Seeding Midnight, Part Eight

                                ===SEEDING MIDNIGHT, PART 8===

Izzara shrieked, scrabbling against the wall, too weakened to move, her eyes staring wide open in shock, her throat raw. Her heart hammered inside her chest as, exhausted and broken from a truly terrible day, she now witnessed something that shocked her to her core.

Before her very eyes, the slave, the human she had felt such conflicted feelings for, the beast that her mother had tamed and unleashed on her in her moment of vulnerability, had turned on his mistress. It was difficult to make sense of what she was seeing, to disentangle pains fresh and old from this new scene unfolding before her. Scant minutes before this creature had been ravaging her at her mother’s orders, and not long before that she had fancied him a wild brute, but a dependable one, one who might free her and her wayward heart from this dark, oppressive life.

Now he stood tall, proud, his hands wrapped tightly around her mother’s throat, squeezing and pressing her kicking, writhing body against the wall, her dark-skinned face turning ashen and a strange mottled pale colour. She tried to make movements with her hands, but the human quickly kneed her in the abdomen, causing her eyes to roll up into her head, her fingers falling slack, arcane gestures interrupted.

“I’ve fought mages before.” He grunted, grim triumph surging through his exhausted, battered body. “You can’t cast if you can’t breathe.  You can’t control your slaves when you exhaust yourself fucking them.”  He felt her life slipping away, but a stray glance at Izzara shook him.

Grimly he threw aside the Matron, disgusted with himself and with her. “I ought to kill you...but...for Izzara's sake, I’ll let you live, for now." She slumped, unconscious against the wall.

He turned to face Izzara, a lump forming in his throat.

"Ah... I- We- ought to go. She was probably going to kill us both anyway.” He said, awkwardly, aware how he must look to her right now.

She stared at him, her mind overwhelmed, uncomprehending.  He tried again, moving his hand slowly in front of her eyes. She was clearly going into shock.

Relan stood up, his brow creased with regret. “I’m sorry, Izzara. I need to go now. If you can’t come with me, then I will have to leave you behind. I hope you will not bare me any ill will. Farewell, then.” He said, awkwardly kissing her on the cheek.  She simply blinked, her mind overwhelmed with emotions and events. Her whole body pulsed with agony, emotional and physical.

Sighing forlornly, the former human adventurer quickly took stock of the situation. If he was going to escape, he’d have to do it fast. He thought about slitting the throat of his domineering mistress, knowing it was probably the safest course of action, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it in front of Izzara. For all that had happened, the matron was still her mother, though the matron clearly did not deserve Izzara’s love or loyalty.

Instead, steeling himself,  he grabbed the dagger from the Matron’s belt and cut the Matron’s finger off, causing Izzara to moan and wail at the sight of her mother’s blood. Relan winced, his hands shaking.  What he was doing was savage, but necessary. He needed the blood to escape, and to free himself. He hoped Izzara would not hate him too much for this.

Gritting his teeth, he used the comatose matron’s newly severed finger to daub blood over the collar, acting on a savage instinct. If the Matron had used blood-magic to seal her doors, perhaps she also used it on her slave collars? It was a gamble, and he prayed it worked.

He felt the collar grow...lighter, somehow, though he could be imagining it. No way to know if it worked, since he couldn’t remove it now anyway. He took the Matron’s belt and tightened it around the top of his loincloth, carrying her dagger, and a discreet pouch which he emptied of her spell components, and placed her finger inside instead. No need to advertise his ghoulish key.

Aside from the dagger, he hoped he could pass for a normal slave. He turned back to Izzara, looking into her eyes deeply, wondering if there was anything he could say, anything he could do here. He opened his mouth to speak, but words died inside him.

Izzara stared back, her confused, wild, tear-swollen eyes looking at him, through him. She recoiled, flinching, as he gently tried to brush some strands of her hair out of her face. All she must see was a monster, a beast, some rapist. He turned away, disgusted and saddened that things had ended like this. Was there any way it could have played out differently? Anything he could have done to soften the blow?

No. He decided. The Matron had forced this situation into being. And if he didnt act now, and fast, it would be all for naught. The Guards would kill him, or worse. He had to make his escape, make the most of this opportunity, and never look back.

Reluctantly, with one last, lingering look at the sad, broken drow maiden, he departed through the door, forcing himself to focus on the escape ahead, his legs feeling leaden and strained. Turning his back on the crying, broken drow girl was the hardest thing he'd ever done.

Running through the corridors, wincing at every jolt to his aching, bruised muscles, he quickly made his way back to the strange metal lattice where he had left Thrali. She was long gone, he knew, perhaps reconciling herself to his presumably dire fate. She couldn’t know he had succeeded in a spontaneous bid for escape. He had to focus on her now, and on the situation he was in. No looking back.

He quickly produced the finger, eyeing his surroundings carefully; paranoid if any guards or other slaves should come by.

He traced the bloodied stump along the thick, arcane metal lattice, watching as the matron’s blood seeped into the strange metal.  The metal ran like candle-wax, dissolving swiftly to allow passage. He quickly leapt through, stuffing the finger back into the bag, not sure if he would need it later or not. He quickly moved his way through the household, careful to hide the dagger as best he could, slowing his pace once he reached more densely populated areas. He tried his best to blend in, but it was difficult to hide his bruises or rough, exhausted, sweating state. All would know where he had been.

He tried to look cowed, to hunch in, and appear meek and beaten. It was easier than he thought it would be, for the emotions at the edge of his mind threatened to drown him.

He froze when the first guards walked by, his heart hammering, feeling their gaze bore into him, their heavy boots thudding past. They simply sniggered, talking amongst themselves, clearly amused and used to seeing the matron’s favourite fucktoy like this.  It was then that Relan remembered the Matron had sent some guards away to deal with some other Drow noble who had come to court Izzara. He almost cried out as dread flooded his veins. Those guards would come back to report to the Matron, he knew, and discover what had occurred. He had far less time than he had thought. Thank the gods that he hadn’t been caught already.

It would be easy right now to try to simply sneak into the courtyard and escape over or through the walls. Take his chance in the great dark wilderness of the Underdark, rely on his admittedly rusty adventurer senses to try and find his way back to the surface. But he realised even as these thoughts formed how foolish they were. Besides, he had made a promise. He was not going to leave Thrali behind. He had left enough behind already.

He hurried towards the slave quarters where she must have gone to. In truth Thrali had often been kept at hand in Izzara’s quarters since becoming her handmaiden, but as a born slave she likely retained some friendships and connections here amongst the general house-staff.

He could smell the scent of heavy, rich cooking coming from the great kitchens. Perhaps preparing an early evening repast for the Drow noble who had come to visit? He slunk between two pillars, taking care to conceal himself in the long shadows cast by the flickering blue-fire torches, reaching up into the great cavernous eaves of the vast Drow Manor. Drow could undoubtedly see well in the dark, but even the best night vision could be clouded by constant familiarity with strong light sources. He watched carefully from behind a pillar, assessing his surroundings in this great chamber.

To his surprise there were barely any guards around, just slaves and servants of various races going about their regular duties.  He supposed that after so many years of servitude they didn’t need constant monitoring by their masters, but the light security made him paranoid. Where were all the guards?

He decided to take the direct approach. Strolling up confidently to the head cook, a fat half-drow matron with a large wooden spoon and a thick stained apron, he walked up confidently. “Hello there, uh, I’m Relan...”
“Yah? I know who you be. Fancy fuckin House Toy of the Ladys? Piss off We be busy.” She drawled, mangling her common, and returning to her work.
“Listen, I need to find Thrali, and urgently. Have you seen her?”
“Why ai help a house-toy like you?”
“Aren’t all of us slaves in it together? Besides, you’re not exactly a field-hand or anything, so where do you think you get off calling me a house-toy?”
The Cook glared at him, her meaty knuckles whitening as she clenched her spoon tightly. She shoved her face into his, her mighty cleavage jiggling beneath her apron. Relan became aware that she wasn’t wearing anything else underneath the apron.  He tried not to stare down too much at her dusky breasts as they pressed up against the leather.

“You have balls talking to me like that. I could paddle your ass with this spoon and Lady herself say ai in the right.” The Cook sighed. “But Thrali ai my friend. She be your friend, too, I will help you this time.” The cook glared. “Next time you come stompin in my kitchen, I throw you out, Lady say so or no.”

Relan nodded, feeling tense. Every second he dallied here was a second that brought the guards closer to finding him, and ending his abortive escape attempt.  They had to be gone, and now. The busty half-drow cook led him out of the kitchens, down a narrow winding set of stairs, into a place that seemed even more subterranean than manor-house, the servant's quarters. They moved hurriedly through a honeycomb of small rooms, sleeping quarters,  storage chambers and small mushroom farms and pens for the animals, all adjoining one another in a haphazard fashion, ladders and crudely hewn stairs ascending and descending all around.   She led him further, into its deepest parts, and was surprised when they emerged at last into a large circular annex, a huge web-shaped iron grate mounted into the floor, covering what looked like a deep pit. He was even more surprised to find Thrali there, wearing a cloak and a back-pack, as if ready for a journey, standing by the pit, as if waiting for something.  She cried out at seeing him, suprised to see him free.

“Relan! You’re alive! And here, so soon. But...how?”
“I can’t explain right now but we need to leave. Immediately.” He embraced her tightly, whispering his words into her ear so the cook couldn’t hear.
Thrali tapped him playfully. “Its all right.  Agara can be trusted. Relan needs to leave this place. I’m going to go with him, into the Underdark.”
Agara burst out laughing, a deep booming chuckle.  “Thrali, are you been crazy? Every slave think about leaving, some even stroll in the Deep Dark, but all come back. No one make the run to the Overlight ever come back. Masters be bad, Masters be hateful, but Masters not worst thing down here.”

“I’m serious, Agara. Relan...I think he and I could make it. I trust him.” Thrali seemed defiant. Agara shook her head, sadly. “If you be set on it, girl....den I guess I’ll help cover your escape. Bah! You always were stubborn and proudful. I remember when you was littl'un...But this no time for that. Ah feed the Driders sometimes, and I know what gets em all riled good. They'll cover yous escape.”

Thrali smiled. “I knew you’d help. Thank you Agara. But the Driders can be tamed easily by the Matron, I don’t think theyll serve as a distraction for long.”
Relan coughed. “I think the Matron be indisposed at present.”
Agara looked at him suspiciously. “Awhat do you mean by that?”
“Let’s just get out of here. Now, Thrali. You think you have a way out of the compound?”
“Yes...it’s crazy but, I think it’ll work.”
Suddenly, there was a commotion over-head. Agara’s eyes widened. “Dey send the guard into the slave quarters? Dey must be comin for you boy. Oh gods below and above I hope dey don’t find you.” Agara quickly scarpered, her heavy bust heaving up and down as she ran from the annex.

“Relan? Whats going on?”
“I...uh...may have choked the Matron half to death.”
“You did what?!”
“Where’s that damn exit?”
Thrali took several deep breaths, trying to remain calm, though her eyes darted furtively about, as the sound of approaching guards drew nearer.
“There’s only one way out that they can’t follow us, not really. And that’s down. Down into the Deep Dark, where the Mad Driders live.”
“What?! There’s got to be another way...”
Above, they could hear the distant echoes of Agara shouting and flailing, and the sound of hue and cry coming from drow house-soldiers.  They were out of time.
“Do you trust me, Relan?”

He closed his eyes, breathing deeply, remembering his dreams, remembering the feel of warm sunlight and a gentle breeze.  Home.  Forget the sword; leave it here in this cursed, dark place. Forget even Izarra, the poor confused Drow maiden, and hope she finds her happiness in this cruel, twisted world. He could do nothing more here. Time to just go home.

He opened his eyes.

“I trust you.”

She smiled, and with a sudden roar, she flung her arms down and gripped the side of the heavy iron grate and slid it back, exposing the dark, sucking tunnel beneath. She stood, swaying, panting, from the sudden, heavy exertion.
“I may look pretty but I’m still half-orc.” She smirked.  Suddenly, they could hear the clatter of boots and weapons against armour. The guards were coming down into the annex.

Thrali turned to him, her green eyes flashing.

“Jump! Now!”

He Jumped.

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