Before they could come for her, too, Jisanne fled. She did not stop until she had reached the end of inhabited territory, and even then she kept going all the way to Arkhold. The mummified ruins of the abandonded port city seemed the perfect place for her.
Time had not lessened the pain of her massacred loved ones. Those nightmares remained as vivid as the navigation crystal’s visions of ancient Athas…
The floating mantle brought her to soupy mud flats at the shore of the Dragon’s Palate. A thin stream trickled down from the foothills, where the scrub forest thickened. That would do.
She landed the docile beast near a dryer patch of thick grasses, and slid down its rubbery curved back. When she released it from her spell, the jellyfish creature floated away from the mud flats, heading back to the silt barrens. Her quest here would take some time and require a great deal of caution. The steep mountains of the Dragon’s Palate were inhabited by ferocious beast giants; fortunately, a military outpost from Balic kept the giants busy.
Jisanne filled her water containers upstream, then placed the heavy jugs in a subtly marked cache, where she could retrieve them before she headed home. Then, with empty sacks tied at her waist, she explored the forest in search of edible berries, roots, mushrooms, fruits, and herbs.
A pang of loneliness stabbed her, but she had fended for herself so long. Only once had Jisanne let down her guard and trusted a stranger in the Arkhold ruins-and that lapse had nearly killed her. She had revealed herself to a half-elf treasure seeker who had looked so friendly, so earnest. The lone adventurer had captivated her with his story, his passion, and Jisanne had shown him the navigation crystal, had revealed to him the erstwhile splendor of Athas.
Jisanne had been so desperate for companionship that she had believed in him-until he had stolen the crystal. As the thief had run away with mocking laughter, taking a shortcut out onto the sands, a tentacled silt horror had grabbed him before he’d even realized his danger. Hearing his screams, Jisanne felt no sympathy. Later, she retrieved the navigation crystal from where it had dropped to the ground next to his corpse, and held it tightly. From that point on, Jisanne hid whenever she saw a human visitor.
As she filled her sacks with edibles from the forest, she took comfort in knowing the navigation crystal was hidden in a small pouch tied on the inside of her breeches. She had to exercise great care to avoid detection from the marrauding giants on the island; their main lair was to the north, closer to Balic. She was safe here, where she could hear, and hide from, the crashing approach of any plodding giant hunter.
She did not, however, notice the trap set by the band of feral halflings.
As she foraged, the small wild-eyed savages had stalked and surrounded her in utter silence. The halfling hunters scuttled ahead, lying in wait with their ropes and nets, and then they sprang.
The vicious little men hurled bolos at her, several of which missed, but one caught around her leg, and another struck her head, wrapping around her neck.
“Fresh human! Tender human!”
“Take her back to the village.”
Jisanne clawed at the bolos-and then the halflings dropped a net on top of her. They pounced, driving her to the ground.
“Bring her to the other captives.”
“If we have any left!” The last comment was met with cackles of laughter and howls of disappointment.
A stocky leader thumped his chest in triumph, and hefted a sword made from a giant’s sharpened femur. “Another victory for Borodro!”
“But we all caught her, Borodro…” whined one of the younger halflings.
With a slash of his giant-bone sword, Borodro decapitated the complainer, and the severed head continued to whistle and grimace as it rolled on the dry leaves of the ground. The leader gave a snort. “Look, Delfi keeps complaining even without a body.” The halflings’ initial gasps of horror turned to laughter, cheers, and grumbling stomachs. “Bring his body back to the village,” their leader ordered. They seemed satisfied with that.
Jisanne thrashed in the net, struggling to tear the tough strands. She didn’t waste energy or breath demanding to be freed, since that would do no good. Everyone knew the cruelty of halfling raiders and slavers. She tried to work an escape spell, but failed; she was already weak and had used much magic to summon and control the floating mantle. She needed time and concentration.
“Tenderize her,” said Borodro, “then let’s get back to the village.”
The halfling hunters fell upon Jisanne with sticks and clubs. She covered her head to protect herself, but the blows were too many…
Some time later, she awoke, a mass of pain, trussed up and carried along as the halflings whistled their satisfaction. Jisanne clamped her bruised lips together to keep from making a sound. She heard shouts and cheers from more halflings ahead as they arrived at the village, a ring of stone houses that surrounded a stone pyramid.
Halflings were notorious slavers, and Borodro had said he kept other captives, though none were readily visible. The halflings dumped her into a small, filthy pen with walls made of twisted thorn branches. Her hands and ankles remained bound.
Jisanne tried to concentrate so she could gather power for her magic, draw power slowly from the surrounding plants and trees, perhaps even from the halflings themselves. If she garnered strength gradually, she might not alert the vicious little beasts to what she was doing.
She could have just ripped the power from the fabric of the world, stealing as much life force as required, but even to save herself, Jisanne was reluctant to destroy life by turning to the corrupting magic. The only time she truly defiled nature was to activate the navigation crystal, and that was… necessary. For now, she would find another way.
The halflings left Jisanne in the pen, focused on other interests, jabbering and chuckling.
“I’m hungry!”
“They better not have gnawed all the bones!”
“Save me a tender piece,” Borodro said. The other halfling hunters dumped the decapitated body of their comrade on the trampled ground. “And start cooking Delfi. Throw in a lot of garlic so he doesn’t taste gamey.”
Jisanne realized that there were no other captives. Several human carcasses-mostly picked clean-were being roasted over a bed of orange coals near the stone pyramid. The returning hunters rushed over to the cookfire and squabbled over the remaining meat.
She felt a sickening wrench in her gut. Halfling cannibals were the worst.
Sweating, in pain from her contusions and cracked bones, Jisanne closed her eyes and began to concentrate on scraps of magic, pulling together any possibilities for her escape. She didn’t have much time.
Koram walked away and never looked back at the Balic skyline. He did not listen to the mayhem as Skull Wearer and his beast giant army hammered the walls, did not flinch as sorcerer-king Andropinis fought back with arcane magic. He heard explosions, screams, a loud ripping roar… and he kept walking. It was no longer his battle; perhaps it had never been.
With his sword he cut the mooring rope of a fully stocked silt skimmer, then set sail out into the estuary. As a youth, in happier days in the great walled city, he had learned how to guide and levitate the skimmers on his impetuous adventures in the surrounding area. This, though, was no mere lighthearted expedition. He would never return.
The hot, dry breezes blew him past other coastal villages, then he turned east into deeper silt, crossing to the hazy highlands of the Dragon’s Palate, where he hoped to live off the land.
After he beached the silt skimmer at sunset, Koram set up camp in the trees; he slept little, with his back against a sturdy trunk, as he listened to creatures stalking the night. He had no plan, no goal-and it felt liberating. Before, he had lived for his family, for his city, to make a better existence for all the citizens of Balic. He had worked hard and dedicated himself for people he cared about. And after his disgrace, he had been forced to fight and kill for people he hated.