The Craft （Part 3）
Gareth and Zephyrah desperately searched the prison cell for weakness or anything they could leverage to their advantage. The quietness of the prison was suddenly shattered as screams echoed through the corridor.
"Dissolver!" Zephyrah gasped, her heart wrenching in her chest, "Please! You must stop them!" She yelled to the Anak'suke at the table.
They continued on as before, not even acknowledging her pleading.
"Hey!" Gareth boomed, raging against the shackles. "Let him go!"
Silverfox, who had been sitting quietly on the ground, humming to himself and fidgeting with the shackles behind his back, suddenly looked up.
"Keep doing that." He urged, a hint of sarcasm in his voice. "They showed the last prisoners mercy who irritated them enough."
Gareth and Zephyrah ignored him and kept calling out, kicking the walls and ringing their chains. After several minutes, the Anak'suke at the table shook their heads, muttering amongst themselves, then walked back up the stairway, slamming the prison door shut behind them.
Silverfox enthused, smiling. "Well done."
"Shut up!" Gareth bellowed, his voice cracking.
The child's voice still rang out from the behind the closed door down the hall.
Zephyrah wiped the tears from her cheek, then spun angrily to face the elf.
"How can you be so careless? He is only a child!" She cried, her eyes burning with rage.
"Careless?" Silverfox gasped, melodramatically. "I care. Why else would I encourage you to keep yelling? We cannot escape with those things around."
The elf went back to fidgeting.
Gareth rolled his eyes. "Escape? Right. And how exactly do you plan to do that?"
"Well, for starters..." He said, shifting slightly.
Click!
His shackles rattled to the floor behind him. He rubbed his wrists and held up a slender, metal pin between his two fingers, flashing a devious smile.
"How did you—Where did you get that?" Gareth asked, his jaw slack.
Silverfox didn't answer him, instead he stood up, brushing the dirt off of his dark clothing. Then, he hurried to Zephyrah and picked the lock on her shackles with ease and did the same for Gareth.
They rubbed their wrists and stared wide-eyed at the elf, who shrugged nonchalantly.
"It is much easier when you can see what you're doing." He said.
"Can you do the same to this door?" Gareth asked, gesturing to the iron gate of their cell.
Silverfox smirked, "Easily."
Once they were outside the cell, Gareth and Zephyrah ran to the table to gather their weapons.
When Gareth looked back, he noticed Silverfox had quietly slipped into a corner where he retrieved leather armor, a cowl hood cloak, holsters, and two hand crossbows from behind a barrel.
The elf quickly donned his equipment then hurried to join them.
Gareth eyed him up and down, not even attempting to hide his suspicion.
The elf met his stare, confident and unfazed.
There was a look in his eye.
Something that rubbed Gareth the wrong way.
But he had no time to worry about that now.
The screams coming from down the hall echoed with a new tone. It was the doctor this time, and the Anak'Suke who cried out. A commotion broke out on the other side of the door, the sound of clattering items and overturning furniture, and the unmistakable clank of sharpened steel against stone.
"We have to go, now!" Zephyrah urged, running to the closed door.
She grasped the handle, but when she turned the latch, it was locked.
She groaned and slammed her fist against the wood.
"Fox!" She demanded, "Unlock this!"
The elf crossed his arms and tilted his head, furrowing his brow. "Um... It's Silverfox—"
"OPEN IT!"
"Alright, alright." He said, holding up his hands.
Within a matter of seconds, the door was unlocked.
Gareth pushed his way to the front, grasping the handle.
Silverfox stepped back, gesturing with his arm. "By all means, after you."
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Rowena's shaky fingers fumbled with the thick, heavy curtains.
She used her sword to cut and tie them to the rail of the balcony, then glanced nervously around, making sure no one was approaching.
Then, with a grunt, she tossed the curtain-rope down.
Even in the dark, she could tell that it was not long enough.
The end still hovered, swinging far above the ground.
She drew a deep breath, then climbed over, struggling to get a good grip on the smooth material.
When she reached the end of the curtains, she grimaced and let go, trying to land and roll to break her fall, but she fell too quickly and lost her footing in the dark.
She landed hard on her ankle, twisting and rolling it beneath her weight.
She muffled a scream as she landed hard on the ground, then gritted her teeth and forced herself to stand. She tested her ankle by taking a small step and applying a small amount of pressure. A sharp spike of unbearable pain travelled up her leg and she stumbled.
She groaned and clutched her leg.
This is the last thing she needed.
As she stood hunched over in the dark, unable to shake the sinking feeling that their mission was lost. This was too big and too dangerous. Perhaps Chyros was right. She should never have gotten involved. She was in way over her head.
What was she thinking?
She was a weak noble girl, not a warrior or a knight. She wasn't like her father, or the Dissolver, or Gareth, or Zephyrah.
She was afraid.
She clenched her fists and wiped away the tears that started to trail down her cheeks.
No. To stop moving is to die.
She couldn't give up.
She had to get to her friends.
They needed her.
A memory came to her then, of Gareth whenever he found himself backed into a corner. He would say the same thing every time his opponent nearly had him beat, then he would find a way around them. He would figure it out every time.
Come on!
She gritted her teeth and limped forward in agony, doing her best to push aside the pain.
She glanced at the quiet swamp around her, listening intently for the sound of moving water in the distance or rustling reeds, anything that might be the crocodile.
Her heart pounded in her chest as she limped to the edge of the shallow moat.
She had decided to walk around the back of the fortress, avoiding the route the enemy soldiers had taken her friends, worried that there may be some who remained behind. Her best chance was to look for a weakness, a window, a crumbling wall, anything they might have missed.
As she rounded the corner, she noticed light gleaming off the metal grate of the massive pipeline. She approached it with caution, tripping over debris that littered the bottom of the water. She blindly felt along the opening, which was large enough to walk through, but it smelled awful.
She wondered what it could have been used for, then she regretted wondering at all.
Her lip curled, and her stomach twisted, but she hoisted herself up anyway, wiping her hands on her shirt to remove the dark residue that stuck to them.
She limped forward into the darkness, blindly stumbling through the pipe with one hand held out, feeling her way along.