The Quest For Hope

The Escape: Chapter Fourteen

Everything seemed fuzzy to Elsa. She knew the last few days were real; her bruises and bumps proved it. But she wished they were a nightmare. Her head pounded as she woke up, a reminder of her failed escape. She had underestimated these men as simple bandits, but now she knew better. Behind their crudeness lay cruelty to match. 

She strained her eyes, but her vision blurred grey. In addition to the roped they bound her wrists and legs, a fabric rag covered her head and mouth. The scratchy cloth struck to her cheek and reminded her of stale bread. Compared to the stench of the men, this was bearable.

It seemed to her that they had brought her back to camp. She heard the familiar crackling of the fire and deep rumbling of their voices. Everything seemed the same, except for the addition of new cry. Barely audible she heard a girl's voice crying out, intermixed with their deep voices.

"Ouch, what're ya hitting me for?" One of the men yelled.

"You idiot, that's not the princess!" Elsa recognised the voice of the scrawny man. 

"What do you mean it's not her?" A new voice piped in. "That's the same dress."

"Use your eyes, men. The dress may be the same, but this is not the princess."

A moment of silence stretched between them. The girl's muffled screams wailed in the background. Elsa's salty tears soaked into the rag binding her mouth, but she didn't dare utter a word.

"The princess does not have golden hair," the smaller man said.

Grunts of understanding sounded from the other men. 

"You idiot, what have you gotten us into?"

"Ouch, stop hitting me."

"I will when you come up with a plan. I won't have two snivelling girls in this camp, you're bad enough."

She held her breath at their silence.

"Look, even if she's not the princess, it's a royal dress. The trim is worth something and these diamonds up top worth a fortune," one said.

"You're right," the small man agreed. "The dress may be worth it but not the girl. She brings us no ransom. Get rid of her. And be careful. I don't want to see any stains on the dress, not if we want to get any money for it."

"Get rid of her?" He chocked.

"Yes. I don't care how. Just make that crying stop."

"Yes, sir," he grumbled. "What about the other?"

She inhaled, her heart thumping in the silence before the bandit responded.

"She's mine to deal with," he chuckled. 

As their grumbled silenced into sleep, a deep pit opened in her stomach. Elsa exhaled and bit her lip. She needed a plan, quick.

She rubbed her head back against the tree, feeling the tender spot where they had hit her, above her right ear. Gritting her teeth, she scraped the tied rag against the bark until it loosened. Through the small gap, she saw dim, grey patches of light. In the early morning light, it would be harder to escape. She needed to go now.

Without warning, a loud smack followed by a scream echoed in the woods.

"No go, before I change my mind!" a man yelled. 

The girl's sobs faded into a faint rustling in the woods, and then silence. She was gone. Elsa hoped the girl could find her way back home. Home. It seemed so far away.

A sob struck her throat.

Keeping quiet, she rubbed at her restraints until her skin burned under the rob. She felt the light of the morning sun. Time was running out if she hoped to escape before enduring another day of the captures. 

The silence did not last long. Less than an hour later, before the sun fully warmed camp, rumbling grew. The heavy breathing of horses and stomping of hooves burst into the camp. she pressed her body against the tree, hoping to remain unnoticed.

She jumped at a commanding voice.

"Have you seen the princess?"

"The princess," one of the bandits snickered. "I'm afraid we haven't been honoured with her presence here in our humble camp."

"Do not joke with matters of royalty," the stoic voice replied.

"I do not know what you mean, good knight. We are simple men of the forest."

"Simple men with this?" A new, deeper voice asked. 

"Seize them at once," the knight boomed, drawing his sword.

"Wait, I can explain," the smaller bandit cried.

"Explain these bloody stains then."

A manic chuckle spread through the camp. "She wouldn't be quiet. We had to teach her our ways."

"And we'll teach you ours," the Knights responded.

A dozen swords were brandished.

Elsa didn't want to be there if things got worse.

The fighting escalated. Behind her, screams rang out, muffled under the heavy stomps of horses. Metal struck metal, and the familiar grumbled turned into grunts and outcries.

"Give us the princess!"

Her heart leapt as she struggled to free her hands and mouth.

The small, wiry man laughed. "Your princess is gone. There's nothing of her here."

"then prepare to die!" A strong voice boomed.

"No," she yelled, wishing they could hear her "I'm here!" she cried, her voice no louder than a whisper.

Screams ripped through the air and swords clashed on shields. The dirt moved with the pounding hooves as men trampled through camp, turning over bushed and knocking down branches from above. The screams of pain were worse than anything she had ever heard. A deep thus sounded next to her, and before she turns away, she found herself face to face with the small man. His eyes were sightless, empty.

Fear pumped through her, and with a scream, she fumbled forward on her hands and knees she jumped past the closest grounding of trees and fell backwards over the top of a hill. A blue of green, brown, and blue mixed before her eyes as she toppled over the edge and rolled down the steep side.

She spun out of control, feeling the wind blow against her and small rocks bite into her ribs and legs. Between the moments of fear an terror, brief flickers of excitement hit her. The pain with each jab of a new rock or twig hitting her. The tumble gave way to an abrupt stop as she slammed against a large boulder. Pain shot through her body, and for a moment she lay still. The restraints around her mouth had loosened in the fall, and for the first time she had left the castle, she felt a smile sill her face.

"Ouch," she yelped as something sharp cut her hands. A stream of blood ran between her palms. Through the chaos of being recaptured knocked out, and dragged to camp, she had forgotten that she had palmed the stolen knife. For once, she welcomed the pain.

The hilt of the dagger weighed down her hands. Twisting it between her fingers, she found a way to comfortable rub it against her legs and wrists to break the ropes. It took longer than she expected, but when the roped snapped, so did her composure.

Elsa sighed with pleasure-it felt so good to have her hands unbound-and leaned back against the rock, letting tears well up. She had never felt so happy to be alive. She leaned her head back and listened to the birds between her sobs, hearing the sweet sounds of freedom and rubbing the tender bruises on the ribs.

She was free.