Chapter 15
A strong odor. Rather like a sweaty horse. Stronger, yet more delicate. Subtle. And fouler. A horse. An impression of speed. Coldness. Sleep slowly faded from Tolian’s mind as her senses returned. She gradually became aware of being in an uncomfortable position, and of being jolted and bumped with some considerable regularity. This even before true wakefulness took hold of her—a state that bridged the gap between the depths of her drug-induced slumber and her normal thought processes.
She was slumped over the back of a gigantic horse. Her wrists were bound together, as were her ankles. A rope strung below the horse’s belly tied to each of her bindings, secured her to the beast. From her position, each hoof fall slammed her stomach into the beast’s back and knocked the air out of her.
When she opened her eyes, she was struck by how little she could see. It was dark. At first, she could only make out the deep black hide of the horse against her face, and maybe a few quick snatches of blurred and shadowy ground passing below her. Mostly vague and confused glimpses. A turn of her head and she could see a little more of the gravel road. A lonely forest road at night.
As more and more of her consciousness returned, she became aware of her physical discomfort. A jolt of pain in her gut, the tangled ache of the stretched muscles in her arms and legs, it seemed as though they were almost being pulled out of the sockets. She had not known such intense pain since before her transformation, her alleged deification. Another stride, another jab of pain. The air was pushed out of her lungs. She gasped for another breath and her ribs screamed their displeasure. Probably just badly bruised, she diagnosed. Still, it hurt her. She could not stifle her cry and let out a loud groan.
Suddenly her hair was pulled roughly, jerking her head up towards the front of the horse. She let out another gasp. She could see little more than the giant silhouette, the flash of fiery crimson eyes.
“Ah, the Goddess awakes.” That voice. Dowbreth. Of course, Dowbreth. The second most disturbing voice I’ve ever heard, she thought.
“I trust you slept well.”
She could see his sneer by the dull gleam of his filed teeth.
She turned her head to speak, but the painful tug of her hair pulled her neck at such an angle that she couldn’t get words out at first. Her mouth made only a pitiful, hurt-filled peep of anguish. This produced a great wave of anger that radiated through her being. Now she was mad. How dare he. She pulled at the cords around her wrist. She expected them to rip apart as though they weren’t even there. They should have. Instead, they dug roughly into her skin. Another noise, this time an unmistakable whimper.
“Oh, what’s wrong, Divine One,” he asked mockingly. “Are your wrists tied too tightly together?”
He let go of her hair. That, at least, was a relief. But, what had happened to her? Where was her strength? She should be able to easily free herself and give her captor one serious thrashing, faster than most people could even see her doing it. She should be able to. Then why couldn’t she? Now, fear and confusion blended with the intense pain and cold racking her mind and body.
Dowbreth began to laugh most vilely, sending shivers down Tolian’s spine. He must have sensed her helplessness and apprehension, for his laughter grew louder.
Her voice came back to her muffled, of course, as she was speaking directly into the horse’s hide. “Laugh now, fool, while you can, for you will die for this.” Brave words, but how weak and ineffectual they sounded even to her.
His laughter stopped. “Will you kill me, Oh Goddess of the Silver Light?” asked the faerie. “Then, why not kill me now, why endure this hardship any longer? Smite me with your slender arms. Free yourself and use your shapely, tiny hands to strangle me, if you wish.”
He waited for her to respond. She fumed quietly, refusing to give him the satisfaction of a reply.
“No? Perhaps you
enjoy my company, then?” he suggested.
Tolian felt pressure on her thigh.
In horror, she realized that the rogue was stroking her roughly. A wanton caress, full of savageness. He let his hand rest on her bottom. Now new fears and a deep sense of
vulnerability took hold of her. His
gnarled fingers touching her. Unclean
and vile. Tolian had never known this
feeling before. Until last year, she had
been a man, of course, and largely immune to this fear of violation. After her transformation, she had a strength
that exceeded everyone else’s. She had
not known personal trepidation.
Suddenly, everything was different.
Somehow she had lost her power and now she was frightened in a way she
had never been before.
“No,” she pleaded.
Pleaded. She hated the sound of
her voice. She hated the begging and the
terror that rang clearly in her tone.
“No? So you do not
enjoy my touch, Princess?” the faerie inquired.
His hand lingered. A threat. “Very well.”
He lifted his hand away.
Tolian sighed.
“You were right,” Dowbreth murmured. “It will work.”
His words made no sense to Tolian, nor did they seem as
though they were directed towards her. There was something sinister about them,
spoken to no one. Perhaps insanity was
the explanation. Still, in her current
situation, that idea was hardly comforting.
Her mind raced with questions and doubts. What had happened to her? Why was he doing this? What did he hope to gain? She was afraid of the answers. What if he meant to rape her? Rape.
It was unthinkable. She fought
the panic welling up inside her. She was
simply too vulnerable. For the first
time since her initial displeasure at her new form, she cursed her femininity,
her weakness. This sense of
vulnerability, of powerlessness, seemed like it would swallow her. She fought it.
She struggled with her emotions and with the pain in
silence for considerable time. She
refused to cry or let any sound to express her discomfort escape her lips. She would not give into that villain. And at last she became numb to the situation.
The softness of morning light replaced the darkness, but
from her position, it did little to increase her view of her surroundings. The cold was becoming unbearable, even as her
anxiety and aches receded. She was
dressed still in her white Jarrels’ gown, which offered scant protection from
the elements. Her exposed skin burned
with the frosty chill. The frigid air
was making her need to urinate even stronger.
She had to say something, stubbornly defiant or not.
“If you do not mean to kill me, Dowbreth, then you’re
going to have to let me down. I’m
freezing to death. I’m thirsty, and I
probably won’t survive much longer like this.”
All true enough. “You won’t get
much ransom if I’m dead.”
The faerie warlord chuckled. “Ransom, eh?
What makes you think I’m going to ransom you? What paltry treasure has Lorm that would
interest me? No, your Highness,” he hissed,
“I have other uses for you.”
Fight back the fear, she told herself. She tried to keep the bravery in her
timbre. “What uses?” she demanded
“Fear not Princess Moonchild,” he said. “If you cooperate, you will not be
harmed. In fact, I shall insure your
comfort.”
With these words, he brought the giant horse to a
stop. The sudden halting caused Tolian
enormous pain as her bindings pulled harshly at her wrists and ankles.
Dowbreth dismounted and cut the rope that held her to the
horse’s back, and with one hand, lifted her off the beast and set her down
gently on the ground in a sitting position.
He then cut the bindings around her ankles, took another length of rope,
tied one end of it to her wrists, which were still bound together, and the
other end to a branch of a nearby wild cherry tree, ten feet in the air. The giant faerie easily reached the branch
with no effort, with only the extending of his arms to their full length. He left plenty of slack for her to move
around. Dowbreth went about this work in
complete silence.
While he did this, Tolian took advantage of the
opportunity to stand up and stretch her legs, as well as examine her
surroundings. They were just off a small
forest road lined with bare black oaks, sassafras, cedar, and wild cherry
trees. Clearly, they were still in
Lorm. Even with his faerie horse,
Dowbreth couldn’t hope to clear the kingdom that quickly. In all probability, they were in-between the
capital and farming towns of the East, for to the west of the palace, the Pine
Lands held sway over the terrain.
Dowbreth’s faerie horse.
Now that she could see, it was much bigger than she had expected. A lot bigger.
It stood tall enough that she could not see over its back; it was fully
twice the size of the biggest warhorse she had ever seen. It was outfitted in armored head and neck
gear and a saddle matching the faerie’s dark green gear. It was deep black in color and possessed that
strange ethereal quality of the faerie that her own Whisper had, but in this
beast its glamour took a disturbing aspect that inspired a deep aversion in the
princess. Various saddle packs hung in
disarray around the sides of the beast.
As she stood there shivering, quietly observing the horse
and Dowbreth’s activities, the faerie knight pulled a huge woolen cloak from
one bag and a small package wrapped in cloth from another. He set the cloak around Tolian’s
shoulders. Warmth immediately stole over
her body, quickly easing the frigid chill which had a hold over her. It felt good, but Tolian allowed herself no
feelings of gratitude. The cloth package
he unfolded, revealing a small loaf of bread and some cheese. This he set down carefully on the ground (on
the cloth) before Tolian. She said
nothing as Dowbreth set his water skin down next to the food, and inclined his
head slightly in a semi-bow. He then
walked back to the horse and unhooked yet another bag from the saddle. This sack appeared to contain a fair-sized
object, evidently vaguely spherical—rather like a melon. This bag he carried with utmost care and
gentleness. He stopped a moment and
regarded her.
“I recommend you eat and drink quickly, Your
Highness. I shall leave you alone for a
few moments. When I return, we resume
our journey,” said Dowbreth. “I wouldn’t
waste any of your time attempting to escape.
You will not be able to, and I shall be back quite soon.”
With that, he turned and headed into the surrounding
woods, carrying the sack in an almost gingerly manner. She watched him disappear into the
trees. She sighed heavily in relief as
soon as she lost sight of him.
She examined the cords wound tightly around her wrists
and the rope Dowbreth had secured to the tree.
Even if a superhuman giant hadn’t tied the rope, she wouldn’t have been
able to free herself. She tried
anyway. She wiggled her wrists the
little bit they could move and tore at the cords with her teeth. It was no use. The rope was tied high enough into the tree
that she could not hope to reach it.
Enraged by her weakness and helplessness, she began to bang her tied
wrists against the cherry tree’s trunk.
Futility.
At last, she gave up, crouched down to the ground, and
with her bound hands, brought the waterskin to her lips with some
difficulty. She was parched and the
water was cold and refreshing. She
gulped the water, then turned her attention to the bread and cheese. They were clearly Lormian in origin; no
doubt, the villain took them from the Jarrels’ feast.
She had not finished her meager meal when Dowbreth
returned. She hadn’t even heard him come
up behind her, but there he was.
“Have you finished, Goddess?” he asked.
She did not turn to look at him. “No, not yet.”
“No? Then perhaps
next time you will learn to eat quicker.”
She felt her arms jerked roughly up by the rope, causing
her to drop the cheese she was bringing to her mouth. He kept pulling the rope until she was
standing, almost teetering on her tiptoes.
He pulled her right before his pale, scarred face.
“Now, I would advise you to tend to any personal business
you need to, for we will not stop again until tonight.” His blood red eyes. Inhuman.
The unearthly voice filled with violence and bubbling impatience.
Tolian stared back at him in defiance. “Where are we going, Dowbreth?”
The faerie smiled, revealing his pointed teeth, “You’ll
find out soon enough. Now don’t waste
your time as you did earlier. It is not
my wish that you should hate me. But we
are in haste.”
He released the rope and set her down on the flats of her
feet. Dowbreth left her and reattached
the sack he was carrying to his horse’s saddle with the utmost care. Tolian went around to the other side of the
tree she was tethered to and urinated, all the while trying to pretend that her
faerie kidnapper wasn’t there. But he
was, and she had never been more self-conscious in her life.
“Quickly, Great One,” he commanded, “We must hurry. Your friends are in hot pursuit. I am quite surprised.”
He came around the horse, took
the rope off the cherry tree, and tied it around his own waist above the dried
heads that
hung from his belt.
“You did not expect pursuit, after kidnapping the heir to
the throne of Lorm?” Tolian
inquired. She was puzzled by his words
and tone. They indicated that this was
news he had evidently just learned. How
was that possible?
“No,” he answered frankly, “I did not expect them to be
able to track us. I used great care to
conceal our passing, but it seems your druid girlfriend is tracking us,
nonetheless.”
“Brythia,” Tolian shouted. Her heart leapt for joy. Her Brythia was following them. “And she’s my wife, not my girlfriend, as you
put it, knave.”
“I do not recognize your sham marriage, beautiful
one. Two females cannot be wed,” he
stated. “But we must move on. Here, get up.” He hoisted her into the saddle and jumped up
in front of her.
“Dowbreth,” Tolian asked, “how is it that you know that
Brythia is leading the party? That
doesn’t even seem possible; she was three weeks journey from Lorm.”
Dowbreth turned to face her. “I do not yet know how the nature witch
arrived so quickly at the palace, nor for that matter how it is that she
follows our trail. But I will know soon,
and I do not care to say how. At least,
not yet.” He laughed ominously.
Dowbreth rode like madness itself. They flew down the road and the trees were a
blur to Tolian. She was so afraid that
she held on to the rope that bound her to the faerie with all she was
worth. They rode so hard and fast that
it was nearly impossible to fix her eyes on any landmark. Occasionally, she thought she could see a
building here or there, but they passed them so quickly that it was difficult
to be certain. Speed. The echo of the hooves that moved so fast
that they sounded like a dragon’s roar, but yet stirred no dust on the dry road
behind them.
After several hours, Tolian finally had become used to
Dowbreth’s frightening pace. She slowly
loosened her grip so that her fingers did not hurt so much. Despite the biting chill of the air, the
cloak the faerie had given her protected her adequately from the cold. At length she was even able to think about
something other than falling to her death off the great faerie horse.
Her first thoughts were of Brythia. How she missed her. Such pain in the depths of her soul could not
be assuaged. She remembered their last
kiss, their last embrace before Brythia had left for Hyge Bryth, a month ago
now. If she closed her eyes, she could
invoke the memory clearly. The sweet
press of her soft lips. The gentle
squeeze of her hug. The longing that
enveloped her even as they released each other.
She had wanted to have sex with her badly then, but Brythia was in a
hurry. Tolian remembered her assurances
that there would be plenty of time for that sort of thing upon her return.
I miss you so badly, my love, she thought.
And now, somehow, at least according to Dowbreth, Brythia
was close on their trail. How could the
druidess possibly manage to return from Hyge Bryth and launch a search party
for her so quickly? Tolian could not
fathom how this was possible, though she had to admit Brythia was full of
surprises of her own. She did not think
that any search party would be able to catch up to them. Wherever they were headed. Then she found herself thinking in circles
again. Where were they headed? Why was Dowbreth doing this in the first
place? She needed more information
before she could figure out exactly was going on. Dowbreth had promised to stop later; she
would try to glean the information from him then.
Tolian was distracted from her thoughts by the sudden
turn that Dowbreth maneuvered his horse into.
In an instant they had gone from the gravel paved road to a narrow game
trail that did not seem capable of allowing the giant horse (let alone the
oversized faerie himself) access. Yet
the horse tore down the path as well as he did the road, moving with a powerful
grace through the dense foliage. Tolian
ducked down low behind Dowbreth, who rode seemingly oblivious to the hardships
of the trail.
Hours passed as Dowbreth urged his dark ethereal steed
through the tangled, overgrown game trail.
Just as the sun sank below the tree line and the edges of the twilight
crept up around them, Dowbreth slowed the beast to a halt in a mossy glade of
white birch.
The cold, dark winter’s quiet suffused the forest. Clouds had rolled in to extinguish the
starlight. Dowbreth once again tied the rope,
which held Tolian to a high tree branch, leaving her enough room to move in a
ten-foot radius. He proceeded to build a
fire without comment. Tolian huddled by
the warming flames. She was tired and
the warmth, which stole over her entire body, began to draw her towards
sleep. She dozed then in unthinking
torpor, staring into the small fire. She
barely paid attention as Dowbreth cooked something on the flames. Her eyes were extremely heavy as the faerie
handed her the leg of some sort of poultry.
She nibbled on it absently.
Tiredness weighted upon her.
She was having difficulty keeping her eyes open. A couple of times she dozed off with the food
still in her mouth.
Sleepily, she noticed that Dowbreth sat quietly across
the fire from her. He, as well, gnawed
on a leg of the unknown poultry. She
struggled to wake up so she could attempt to question the brute. She yawned.
As she fought to awaken, she heard something quite strange. A voice.
She could not swear that she was awake, for the voice
sounded like a voice from a nightmare, a subtle impression, frightening her
“Quickly, you fool, they are near. Leave.
Hurry. Now.” A hiss, muffled, yet malevolent. Strangely familiar. Yet, Dowbreth had not
spoken the words, and he seemed as surprised as she was.
The faerie looked down at the bag sitting next to him on
the ground. The same mysterious bag he
had taken into the forest with him. Yes,
it did seem that the voice had come from the bag. Impossible.
Tolian had little time to ponder this for Dowbreth leapt
up with great urgency.
“Hurry,” he cried, “get up.”
Tolian starred at him dumbly for a moment.
“Now,” he shouted.
The faerie knight picked up the strange bag and quickly,
but carefully secured it to his horse.
Tolian slowly climbed to her feet, clutching the wool cloak tightly
around her. Dowbreth rushed over to the
tree where her rope was tied and worked feverishly to release it.
What
is going
on? Tolian thought.
In the distance, she heard shouting. Dowbreth grabbed her roughly and tossed her
up on to the horse. Tolian strained to
hear the distant voices in the dark of the forest. Did she hear the name “Brythia”? She could not be sure for in a second
Dowbreth jumped behind her on the saddle and the faerie horse charged away into
the thick woods.
Copyright 2004, 2015 Diana Hignutt
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