by Nicole Burr
She was hoping it was the latter. At least then she’d have a chance to be rescued. Her side still had an intense, steady ache, but the shooting pains were gone now that she was lying still. Esra focused on moving all her limbs, making sure that nothing else was broken. Her left eye had practically swollen shut from the Tree branch, but she seemed otherwise in good health. A deep rumbling in her stomach told her it was far past supper, maybe more than one of them. The commotion around the Fire began to break up as the elaborate hunting story came to an end. Some of the men began to gather around a large black pot to spoon out some brownish, gruel looking mess.
Under any other circumstances, Esra would never consider eating such a foul looking meal, but the hunger in her was growing, and she wanted to keep her strength up as much as possible.
“Um…” Esra cleared her throat as one of the men turned around to stare at her. “Over here.”
“Well, well. It looks like our little treasure is awake, boys.” A snicker moved through the group and Esra recognized the voice as the one who had forced her to drink the potion. As the man stepped forward into the Firelight, Esra gasped in disgust at the revelation of what was underneath the red striped helmet. His skin was a greyish hue that seemed to be completely devoid of any eyelids or hair. His nose and ears looked as if they were melting off his face and the eyes had no color, only small, black pits that sunk deeply into his grey skin. A mouth that was greatly distorted and much too large completed his grotesque facial features. “Hungry, love?”
Esra stared at the man in shock as a torrent of anger enveloped her.
“I’m not, and never will be yer love,” she spat angrily, “and yes, I am hungry.”
She realized that it was probably a better idea to have kept her mouth shut, but she was in no mood to take any sarcasm from this despicable character. Her aching body and growling stomach reminded her of just what these men were capable of. Not to mention that they might have captured or hurt someone else.
“Ho!” He reeled his head back and crossed his arms, attempting to look offended. Leaning down towards her, he said in a loud whisper. “I’d thought that maybe after what happened a couple of days ago, we’d tamed yer filthy mouth. I can see now that ye may need some more working. How’s bout I teach ye what happens to little girlies who say the wrong thing to the wrong man?”
His fist slammed against her cheek with such force that she rolled twice. White flashes flickered across her eyes as an intense wave of nausea seized her. She tilted her head to throw up, and as she did the taste of blood filled her mouth. Turning over, the nausea lifted and was replaced by a severe pulsating pain on the left side of her face. Her eyes throbbed as she resolutely tried to focus back on her attacker.
A rage Esra had never felt before surged through her, and she grinned a bloody smile at the man, mocking him. “Who’d ye say was the girlie?”
His eyes bulged with fury and he raised his fist to strike her again. Before she could regret her quick tongue, a man came from behind and caught the fist mid-swing in his palm, a loud slapping sound echoing from the impact.
“Like I said before, Krune, don’t touch the goods.” The potion man named Krune gave a last furious look at Esra, spitting at the ground where she lay before reluctantly turning around and heading back to the Fire. Based upon the quietness that settled over the camp, it was obvious that this man was one of their leaders. He was the stockiest of the group, and his misshapen face was partially hidden by a black, greasy looking beard that sparsely covered his chin.
“Thank ye,” Esra croaked, her voice coming out in a raspy growl. The pain in her face seemed to multiply remarkably when she spoke. “Why have ye captured me and where are we going?”
He bent over Esra and grabbed her shoulders, pulling her up to lean against a Tree. She cried out as her stiff muscles revolted against the motion. He leaned towards her face, and Esra could smell the mead on his breath and see bits of dried gruel in his wiry beard. He glared at her with his revolting black eyes and Esra could feel her brief wall of stoicism being punctured. She gasped in disgust as the commander opened his contorted mouth to speak, his foul breath warm on her face. “Just because I didn’t let him pommel ye doesn’t mean yer allowed to speak. Ask a question like that again and I will make certain myself that ye will never open yer cursed mouth again.”
With that he turned and stalked away, leaving Esra to sit against the rough bark of the Tree, stomach still growling. What did she do? She didn’t understand, was she to be ransomed? Her grandparents were fairly wealthy but certainly not enough to warrant this kind of exchange. Why were there so many of them? Did they need this many men to capture one girl? Or maybe there were other captives? It was still hard to form a coherent thought with the intense pain that pulsated through every vein in her body. It was as if her mind was far away and she could hold on to a thought no more than a stream could prevent itself from washing over the rocks below it. And now that she was fully awake, a savage hunger tormented her weak condition. I’ll wait till they’re asleep and I’ll run. Although the men seemed obnoxious and arrogant, she didn’t think that they were foolish enough to leave their prisoner unguarded while the rest slept. And it didn’t seem likely that she could get out of her bondage or run very fast, given her current condition.
Sighing in resignation, Esra instead turned her focus towards the sky in an attempt to determine their location. Although the night was clear, the Trees obscured many of the stars and after a few minutes she was still unable to grasp exactly where she was. They could be anywhere in the forest north of Sorley. The one man had said it was a couple days since they had captured her, so they could be in a different forest altogether by now. Somewhere in LeVara she was unfamiliar with. Had they run all this way? She didn’t hear Horses anywhere near.
There had been one time when Esra was much younger, before she had the experience and navigational skills of Meshok to help guide her, that she had found herself hopelessly lost in the woods behind her grandparents’ farm. She had been daydreaming about The Painted Fields, a most curious place in the far western Kingdom. She weaved slowly through the forest, lost in her imaginings for some time, until she looked up to see that the place she had wandered to was unrecognizable. A brief moment of panic struck hard in Esra’s chest, and her breath caught in her throat painfully. Sitting against the side of a Tree for a moment to calm herself, she pushed aside the fear and tried to think clearly. Using a combination of the Sun’s location and her intuition, she was able to direct herself back towards a part of the forest she was familiar with. She never spoke of it to anyone, but the fear that had gripped her so strongly for that moment stuck in her head, and she thought of it any time she came near the place. Funny that she was remembering this now.
Scanning the area immediately around her, Esra searched for something within reach that she could hide behind her back to cut the binding that held her wrists. There were no small flat rocks or anything that looked sharp enough to help her break free. Perhaps she could roll a little at a time until she was closer to someone’s weapon, lean against it and try to work the ropes on her hands. After all, she was sore and aching but had nothing but time, especially after sleeping so long from the potion. She would need to position herself without putting weight on her broken ribs. Maybe if she went slow enough the soldier on guard wouldn’t notice.
Esra’s thoughts were interrupted as something zipped past her head and stopped at the man sitting directly in front of her. Looking down, the man clutched at the slender wooden shaft of the arrow that had just pierced his chest. Before the others could scramble to their feet, two more were struck through their midsections, one by an arrow, and another by a throwing spear.
“Get yer weapons!” The commander howled as he grabbed his morning star from beside the Fire. There was a flurry of motion as everyone snapped to their feet and rushed about, calling out directions and sputtering curses. A few of the men snatched up their weapons and ran into the forest, tr
ying to locate where the hidden assault originated. A blinding light erupted at the left side of camp, temporarily stunning a few of the men. In a matter of seconds one of them was on the ground from an unseen assailant, the other two stumbling awkwardly towards the Fire.
Directly to her right she could hear a singing clash, like the sound of two swords meeting, but she could not see beyond the wide glow of the Fire. Rolling clumsily over to her side for a better view, she saw the outline of a man surrounded by three or four of her captors. He appeared to be swinging a sword deftly and calmly at the center of the circle of heavily armed men. Krune, the man who had just threatened Esra, rushed in towards the swordfighter with his club raised and was felled in one fluid motion. His loud cry broke above the clamor of the camp like a wounded Animal’s howl, and he clutched the rapidly spreading pool of blood that covered his shirt as he fell to his knees.
The man in the center of the danger appeared unfazed by this sight and Esra was momentarily entranced by the beautiful arcs the warrior’s blade made in the night, glinting periodically off the Fire’s flickering blaze. He swung his weapon like it was only an extension of his arm, no heavier or harder to control than one’s own finger. Although obviously outnumbered, the skilled fighter’s dark face appeared calm and relaxed, and he steadily cut down his opponents. She had never seen anything like it. No one in Sorley could possibly fight that well. Glancing about quickly, she noticed that most of the camp had been emptied or was engaged in battle at the outskirts of the Fire.
Now’s my chance. Esra rolled onto her knees with a grimace, the pain bringing tears to her swollen eyes. Taking a moment to recover, she grunted loudly and pulled herself to her feet. The ropes on her wrists and ankles made her sway awkwardly and she fell hard against the Tree.
She was not sure if the people attacking the camp were any better than the group that held her captive now, but she was willing to take that chance. One of the men saw her standing up and bolted towards her with sword raised. Another arrow whooshed past her ear and caught the man through the right eye socket. He twitched a few times before collapsing into a heap on the forest floor. Esra wasted no time to see if anyone else had seen her and began twisting and turning away from the Fire, intending to try and hide herself in the brush. Every time she moved a sharp pain seared where her ribs had been broken.
Under any other circumstance, Esra would have collapsed and let the agony overwhelm her, but fear for her life seemed to win out over any physical torment. Remembering suddenly that she might have Baelin’s knife in the sash of her dress, she fumbled to get underneath her heavy cloak until her fingers closed on the slender handle. There were shouts and clashes coming from behind her at the camp, but she didn’t dare turn around. Turning the knife over in her trembling hands she began sawing at the ropes, cutting through them instantly with the new blade. Bending down to her feet, she tore the knot apart and stumbled towards the shadow of the forest. Suddenly a man was upon her, his young face half hidden by the darkness.
“Esra, how’s yer holiday going? I bet ye’ve never seen a Trader’s Day celebration like this before.”
He paused, swiping two arrows from his quiver and notching them both in his longbow. He closed one eye and aimed the bow with unwavering posture, releasing both arrows with precision. Loud cries rose above the clamor of the camp as he tossed the bow back over his shoulder.
“Can ye run?” The archer asked.
She shook her head in confusion, struggling to find her voice. “I...I don’t think so. I think some of my ribs are broken.”
“Ok, well then up ye go.” The archer grabbed her under the arms and knees and plucked her swiftly off the ground, careful not to grab her side. The force of the impact still jolted her violently and she writhed in pain.
“Sorry,” he apologized. “As ye can see we’re in a bit of a rush. Love te put ye down later, though. Maybe sometime after we’re clear of the stinking, vicious men chasing after us with an assortment of weapons?”
Esra tried to remember if she had seen his face before as the archer turned and carried her into the forest. She strained her neck to see if any of the men were following them, but leaving the small circle of Firelight, darkness soon enveloped everything. Although he was keeping his stride fairly steady, the pounding still caused her immense pain every step, and she felt herself growing dizzy with the weight of it. She closed her eyes and tried to focus instead on the labored breathing of the archer, who seemed to be making good time in their escape, mumbling words that she could only guess were some kind of magick. The soft, rolling words relaxed her, and she half-heartedly listened for the echo of pursuing footsteps, but heard nothing.
The sounds of the camp were growing fainter and fainter and she felt herself relaxing on the shoulder of this unknown rescuer. The pain had exhausted her. She couldn’t remember ever being so sore and so tired. Against the protests of her side and its shooting aches, she found herself growing drowsy in the steady rocking grip of the archer. For the second time since being in the forest, Esra felt herself unable to keep from falling into the dark depths of sleep.
XI
The smell of food was enough for Esra to be stirred awake from where she was firmly nestled under a soft blanket next to the Fire. The young archer who had rescued her was throwing some things into a copper pot, and paused to look over at her with concern.
“Ah, yer awake. Nothing like a good Vernok stew te rouse someone out of a lifeless state. Here,” he filled a wooden bowl with some of the stew and set it down next to her with three pieces of bread. Placing a hand behind her back, he gently lifted her up, wedging a rolled blanket underneath her for support. They seemed to be in the middle of a small clearing in the forest, hidden safely under the emerging morning. Dawn was in the few precious moments where the night and day collided, creating an array of startling reds and oranges stretching over the horizon.
“Thank ye,” Esra said sincerely. She grabbed a piece of bread and ravenously attacked the bowl of stew. The ache in her jaw protested against such motion, but she was so hungry that the pain was easy to ignore. The archer dabbed a minty smelling ointment gently along the side of her face, his forehead creased in concentration. She noticed then that her eye was no longer swollen shut.
“Slow down, Esra,” he gently chided. “I’ve made plenty. In fact, ye can bathe in it if ye’d like. And considering how we both must smell, that might not be a bad idea.”
He flashed a large smile at her and went back to stirring the pot. Something about him made her feel safe, even if she didn’t know where she was or who he might be. And she doubted that he had gone through all the trouble of carrying and feeding her just to try and kill her. She studied him as he crouched beside the Fire, and decided that he was a few years older than herself, maybe around twenty five. Untamed brown curls fell in a tidy mess about his round, kind looking face. Esra could see he was short and his frame was stout, but he looked sturdy rather than overweight. There was also something very mischievous about him, but it was endearing rather than mistrustful.
Esra suddenly remembered the small scroll Cane had given her, and she waited until the archer had turned his back to tend the Fire before reaching into her left pocket. She unwound the paper quickly to reveal a few hastily scribbled sentences.
Esra, if yer reading this then hopefully yer with the others. Trust them. They mean ye no harm and will explain everything.
What did he mean the others? Well, she was assuming it couldn’t be the last group of dark armored ruffians, they certainly meant her harm. And she didn’t feel threatened by this archer, just slightly uncomfortable.
“How did ye know my name?” She asked, tucking the scroll back in her pocket. She swallowed the last delicious bite of stew and set the now empty bowl beside her. The warmth of a good meal invigorated her senses, and she felt herself gathering strength. Suddenly her questions came flowing out in rapid succession. “Do ye know what happened to Cane? To Baelin? Are my grandparents alright? W
ho were those people? What’s yer name?”
“Whoa there, hold on,” he laughed, revealing an almost perfect smile that caught Esra off guard with its generous intensity. “First off, my name is Fynnigan, but everybody calls me Fynn.”
A figure suddenly emerged out of the darkness of the forest and stepped into the clearing. It took Esra only a moment to recognize the large, looming shape as her blacksmith friend.
“Baelin!” She tried to stand up in her fervor and felt the gentle weight of Fynn’s hand holding her down. It was then that she looked down to see that her side was wrapped in some strong, minty smelling leaves. “I was so worried about ye. Thank goodness yer not hurt. Do ye know who those men were? Are my grandparents alright? How is Cane? Do ye know Fynn? Where’s Meshok?”
“Give her a little bit of stew and she perks right up,” Fynn joked. “Esra here Fires questions like I fire arrows, more than one at a time and right on target.”
“Aye,” Baelin laughed in his deep voice. “She does.”
He first went to check on Esra, looking tenderly over her face and side where the minty poultice covered angry purple bruises. Quietly satisfied with her recovery, he stepped towards Fynn and took a bowlful of the breakfast, settling down on a fallen log that lay near the Fire.
“We have much te talk about, Esra. First I will let ye know that everyone in Sorley is safe. But now I must eat and ye must rest. Once the others get back we can discuss everything.”
“What others?”
“Arland and Nadia. Now sleep fer awhile longer and we’ll wake ye fer noonmeal.”
“But Cane said he’s a Great Keeper. And immortal! Is it true, is he really a sorcerer?”
“Sleep. Now.”
Esra began to open her mouth in protest but instead burrowed back under her blanket upon seeing the stern look on Baelin’s face.
