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“You can stop now.”
<You forget we’re monkeys. We think only of copulating.> A smile grew on the lips touching her neck. <The gossip lies. Your skin feels nothing at all like an untanned cowhide.>
“Attend to business,” she snapped. “The creatures went to get someone strong enough to strip the minds of the flat-faced uglies. They want to know if our world is habitable.”
“How can they if we don’t want them to?”
“Pray you don’t find out.” With a snort, she looked down at the pack lying at his feet. “What’s in your pack anyway? Anything to eat? I need to replenish my energy.”
“Give me a kiss, and I’ll tell you,” he said with a broad hopeful grin. When she glowered at him, he gave up on the kiss. “Apples and ship bread.”
Hattenel closed her eyes, sighing as deeply as she could in the heavy atmosphere. Don’t men think of anything else? She held out her hand. “Care to share?”
“Your wish is my command.”
The apple crunched as she bit into it and moistened her mouth. “You didn’t happen to bring water, did you?” When he shook his head, she said, “I didn’t think so.” Hattenel searched the stairway as she swallowed. “They’ve moved beyond from my ken. The elder is ‘Runs in Circles’. The younger hasn’t earned a name yet and may never do so if Circles guesses right.”
“He sounded rather sure of himself to be running in circles.”
“The name refers to the herding of lesser beings. We arrived at an inconvenient time. His bitch is in heat, and he’s hurrying to send for someone more powerful to torment us.” Hattenel bit on her lip, worried she was having so much trouble breathing. “We have to get out of here.”
Voron hissed through his teeth, but he handed her the larger apple. “I know that. How stupid do you think I am?”
“Stupid enough to kiss me.”
While her gaze skewered him, Voron chewed his second apple down to the core. His face tight with anger, he threw it at the misty fence confining them. The charred core sailed through to the other side of the circle and disintegrated as the torches in the sconces flared wildly. Debris erupted from the floor in a whirlwind, lifting a section of wall away from the rest. The door pivoted back.
“Did you see the wall move?” asked Voron. “Do you think we can blast our way out of the circle if we combine?” Thumping footsteps came from the stairs. “Here take a couple apples. They seem to be the only weapon we have.”
When two different creatures wearing wider, more elaborate jeweled collars entered the room, the Half-Elven were sitting side by side, cross legged with apples concealed in their hands under their knees, facing the stairs. The newcomers argued, gesturing towards them, their voices growing louder and louder. One tried the finger waving trick again, but the Half-Elven captives fixated on the creatures’ knees and blanked their minds.
When nothing happened, the other captor gave an explosive yap. “I told you so. These beasts are as stupid as all the others. Runs in Circles is a fool.”
Hattenel leaned sideways and whispered. “I almost lost the shield.”
Voron’s muscles clenched. “Best throw the apples at them. On three.”
Shielded for the moment, the apples, one after the other, exploded through the circle’s barrier, each hitting the nearest dog-faced creature square in the chest and stuck. While their captors imploded into an oily, misty pillar of flame that melted them into a puddle, the captives struggled to their feet.
Coughing, Hattenel leaned against him. “My lungs are collapsing. Throw the pack through the circle. Reinforce our shield with all you’ve got. I’ll do the transfer.” Hattenel grabbed him tight around the waist. “Think on the black pronged rock. The red star in the bear just above the horizon.”
As soon as Voron threw his pack, Hattenel launched into the air, carrying them through the swinging door in the wall. Heat and darkness surrounded and weighed them down. Hattenel focused on the rookery landmark, willing their bodies to surface into the light and fresh air as if she swam through viscous water. The smell of singed hair surrounded them, clogging her throat. The farther she pushed, the tighter her lungs became, until she thought she’d drop dead from fright.
#
The Half-Elven tumbled onto the beach at sunset, their clothing and hair smoldering. As soon as their knees touched the sand, Hattenel lifted them both into the surging waves where the remains of their charred shirts and her binding floated away, leaving her bare breasted but unharmed. The hair on Voron’s chest smelled like burnt chicken feathers. Their thicker breeches were scorched but in one piece.
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