“Stop, boys. Let me take the lead. We’re going to have to play it by ear.” Charles ignored the confused expressions of the Water Clan warriors. Putting on his best Texas Hold’em poker face, he stomped confidently to face the three sentries with drawn swords. He named them Larry, Mo and Curly in his mind, not that they actual bore any resemblance to the Stooges.
“I freely and gladly serve my master.” Charles hoped he remembered the phrase correctly.
“Who are you? And why are you dressed so strangely?” Larry made no move to lower his weapon.
“I’m a trader, and these are my grandsons. I traded for these clothes. You can see I haven’t got a sword, so there’s no need to aim your weapons at me.”
“What is that thing in your hand?” asked Curly, raising a suspicious eyebrow.
“This?” Charles lifted the Molotov cocktail bottle as if he had nothing to hide. He’d forgotten Kaevin hadn’t been familiar with blown glass. “I don’t really know for sure. I traded a pelt for it. It’s supposed to have a special lamp oil inside.”
“But why are you in here? You and your grandsons?” Larry relaxed his sword arm, but his brows furrowed.
“Of course, I’ve been ordered to bring this lamp oil to Vindrake.”
“Then you’re in the wrong part of the cavern. Go back the way you’ve come.” Larry motioned with his free hand.
“But you see, I’ve lost my pet,” said Haegen, pushing his way forward. “We were chasing him. There he is. Right over there.” He pointed past the guards. Charles followed the direction of Haegen’s finger, wondering how he was going to support Haegen’s bizarre story. Charles jaw dropped at the sight of a large brown and white rat.
“That thing is your pet?” Mo turned up his nose.
How are we going to pull this off?
Curly slid to the side for a better view. “It’s a rat—it’s huge!” Curly’s face displayed a mixture of fear and disgust, the same sentiments Charles was attempting to hide from the guards.
“Yes, that’s his pet. Call him, Haegen. Let them see how tame he is.” Markaeus pulled his brother’s arm, edging around the guards, who stared as if mesmerized by the strangely docile rat.
Twenty feet past the guards, Haegen knelt down, calling out to the rat, “Nosewise! Come here, Nosewise.” To Charles amazement, the rat scurried into his waiting hands and Haegen stood, twisting to face the sentries with the disgusting furry creature cradled in his arms.
With a casual stride, Charles moved around the guards to join the two boys. He reached out to stroke the rat with a wary hand, keeping his back to the guards. Only with great difficulty did he suppress a shudder at touching the dirty mottled fur. Readying the cigarette lighter, he muttered in a low voice. “Get ready to run, okay?”
Markaeus nodded, sliding the two cans of pepper spray from the pockets of his cloak, and Charles turned to face the sentries again. “There. You see
? We couldn’t leave his pet behind.”
“Very well. You have your rat.” Mo’s upper lip twitched up on one side. “Now be gone, back the way you’ve come.” He took a few steps toward them, muttering and gesturing over his shoulder with his sword.
“We’re leaving right now.” With a click of his lighter, Charles set fire to the wick and flung the Molotov cocktail to shatter at Mo’s feet. Flaming liquid fanned out, splashing onto the floor and up onto all three sentries. Without waiting to see the results, Charles whipped around to chase after the boys. Terrified screams sounded behind him, and he prayed the fiery blockade would be sufficient to stop any pursuing guards. But soon he heard pounding footsteps in pursuit. The footsteps grew closer, gaining on him as the boys pulled away.
Risking a quick glance over his shoulder, he saw two young burly guards a mere twenty-five yards behind him. He grasped the neck of the other bottle and clicked the lighter. A spark, but no flame. Again. Again the lighter flashed, but the flame wouldn’t catch. He moved the Molotov cocktail to his left hand and tried the lighter with his right thumb. At last, it worked. But his efforts had cost him much of his lead. The warriors were close.
Dropping the lighter, he grabbed the bottle, twisting to throw without breaking stride. He heard the crash and yelling behind him. No more footsteps. He picked up his pace again, but the boys were out of sight.
Rounding the bend, he spied them, thirty yards ahead, standing on a stone bench set back in an alcove. Markaeus reached up, sliding his hand across the smooth polished wall, and Charles saw a black opening appear. Haegen dashed inside as Markaeus stood on the bench, motioning with his hand. “Hurry, Uncle Charles! Hurry!”
But Charles heard another set of footsteps behind him. Twisting his head, he discovered yet another sentry giving chase. “Go on!” Charles yelled at Markaeus. Slowing, he reached into his pocket, retrieving the Taser. “I’m almost out of tricks,” he muttered to himself.
He stopped, bending over to hold his knees, as if he were catching his breath. It wasn’t much of an act. With his right side away from the guard, he hid the Taser behind his leg. The guard slowed as he approached, probably nervous after seeing the results of the two Molotov cocktails. Though shorter than Charles, the young warrior possessed massive muscles that flexed and bulged as he lifted his sword.
“I surrender. I’m too tired to run.” Charles puffed out the breathless words.
“Don’t move.” The warrior approached with caution, poised to attack.
Charles froze in his bent position, watching the sentry’s progress from the corner of his eye. Just a few more steps. The Taser had a range of up to fifteen feet, but he’d never fired it at anyone before. He preferred to have his target at close range.
“How did you make the fire? Are you shaman gifted?” The brawny guard moved his left hand inside the fold of his tunic, retrieving a gleaming knife, which he held in throwing position.
Great… he’s got two weapons, and he’s bound to be gifted. I sure hope this works.