Natural Magic

Chapter 15 - Habeas Corpus

Salander slept fitfully. Being carried by an orc was never pleasant. His scales didn’t help against the bludgeoning of the journey or the strain on his joints, worn as he was like a cloak by his bound hands. Bruises on his mid-section and arms kept antagonizing his rest, hurting too little to wake him, but enough to influence his dreams.

He dreamt of Oreson and Shrub, their fate outside of the dream forgotten. Yet there it was, hanging over them like a dark descending cloud. To this they were oblivious, going about their daily activities among the rest of Very Small Numbers. Salander, being unable to recall what exactly was putting him off his ease about such a typical day, held a cautious pessimism as he regarded the kobolds he knew so well doing nothing in particular.

He wondered on this feeling briefly until he heard Oreson speak.

“I’m hungry,” the shade said. There was an odd inflection in the voice that Salander couldn’t place. He noticed the village was now focused on him. Every pair of eyes was turned up from small jobs and conversation, and Shrub was moving to stand by Oreson.

“I shouldn’t have turned down your offer earlier,” Shrub said. The doom was steadily descending, forming a twilight which began sapping the dream of color.

Salander’s arms were lead and his feet were jelly. There was something about Shrub’s voice that Salander couldn’t place, the same as Oreson’s.

You can’t blame me, Salander retorted to the pressing crowd. The kobolds blended together in the haze, all save Shrub and Oreson. Hues of brown, red, and orange in the formless mob turned to grays. It wasn’t my fault.

Casting about for a scapegoat, one form rose above the rest. An old kobold matron, her scales thin and skin slightly sagging. His constant foe in village politics.

Auntie.

The unspecified doom rapidly approaching midnight, the old kobold’s face sparked memories for Salander. This mirk was her fault.

She invited that orc to live among us, Salander slowly realized. It’s all her fault. His words were full of accusation, though he had yet to recall what he was accusing Auntie of.

“Did you stash something away?” said Oreson.

“Hey! You’ve got a snack under your hat!” said Shrub.

The darkness came upon everything at once. Yet Salander was still there, puzzling over the voice. The same voice that came from both Oreson and Shrub.

And as he ascended to wakefulness from the dream, his memories returned. The orcs and goblins. Being taken prisoner. Being imprisoned with-…

“Chicken, cut it out!” he groaned as a clatter destroyed the remnants of his sleep. It was indeed Chicken, wrestling with the odd, moist, bearded creature with which they were imprisoned.

“But he started it!” came the reply.

“I don’t care who started it,” Salander growled, “I’ll finish it.”

Chicken relented. “Ok, you can have it!”

Amerigo snatched the pipe back from Chicken, and Salander could see within it some kind of bug which the gnome creature handled like one his young. Gently balancing it on his head, he put his cap back on. He gave Chicken a scornful look.

“That thing is your friend?”

Amerigo nodded haughtily.

“I thought you were just saving it till later.”

Salander laid back down, only for Chicken to approach him and ask, “Now that you’re awake, why don’t we talk about how we’re going to bust out of here?”