The Hunted

Chapter 4

He woke with a start as his nostrils filled with the cloying smell of a juicy roasting pigeon above a spitting fire.

The sounds of wild game filtered through his ears as his eyes opened to a burst of brilliant sunlight. In front of him lay a crackling fire, over which, pigeon roasted. Gazing into his eyes was a small, sly man with the eyes of a ferret and the face of a weasel. He was dressed in plain crimson tunic but had a slim leather breastplate across his chest. Three wicked-looking daggers were attached on either side of the armour and a short sword hung at the man's side.

As Tor's vision cleared from his abrupt rest, he began to make out the smaller details of the man. He had an angular broken nose, set between a pair of cunning sea green eyes that seemed to look everywhere at once. His long, platted black hair, which matched his rich, dark skin, set the picture of one of the well-born merchants up in Himslar, where all the rich families of the Empire did their shopping.

" And good morning to you too lad. You do know it’s rude to stare?"

The man's words disturbed Tor from his dozy thoughts. His voice was, although educated, not clipped like the other merchants Tor had met, but dry and sarcastic, with a light hint of steady humour.

"He's up!!!" the man called into the surrounding forest. Seconds later two men and a woman emerged from the forest. The first man was nondescript, a stained smock as his only layer. The only thing even remotely unusual about him were his startlingly blue eyes and the long white beard that grew from his chest. Even the knife at his belt was ordinary.

The lady he was with however, was a different matter. Her clothes were just that of an unusually clean and tidy peasant; a simple green dress of coarse wool. But her face, oh! Her face. It was the most beautiful face Tor had ever seen. It was like the root of all good dreams, like the treasure at the end of the rainbow, like the sun upon the sea. Her lips were of the fullest red and her hair of the pearliest black. Her skin was of the creamiest silk. Everything about her was perfect; the way she walked, smiled, stood, laughed, blinked, waved, moved. It all built upon the picture of the fairest lady on all earth. But it was her eyes, those wonderful eyes that completed the picture of such supreme beauty. The amber depths seemed to drown Tor in emotion. Tears came to his eyes, first of sorrow, then of fear, then of overwhelming joy. He sank into the depths of his emotion, his mind swamping him with feeling. Flashes of past memories crossed his eyes: a woman with fair hair leaning across his cot with a beautiful smile and sparkling green eyes. With a toss of her hair she was gone, replaced by visions of the same room burning down around him and his simple wooden cot in a mass of orange flame. Then that too was gone, replaced once more by reality. Tears stung Tor's eyes as he tried to remember who the fair headed lady was. He knew who she was, he was sure of that, but he just couldn’t get a hold on her name.

He was snapped back to reality by the sound of the weasel looking man's rich voice. "Find anything good, Thoris? - The boy looks hungry enough to eat a horse!”

The old man pulled a brace of pigeons from a weathered cloth sack with a flourish. The beautiful lady sighed as the weasel-like man downed a flagon of rich, fruity ale in one gulp, before passing another wooden flagon to the man he had called Thoris.

"What does it look like to you, Kotir ? These will be just fine for tonight's supper, eh Sara?" said the dishevelled looking man in a clear, humorous tone.

" Will you men stop talking about supper for a just a bit! We haven’t even had breakfast yet and yet you lot are already dreaming of getting drunk on that beer you got in Torgran! Try welcoming a guest for a change." The lady spoke in a rich, feminine voice, but had an air of authority about herself that could not be dismissed.

But by now Tor was already succumbing to the pain in the back of his head. As the voices of his kidnappers faded into a muddled haze, Tor slid slowly into unconsciousness.