Aery sobbed quietly to herself as she once again dragged herself down the tunnel into the salt mine. The dehydration was what was getting to her the most, the dehydration and the loneliness. Alone, but still dragging a chain of what should have held twenty other slaves. But it was just her, her chainmates dead, their bloody, rusting shackles dragging along the ground, clanging with their ghosts come to haunt her...
She'd heard Ame, of course she had, but, so far below the ground, she still felt all her hope flowing away. But.
She had to get out.
She had to.
For Ame and Silly and Celaena and Ansel and Rowan and Tazz and Aiden and Lena and Gray and Charlie and Bubbles and Alice and Kiki and Tyler and Leap and River and Sand and a hundred thousand other people who'd been beggared by her uncle.
She had to get out.
The idiot guards hadn't searched her all that well. After all, she'd just been wearing a peasant's tunic when she'd been dragged in, and the overseers hadn't quite believed the guards saying how she'd single-handedly killed a dozen men in two minutes. There was still a dagger. The tiny silver dagger, the equivalent of a friendship necklace charm. But it was a dagger.
She turned away from the guards, shuffling into one of the pockets of salt that she was to chip out. As she did her hand went up to her neck, to the brittle leather thong that held the dagger. She snapped it. A guard came up behind her, his whip raised. She whirled, driving the tiny dagger into his throat. With her final bit of strength she raised her pickaxe high over her head. Once, twice, three times bringing it down on her shackles. Picked up the fallen guard's sword. Ran as fast as she could up the passageway. Pod of three guards. Two were dead before they knew what was happening. The other barely had time to shout.
Up the passageway, up the stairs carved into the salty rock, wincing at the burning of the salt in her abraded foot-pads.
She saw the light at the top of the tunnel for a split-second.
Before forty guards from the top rushed onto the stairs, barricading her escape.
But she wouldn't go down that easily.
She threw the pickaxe, striking one man in the chest and knocking another one out with it's heavy oak handle.
Swung the sword; mowed down five guards.
One tackled her, sending her bouncing down the stairs. With her tiny dagger she stabbed him in the throat. Fought her way to her feet.
Another guard came up behind her and put his knife to her throat.
A prick in the neck, and she fell unconscious.
The light had been just an illusion.
She'd heard Ame, of course she had, but, so far below the ground, she still felt all her hope flowing away. But.
She had to get out.
She had to.
For Ame and Silly and Celaena and Ansel and Rowan and Tazz and Aiden and Lena and Gray and Charlie and Bubbles and Alice and Kiki and Tyler and Leap and River and Sand and a hundred thousand other people who'd been beggared by her uncle.
She had to get out.
The idiot guards hadn't searched her all that well. After all, she'd just been wearing a peasant's tunic when she'd been dragged in, and the overseers hadn't quite believed the guards saying how she'd single-handedly killed a dozen men in two minutes. There was still a dagger. The tiny silver dagger, the equivalent of a friendship necklace charm. But it was a dagger.
She turned away from the guards, shuffling into one of the pockets of salt that she was to chip out. As she did her hand went up to her neck, to the brittle leather thong that held the dagger. She snapped it. A guard came up behind her, his whip raised. She whirled, driving the tiny dagger into his throat. With her final bit of strength she raised her pickaxe high over her head. Once, twice, three times bringing it down on her shackles. Picked up the fallen guard's sword. Ran as fast as she could up the passageway. Pod of three guards. Two were dead before they knew what was happening. The other barely had time to shout.
Up the passageway, up the stairs carved into the salty rock, wincing at the burning of the salt in her abraded foot-pads.
She saw the light at the top of the tunnel for a split-second.
Before forty guards from the top rushed onto the stairs, barricading her escape.
But she wouldn't go down that easily.
She threw the pickaxe, striking one man in the chest and knocking another one out with it's heavy oak handle.
Swung the sword; mowed down five guards.
One tackled her, sending her bouncing down the stairs. With her tiny dagger she stabbed him in the throat. Fought her way to her feet.
Another guard came up behind her and put his knife to her throat.
A prick in the neck, and she fell unconscious.
The light had been just an illusion.
