Her hands covered her face, her eyes felt as though she’d rubbed sand into them as they stung. Salt lined her tongue and her nose was running. The cold air stung her legs as she’d dropped against the wall. The wind rolled around the house in a low growl and finally, as the sobs started to ease, she found that the tightness in her chest was easing. Malcolm hadn’t come to find her and she couldn’t blame him, though she also couldn’t deny that she was secretly disappointed. Relieved he hadn’t seen the full ugly-crying and perhaps she could retain some dignity and yet…
A rough hand closed over her mouth and her heart almost stopped beating. Marcus? Her arms and legs went numb, knees buckling as she was hauled to her feet. The kiss of metal against her neck was nothing compared to the fear that burnt within. Robbed of speech or sound she moved as though she was in a nightmare. Legs not working, unable to see anything in the darkness, silenced by her own panic. There was the woodgrain of the door painted red, the key jumped between her fingers and rattled in the lock. Till the door swung open and the man urged her backwards.
Strangers filed past. Elsie. Where was Elsie!? His arm held tight around her chest she was nudged back into the shelter of her home. Elsie was safe. They moved towards the bedroom door and she lurched forward, only to be hauled back. The cloth was folded and pushed between her teeth till she gagged, choking. She kicked the man behind her, bare feet failing to do more than bruise his shins before twisted, kicking out at the wall, the table. Anything that could make a sound. Elyna tried to scream through the cloth to warn the Mortalborn. Who were these people? Not bandits? Bandits were robbers! Alive? Her arm was bent back and twisted against itself and she sagged.
The thunder of noise from the far room saw her silenced and still, straining to hear what was happening. Malcolm could take them on? He could take out three men…she’d seen him walk away from stab wounds, poison and a blade to his neck. The skyrider held onto her hope until the moment he was dropped onto the floorboards. Then she screamed again, lurching forward, white hot pain tore through her shoulder as the arm lock held. Perhaps she should have been listening to what they’d said but the words made no sense. As though they were far away or from underwater.
A long ride back. The young woman forced herself to repeat the words. Where were they taking them?
Malcolm was led out, and Elyna was able to see her captor for the first time. His appearance confirmed what she’d already known in her heart. It wasn’t Marcus. Something shifted in the rising wind. Snow started falling beyond the door as she was pulled outside like a dog on a leash. Arm held tight and wrapped with coarse rope. Not Marcus. Sense started to return as adrenaline was wrestled back under control. The wagon? The woman started to work on her bonds, twisting her arms slowly together. She’d struggled but she hadn’t put up much of a fight. A ragged pair of breaches the barely covered her thighs and an old soft shirt. Cheeks puffy and lined with her own running nose, they’d less the knots looser then they should have. Noble bitch. Had they said that?
The skyrider shook off a pulse of fear and drew a breath. They lifted Malcolm onto the back of a horse she recognised, Ember? It was hard to see in the dark, but Mithril was lame. Or was it Socks? She blinked away the last of her tears. One of the men trotted back towards the barn for the wagon and it was then that the skyrider turned. Hands bound she kept them low as she swept her leg back then rammed her knee up. The man who’d grabbed her first, dropped, hands pressed to his groin. They weren’t taking her with him. No. No that couldn’t be right. She dropped her foot as her hands fell to the back of his head, forcing the downward motion as her knee raised once more. There was a crunch of splintered bone but the woman ducked. There’d been footsteps behind her and she twisted, lifting her hands to try and tug at the cloth. She edged back over the frozen ground and the covering of snow. Choking before she managed to pull the rag free and spit it out.
Her attacker was rolling on the ground, one man had gone to Buck and so two remained. They eyed her with suspicion, glancing to each other before making their dash. One on each side. Elyna spun and made her own charge back towards the house. She stumbled on the uneven ground and they gained with every step. The skyrider reached the door as the first man lunged toward her, he caught hold of her shoulder and pulled. Off-balance she dropped, trying to break her fall with bound hands. She rolled, the door falling open behind her. The woman tried to scramble back as his grip found her legs and she kicked him in the face. Another crunch before he recoiled, roaring.
It was enough time, she stretched, reaching around the door frame and curled her hands around the bow stave she left there. The wooden pole smacked down on his head and he dropped, face first into the snow. Elyna kicked back again, pushing herself into the house. She rolled onto her knees, stave held fast. Stumbling back to her feet, she turned to face the third man. Bow ready between her fingers.
He was a tall, thin man and he skidded to a halt at the door, raising his hands in surrender. The woman advanced towards him and he smiled.
“Where-” she demanded. Where were they taking Malcolm?! The skyrider wasn’t able to finish her sentence before the blow fell out of the darkness.
They caught her as she dropped and the skyrider was bundled up and thrown into the back of the wagon.
A rough hand closed over her mouth and her heart almost stopped beating. Marcus? Her arms and legs went numb, knees buckling as she was hauled to her feet. The kiss of metal against her neck was nothing compared to the fear that burnt within. Robbed of speech or sound she moved as though she was in a nightmare. Legs not working, unable to see anything in the darkness, silenced by her own panic. There was the woodgrain of the door painted red, the key jumped between her fingers and rattled in the lock. Till the door swung open and the man urged her backwards.
Strangers filed past. Elsie. Where was Elsie!? His arm held tight around her chest she was nudged back into the shelter of her home. Elsie was safe. They moved towards the bedroom door and she lurched forward, only to be hauled back. The cloth was folded and pushed between her teeth till she gagged, choking. She kicked the man behind her, bare feet failing to do more than bruise his shins before twisted, kicking out at the wall, the table. Anything that could make a sound. Elyna tried to scream through the cloth to warn the Mortalborn. Who were these people? Not bandits? Bandits were robbers! Alive? Her arm was bent back and twisted against itself and she sagged.
The thunder of noise from the far room saw her silenced and still, straining to hear what was happening. Malcolm could take them on? He could take out three men…she’d seen him walk away from stab wounds, poison and a blade to his neck. The skyrider held onto her hope until the moment he was dropped onto the floorboards. Then she screamed again, lurching forward, white hot pain tore through her shoulder as the arm lock held. Perhaps she should have been listening to what they’d said but the words made no sense. As though they were far away or from underwater.
A long ride back. The young woman forced herself to repeat the words. Where were they taking them?
Malcolm was led out, and Elyna was able to see her captor for the first time. His appearance confirmed what she’d already known in her heart. It wasn’t Marcus. Something shifted in the rising wind. Snow started falling beyond the door as she was pulled outside like a dog on a leash. Arm held tight and wrapped with coarse rope. Not Marcus. Sense started to return as adrenaline was wrestled back under control. The wagon? The woman started to work on her bonds, twisting her arms slowly together. She’d struggled but she hadn’t put up much of a fight. A ragged pair of breaches the barely covered her thighs and an old soft shirt. Cheeks puffy and lined with her own running nose, they’d less the knots looser then they should have. Noble bitch. Had they said that?
The skyrider shook off a pulse of fear and drew a breath. They lifted Malcolm onto the back of a horse she recognised, Ember? It was hard to see in the dark, but Mithril was lame. Or was it Socks? She blinked away the last of her tears. One of the men trotted back towards the barn for the wagon and it was then that the skyrider turned. Hands bound she kept them low as she swept her leg back then rammed her knee up. The man who’d grabbed her first, dropped, hands pressed to his groin. They weren’t taking her with him. No. No that couldn’t be right. She dropped her foot as her hands fell to the back of his head, forcing the downward motion as her knee raised once more. There was a crunch of splintered bone but the woman ducked. There’d been footsteps behind her and she twisted, lifting her hands to try and tug at the cloth. She edged back over the frozen ground and the covering of snow. Choking before she managed to pull the rag free and spit it out.
Her attacker was rolling on the ground, one man had gone to Buck and so two remained. They eyed her with suspicion, glancing to each other before making their dash. One on each side. Elyna spun and made her own charge back towards the house. She stumbled on the uneven ground and they gained with every step. The skyrider reached the door as the first man lunged toward her, he caught hold of her shoulder and pulled. Off-balance she dropped, trying to break her fall with bound hands. She rolled, the door falling open behind her. The woman tried to scramble back as his grip found her legs and she kicked him in the face. Another crunch before he recoiled, roaring.
It was enough time, she stretched, reaching around the door frame and curled her hands around the bow stave she left there. The wooden pole smacked down on his head and he dropped, face first into the snow. Elyna kicked back again, pushing herself into the house. She rolled onto her knees, stave held fast. Stumbling back to her feet, she turned to face the third man. Bow ready between her fingers.
He was a tall, thin man and he skidded to a halt at the door, raising his hands in surrender. The woman advanced towards him and he smiled.
“Where-” she demanded. Where were they taking Malcolm?! The skyrider wasn’t able to finish her sentence before the blow fell out of the darkness.
They caught her as she dropped and the skyrider was bundled up and thrown into the back of the wagon.
