I kicked and fought so hard as four xadineft carried me to the cave that even they were having a hard time holding on to me. So the sorcerers cast a spell to make me sleep.


I woke in a dark cave, in some unknown place in the mountain. My scouting abilities let me know that another was in the room, taking advantage of their ability to see heat to see me. I acknowledge it’s a human weakness to start to freak out in complete and utter darkness, and I am no exception to that. I closed my eyes and pretended it was night, holding on to that part of my mind.

“Ah, you’re awake,” said a credaril in common.

“Yes, I am, demon dung,” I said, keeping my eyes closed.

“Good, then the torture can begin,” he replied.

“Nothing can be worse than listening to the slave of a demon talk in broken common,” I said. Mentally I still wished I could control my smart tongue.

“General Ofeldar, there is much worse we can do to you,” said the credaril, who then began to chant, blue light around his hands illuminating the room.

My skin burned. Part of my mind knew it really didn’t, but the pain sensation of flame ripping away my flesh was real. I screamed, but the echo from it told me the chamber they held me in had been sealed.

I would not let them win. “As you can tell from my sass, if you idiots even know what that means, I’m not telling you anything,” I said through ragged gasps for breath, the sensations gone.

“That’s just it, human scum, I don’t care if you do. My superiors want to know what the plans are before taking you off the board for Rangdor. I, however, would just as much love to torture you whether it works on you or not,” said the credaril. “I happen to know even this complete darkness is torture for you, while I can see every detail of the walls and the heat from your racing, frightened heart.”

“Maybe that’s just intense love for you,” I quipped. “It’s probably hatred though, so I’ll go with that.”

The credaril’s hands lit up again as he began to cast. Nothing happened. “Ah, so you are going to be resistant to some of my spells,” he mistakenly said. Now I knew I could fight them. “Let’s see if you can resist two of us.”

I sensed him walking to the other side of the room and used every scout sense to measure the distance. A stone door swung open on metal hinges and the light of a torch briefly lit the opening. Quickly flexing my body so I could slip my bound hands under my legs and out in front of me, I traced his steps. It was at this moment I realized how oppressive the darkness was, as they had removed all my clothing. It made no sense to me as my heat outline would be the same. I’d only look better to them with light in the room. If it was to shame me, why would I feel shame if they couldn’t actually see me.

In the brief light when he left I had seen a hook hanging from the ceiling, high enough up to be very uncomfortable for torture. It was a shame, for them, that they hung it so close to the door on a spike drilled into the rock ceiling. I jumped up and hooked the ropes around my hands on it, giving myself a good cut on the left one. Then I twisted and swung my legs up on the wall less than a body length away from me and climbed it.

Some of the blood from my hand pooled on my chest. I thanked the One God for a bountiful bosom, as it needed to stay there. If that dripped on them when they came in I wouldn’t be able to kill them. I stayed perfectly still as the door swung open again. The fools failed to look up, but they did panic.

The two sorcerers began to yammer in credaril, clearly wondering what happened. Just one more step into the room, I thought. They complied and I swung down, catching the closest one to the door with the ropes around my legs, wrapping them around his neck. I made sure that as I twisted and snapped his neck he slammed into the other sorcerer, interrupting his spell.

While the sorcerer who had begun the torture fought for balance, I unwound from the neck of the dead credaril, swung up to the wall and pushed off. Swinging from the hook, I planted both feet in his face full force. The sorcerer flew back against the stone table I could see in the light from the door. If the crack of his skull I heard wasn’t deadly, it was enough to knock him unconscious.

I had felt the hook turn with me as I spun, so pushed off the wall and kept going. As I guessed, the spike unscrewed from the ceiling and I dropped. Needing someplace to put it while I used the hook for my purposes, I shoved the spike through my torturer’s heart, just to make sure. I carefully used the point of the hook to fray the ropes on my hands and freed them. Legs also free, I wondered at the lack of guards. Either they didn’t believe a woman to be a threat, or these two sorcerers had way too much confidence in their abilities.

A piece of cloth ripped from the robe of one of the credarils served as a bandage for my hand. I heard voice coming my direction. While I could speak the language of the good daril races on the surface, credarils had changed it too much. From the tone and volume, they spoke casually. I realized they must be coming down a tunnel, so I sprinted to the wall next to the door and flattened against it.

The footsteps and speaking stopped at the door and I heard what in mind translated as “What the . . . ?”, though I couldn’t be sure. I heard swords come out of scabbards and two credaril soldiers ran in and straight to the corpses on the floor. The first one to turn and look my direction took a right uppercut to the chin. Each stood shorter than me, height not a daril trait, especially for credarils.

Once again they underestimated me and the second one charged me. With a quick pivot to my left I dodged the sword thrust, grabbed my attacker’s wrist and used his momentum to flip him onto his back. His sword now in my hand, I met the first soldier’s swing with it as he recovered from the vicious punch.

I drove the soldier back with a flurry of blows that surprised him and made him play desperate defense. Keeping my senses alert, I knew the soldier I disarmed had got up and now charged me. At the last moment I dove to my right, tucked and came up as he slammed into his partner. With a lunge I sliced through his hamstring muscle and he collapsed as the still armed soldier struggled not to be knocked over.

As the wounded soldier fell on his face, the other one dropped his sword, the tip of mine pressed against his neck. The credaril on the floor tried to reach for me, but without moving my blade I kicked him in the face, knocking him out. “Do you speak common?” I asked. The credaril shook his head, so I ran my blade into his neck and back out. I didn’t need a hostage, I needed a guide.

I ran out to the hall and grabbed a torch, went back in the torture room and closed the door. I’d have to wait for the soldier bleeding from the back of his leg to wake up, if he ever did. I also worked on a plan for if he didn’t.


Want more Ofeldar? She’s in First 2 volumes Available at my author page at my author page on Amazon.

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