His Captive Sorceress

Chapter 12: Wild Men

"Take these off." I wave my sleeves in front of Trevus.

He pauses packing Gramps's saddlebag. It's morning now, and we're getting ready to head off again. "I prefer them where they are," he says.

"Well, maneuvering my pants on and off with these clunky sleeves is a half-hour endeavor. My bladder can't wait a day's journey, so you best be prepared to delay our departure."

Trevus looks me up and down. He soon determines that I don't intend to repeat the events of last night. "So be it," he says. "Step back."

I follow his instruction, and he loosens my sleeves. His sword remains sheathed. Before last night, there was always a weapon in his hand whenever my sleeves were off. He's learned that I'm hesitant to use my connection, but he has no idea how deep my conviction goes.

I head off into the thicker part of the forest. Sun shines through the trees, and their branches cast a stripy shadow across my oban uniform. The fresh air carries the scent of the woods. It's nothing like the damp mornings in the tower.

I settle in a spot obscured by branches, but not so far that they can't see where I am. If I were to completely disappear, they'd come searching.

I finish up and tighten my belt again. It's a much less frustrating task with the use of my fingers.

Something slams into my chin, sending me flying backwards. My back hits a tree, and an iron arm wraps around my middle. Not a tree – a man.

I scream for Trevus, but my voice is muffled. The man's hand presses tight over my mouth. I writhe against his grip, kicking at his legs and making him carry all my weight. His hairy arm constricts my middle, and the pressure on my jaw grows, pinning my head still. Scratching and pulling at his arms does nothing. He's leagues stronger than me.

I'm twisted around, bringing three more men into view. They're in raggedy clothes the color of mud, and the dirt caked in their beards betray the weeks they've gone without bathing. The stench of ale from the one holding me is so overpowering that I fear my clothes already share it. These are wild men. I own nothing of value, but they chose to catch me instead of taking my life. What do they want?

Two of them disappear from view. The grip on my head prevents my eyes from following them. The man carries me towards our camp. My struggling and kicking does nothing to slow him down.

Trevus, Marcellus and Giddius stand together, their gaze following us as we emerge from the trees. Giddius has his bow drawn, the arrow pointed in our direction. Marcellus has his axe in hand, eager to swing it. Trevus's expression could kill. His long sword is drawn.

Trevus marches forward.

The hand disappears from my mouth. I yelp as a cold sharp edge is pressed against my throat. "Uh uh uh," the man says in a scratchy voice.

Trevus stills.

"There are four!" I shout.

Giddius points his bow at the trees on his right, and Marcellus's eyes find something to his left. They've seen them.

"Lose ya weapons, or ya pretty friend here loses 'er head," the ale-stinking man says.

"If she dies, I shall bring such torment upon you that you shall beg to follow her fate," Trevus says. "You shall know agony like no other man as crows peck your eyes and dogs lap your wounds." Even though his words aren't directed at me, my subconscious still wills me to flee. My instincts scream that Trevus is dangerous. He has never looked at me like the way he does at this man. I've seen fury, fear and frustration in his eyes, but never such hatred, not even when I ran.