Author's Note

My work schedule changed to some more reasonable hours (back to 40 hours a week, yay!) so I've got the time to do some writing again.

Here's a chapter, and I've got another one loaded that I'll publish next week. I also did some small edits in existing chapters, so you might see some shenanigans in your feed.

Chapter 7: Contraband

One week later…

My stomach clenched as I gripped the broom in my mouth. The wood was coarse and fibrous against my tongue, and I was careful not to bite too hard lest I get a splinter in my gums. My belly growled with a low rumble that broke the silence of the barracks. Shuushar, the kuo-toa, stood on the opposite end of the room with his own broom. He tilted his head and gargled in a sympathetic tone. I sighed and continued my route.

Six hammocks hung from this chamber–three on each side–and one was occupied. A denevér guard swung lazily from his perch, and though I couldn't tell if his eyes were open, I saw his ear occasionally twitch. Each hammock had a small wooden chest and a side table beside it for what I assumed were personal effects. Metallic hooks were set in the wall. A coil of rope here, a cloak there, and one lit lantern bathed the room in the dim glow of phosphorescent fungi.

I limped forward and swept underneath one of the unoccupied hammocks. My fetlock was still sore, but it was hard to tell whether it was from the lingering injury or the deep weariness that had settled into my bones. The tremble in my legs had faded into the background, but if I took a moment to consider it, all I would think about was the gnawing hunger in my abdomen and the overwhelming exhaustion.

I scanned the floor and frowned. Hadn't I swept this spot already? Where was my dirt pile? Ah, there it was. I screwed my eyes shut and willed the mental fog away. It was difficult to concentrate, but I had to stay alert. Old and new bruises were well hidden in the dark beneath my purple coat, a testament to my periodic lapse in attention.

My hoof bumped against something, and there was a clatter as the thing rolled behind the hammock. I frowned and squinted at the ground. The object was long and cylindrical, about nine hooves across, and felt stiff and cold against my frog. Leaning down, I gave it an experimental sniff. Metallic, probably iron.

I glanced up at the resting guard. He hadn't moved from his perch or given any outward sign of scrutiny, but I bit my lip apprehensively. This was something we could use. A long iron rod could open a door, wedge something shut, or—Celestia forbid—make a decent improvised weapon. If I gave it to Ront or Derendil, they would have options beyond using their claws, which could seriously injure somepony. The tricky part was hiding it.

My wings were still bound. A piece of canvas or leather secured by straps and chains kept me from moving my wings beyond some light fidgeting. The first few days were torture of itchy feathers and cramping muscles, but the discomfort faded into the background amidst all the other indignities. Muscular atrophy and infection were a serious danger, but that was a problem for later.

The bar might be able to slide underneath the binds so I could hide it under my wing, but that was a tight fit. Shoving a piece of metal down my side wasn't exactly inconspicuous, and I had to assume the guard was more alert than he looked. Could Shuushar help me? No, that was even more suspicious. He could cause a distraction, but I wasn't sure how to relay that to him. I was picking up Undercommon quickly, but not enough to be subtle.

I had to risk doing it myself.

After glancing at the guard again, I grabbed the iron rod with my mouth. I grimaced at the rusty metallic tanginess and wondered if Ilvara would bother treating me if I caught tetanus. Shoving the thought aside, I kept my ears angled behind me and maneuvered the rod so one end was braced against the bottom of the wall and the other near the fold of my wing.

I flexed my wing as far as possible, biting my lip to ignore the rising cramp in the underused limb, and gently slid the rod tip underneath the feathers. My legs ached as I held my body in an awkward half-kneeling position to push it in at the right angle. The rod scraped my fur and poked my ribs, and I fought to keep my breathing level.

Several agonizing moments passed as I hid the rod under my wing. Any moment, I expected the guard to stir from his perch, snatch the rod, and then beat me into unconsciousness with it. The hardest part was getting it around my barrel, and the sharpened tip, combined with my starvation, gave me the mournful mental image of my matted fur and torn skin stretched tight over a too-thin frame. I wasn't sure how long it took for the outward physical symptoms of malnourishment to show, but I clung to the bitter irony that the denevér starving me allowed for just enough wiggle room in my restraints to hide this valuable tool.

I glanced at the guard. He hadn't moved, and I afforded myself the luxury of a sigh. Turning back to Shuushar, who watched me closely, I kept my right side facing away from the guard lest he notice the metal sticking out from under my wing.

"Done?" I whispered in Undercommon.

Shuushar nodded and held up a small piece of wood that he used as a dustpan. He tilted his head and glanced at my side before he smiled and patted me on the shoulder. I cleaned up my dirt pile and stepped out of the room. Shuushar stood on my right flank for me to lean on while I walked with an exaggerated limp.

We returned to the cell a minute later, and the door slammed shut behind us. The guards jeered at us as they left, and I thanked Celestia that I still hadn't learned enough of the language to tell what they were saying. Their tone alone made my skin crawl.

Shuushar and I found the other prisoners huddled near the back of the chamber. Everyone except Sarith had come, and I saw him lounging near the entrance. He was either acting as a lookout or trying to maintain distance from us. I had hoped he had warmed up to helping us escape during the last week, but he remained stubborn and belligerent. Sarith retained this air of smug and hostile indifference whenever I spoke with him.

I shook my head and cleared my thoughts as I heard the tell-tale sound of Stool expelling his spores.

"Okay, what did we find?" I asked as I pulled the iron rod from under my wing.

"Could have been better," Jimjar replied and gestured at the pile of stuff in the center of the huddle. "Could have been worse. Eldeth, Buppido, and I swiped a few gemstones. They won't be immediately helpful, but we can sell them and buy supplies at the first place we find when we get out of here."

"I guess it's too much to hope that we could bribe the guards with them," I frowned.

"Hah!" Eldeth scoffed. "They'll just take the gems, search you for anything else, and then beat you for the trouble."

Shuushar placed a single gold coin in the pile with a satisfied gurgle.

"Okay…" I sighed. "It's a start. At least we'll have something to trade with once we get to relative safety. What else do we have?"

"My brother and I," Topsy perked up, crossing her hooves proudly, "found a some pieces of flint a couple of days ago. We've been chipping at them in our spare time. They should be able to cut a rope easily, or even a guard in a pinch."

"Da. Better than nothing," Ront nodded. "Speaking of such, I and mushroom cub find bits of leftover rope. Not much, maybe one wing-span, or how you say… Thirty hooves?"

"I'm sure we'll find a use for it," I nodded. "You can probably use this iron rod I found, Ront, or maybe you Derendil. Did we find anything else?"

The deer-turned-quaggoth scratched his chin and hummed thoughtfully. Then, reaching behind his back, he pulled out a dark shape that filled his palm. I squinted, leaned forward to look, and bit down a scream as the shape moved.

"I appear to have bonded with one of the local fauna, Your Highness," Derendil growled. "I stumbled upon this beast while performing my labors and attempted one of the old deerish rites, and behold! At first I wasn't sure if it was going to work and… I'm unsure how well it will help, but I have heard friendship and bonding with 'critters' are both things well-respected in the pony lands!"

Once my panic had settled, I leaned closer to see what Derendil had acquired. A large spider, about the size of a tarantula, crawled across the quaggoth's hand. He turned his wrist and passed it from one hand to another to keep it right-side-up. It turned its eyes—so many eyes—towards me, and I shivered.

"Okay," I gulped. "Duly noted. It's not a lot, but these are all things we can work with. We might be able to grab some other things on our way out, too. What about information? Over the last week I've identified nineteen thestrals here. That includes our host, Ilvara, and her enforcers Shoor and Jorlan. There's also another priestess I've seen with her sometimes. I think her name is Asha? They also have a dozen quaggoths and several giant spiders, most of which are kept below. These… aren't great odds."

"Three of those bats keep an eye on us from the guard tower across the bridge," Topsy nodded. "You can see them from the gate and I've been keeping track of their rotations. There's always at least one, even during shift changes."

"Poor Buppido has watched the denevér officers," the derro sneered. "As I've told Her Highness, the one called Jorlan suffered a horrible injury. Disfigured. Scarred. Shamed. Shoor holds his position now, both among the soldiers… and in Ilvara's bed. The boy is young and arrogant. But… I've seen Asha lurking in Jorlan's shadow. Whispering venoms in his ear, no doubt. Fanning hate and envy."

"Did Jorlan not carry a wand once?" Derendil tilted his head and looked at the derro. "It unleashed these globs of sticky green substance that could bind and trap someone. Now I have seen Shoor carrying it."

"It could be a badge of office, and that would confirm the pack's new pecking order." Eldeth grunted.

"It sounds like there's a lot of internal conflict and politics going on," I rubbed my chin. "If we had the time and I understood the language better, we could exploit that. Did you find anything out on that front, Jimjar?"

"Nothing good, I'm afraid. I was eavesdropping on some guards that were gossiping yesterday, and it might be a matter of days or tendays before a contingent from Menzoberranzan arrives to take us all back to the city."

"So, as I thought, we're on a deadline," I grimaced.

"That's not all… Some of them were complaining of shortages. Little things. Comforts. That contingent should've been here already, from the sounds of it. It would've brought supplies here and us back, but it's a few days overdue. Good for us, but it is… concerning."

After that, we all stood in silence, and I pondered the implications. It meant we had time, but how long? Was something going on outside these walls? It might have been anything, from war to a monster attack or the caravan getting lost. Regardless, this meant we had to act quickly. They could arrive any day.

"Okay, everyone. The odds are aren't great, but I've gotten out of worse scrapes before. We just have to work together and we'll be able to pull through. Here's the plan…"