Soulblade

Chapter 2: Hobgoblin

I know instantly I'm in for trouble and back away from the bars, hands clenching at my sides as I prepare for the inevitable. The hobgoblin uses a large key on the lock to my cell, dropping it back into a pouch at its waist when it pushes open the door. I could tackle it, perhaps, and try a preemptive strike but it's faster than I expect and when I try to lunge for it when the door is still open it lashes out with a fist and strikes me in the ribs, doubling me over from pain and forcing air out of my lungs. Such an attempt has to be typical of all its prisoners and I've just put myself in exactly the position it wanted me.

I clutch at my side, berating myself for my idiocy while my arm twitches. A quick glance down shows the number under HW glowing a moment before dropping to twenty- three. That double digit is tied to my health and wellness. How do I know what HW means? Doesn't matter right now, not while my ribs ache from the blow. Good enough to

realize, though, the drop is a bad sign, I'm positive of it, but there's not much I can do to change that now.

No time to work out why I know what I know, nor even what to do next. Not when the guard lashes out for the second time in almost casual boredom, as if this is a chore it's grown accustomed to and would prefer someone else handled. One of its heavily booted feet strikes my knee with the unyielding toe reinforced with metal. I can't stop the scream that exits my already sore throat, landing hard on the ground and curling into a ball to try to protect myself while it kicks and stomps at me, grunting over me when it delivers the beating that is my lesson.

When it's done I'm aching all over, but I'm still intact enough I remain conscious as it backs off, wiping at a line of drool dangling from its thick lips, sweat beading on its sickly green skin.

"You give me trouble and I'll break you next time." Its thick accent makes it hard to decipher what it is saying, but I process enough I nod in agreement, staying where I am, as it turns, its rusting chainmail jingling as it exits my cell and locks the door behind it. I watch it go, waiting for silence before I uncoil from my fetal position and gingerly test myself for damage.

My HW has fallen to twenty-one, but rather than worry about that creeping descent I continued to examine myself in the low light.

"Our host didn't kill you, I take it?" Though clearly an effort at being chipper, all the good humor is gone from the halfling's voice.

"I'm here," I croak, unashamed of the previous cries that graveled my voice, knowing now the rest of them must have endured the same upon their arrival here. "I take it that's a regular occurrence?"

"Just a friendly reminder all hope has fled," the halfling says, singsong tone regaining some of her amusement. "That we should simply give up and accept our lot in life and that we'll never, ever escape or see the light of day, so on and so forth, ad nauseam."

"Shut up, won't you?" The dwarf sounds furious, voice vibrating. "I'm tired of your chatter."

"Come over here and tell me that," she shoots back, words edged in laughter.

I choose to ignore them, turning to lean with my back against the bars, chin on my chest a moment as I inhale, exhale the stale air, recovering as best I can by holding still. I finally open my eyes, the banter in the hall fallen quiet. There's an excellent likelihood I passed out just now and am only awakening again. So be it. Rest might be what I need.

It's done nothing to return my memories, though, and while I'm hardly surprised I am disappointed.

I look up, sighing deeply past the aches tugging at my body with the depth of my breath, and realize I missed two important items in my cell.

The scaled and cracked water jug holds musty liquid but I gulp it anyway after a hasty test sniff, thankful for the moisture. I choke on the first swig, throat closing as if in protest of the flavor, but I force it down until my body accepts it. The dryness washed from my throat, I turn to item number two and the flat plate with the missing chunk from one side. Its molding bread might have been unappetizing in normal circumstances, but my stomach thanks me for the offering after I pick off the worst of the fuzzy green growth. There's sufficient food remaining I feel full enough, especially after drowning what I've eaten with the rest of the water. For a moment, my gut churns, debates the offering and I hold my breath, hands pressed to my middle, begging everything to stay where it is and not reemerge and waste what I've been given.

When my stomach finally flexes and relaxes again, I sag, head bowing once more, this time in relief. My arm tingles when I do, HW glowing faintly, rising to twenty-two. Food, water, maybe some further rest could restore me more? I have zero doubt that number connects directly to how I am feeling and my physical state of health.

I need to sleep, not pass out. Real sleep with the restorative benefits of that. More knowing without memory how I know, but I'm learning not to let that bother me. One thing is certain, if I'm going to recover further, I have to rest.

But when I moved to rise, to reach for the bench so I don't have to sleep on the floor, my hand slips over something cold and sharp that jingles faintly on the rock. I jerk back from it with a soft hiss, the sharp edge of it slicing my finger. I suck at the bead of blood that rises, peering down toward the stone floor and the single metal circle lying there. The shorn rim has cut me, severed link of chainmail discarded, I can only imagine, from the hobgoblin's armor when it delivered my recent lesson.

Heart pounding in hope, I lift the ring and examine it. The diameter of the metal seems decent enough, so much so that when I try to straighten it from its present shape it takes considerable effort. I grunt faintly at the task, cut finger oozing blood and making the job slippery, my thick fingers struggling to hold tight enough to bend the round into length. I finally win against the stubborn metal and, when I'm done, I hold a three inch piece of heavy gauge wire in my tired hands.

My knees protest the harsh firmness of the rock beneath them as I kneel immediately, all thought of rest vanished at the hope rising escape might be imminent. I examine the lock on my door as best I can from the far side. Its opening faces the corridor, my fingers exploring the edges of it, no access from my side kyboshing my plans to make this quick and easy.

Rustling across from me precedes the interest of the halfling who moves forward to watch when I slide one hand through the bars again and use my still oozing index finger to guide and insert the wire into the lock on the other side.

"You trained to do that?" She sounds excited, all sarcastic teasing gone.

I grunt at her instead of answering her silly question, focusing on the task at hand, unwilling to admit to myself I have no idea what I'm doing. My hope stirs this continuing knowing without memory might kick in and allow me to pick the lock. No such luck this time. And I realize I'm not going to get much further on my own when my arm tingles and the PH vibrates, turning faintly red. Physical, my mind whispers. Tied to my strength and skills, but also to my nimbleness of movement. In this case, I just don't have the number I need to succeed.

Frustration pings against my traitor memories and their selective information. Faint sweat beads on my upper lip when I refuse to quit. After a moment of trying to figure out what I'm doing, however, and a near loss when the wire slips in my b****y fingers-the halfling hissing her concern when I lunge and catch the metal length just in time-I finally give in, fingers aching from the awkward positioning and sink back on my heels to think.

"Toss it over here." The halfling sticks one skinny arm through the bars, her tiny fingers wriggling in eager anticipation. "Hey, are you listening? You might be a total useless klutz without a scrap of talent, but I can use that."

I hesitate, both from the insult and the need to think her demand over, bouncing the wire in my hand. "You can free yourself?"

She wrinkles her nose at me, grins. "Naturally," she says. "What's a rogue good for if I can't pick a simple lock? And you, my friend, have the perfect tool for my liberation at your disposal." She glances to her right, my left, down the corridor toward the exit where the guard has disappeared. "Hurry up, then, handsome, and make a choice." She bats her eyelashes at me. "You want out too, don't you?"

More rustling, interest raised as the others come to their bars. "Don't trust her," the dwarf says as the elf leans close to her door and peers sideways toward the halfling's extended arm.

"Don't listen to him," the tiny thief says while the others remain oddly silent. Does that mean no one trusts the adorable halfling who looks like an innocent child? An excellent thing to know. "Give it." She wriggles her fingers again, anxious excitement on her face, round cheeks pink with it. "What are you waiting for?"

"How do I know you're not going to just run off and leave me behind?" I have already made my choice, though, despite my hesitation. I can't use the wire to pick my lock, that is obvious. And no one else has spoken up, either to support her or to make the same request-demand-she's making. Besides, she's right across from me and the easiest to reach. A simple toss could mean my liberation. So giving it to her, the most logical person to get the job done, is the best decision. And yet, I can't help but prod her for a word of faith.

She sighs with the kind of dramatic annoyance that makes me smile wider. "No promises," she quips. "I am a rogue, after all. Still, I'm being forthcoming about that fact. And there happens to be honor among my kind from time to time."

"Between your kind," I say. "What does that mean for the rest of us?"

She snorts. "Clever, I'll give you that." She finally shrugs, acting casual, leaning against the bars with her arms crossed over her chest. "Tell you what. You give me what I need, fighter boy, and I'll do what I can to do the same for you."

"She only needs you to fight for her so she can escape," the dwarf grumbles.

"Sounds about right," I say and toss the wire toward her without further conversation. "Catch!"

***