Squib Ep.18 - True Freedom
(Start at the beginning here)
The plan was desperate, foolhardy, and it was surprising to see so many of the slaves survived it. Not that they weren't without their losses. One of the men involved in the sentry assault was dead, meeting his end soaked in a bath of his own blood. Of the two others, one got away with little more than a bad case of frayed nerves (which Herule wasn’t confident he would recover from) while the other continued on with the shaft of an arrow embedded in his thigh. He had since required the assistance of two more men to carry him, the entire process slowing them all down.
What was more surprising was that the adventurers, who’d hatched the whole plan, arrived at the rendezvous with little more than a few scratches. Comical as they had appeared- stumbling in unknowingly to the Orc Chief’s tent in where Herule stood ready to lay them all low- the Lizardman had to admit that by some feat of strength, or equal measure of trickery, they’d managed to pull it off.
Now the collective rabble stood on the precipice where the rocky terrain sunk into the murk of the swamp. Everyone was eager to press on for fear of what lay behind, and yet trepidation gripped all who were aware of the hazard the swamp posed, particularly in the shroud of night. Unlike the soft skinned humans, Herule had no such fears. He simply felt annoyed at the delay, the reason of which was of no consequence to him.
Where the returning adventurers and the slave rabble met, a tiny meeting formed involving the most senior members of each. Gizelle amongst them, Herule drew back from his scanning of the swamp and joined her as an intimidating presence over her shoulder. The humans and the adventurers spoke in hushed conspiratorial voices, with a series of alarmed questions and agitated concerns being met with cool explanations and leveled assurances. Not that Herule could understand any of it, but the smell of fear, and waft of confidence that gathered in his nose and throat told him everything he needed to know. Before long, seemingly forgotten in the new hierarchical dynamic, Herule drew Gizelle’s attention with a tap on her small shoulder.
“What’s taking sso long?” He asked.
She turned to answer while the others continued deliberating. “Our heroes plan to push through the night and make for the town of Silkwood. The others fear the swamp in the dark.”
Herule thought on this, considering the delay, and looked over those individuals at the source of the conflict. He sniffed at the air and seethed with bared teeth. “Their dissent sspreads fear like a disease. Let’s end them quickly and be on our way.” He tightened the grip on his javelin and shifted his massive weight in their direction. All eyes turned as the Lizardman lurched forward, and those in his path began to shrink away on instinct.
Gizelle threw up her arms, moving her own body to block him, “No!” He stopped, and she turned her attention swiftly to the two men who’s graven faces were looking from her, to Herule, then back, with alarm. Gizelle began babbling in the common tongue, a flurry of syllables with a seriousness Herule hadn’t heard since she’d advocated for his life before the Orc-Chief-Lur. The men seemed to weigh their option and gave a flurried nod. The discussion was suddenly resolved, and despite the satisfying turn in proceedings, all glances that met with Herule’s were now dour and unfriendly.
“What did you ssay?” Herule asked as the group suddenly mobilized.
“The truth.” Gizelle answered. “But you should know, the threat of violence is often more than enough.”
Herule looked away indignantly, over the heads of those pushing to keep up with the herd. “We sshould break away from this rabble. We will move faster alone.”
Something flashed across Gizelle’s face, a twitch beneath her eyes, a flicker of emotion, a sense of realization, a breaking of moulds. “These are my people,” The statement was more expression than words. “We are bound for the same place.” The explanation sounded damning- but of what?
“They are not mine.” Herule answered, saying it so smoothly, so quickly, it was done before he realised the truth to it. Now that the freedom of the swamp lay at his feet, he would be striking out into it on his own. More importantly, this human woman he had come to live by had elevated herself in Herule’s eyes above the rest of the cattle she was now calling her people. The conversation soured in Herule’s heart and he met Gizelle’s gaze with anger.
Gizelle was smart, Herule knew, and it was only reaffirmed when she spoke this obvious truth while Herule was still drawing out the idea. “I suppose this is where we part ways then.”
Her words, softly spoken, shared none of Herule’s anger. Instead they were punctuated with the complex emotions of ambivalence, which confused Herule’s more straightforward way of thinking. Despite this he still felt the need to rise to the occasion, in part because of the heat rising off his scaled shoulders from the accumulation of the nights conflicts. He growled, “I will travel with your group until daybreak, then journey west for home.”
“Okay,” Gizelle nodded.
“Ok.” Herule agreed.
A moment of silence passed between them.
“Thankyou,” Gizelle added, lifting her hand and placing it on the lighter scales covered Herule’s great chest. “For keeping me safe.”
Herule looked away, indignity taking hold once more. He scanned the heads of the departing slaves then roamed his eyes over the rocky terrain that lay behind them. He considered the camp, the orcs, the foul energy they’d unearthed beneath the quarry, the fights, feuds, and thirst, both for water and freedom. He lifted his head, not meeting Gizelle’s eye. There was only one response.
“Herule’s greatness knows no bounds,” and with that he took her hand in his own and lead her down into the swamp.
(Continue to Ep.19)
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