Into The Fire (Spider and the Hound)

Happy September everybody! The first person to read this will be my 400th viewer. *yay* Congratualtions, whoever you are - you win that warm, fuzzy feeling of knowing that you won something. Also, you can have an imaginary firework.

To the rest of you, hard luck. And also, Welcome! Come take a gander at the next portion of the Spider and Hound series. This will probably be the last one for a while, as I find my thoughts turning back towards my perpetually incomplete novel once more. Since I actually want to make proper headway with it this time, I'm putting everything else on the backburner (and it also gives me a chance to figure out what happens next - this one went off in a direction I wasn't expecting).

On a related note, I've managed to muster the courage to get a beta reader for my novel (through the WritersBeat forum - anyone into that sort of thing should defintely check it out), and I'd quite like another couple. If anyone's interested in picking holes in my plot and pointing out punctuation mistakes, let me know and I'll send you a link.

But anyway, enough rambling. Here's some words for you.


Into The Fire

There were people around her. The fuzzy impressions of dozens of conscious minds surrounded her, joined together by one particular emotion. Outrage. Slowly, Aislin forced herself to wake up.

Sound reached her first. The people were all talking, shouting, arguing, crying. Then she felt the aches, her legs unable to stretch, her side bruised from lying on some hard surface. Smell was next, the tang of iron and oak, tainted with stale sweat and old urine. Finally, she risked opening her eyes.

"She's waking up!"

"Aislin? Are you alright?"

"Does she look alright? Give her a minute to wake herself."

"Aislin, what's going on?"

"There must've been a mistake."

Feeling groggy, Aislin watched the faces peering down at her. It took her a while to piece together what her senses were telling her. Eventually, though, she drew her focus away from the faces and onto the bars that were keeping the crowd back.

She was in a cage. Even as slow as her mind was working, she still recognised what was happening. She was on display.

It was a common punishment in other parts of the kingdom, she knew. Display the criminal in the most public place, expose them to the taunts, jeers, and projectiles of their neighbours, make them regret what they had done. But there were no jeers here, no rotten fruit thrown or chamber pots emptied over her. Instead, the crowd grumbled unhappily at a punishment that hadn't been used in Kilmerrow for over a generation.

The cage itself was tiny. Whoever had put her in here had curled her legs up almost to her chin to fit her in, and there was barely enough head room to sit up. Thank goodness I'm small. Aislin thought. She shifted herself gracelessly until she was more or less upright, back bowed to keep her head clear of the top of the cage. Wrinkling her nose against the smells of fear and deprivation that had permeated into the wooden base, she finally paid attention to the people around her.

"How long have I been here?"

"Couple of hours." Someone replied. "The Hound carried ye into town and put ye in there. Said ye were under arrest fer treason. He won't tell us no more. He won't listen to us, neither."

"Cos ye called him seven kinds of idiot." Another voice chipped in. "Dunno where ye found the nerve."

"It him what's got the nerve, locking up our Aislin like this. It's bloody ridiculous, excuse me language."

"What do ye think he meant by 'treason'?" A younger voice asked.

"Prob'ly just an excuse to do what he likes. Ye know those city men, think they're better than us. Bet she did something he didn't like, and he made summat up to arrest her fer."

"Stop talking for a minute." Aislin said. Silence spread, and she made the most of it.

"Does Lord Mayer know about this?" She demanded.

"If he dint before, he will soon." That was Ersson the innkeeper, pushing his way closer to her cage. "I sent a lad to tell him. He wouldn't allow this on his land, not if he knew. Don't worry, girl, we'll get this sorted."

"He might not have a choice." When she saw Ersson starting to argue, she added, "Would you argue with the Hound?"

"Already have." He announced proudly. "Gave him a tongue lashing just as soon as he came back. Chucked him out, told him he weren't welcome if this is how he treats us.

Aislin pressed her knuckles to her mouth as he spoke.

"You've lost your mind."

"Not a bit of it, girl. We ain't having ye trussed up out here like an animal. If he's got a problem with ye, he can come through us."

A cheer went up from the assembled people. Aislin almost cried.

"You've all lost your minds! You can't argue with the King's Bloodhound. If he can arrest me for treason, he can arrest you all as accessories."

"He can't arrest all of us."

"He bloody well can!"

Shock rippled through the crowd, but not for the reason Aislin was hoping for.

"Where'd ye learn language like that, girl?"

"Master Ersson, please..."

But Ersson wasn't listening anymore. His attention had been drawn by a movement in the crowd.

"Alright gents, ladies, move yerselves, let me through." Another familiar face appeared, and he didn't have to push through the throng because people stood aside for him. It wasn't that he was an important man. It was simply that he, of all people, had a right to be at the front. It was also the last person Aislin wanted to see standing up for her. Sefton's father, Clift Brin.

"Uncle..."

"Never mind any of that, Aislin." He waved her worries away before turning to the crowd. "Now, you folk not listening to her? It's the King's Bloodhoud what's got her, not a local guard. You think he can't arrest ye all? Well, he don't need to - there's lots a ways he can get ye. So how about ye break this up, give our girl some space, and get back to yer jobs. Ain't time enough in the day to be wasting it here."

Aislin watched as the energy slowly seeped form the crowd. Clift Brin was an imposing man, and he spoke as though used to having his orders obeyed. Within an impressively short time, people were dispersing, filing away from the square, back to their own lives. Clift waited until the majority of people were gone before turning back.

"You shouldn't be here." Aislin spoke first. "If anyone's in danger from the Hound, it's you and the others."

"It's a fine mess where yer worrying about me, girl. I can take care of meself, and the family. Besides, seems we're owing ye something anyway."

"What do you mean, owing me?"

"Didn't know he was the Hound, when he came t'see us. Seemed a decent fella, said he was trying t'help ye out. Told 'im all sorts of stuff 'bout ye. When I found out..." He sucked on his teeth in frustration. "Well, I figured it was the end fer us. He was huntin' ye, and he could use us t'get ye. Reckoned we'd be thrown in the cells by nightfall. But he didn't have to do anything, ye just came sauntering back into town on yer own."

"There was no need to lock you up. All he needed was to be here."

"All he needed fer ye t'walk into his grasp?"

"I had a plan."

"And a fine plan it was too."

"It was, and is, as long as your being here now doesn't mess it all up." She said pointedly.

"Just what d'ye think we need protecting from, girl?"

"Haven't you heard what I've been arrested for? Treason, Uncle."

"Ye ain't no traitor."

"I guess that's a matter of opinion."

"Did my boy get ye into this mess?"

"Sefton? No. This particular mess is all mine."

"Hmm. Well, I hope that's true, or he'll be feeling the back of my hand." Clift Brin paused, then, with an edge to his voice, added, "If I see him, o'course."

"I'd hope you wouldn't be seeing him, given the circumstances." Aislin frowned. Surely Sefton wouldn't have gone to see his father after all they had done to keep the Brins out of trouble?

"Ye never know, eh? Boys can do the damndest things."

"Well, if you do see him, tell him he's being an idiot, and he needs to get back to work. There are people relying on him."

"Relying on ye, too?"

"I'm sure I couldn't say."

Clift Brin sighed.

"Didn't I always tell ye t'keep yer head down, keep yerself out of trouble?"

"You did. And I listened to you. I've kept myself out of trouble for a long time." She grinned cheekily. "But then the Hound found me."

"And now yer locked in a cage, marked as a traitor, and likely to be hanged soon as ye get to Rane."

"I'll just have to keep away from Rane, then."

"Can't see as how ye've much of a choice."

"I've always got choices, Uncle. Don't worry about me, I'll get myself out of this. And if you see that son of yours, give him a slap from me and send him on his way. I'll get word to him when I can."

"He won't like that."

"He doesn't have to. But I don't need him to rescue me, and if he tries it he'll upset my plan."

Clift Brin chuckled.

"Ye've grown up just like yer mother. She was just as stubborn, when she set her mind on something." He nodded. "Alright, I won't argue with ye. Just keep yerself safe, Aislin."

"I will."

"And, if ye get the chance, take care of that useless boy of mine, too?"

"Always, uncle."

Clift Brin nodded, hesitated, then walked smartly away.

The day passed slowly, alone in the cage. After taking her shoes off, Aislin found she could jut her legs out through the bars, which gave her the space to stretch her cramped calves, but there was nothing to do except sit and swing her feet. 

Just after noon, someone brought her some bread and cheese and a flask of water. After that, a group of children ferried a small cushion out, mumbled something about their mother, and raced away again. Towards evening, Ersson appeared with a bowl of stew and a mug of cider. Neither bowl nor mug could be forced through the bars, so the rest of the inn staff helped carry out a table to place alongside the cage. Aislin ate through the bars, and smiled inwardly. Occasionally she felt the eyes of the Hound on her, but not one Kilmerrow guard was sent out to take her comforts away.

Finally, night fell. As the temperature dropped, one final gift was sent her way. This was brought by a young man with the face of a little boy Aislin had once known, but it was clear the gift wasn't from him. The quilt that the boy tucked through the bars had once adorned her bed when she had stayed with the Brins.

"G'night miss Kay." The boy grinned.

"Goodnight." She called to the already fleeing figure.

Between the cushion and the blanket, there was a chance of a reasonable night's sleep. It took a lot of experimenting, but eventually Aislin found a comfortable position and closed her eyes.

She was allowed a couple of hours sleep. Before the sun had even started to take the edge from the dark, she was hustled out of the cage, into manacles, and onto a horse. A guard climbed up behind her and, with another two guards flanking, the Hound led the small group out of Kilmerrow.

"Are there really going to be four of you all the way to Rane?" She asked the guard behind her as they rode. He looked uncomfortable, and didn't reply. "I must be more dangerous than I thought."

"I'm not taking any chances with you, mistress Kay." The Hound called over.

"I'm just one person, my Lord."

"So am I, Spider."

Mentally conceding that point, Aislin looked over her shoulder at her guard.

"But the difference is that I'm one person that doesn't know how to fight."

Again, there was no reply from her guard, but she knew every word she said made him even more uncomfortable. He knew who she was, and the trouble he'd be in when he returned to Kilmerrow.

"And that is what I'm taking advantage of." The Hound replied. "Now stop speaking to the men. I know what you can do with words. If you have anything to say, you can say it to me."

"What will happen when we get to Rane?"

"You will stand trial and be hanged for treason."

"Assuming the trial finds me guilty?"

"I think there's no danger of it finding you innocent."

"So, given what I know of the city's justice system, once we reach Rane I'll be dead by sunset, yes?"

"Oh no. Hangings are a morning affair. You'll have the night to make peace with your gods."

"Make peace with my gods?" Aislin laughed. "I don't need to make peace, not with myself and not with any gods that might care. Can you say the same?"

"I can." The Hound nodded. "Because I'm not being hanged."

"Flippant." Aislin grumbled.

"You have no idea how long I've been hunting you, Spider. Now there's only three days until you're brought to justice." He glanced at her, and he was smiling. "I'm in a very good mood."

"Three days? We'll be lucky to reach the capital in three days."

"Not at the speed we'll be going. I'd save your breath, Spider. You're going to need it for the ride."

Two nights later, Aislin sat on a hillside in the dark, breathing sweet, cool air and rubbing her wrists where, in the real world, iron cuffs chafed them. Above her, strange stars swirled and blinked in the night sky. Five of them burned too close, too bright, and in four of them, hazy shapes moved.

She was so tired. The Hound had been right about their speed. They had hardly stopped to rest the horses, let alone themselves. And the nights only made her more tired.

The guard house they had stopped at the night before had been small, and by the time her guards had joined the three men stationed there, it was bursting at the seams. There hadn't been any opportunity for sleep that night - too many sleeping minds, too close to her own. If she slept it would be anything but restful, and her own dreams would bleed into those around her. Not that she minded the nightmares she would have given the guards; it was the thought of sharing dreams with the Hound that made her shiver.

The cell she was in tonight was only marginally better. This close to Rane, everything was bigger and better staffed. The barracks were two floors above her, and although there were more men up there, they were well out of range. On the downside, there were more cells as well, and the minds of the three other occupants pressed against hers uncomfortably. Finally, the Hound - as untrusting as he was - had set up a pallet in the hallway so he could be on hand should she try to escape. She might have risked sleep with only the minds of her fellow prisoners nearby, but with the Hound so close it wasn't an option. Again.

Overhead, the stars that were dreams drifted lazily through the night. She could tell which star belonged to the Hound. It was sharper than the others, defined at the edges and cloudy in the centre. In the other stars, faint images hinted at the dreams being played out across unconscious minds, but there was no hint of that with the Hound. If she tried, she could push her way into his dreams like she did with everyone else. If she tried, she could learn all his secrets that way.

But she dared not try. Common sense told her that he didn't dream like she did, that she would be in control, that he wouldn't even remember her being there. Common sense didn't reassure her. The Hound's mind was one place she never wanted to go.

"So where does that leave me?" She asked herself grumpily. "Asleep but not asleep. I can't have another day like this."

"Where are we?"

Aislin leapt up, spun, almost screamed at the sight that greeted her. Standing behind her was the Hound.

"What? What are you...? What are you doing here? Go away!"

"Worried, Spider? I already knew you could do magic."

"You shouldn't be here. You can't be here."

"Then take us back."

"We're not... I haven't... I didn't do this. Please my lord, just go back."

"Well I didn't bring us here. If it wasn't you, who was it?" He was staring at the sky with a frown, but he wasn't angry. Aislin paused.

Something in his attitude told her he was still asleep. Conscious, he would be more worried about having been transported away from the guard tower. Unconscious, he was only curious.

"I don't know." Aislin lied. "Theron, where were you before this?"

"At home."

"Where's home?"

"Why would I tell you that?"

Even unconscious, the Hound was still shrewd.

"I just think you should go back there now. Just think about home, and I'm sure you'll be there."

"There are pictures in those stars."

"Theron, please listen to me. Go back home. You shouldn't be here."

"What is this place?"

"If you won't go on your own, I'll have to force you. But I don't want to do that. I've never done it before, I don't know what will happen. You have to go back home, Theron."

There was a canny look in his eye as he stared at her.

"Why don't you want me here?"

It was too much. Aislin tensed, pushed at the Hound, shoving him out of her mind. She couldn't control it, she could only push. It was up to fate whether his mind would return to his body or not.

Eventually, she realised she was pushing against nothing. Her intruder was nowhere to be seen. Shaking, she sank to the grass again.

Worry began to gnaw at her. What if Theron's mind hadn't made it back to his body? It would be a fate worse than death. Above her, his star still burned as bright as before, but that was no indication. Without a mind, the body would still be alive, and so the star would still burn. It was only his thoughts, his dreams, that would stop.

Carefully, almost fearfully, she sent her thoughts probing at the edges of the Hound's mind. It was harder than she had expected, and with each moment her fear grew. He's gone, he's not there, I've killed him...

But then there was movement, and the hint of voices. Aislin had the fleeting impression of farmland before she withdrew, almost fainting in relief. He wasn't dead, she had simply pushed him into a deep sleep.

And, lying there on the grass, she had an idea.

Her mother had warned her against doing this. It takes away a person's free will. If you have to use it, use it only for something small and simple. Complicated instructions tend to get confusing, and they will have no ability to adapt if things go wrong.

One of the good things about being closer to the capital was that people were less committed to their work. Take the guard outside the cells, for instance. The night before, her guard had been alert all night, despite only having two prisoners to care for. Here, with twice the number of prisoners, the guard had fallen asleep at the first opportunity, legs propped on the desk, and a pot balanced by the door which would topple and wake him if anyone came in.

Even as tired as she was, it was with practiced ease that Aislin pushed into his dreams and told him what to do.

Somehow, she forced her eyes open and rolled to her feet. Not for the first time, she wished the time she spent on the hillside counted as proper sleep, but it was as bad as being awake. By the time she had roused herself enough to take notice of her surroundings again, the guard had risen, opened her cell, and returned to his table and his nap, completely unaware of what he had done. She rose, and crept forwards.

The cell door seemed to creak loudly enough to wake the entire tower. Aislin waited for long, tense moments, listening for sounds of movement. None came. She breathed again.

Slipping past the sleeping guard, she moved as quietly as she could to the door. Ear to the wood, she could hear no sounds from the other side, although she knew the Hound was asleep out there. How deeply asleep would he need to be, she wondered, to ignore the sounds of a prisoner escaping? Was he under far enough? Nothing she could do about it now, but the manacles still adorned her wrists, and there was just no way to keep them completely silent. She couldn't unlock them - the Hound had the key, and there wasn't a chance she was going to try and take it from him - and her lock-picking skills were meagre at best. Whatever happened, she was going to make a noise.

There was nothing for it. She had to try, or resign herself to the noose. Breath held, she eased the door open and crept into the hallway.

It was pitch black. The light in the cells had ruined her night vision, and she blinked rapidly, trying to clear afterimages from her eyes. After tortuous minutes, the darkness began to recede and Aislin could find outlines of the room around her.

The Hound's pallet was right next to her, so his head was up against the door to the cells. To her right were the large, iron-studded doors that led outside; barred for the night, they were impenetrable to her. Across the room was another door, and to her left were stairs. She also remembered the frontage of the tower from her arrival earlier - the windows on the lower floor were all barred as well, making escape through them impossible.

Kitchen. She thought muzzily. There has to be a kitchen. And where there's a kitchen, there's usually a back door.

It didn't matter how still she held her arms, the manacles still clanked as she slipped down the hallway towards the stairs. Every step had her turning to look at the slumbering Hound, expecting each noise to  be the one that woke him. But he slept on, oblivious.

She passed the foot of the stairs, into the darkest corner of the corridor. Praying to find a doorway in the thick shadows, Aislin felt her way along the wall.

There. Her chains knocked against the handle as she passed, but the noise fell on unhearing ears. Quickly, Aislin turned the handle and hurried into the room beyond.

She had been right - it was the kitchen. Large windows in here let in more moonlight, making it easy for her to avoid the tables, boxes, and barrels that littered the floor. At the far end was another barred and bolted door, but these bolts were freshly oiled, and the key sat helpfully in the lock.

She made far too much noise pulling back the bolts and heaving the heavy door open. Somewhere above, she thought she heard the mutterings of sleep disturbed, but she didn't stop to listen. The cool night air hit her face, and she was off, running towards a stand of trees visible in the moonlight. She hadn't planned any further than this, but she didn't dare stop to think further ahead. Running on instinct, she made for the highway and the faint hope of a ride north.

It was the middle of the night. Obviously, there were no travellers on the road. Aislin paused on the beaten path for a moment to catch her breath, and forced herself to think about her next move.

She couldn't run straight back to Sefton. As much as she wanted to be back among the people she knew, she couldn't take the risk of leading the Hound to them. And turning north on the road was the most obvious choice, now she came to think about it. She had to do something unexpected,  something to throw the Hound off her tracks. For a moment, she considered staying put, keeping close to the guard tower and waiting until they were out searching before making her move. If she was just dealing with the guards, she would have risked it.

Feeling exposed, Aislin hurried off the road again and crouched down next to some bushes, keeping the plants between her and any pursuit. With difficulty, she called to mind a map of the local towns. None of them had any real rebel force - there were more sympathisers in the south than in the north, but when you lived within a day's ride of the capital and the soldiers stationed there, you tried not to cause trouble. Harbouring a rebel fugitive would go far beyond what they were willing to do.

 And even if she did think of somewhere to run to, how was she going to get there with the manacles still locked around her wrists? Any law-fearing citizen would run straight to the guards the moment they saw her, knowing her for an escaped prisoner. She had to get rid of them somehow.

Following a thought to the end was becoming hard. All she wanted to do was curl up right there and sleep. Even her fear of discovery was dulled by her tiredness - she had to force herself to stand and shake some life back into her limbs. The manacles rattled as she moved. They were pretty loose, she realised. Not loose enough to fall off, but maybe with some encouragement...

Aislin had been given a thick wooden bracelet for her birthday when she was six. She had loved that bracelet, but had lost it after only a month. When she eventually found it, over a year later, she had immediately tried to put it back on, but as she had grown over that year, it wouldn't fit. She had spent hours trying to force it over the bulge of her thumb, scratching herself with her own nails and rubbing the skin from her hand. At seven years old, her wounds were agony, but she had managed it. If she could do it then, she could certainly do it now.

It took longer than she was happy with, and made far too much noise. After each attempt, she peered around her sheltering bush as though expecting to see guards running for her, drawn by the clanking of the metal and her own muttered curses. Finally though, she wedged one foot against the manacles and, with energy born more from frustration than anything else, pulled as hard as she could.

Metal tore skin, bones creaked, and her shoulders ached, but the manacles began to shift. The pain seemed to lesser the more there was of it, so Aislin pulled harder and prayed that she would still be able to use her hands afterwards. And then they were off, falling to the ground, and she toppled backwards with the sudden release. Her arms were strangely tingly, and her hands throbbed with heat, but for now they were blissfully numb.

It occurred to Aislin that, as she had struggled with her chains, her mind had reached its own decision as to her next move. There was really only one place the Hound wouldn't look for her, because it was the one place in the kingdom where rebels feared to tread. She called herself several kinds of fool as she caught her breath and staggered back to the road, but she didn't think of changing her mind.

And that was how, with useless, bloody hands and stumbling feet, the Spider turned herself south towards Rane.