Troy Denning: The Verdant Passage

By the cool blue of the silo’s brick walls, Sadira knew that it was a circular hole about two-and-half feet in diameter and ten feet deep. There was just enough room to stand, but not to sit or lie down.

The cell was filled top to bottom with the green gossamer of a silky web. Throughout this web scurried dozens, perhaps hundreds, of pinkish reptiles that created a soft whisper by rubbing their pliant scales against the silk, the walls, and each other. They were about the length of Sadira’s fingers, with soft tubular bodies, arrow-shaped heads, small squarish ears, and compound eyes resembling those of an insect. She was not sure whether to think of them as lizards or snakes, for they had tiny legs and feet in front, but none on their hindquarters.

One of the guards grabbed Sadira beneath the armpits and dangled her over the pit. The half-elf groaned in alarm and braced her feet against the edges of the pit. She knew that struggling was futile, but the thought of being lowered into the squirming mass below was repulsive.

Her captor’s companion kicked the slave’s feet away from the edges of the pit, and the one holding her released his grip. Sadira plummeted through the web, bringing a shower of slimy flesh and sticky strands down about her as she fell. When she hit the bottom, her knees buckled and her shoulder slammed into the brick wall. Sharp bolts of pain shot through her ankles and knees, and her left arm went numb. She found herself wedged into the cramped silo with her buttocks resting on her heels.

Scaly ropes of flesh began to squirm over her bare legs, her shoulders, even down the back of her neck. Sadira let out a muffled scream of disgust and pushed herself into a standing position. The effort sent renewed streams of pain through her ankles and knees.

At the top of the silo, the two guards chuckled and slid the stone slab back into place.

Sadira stood in the cell, alone save for the repulsive creatures that rubbed their hissing scales against her skin and flicked her with their gritty tongues. She could not decide whether they were welcoming her to the colony or taste-testing the web’s latest catch. The sorceress consoled herself with the thought that the greatest danger posed by the reptiles was that they would drive her mad. She doubted that Boaz would tolerate the things if they foreshortened the torment of his victims by killing them.

The half-elf wasted little time panicking or bemoaning her fate, for she knew those were the reactions Boaz desired. Having been born into slavery, Sadira had long ago realized that, while her masters could use threats and violence to keep her in physical bondage, they could not control her mind or her emotions unless she let them. As long as she remained strong and refused to accept their right to enslave her, then she was at least spiritually free. Of course, spiritual freedom was a poor substitute for the real kind, but at least it kept hope alive.

The sorceress had seen too many people give up this last scrap of dignity. Sadira’s own mother, an amber-haired human named Barakah, had died apologizing to her daughter for the “crimes” she had committed, crimes that had resulted in Sadira being born a slave. The half-elf did not consider her mother’s actions to be crimes, however.

From what the half-elf had pieced together, as a young woman her mother had supported herself in one of the few outlawed occupations in Tyr. King Kalak had declared it illegal to sell or buy magical components. Naturally a thriving trade in chameleon skin, gum arabic, mica dust, adder’s stomach, and other hard-to-acquire items had sprung up in the notorious Elven Market. Barakah had made a living as a runner between the Veiled Alliance and the untrustworthy elven smugglers. She had also made the mistake of falling in love with an infamous elven rogue named Faenaeyon.

Shortly after Sadira had been conceived, the templars had raided the dingy shop where Faenaeyon lived and did business. He had escaped and fled into the desert, but the pregnant Barakah had been caught and sold into slavery. Faenaeyon had simply abandoned his lover and her unborn child, making no effort to buy their freedom or help them escape. A few months later, Sadira had been born in Tithian’s gladiatorial pits, and that was where she had been raised.

It was not where she intended to die. Sadira allowed the guards a few minutes to leave, then set about trying to escape. The gag was fairly easy to remove. The half-elf simply leaned her head to one side and rubbed her chin against her shoulder several times. The strip around her mouth rolled off her chin and down around her neck, then she spat the wad out of her mouth.

Next, she attempted to free her hands. Had they not been bound behind her, it would have been a simple matter to gnaw at the rope until she bit through it. Before she could do that, she had to work her hands around to her front. She tried to run her bound hands down her back and around her legs, but her arms were too short. She only strained her already throbbing shoulder.

Realizing that the tight quarters would never allow her to accomplish this first maneuver, she began to working her wrists back and forth behind her. With time, and she suspected she had plenty of that, she might be able to loosen the knot or stretch the hide enough to slip a hand free.

The repetitive action attracted the lizards. Within moments, the slimy reptiles tickled every inch of Sadira’s skin from the elbows down. They writhed over her arms with increasing agitation, their scales whispering as loudly as a strong breeze. The half-elf ignored them and continued to work her hands back and forth.

There was a sharp twinge inside Sadira’s elbow. When she felt a warm trickle running down her arm, she realized one of the creatures had bitten her. Dozens of raspy little tongues lapped at the blood, then she felt another twinge on the outside of her forearm. Both wounds bled more freely than they should have, and the lizards’ excitement mounted, filling the silo with a soft, steady drone. The half-elf began to fear that her efforts to liberate herself were driving the reptiles into a feeding frenzy. Fighting to ignore her growing revulsion, Sadira continued to work at the hide. She considered using the lizards to her advantage by trying to get them to chew off her bindings. Unfortunately they seemed more interested in licking blood than gnawing hide.

Soon her wrists began to sting where the thongs were cutting into them, and still more warm blood ran down over her hands. The little reptiles swarmed to the fresh food. A few even crawled into the tight crevice between her bound hands. Repulsed, she groaned and pressed her palms together, successfully crushing a pair of the gruesome things. Their bodies burst with a mushy pop, covering her palms with cool slime.

Noting how slick this scum was, Sadira realized that it would be useful in freeing her hands. Over the next few minutes, she continued to work her burning wrists back and forth. As they bled, she allowed many more lizards to crawl between her hands, and crushed them each in turn. Periodically, she tried to pull a hand free and found the thongs were still too tight. The reptiles continued to nip at her arms and lick the wounds around her bindings. She squashed several against the wall with a forearm. Soon, her hands and arms were soaked with a mixture of her own warm blood and cool lizard entrails.

Sadira tried again to free a hand. This time, her left hand slipped its loop. Her brief cry of joy echoed off the brick walls of the silo, but she doubted it could be heard outside. The half-elf immediately brought her hands around to her front and brushed the lizards off her bloody arms. Lacking anything better, she cleaned her hands as best as she could against her smock. Next she plucked the lizards from her hair. She didn’t bother with the creatures swarming over her legs, for they were too numerous and none seemed to be biting.