From Across the Clouded Range
Page 95
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“Dasen, wake up!” Teth’s urgent whisper stirred Dasen from a deep sleep. Somewhere, he heard the rhythm of horses’ hooves. Teth shook him again. “Now, Dasen! There are riders on our side of the hill.”
Dasen’s eyes shot open. He shook his head and tried to focus. He maneuvered around Teth in their tiny sanctuary and followed her eyes to a dozen riders who were just entering the broad valley below. The grass on this side of the hill was scrub. It provided almost no protection, left them horribly exposed, but the invaders were not supposed to be on this side. They had assumed that the army would stick to the road, that as long as they were out of view from the thoroughfare they were safe. What are the bastards doing over here?
“We have to try to make the ridge,” Teth said, her words laced with fear. “When they go behind that stand of trees, their view will be blocked. We’ll go then.” They both held their breaths waiting for the riders to disappear behind a half-dozen scraggly trees that stood alone at the bottom corner of their hill.
“Go!” Teth announced and broke for the top of the hill. Dasen was right behind her. Staying low was pointless since the grass only came to their knees, so they sprinted all out, praying that the trees would shield them from below, that more men were not waiting above. The hill was steep, and their feet slipped as the dug for purchase, but it was only a short distance. After a few strides, they threw themselves over the ridge and dove into the thick grass on the lush southern face of the hill. Their heads immediately shot up, scanning the road below for the next threat. They exhaled. It was gloriously empty.
Relief lasted just long enough for smiles to form on their faces. The sound of hooves galloping around the hill erased them. “Run!” Teth ordered. Dasen did as she suggested, sprinting for all his was worth along the ridge of the hill. Behind them six riders appeared on the road and angled up their side of the hill. On the other side, another six riders were paralleling the steep northern face waiting for their quarry. They were trapped, but Teth was never one to give up. The ridge ended, and she dashed down the eastern slope. There was nowhere there to hide, no chance of outrunning the horses, but Dasen followed anyway. Angling across the face of the hill, the riders were on them before they were halfway down. Dasen heard the horses behind him then something whistling. A second later, his feet fell out from beneath him. He landed on his hands and felt the air rush from him as his body followed.
By the time he recovered his air, he was surrounded. A spear was held absently at his chest, so he remained on his back and brought up his hands in the universal sign of surrender. The riders, eight all told, laughed as if his surrender were a tremendous joke. They spoke boisterously among themselves in a foreign language without any seeming concern for their captive. Dasen looked at his feet and saw that they were tangled in a short rope with heavy balls on each end. That explained what had tripped him. He searched next for Teth. Not finding her, his hope rose that she had escaped.
That hope was lost as quickly as it had formed. Four more riders pushed through the tall grass to his right with Teth prodded along before them. Her hands were tied behind her back, and she stumbled as she walked over the rough ground without her arms for balance.
The man who held the spear at Dasen’s chest yelled something to the men who had captured Teth. One of them yelled back, holding up Teth’s long knife for emphasis, and the men in the clearing burst into laughter. Teth did not look nearly so amused. She did not appear to be hurt, but she wore a scowl that was almost a snarl, and he would have sworn that he heard her growl as she plopped down beside him in the matted grass.
Trying to avoid Teth’s rancor, Dasen turned to examine their captors. They were of average size though a bit slight of build – certainly not the same men who had attacked Randor’s Pass. They had delicate features like porcelain dolls, with slight noses, small ears, and thin faces that led to tapered jaws. Their skin was dark but not unusually so, and their jet-black hair was cut in a small circle that ended just above the ears. They wore plain clothes like those of the forest masters – simple shirts of dark olive-green and light-brown pants made from the hide of some indistinguishable animal. The horses they rode were tall and sleek but not strange in their size or beauty.
The riders spoke among themselves for several minutes seemingly oblivious to their captives before one of them leapt from his mount and came around behind Dasen. The man grabbed his arm, flipped him like a child onto his stomach, and forced his face to the ground. A knee to the back held him in place as the man tied his hands with a tight leather cord.
Bindings in place, the rider lifted Dasen then Teth to their feet. He led them the rest of the way down the hill to the road then, with a friendly pat on the back, leapt onto his horse in a single motion. The men spoke to each other for another minute then, without apparent thought for their captives, turned and rode back around the hill.
Dasen was just wondering if they intended to leave them bound in the middle of the road when he heard the hooves pounding the road behind him. With a sudden flash of fear, he started to run. By the Order, they’re going to impale us or trample us into the road. Beside him, Teth caught his eye and looked at him with fear, regret, and sorrow. The horses were on top of them, shaking the very ground beneath their feet. Dasen expected to feel a spear pushing through him at any moment, to feel a hoof smash him to the ground. He drew the breath to say goodbye to Teth, when a hand grabbed hold of his arm and launch him into the air.
He landed on his stomach across the front of the horse. He retched as the saddle dug into his guts and struggled to keep his head from bouncing from his shoulders. The motion was rewarded with a swat to his rump. He squirmed again to escape the abuse, and the rider hit him even harder, spanking him like a child. Every time he moved, the man swatted his rump hard enough to make him squeal. Until finally, he learned his lesson and settled in as best he could for the long, miserable ride.