The Last Satyr: The Two Paths Part 2
Escape

Safe from the watchful eyes of the city, the company celebrated Amien’s release and the boy’s success. It had been the satyr's plan to deceive the city into going on the defensive, believing an entire army of Rim Riders were outside their gates when there was none at all. They drank delicious sweet mead and had... well, more lembas bread.

“The city commander knows Graybeard is here,” Amien told them. “I told her I was part of an attacking army of Rim men. She should believe it and order the return of their forces surrounding Ched Nasad.”

“Then they should arrive here in a week’s time,” said Graybeard. “Just as the boy planned.”

“And while they’re marching from Ched Nasad to here, we’ll be marching from here to Ched Nasad,” added Marroh. “We should pass each other like two shadows in the night.”

“And once we reach Ched Nasad,” young Joe said happily. “We can free the satyrs and leave this place!”

“And not a day too soon,” said Ronthiel. “For it drives me mad to be down here! At last, we shall be headed out.”

“I second that,” agreed the boy, raising his mug. “Give me the sun and open spaces!”

“There is a problem,” Amien warned.

All eyes turned to his in consternation. What problem? They did not like the sound of this. No. Not at all. Not another bite of bread was taken.

“What is it?” asked young Joe.

“While I was in East Prison,” said Amien. “I discovered there is another prisoner there. His name is Sar.”

The sudden silence continued. Even young Joe, who had no idea who this Sar was, waited to hear more.

“Sar?” asked Graybeard, “the keeper of the satyrs?”

“The same,” Amien nodded.

“So that is what has become of him,” sighed Graybeard with a nod. “Long I have wondered why he ceased to show at the council meetings. Lolth has made a prisoner of him. I wish we had known that earlier.”

“So do I,” said Marroh. “We could have dug two tunnels.”

“Can we still?” asked young Joe.

“I doubt it.” Marroh shook his head. “The orcs would have to be pretty stupid to fall for the same trick twice. They’re probably already retracing our diggings with orders to block them up.” He looked discouraged. “And, even if we did get in, we wouldn’t know which way to dig. Last time, Amien sang and played Ronthiel’s flute to guide us. Sar would do no such thing when he does not even know we are coming for him.”

The all remained glum, including young Joe, mostly because he was the only one of them who did not know who Sar was.

“We can’t just leave him!” insisted the boy of his keeper, overcoming his desire to leave.

“We can’t just walk in and take him out either,” Leradien reminded him.

“We have no plan,” Marroh reluctantly admitted.

“And we have less than seven days,” added Graybeard. “If we are still here when Lolth’s army arrives, she will surround us with no chance of escape.”

“If we are to do something for Sar,” said Amien. “We must do it fast. But shouldn’t we put it to a vote first?”

“To do what?” asked Marroh.

“As to whether we stay here and rescue Sar or go to Ched Nasad and rescue the satyrs.”

“I can’t vote,” said Leradien. “But I stay with the boy.”

“I, too,” said Ronthiel. “I serve him.”

“And if we free the satyrs, they will only want to free Sar, anyway,” said Graybeard. “They will refuse to leave without him.”

Amien nodded in agreement. They would.

“We have to do both,” Graybeard concluded with a frown.

“No plan. No agreement. Seems like business as usual,” said Marroh, wetting his axe. “ So, when do we start for Ched Nasad?”

“First, we need a plan,” concluded Graybeard.

There was a pause and then all eyes turned to the boy.

“I will do it,” he agreed to volunteer. “He is my keeper.”

“Oh! No!” said Ronthiel. “I know how your mind works! I shall not play the part of a drow again! You have smeared me in their dead blood twice!”

“It’s the only way into East Prison,” replied the boy.

“By now, they shall be looking for me!”

“I doubt it,” said the boy. “The orcs have no reason to suspect and the drow will look for you amongst their own and not amongst the orcs.”

“They might alert the orc guard at the gates,” said Ronthiel.

“Alert them to what? To an elf boy posing as a drow?” asked the boy. “They know nothing of any elf boy posing as anything. Instead, they think human men of the north are outside the city. They believe the drow that turned over Amien was one of their own. Until they fail to replace that drow, they should think no further of you for it.”

“Who’s Sar, anyway?” asked young Joe curiously.

Leradien ignored Joe to warn the boy. “That means you will have to act before they realize no actual drow turned over Amien. That will happen soon, certainly before we come up with a rescue plan. If that happens, we cannot fight our way in. Maybe we should vote again? We should forget Sar and head for Ched Nasad as we originally planned.”

Six males looked at her, including even Young Joe. A woman had just told them what to do.

“I vote we save him,” said Marroh.

When the others all instantly agreed too, Leradien grew angry.

“Why am I not being listened to?” she demanded and stood up. “It seems you all do the opposite of what I say! Why is that? Is it because I am a drider?”

A drider? No. Not because she was a drider.

“This is man’s business,” answered Ronthiel, “And you have obviously not taken your classes.”

“Why, you pig-headed little elf!” she exclaimed. “None of your plans would work if not for me!”

“We know. And we shall need your help once more,” said the boy to her. “If our plans are to work again.”

“And if I refuse?”

“Then I shall go into East Prison without you.” With that, the boy made himself clear.

“You shall never make it back out without me,” argued Leradien. “You know that! The walls are six feet thick and you must pass through two locked and guarded gates!”

“That is why I need your help,” said the boy. “I cannot do it without you. But I must still try. Sar is my keeper.”

Leradien grumbled and seethed with anger.

“Oh! All right!” she reluctantly conceded. “I’ll help you! What is your plan?”

There was a long period of brooding silence in thought.

“Who’s Sar?” a quiet voice whispered in the dark.