the upcoming fights. He had grown in strength considerably over the past half year, and the sword training from Torin was useful when fighting with clubs. Thrusting with a club was very unusual, but was very effective if the attacker had good aim. Focus on the neck, Torin taught him…

Leck tried not to think about Torin, and because he tried not to think about him, Torin was in his mind every day. Leck hoped with all his heart that Torin got away.  But in his mind, he knew it was a vain hope.

THE FIGHTS – AND ESCAPE

“Come on boy, is that all you’ve got?” Leck’s adversary asked for the fourth time. The man was as wiry as Leck, and a little shorter. He was also as old as his father, but none of it mattered. He would make the man fall even if it were his long lost brother. There was no other choice. He would win. He might have to kill for it, but he would win. This night, the price for victory was freedom – the ultimate dream of every slave.

             This was Leck’s fourth fight. I f the won this one, he would have to win only two more – and he would be free. Every previous fight, he won by a hair – or so it seemed to the visitors. The slaves from his compound knew that he was faking, making himself look nervous and scared throughout each fight. His opponents grew relaxed seeing only a young boy, seemingly scared out of his wits, and eventually let down their guard. And then, what seemed like a desperate and a lucky blow ended each previous opponent’s chance for freedom.

             The guy Leck was fighting now was fast, but he held his club like it was some farming tool, and every swing he took Leck foresaw, and easily deflected. He still had to pretend – in case his future adversaries were watching him, and not the other two fights - which were taking place at the same time. And so he dodged, jumped, ducked, ran, retreated, sidestepped, and if it was absolutely necessary, deflected with his club. The older man eventually grew so tired that he could barely draw a breath. He slowed down, and started wobbling as if he had more ale than was good for him. Finally, Leck walked over and thumped him on the head. The man dropped unconscious. Cheers all around him, he leaned on his club, waiting for his next opponent. Two more fights to go.

             The Fights were finally over. They lasted for almost four hours well into the night, and the gremlins stayed up another two hours celebrating. The gremlins didn’t realize that Leck won his freedom until they counted up all the winners and losers – after their feast. Three slaves had defeated all six of their opponents, including Leck. , Fighil was one of them. The other man was from the visiting slave-group. Leck wasn’t surprised that this slave won. The chap was one of the biggest men Leck had ever seen. How many gremlins were needed to capture this guy, and how many died trying?

             The winners were called into the biggest building in the outpost. Followed by five gremlins armed with spears, they made their way in and found themselves in front of two gremlins in full armor, that were sitting behind a wooden table, which was covered with bones, and broken pottery, and eating some kind of an animal. There was nothing more disgusting than seeing gremlins eat. The pigs ate with pig’s grace, the wolves ate with wolfish grace, and the gremlins… ate like pigs, with the ferocity of wolves. Blood and grease coated their faces, mixed with spilled strange drink – all of it emitting an indescribable smell. If he stayed he for more than five minutes, everyone present would see his dinner.  Staying here longer than five minutes, was five minutes too long.

  The bigger gremlin wiped his mouth with a back of his hand, leaned back against the wall, and squinted at them through small black eyes. “You waaan?” –he growled.

Fighil coughed, clearing his throat; “Yes your honorship that is right. Each of us won six fights.”

 The gremlin looked directly at Leck, and scowled. Then his gaze flickered to Fighil and to the huge fellow. “I deshide; You” pointing at Fighil and the giant, “gho. You,” pointing to Leck, “shtay.” Leck’s heart dropped to the floor, and he thought he was about to faint, (not only from the shock, but also from the terrible smell). He stood dumbfounded, opening and closing his mouth, when Fighil spoke up, his voice tighter than a walking rope; “Your honorship, let the boy go, I’ll stay in his stead.” Leck looked at Fighil shockingly. The man was giving up his freedom, his life for someone he knew only half a year! Fighil didn’t even look at Leck, he kept his eyes on the gremlin.  

 The fiend was about to answer something, but as he opened his mouth the smaller gremlin elbowed him, and whispered a few choppy sentences in gremlin-speak. Leck learned a little of the language, but heard and understood only one word; ‘kill’ – which also stood for punished, hurt, bring pain, murder. The bigger gremlin’s mouth split into a wide toothy grin. If Leck wasn’t busy looking in disgust at the yellow broken teeth, he would see murder screaming in the ugly brute’s eyes.

“Ghood,” the gremlin snarled still grinning, “I schenge mind.” He waved his hand in a dismissing motion, “all gho. All faree.”  

  They were running through the forest. Leck had a vague idea of where they were, but his two companions didn’t have a clue – so he was the guide. They ran south, figuring that eventually they would get out of the forest, and maybe even hit a road.

  The forest was dense and slowed them down considerably. If it weren’t for the Giant - who appeared to be deaf or mute or both - the way through the forest would be nearly impossible. But the silent giant set a steady pace and kept at it for several hours, stepping over bushes, nimbly dodging trees and other impassible wild growth, while Leck and Fighil easily followed him. They didn’t bother trying to cover their tracks – the gremlins’ sense of smell was too sharp for that. Their only hope was speed.

  A day passed. Leck figured a good twenty hours went by since they left the outpost, and the traveled somewhere between thirty and forty miles, and yet the forest didn’t seem to end. He was ready to drop dead and wondered how it was that he made it this far. The only thing that kept him going was the thought of fifty gremlins on their heels.

 “It will… will… get dark…” Fighil breathed heavily, “In… half-hour. We… can’t run in dark…”

‘Thank heavens,’ – Leck thought. “Let’s… stop. Hey… Hey, Giant man!”

 The giant stopped so suddenly that Leck crashed into his back. Acting as if nothing happened, he looked at Leck inquiringly. His breathing seemed to be of someone who walked for less than a mile.

“We’re stopping for the night.” Leck said, as soon as he got some of his breath back. “It’s too dangerous…” his voice trailed off, because at that point the giant turned around and walked off into the nearest bushes. Leck exchanged worried looks with Fighil. Was the man right in the head?

 The giant returned several minutes later, with a huge club in his hand. It looked like a small tree completely ripped out of the ground. Leck caught his breath: he knew he himself could lift such a tree, but to use it a weapon, and wield it with one hand! Leck had never seen such strength. But to arm themselves with some kind of weapons was definitely a good idea. He was a little surprised he didn’t think of it himself.

“All gods damn me, why didn’t I think of arming ourselves! All of my discipline – gone, like the last year’s crop,” Fighil grumbled, as they walked around looking for some stout sticks. “Next thing you know I’ll be forgetting to put my boots on. And then my pants…”

They found two half-decent clubs, and discovered a small stream, somewhat covered by a thin crust of ice. Leck suddenly realized how thirsty and dirty he was. Drinking his fill and washing off most of the dirt and sweat, he made himself eat some of the greasy food they were given, and gathered up some dead leaves into a pile that served him as his bed. After eating their share, his two companions added to the pile and they lay down side by side, hoping their shared body-heat will keep them warm. Still, none of them could sleep. The temperature was a little above zero, and it wasn’t much warmer than in the slave barracks, but every sound every breath of the wind kept them awake. After what seemed like hours and hours – but in reality was less than half-hour, Fighil rose to his feet, and picked up his club.  I’m going to stand guard for a while. I’ll wake you when I get tired.” – he whispered.

“Ok, good idea.” Leck grinned, “I think you fully made up for forgetting to arm ourselves."”- He wasn’t sure, but he thought the giant’s mouth formed into a smile.

The night passed by quietly. At four in the morning while it was dark, the three started out. They walked slowly, feeling their way more than seeing it. The clubs turned into walking sticks. Without any trouble, they reached the end of the forest the next day, and came upon a farmhouse one hour after they left the outskirts of the forest.

*   *   *

  “And why do you suppose I would tell you where the nearest road is? You’re some kind of forest brigands aren’t you?”- The farmer asked, eyeing each of them suspiciously. He was in his middle years, rather small, with light brown hair and small brown eyes. From his eyes, Leck gathered that the man wasn’t overly bright, which made him even angrier. 

“Kind sir, don’t you think that if we were brigands the last thing on our minds would be asking you for directions?” Leck spoke patiently, in an even tone of voice. After that, his voice grew louder with every syllable. “If we were brigands, don’t you think we’d ambush you, beat you to death,” – the farmer took a step back, and clutched his shovel as if it was a club. “And then go to your house, kill your kids and rape your wife? Wouldn’t that make more sense?” – Leck found himself shouting the last sentence.

“The the the… r-r-r-oad is-sa thatway” – the farmer’s voice trembled, as he pointed a shaky finger in the right direction.

“Why thank you for your help, friend. May good fortune smile upon you and your family.” Fighil said, as they turned towards the road. They heard the farmer breaking into a dead run before they took their second step. Leck turned to Fighil, to find the seasoned soldier staring at him in concern.

“I’m inviting you all to my castle,” Leck said forcing his voice to sound cheerful, and ignoring Fighil. Once they were on the road, Leck was sure he could figure out where his castle approximately was. “We’ll rest for a few days, and then I’ll need your help to find a good friend.

*   *   *

Pain. That’s what life is about. Pain, and suffering. Torin regained his consciousness, and the agony came back. Sometimes Torin talked to the pain, begging it, pleading with it to go away. But the pain wouldn’t listen, and his torturers wouldn’t kill him. He probably had more wounds on his body than there were stars in the sky. He constantly sweated, and he was sure that each drop of sweat was actually blood. Not that he could see anything in the darkness. How long has he been down here – only gods knew.

Torin remembered his last conversation very clearly. It was ten, maybe twenty days ago, he wasn’t sure. His torturers washed him, dressed him in silk, and took him upstairs. Of course, his hands were tied behind his back. They led him though some richly furnished rooms, and finally, brought him before an elf. The elf was dressed in a plain white robe, and had a hood over his face. The only thing that gave him away as an elf, was the shape of his delicate white hands.

“We like to show our guests utmost courtesy during their first few months of visit.” The elf had an unusually soft voice, even for his kind. “I trust you’ve been comfortable.”

Torin couldn’t resist the temptation to answer. When he spoke, it was as if his mouth was full of cactus needles. “Of course, everything has been great, you and your servants are very kind hosts. Be sure that you’ll receive the same courtesy if you ever happen to visit my home.”

The elf threw back his hood, surprise evident in his eyes. Torin memorized every curve, every bend and wrinkle. If he would ever able to free himself, this elf would die.    

“I see that you’re not ready to talk yet.” There was a peculiar sadness in his voice. “I understand. Bring him back to his room, and continue his… treatment.” He ordered the torturers. And then he smiled. It wasn’t a ruthless or cruel smile. It didn’t freeze Torin’s bones, nor made his blood (or what was left of it) boil. It was an easygoing, polite smile. “I understand that you sometimes get lonely, living here all by yourself… Well, not too worry, I imported one of your friends, and hopefully he’ll join us sometime next week.”  And he waved his hand in a dismissing motion.