Daughter to Dragons- a Skyrim inspired fantasy

Chapter Four- Unlikely Allies

“Where are we going?” I asked my captors for the hundredth time.  A stinging slap answered me.  With my eyes blinded by the black cloth and my hands bound, there was no way to return the assault.  Instead, I just spat at the ground.  “Such pleasant hosts,” I grumbled under my breath.

It had been three nights since our capture.  On the first night, they found my dagger in my boot.  As punishment, one of them kicked me in the ribs.  Days later, it still hurt to move.

A rough hand shoved me to the ground.  I grunted with pain.  But the blindfold came off.  Dusk was setting over the sky, painting it orange and purple.  It cast an ominous light on the gruff man who held me.  He looked down on me with an ugly scowl.  I returned the look to him.

He skulked off, to where the rest of his bandits where.  One was trying to build a fire, another was tending to the horses, and I saw a few skin an elk and some hares.  The leader was nowhere to be seen.  And neither was Rhythe.

They had been keeping him and me apart as much as possible.  I guess they feared we would try to escape.  They were right to fear that.  I’d been looking for the right opportunity to go, but none had made itself apparent to me.  I was always guarded and all my weapons and armor were taken from me the first night.  My cheeks still stung with humiliation at that.  They’d stripped me to my smallclothes, ogling at me.  I spat in one of their faces and he replied with a backhanded slap.

Rhythe had witnessed that.  He charged at the man, bloodying his nose before the bandits were able to subdue him.  It thought they were going to kill him with how much they beat him that night.  But I had caught glances of him, heard little snippets of his voice, since that night.  He lived, I knew, but how well he was, I had no idea of.

I rolled my head around on my neck, cracking the sore joints.  It was nice to actually see again, despite nothing pleasant to see.  One man finished skinning his hare.  I watched as he put the pelt away and stuck the pink body on a stick.

“Hurry up with that fire, Hodd,” he grunted.  “I’m hungry.”

“We’re all hungry, you fat sot,” said Hodd, as he was striking the flint stones.  “You start the fire if you’re in such a fucking hurry.”

“Do I look like a bloody mage?”

“You’re too stupid to be a mage,” said another man, Rorge, I think it was.

The man with the skinless hare scowled at the lot of them.  Then, quick as lightning, he yanked out his axe.  Just as quick, the others pulled out their own weapons, all pointed at him.

“Enough,” a voice shouted, “all of you!”  The chief emerged, his face contorted into one of fury.  “Berg, put that ugly thing away before you chop off another one of your fingers.  Next time, I won’t take you to a healer.”

By the Nine, I was captured by these fools?  I hung my head in shame.

The man called Berg threw his axe on the ground and stormed off, leaving his hare in the dirt.  Knowing them, they were still going to roast it.  Then feed it to me.  Not that I minded.  I was starved.  They only fed me in the morning and in the evening.  Probably to keep my strength down so I wouldn’t run.

“Hodd,” said the chief, “hurry up and get that fire lit.  I don’t want to be burying another body.”

My heart jolted at that.  Another body?  Who was the first one?  I lurched to my knees, grunting at the pain in my gut.

The chief looked over at me as if he had forgotten I was there.  He shot a nasty, little grin at me.  “You worried there, girl?”

“Where’s Rhythe?” I groaned, trying to push myself up with my bound hands.  The pain from the rope burns almost put me back down.