I spat a glob of spit on the ground, hearing it hiss as the dirt around it turned to mud before drying instantly in the arid climate.

“Get moving!” The voice of the soldier drilled unpleasantly into my ears.

I glanced up at his black hair and too-bright grey eyes. I suspected that he, too, was a foreigner, an immigrant. Apparently, the Empire was getting desperate.

“And if I don’t?” My voice was matter-of-fact, my hands hanging casually at my side.

Whack!

“Ow! What was that?” I glared at the second soldier. Her eyes were narrowed with anger and impatience as she held the spear threateningly. She’d only used to blunt side, but I had a feeling that I shouldn’t test her patience. She looked a little too willing to use the other side-- the sharp, undoubtedly painful side.

Figures. Stupid red-haired fiery piece of--

“Get moving, rebel.” Another stab with the blunt end. My breath caught awkwardly as it was forced out, and I fought hard to keep from collapsing.

“How many times do I have to tell you--” My mumbling was cut off by another hit.

“Shut up and move.”

“Fine, fine. But I’m telling you, I’m not a rebel.” Idiots.

“Right,” muttered the red-haired. “I totally believe you.”

I trudged forward slowly, boots dragging slightly on the dirt road. I wasn’t in any hurry-- who would, if they were being carted off to prison?-- but I was careful not to go too slow. Little red-head looked positively murderous.

I only called her stupid. Talk about an overreaction.

I spat again, suddenly noticing the dryness of my mouth. When had I last had a drink? I stopped and turned back to my captors. “Do you have any water?”

Black-hair glared at me. “No.”

I made no attempt to move, staying stubbornly in place. I may be captured, but I wasn’t going to make this easy on them.

Then the red-hair lifted the spear, and my confidence disappeared.

Judge me for cowardice all you want, but you try staying all defiant when an angry female points a sharp object at your face.

Still, I tried to retain some sense of dignity. “Fine. But don’t expect me to be alive once we get there.”

“If only,” she muttered. She shifted the spear between her hands and leaned on it slightly, the angry glare on her face melting into a dull tiredness.

As I started moving, I noticed with interest that she moved with a slight slouch, barely perceptible, and that her spear was just a titch to low. Her tone when she spoke wasn’t exactly right either-- a bit too down-to-earth and not pretentious enough to be a guard, born and raised.

She’d been conscripted.

Just like my father.

“FASTER, DAMMIT!”

Whoops.

Feeling the sun beat down on my skin as I matched my pace with the guards, I asked myself again why I’d ever come to this spirit-accursed arid wasteland that was Neshkoro. It’s so damn hot, my clothes’ll probably burn off my back.

Not that that’d ever happened to me, (or anyone else I knew, for that matter) but I still considered it a distinct possibility. Spirits, it was so dry here that water dried up faster than a rebel fleeing the guards!

Which was pretty damn fast. I’d seen it happen.

That girl broke free and was away as fast as a mad horse--

I’d apparently sped up at some point, as the collar of my tunic was yanked forcefully back by the conscripted girl. “Don’t even think about it.”

I rolled my eyes. “Oh, I’m thinking about it.” I paused. “Or more, what a rebel did-- which, notably, I am not.”

She prodded me again, hard, and I winced. “Shut up,” she hissed.

“Fine,” I muttered after my ability of speech had returned to me.

My thoughts were now back to that rebel girl-- she’d lost the guards in a crowd, which wasn’t exactly something available to me until I got into the Hamra, as it was the only large city in the area.

And it wasn’t like my other escape routes were great either-- a couple scrawny bushes and stunted trees weren’t really much cover, and those low-growing cacti probably wouldn’t be beneficial to my health.

So apparently, escape wasn’t an option.

At least until I got to Hamra.

I had a couple tricks for escaping the relatively security-challenged prison cells that had become a not-so-unusual home for my sarcastic, “rebellious” mouth. And my-- well, let’s just say that my “job” consisted of more...pilfering than legitimate work.

Of course, why I was being arrested this time was beyond me. I’d just been at a tavern-- completely sober, mind you-- and that red-head soldier had shoved me aside.

I’d then made a completely true and reasonable complaint about “stupid soldiers” which was apparently enough to label me a rebel.

By the spirits, was it not ok to be neutral? And, you know, hate both sides?

“What was that?”

The voice of the red-head soldier in question jolted me into the present, along with the ever accompanying prod with the spear.

Had I said that out loud? “Uh, nothing.”

She nodded skeptically. “Mm-hm. Argue that to the jailor.”

I blinked, confused. Were we really at Hamra already? Glancing around, however, I saw that we weren’t at all (which at least confirmed that I wasn’t completely hopeless with distances) and were instead in front of a building that had been hidden by the hill we’d been climbing.

It was grey and intimidating, with walls that stretched higher than twelve men and were topped by dangerous-looking spikes. Not that they’d really do much good, of course, since if the guards were actually doing their jobs, anyone climbing the wall would be shot down a ways from the top.

Those spikes were just there to intimidate anyone planning to try and infiltrate or escape it.

Which it succeeded in. I was duly terrified.

There was absolutely no way I was ever going to escape alone. Just my luck.

But by the spirits, why would they take me here?

The black-haired soldier walked up to the intimidating door and knocked in a peculiar pattern. A panel on top slid open, higher than the person behind it and a voice issued from it. “Rank and purpose, please.”

“Lieutenant Ivan Stokes, bringing a rebel fighter for interrogation.”

First I was a rebel, and now I was a rebel fighter?

“And the girl?”

“Private Tabitha,” was his immediate response.

The girl scowled.

There was a grunt, and the door was opened wide, with two men standing on either side, spears at the ready.

“In,” snapped black-hair, Ivan, motioning toward the open doors and letting Tabitha shove me inside. I stumbled briefly in surprise before recovering, ignoring the sly laughs coming from the guards.

Someone spat at my feet. “Rebel scum.”

I gritted my teeth to stop myself from snapping at them as I passed, hands clasped tightly behind my back.

I tried my best not to think about what was going to happen. Being caught thieving in these tax-heavy times wasn’t actually that bad-- most jailors went a little easy on you, since everyone was feeling the squeeze.

But being accused of being a rebel?

I was pretty much screwed.

By some miracle, none of the soldiers had searched me extensively. My dagger had been snatched and confiscated ages ago (a shame, it was my favorite), but the rebel information still sat in my pocket. I couldn’t believe my luck, but if the parchment was discovered there was no chance that I could talk my way out of this.

I suddenly wasn’t moving anymore, a tight grip on my hands.I stopped angrily but didn’t dare make a sound.

Rough rope was pulled around my hands and pulled uncomfortably tight-- I winced and bit my tongue. This was ridiculously tight-- and stiff rope at that-- so now I was sure there was no way of escape. And since it was rope, I hadn’t been able to use my normal trick for loosening the handcuffs.

Of course, why I hadn’t been bound earlier was a mystery to me-- I guess they’re just forgotten-- but now, when I had no hope of escape...it seemed a little stupid.

I hadn’t really been paying attention to my surroundings-- they were the same anyway, just hallways of stone walls and floors ending with wooden doors. We’d been going straight for a while, so I was a bit surprised when my shoulders gripped tightly and I was steered down a hallway.

We reached the door at the end, and it was pushed open to reveal a man who looked...well, looked like he belonged on the streets. Skinny and a bit scrawny, I wouldn’t’ve been surprised if I’d run into him begging on the side of the road. All in all, he had a build roughly like mine.

But he’d obviously gotten a better lot in life than I had.

I was shoved down into the seat across from the man, hands still tied uncomfortably behind my back. Now I understood why they’d been tied-- they could get in trouble if it was discovered I made it the whole way here unbound.

“Lieutenant Ivan, I’ll take it from here,” he said lazily, waving my guard away. “The girl can stay if she wants,” he added, winking at her.

She ducked out after her comrade.

“So…” drawled the man, drumming his fingers on the table. “A rebel fighter, huh?”

“No,” I snapped.

“That’s what they all say…” he sighed. “Oh, I’m Captain Isaac, by the way.”

I didn’t reply.

The captain glared at me. “It’s common courtesy to reply with your own name, isn’t it?”

“I have no courtesy.”

“Spoken like a true rebel,” he said. “Now, where’s your base?”

“Excuse me?”

“Your base. Camp. Home.”

I was silent for a moment. I was pretty sure admitting to being practically homeless and part of a gang wasn’t going to help my case.

“Well?”

“I have no home,” I relented. “And I’m not a rebel!”

“Right.” He paused a moment, seemingly considering his options as he stared at the door. He suddenly got up and closed it tight, bolting it securely.

My heart stopped beating for a moment. That couldn’t be a good sign.

And my suspicions were confirmed when he opened the drawer in the desk and pulled out a wicked-looking sharp knife.

He stood beside me, and spun my chair sideways so that I was facing him.

He smirked. “Ready to answer?”

I froze, my words freezing in my throat. I gulped roughly.

The knife inched closer to my throat.

“M-my name’s Aiden,” I blurted.

He scowled. “I don’t care about that.”

“B-but I don’t know anything!” The parchment seemed to be on fire, now, and it was all I could do not to blurt out that they were there.

Another inch. Now the knife was pointing at my face, and I went cross-eyed trying to look at it.

“I’m not a rebel! They burned my home!”

The knife froze. “Town in question?”

“Nyhm.”

The knife dropped. “Blackwell?”

I nodded, my long-forgotten surname surfacing. “Aiden Blackwell.”

He sighed, setting down the knife. “Well, that changes things.” He turned my chair back to face the desk and sat down in his chair. “I’m Isaac Greene, by the way.” He winked. “Remember? We were childhood playmates.”

I nodded, acting like I actually recognized the name.

“Anyway, like I said, this changes things.”

“It does?”

He rolled his eyes. “You’re Aiden Blackwell. You can’t lie when there is a sharp object threatening you.”

I felt momentarily offended, before realizing how true that was. The only reason I hadn’t spoken now was because admitting anything would guarantee my death. “Great. So, uh, what’s going to happen to me…?”

He shrugged. “I dunno. I guess I’ll send a messenger to the commander.” He stood up and unbolted the door. He glanced back at me briefly before walking out. “Hey! I need to send a message!”

A shout came back, fainter. “Send it yourself, Captain!”

“Who said that?” His footsteps were getting fainter, and I began quietly inching my way toward the table.

I turned myself around, grabbing at the knife that Isaac had left out on the table. It’s like he wanted me to escape, I thought smugly, sawing carefully through the rope.

“Fine! I’ll write the damn message myself!” came Isaac’s yell. He sounded even further away.

Please, forget about me...

I’m halfway through...

Only a couple more strands remained. I set down the knife back on the table carefully and I stood up. I snapped my hands back against my back quickly and let them bounce off. The rope broke with a snap, and I fingered my wrists gingerly.

I rubbed my hands together eagerly. Now let’s go.

I turned back to the table and picked up the knife with a shrug. Might as well go armed.

I heard some unhurried footsteps coming my way. At least three people. I froze, staying perfectly still. I glanced up at the window. Could I pry it off with my knife…?

Worth a try.

I scrambled up onto the windowsill, jamming the knife in between the wooden frame and the glass. I moved it up and down carefully, wiggling my knife a bit, until I felt it start to give. I worked on the top and bottom, and the window suddenly fell out and shattered on the ground outside.

Great stealth, Aiden.

“Intruder!”

I began worming my way out the window, praying that they didn’t know that it came from the first floor. I dropped the knife through the window and tried to squeeze my body through, thanking the spirits for my skinny build, and finally dropped through. I rolled, snatched up the knife, and began bolting my way for Hamra.

Which was...probably an hour’s run away. I cursed angrily.

This plan was really badly thought out.

Fortunately, the guards still seemed to think someone had broken into the fortress. Everyone had apparently forgotten about the prisoner that had been left in an empty room with a knife.

Still, I ran like the spirits themselves were chasing me.

Please, please, please, please… I wasn't even sure exactly what I was praying for anymore? Not to be dead? For escape?

A rock appeared from nowhere and tripped me. I cursed, tumbling over the hill and landing...on someone else?

We sat there in shock for a moment, and I took in her appearance. She had dark skin, like nearly all the people of our nation, long dark hair, and dark eyes.

“Sorry,” I muttered, trying to shift my weight off her. Unfortunately, I only succeeded on squashing her hands.

“OW!” she cried. She pulled them out and shook them, glaring at me. “What are you--” She took in my exhausted appearance and red wrists. “You’re being chased, aren’t you?”

I nodded.

“Damn,” she muttered. “Well, looks like someone spoiled my hiding space! Follow me.”

She took off in the opposite direction of Hamra.

I sighed and followed her, legs burning as I ran like my life depended on it...which it probably did.

“There he is!”

I chanced a look back to see a group of soldiers chasing me. They were quite a ways behind me, but I noticed Isaac and Tabitha among them. Isaac looked murderous. Glancing down at the knife in my hand, I wondered absently if it was his favorite or something.

“Hurry up, fool!” cried the girl in front of me.

I cursed her silently as she ran easily over the hills as I breathed hard. “Where are we going?” I yelled.

She yelled something back, but I couldn’t hear it.

Suddenly, she disappeared over a particularly steep hill. I slowed down for a moment before remembering the soldiers behind me and quickly dashed toward it. I cursed as I nearly fell straight down-- it wasn’t a hill at all, but a cliff.

“Here,” called the girl. “Sit down, hang your legs over, and scooch over a bit.”

I did so carefully, and frowned as my right foot suddenly hit open air. “A bit more.”

I did so-- now both my feet were in the empty space.

“Good. Now drop down toward the cliff edge,” she instructed.

“What?”

“Just do it,” she sighed.

“Wait,” I protested. “My knife!”

The girl held out her hand, and I could hear her exhale in annoyance. Nevertheless, I felt a sense of relief when I heard a the clink of metal against stone.

Putting my legs as far into the cave as I could, I dropped down in the same manner that I dropped into the windows of houses, though this was a bit more painful. I landed hard on some sharp rock, and I let out a cry of pain.

The girl’s hands were over my mouth instantly, and I nodded briefly in thanks before gently moving away from her.

“Are we safe?” I asked. My voice was barely a whisper, the product of years of breaking into places that I shouldn’t be.

She shook her head and put her finger to her lips, then pointed at the ceiling of the cave.

Now I heard it-- footsteps, slowly coming closer. I looked around the cave frantically before locating the knife and snatching it up. “Any exits?” I breathed.

She shook her head, then pointed back into the cave-- this, evidently, was the way out. But the soldiers must have been blocking that route somehow-- it probably opened up near to them.

“Damn it,” spat someone from above.

I froze-- they were so close I could probably stick my hand up over the ledge they were standing on and stab him.

A sigh. “Did they go over the cliff?”

“Probably,” muttered Tabitha. “Those damn rebels have no sense.”

I shuddered involuntarily when she mentioned rebels. I glanced over quickly to the girl to see if she’d notice, but she appeared to be in some sort of meditative pose to calm down.

A voice I recognized as Isaac’s replied. “True. But I had hopes for Aiden. Spirits know his family were good stock.”

I nearly jumped out and stabbed him them-- how dare he talk about my parents like they’d wanted to help? My father had been conscripted, and my mother-- I shoved the thought of her quickly to the back of my mind.

The girl had opened her eyes now and was looking at me curiously-- with a bit of suspicion, in fact. It was at that moment that I decided that I probably shouldn’t tell her that I hated rebels.

Someone kicked a rock over the side angrily. “Can we go?”

Someone-- I think it was Isaac-- sighed. “Fine.”

I listened in relief as I heard the footsteps begin to walk away from the cliff. My body began relaxing, but I froze suddenly when a voice stopped them. “Captain?”

“Yeah?”

“I think...I think there’s some sort of cave here,” he announced. He stamped his foot on the ground loudly, and it echoed with a hollow sound. “Hear it?”

My body froze instantly, and the girl looked at me frantically before gesturing back further into the cave. I nodded and began quietly inching back into the inky darkness of the cave until I was against the wall.

Then I forced my breathing to be shallow and even, trying to calm my frantic heart.

A head hung down and looked into the cave entrance.

It was slightly red now that the blood was draining into it, and his blond hair fell at such a strange angle that it was hard not to laugh.

The fact that he was one of the soldiers who’d mocked me didn’t help suppress that urge.

“All clear, Captain,” he called.

I internally breathed a sigh of relief, not daring to move in case he saw me.

“Ready to come back up?” asked Isaac.

The man nodded with difficulty, then remembered that they couldn’t see that. “Yes. Wait!” His gaze was fixed on a small piece of metal that had reflected the light when he’d moved his head. “Captain! There’s-- I think that’s your knife!”

“Get it then, you idiot!”

Now one of the man’s arms joined his head, and he snatched up the knife before lifting it slowly to Isaac, who was presumably standing above him.

Well, tried to, anyway. Unfortunately, he dropped it before his arm even left the cave, causing a multitude of colorful swear words to explode from Isaac.

“Get it!”

“I-I can’t sir,” he protested fearfully. “It’s too far!”

“Then get in there!”

The man’s adam apple moved quickly before he pulled himself up, presumably to enter the same way we had. The girl and I exchanged panicked glances.

One boot was visible, followed swiftly by the other.

By silent agreement, the girl and I stayed perfectly still, praying that he wouldn’t see us and be solely concentrated on the knife. I’m just a rock. Not a human being, just a rock…

He landed in the cave with a loud thump, and I almost flinched involuntarily as his descent stirred up the dust that the girl and I had been careful to not disturb. I felt a sneeze building up, and by the girl’s expression, she felt the same.

He bent down and grabbed the knife, walking back out to the entrance and offering it up to Isaac, when he happened to glance behind him. He yanked the knife back down instantly and narrowed his eyes in our direction. “Captain. They’re here.”