Their attackers emerged quickly and quietly from behind towering pines and spruces. They wore rigid masks that wrapped over their noses and mouths, protruding lupine snouts lined with bone-colored fangs, carved into a rueful smile. Their hands clenched on long, silver-chain weapons that reflected the light of the late-day sun. One of the wolf-men swung the wicked hooked end of his chain in a tight circle, and in a flash, whipped it around Kora’s ankles, jerked the chain, and knocked her off her feet and into the shallow stream.
Everything went dark as her face plunged into the water and smashed into a rock. With her feet being yanked up over her head, she tried to use her arms to push her face out of the water, desperate to catch her breath.
“Landor!” she heard Gram scream.
Hand over hand, the wolf-masked man pulled the taut, silver chain to reel Kora into his grasp. He adroitly wrapped the chain around her arms, her face, and into her mouth, gag-like, and not gently. He had obviously done this before, effortlessly hoisting her up and over his shoulder. As he ran, his chain pulled at the skin at the edges of Kora’s mouth and scraped at her molars. She tasted blood but couldn’t tell if it came from the scraping chain or her bashed forehead.
As Landor raced down the hill, longsword drawn, the two remaining masked men ignored Gram, took a wide stance, chains ready, and prepared themselves for his rush.
Gram took the opportunity to rush the man holding Kora. “Let go of her!” It was a guttural scream, animalistic. She dove at the man’s legs, clutching his calves, trying to slow him down. He reached back and gave her a brutal backhand to the jaw that spun Gram’s head back.
Still, she held on.
Let go! Kora screamed in her head.
The wolf-man jerked one of his legs free and slammed it down on Gram’s arm. Kora heard something crack, and Gram screamed out in agony.
Still, she held on.
Please, let go! Tears ran down Kora’s cheeks and mixed with the blood.
A scabbard sewn onto the side of the man’s boot held a dagger with a polished bone handle. Gram grabbed it with her uninjured arm, drew it, and plunged it into the man’s thigh.
Stop it! Let him go! Kora screamed in her head.
Kora landed on one of the man’s arms, pinning it underneath her. He managed to hold onto the dagger with his free hand, so Gram champed down on his grip with a vicious bite. She got his ring finger and pinky, between the first and second knuckle, refusing to let go. He screamed again as blood spattered her chin. He rolled Kora off his arm and punched Gram with thundering blows until she finally let go, but not before she ripped the skin and muscles off the bone of his fingers.
“Die, you bloody hag,” the man grunted as he switched the dagger to his good hand and plunged it into Gram’s back. The blade pinned her wool shirt to the curve of her back almost up to the handle, and the wool immediately began soaking up blood.
NO! Kora struggled to focus, light-headed.
Gram gritted her teeth and clutched at Kora’s shirt. “I have you,” she promised in a garbled voice, as spots of blood came spraying through her bottom teeth and spotted her upper lip.
Please gods… please gods, no… don’t take her… Kora’s view of Gram blurred as tears poured from her eyes. No matter how hard she struggled and pulled, the chain didn’t budge.
The man in the wolf mask ripped Kora free of Gram’s grasp.
Gram stretched one arm out, fingers splayed, still trying in vain to reach them, unable to get to her feet one last time.
The man grunted with every limping step as he hauled Kora through the woods, away from the stream.
Away from Landor.
Away from Gram.
All of Kora’s senses deadened as she bobbed, upside down, through the trees, and then, finally, thrown unceremoniously onto the back of a black warhorse. Struggling to mount, blood dripping from leg and shorn finger, Kora’s abductor finally pulled himself into the saddle and galloped away.
Kora gave up her struggle to remain conscious. Nothing remained in her body. Nothing remained in her soul. An empty shell.
The world went black.
* * * *
Kora’s wet hair clung to the undulating rump of the horse as it rode through the woods. Her jaw remained wrenched open and the chain tore at the skin on her ankles and wrists.
She didn’t feel it, though. She didn’t feel anything.
From upside down, Kora made out three riders approaching. Unmasked. Two wore dull iron helmets with nose guards and black tunics with a crimson crossed axe and sword embroidered on the chest. The third had grey hair flowing down over his shoulders and a bleached-white wool shirt with buttons made of jade. His tired eyes scanned Kora curiously, but without mercy.
Grey Hair’s eyes narrowed before he called out, “I can see she has them. Volans will be pleased.”
“Where are the others?” one of the helmeted men asked.
“She had an armed escort. Only one though. They should be taking care of him… arrgh… some ways behind me,” Kora’s captor replied through gritted teeth.
“You were right to secure her, above all else. Let’s get her back immediately. She has a gash,” Gray Hair noted, pointing.
“To the hells with her gash. I have a grievous wound needs tending.”
“No. Some crazy old hag. Messy business.”
They all heard the hooves, approaching from behind Kora’s captor.
“My companions…” the masked man said, confidently.
The approaching rider, not quite visible from the woods yet, fired an arrow that plunged through the neck of one of the helmeted men. The soon-to-be-dead man clutched at the blue fletching that protruded from just below his chin and fell out of his saddle.
Kora’s horse whinnied and turned, nervous, allowing Kora to see Landor ride onto the path. He dropped his bow and drew his longsword, the steel singing as it left its scabbard. As he passed by, he slashed at Grey Hair with a smooth, strong stroke that caught the man in the side of the head, caving in his cheek and killing him instantly. “Give me the girl!” he roared. His voice rang deep and full of rage.
The other helmed warrior drew his blade and positioned his mount for an attack. “I am Hernn, a Darkbridge Captain, and you just killed one of the Count’s prized seers.”
“You’re not in Ghault!” Landor replied, “You have no claim to the girl.”
“Hernn,” Kora’s wolf-masked captor called, “I think he’s an Eagle…”
Hernn twitched with doubt, almost imperceptibly, before charging his courser forward.
The two men rode head-on and clashed swords twice before pulling back and circling.
Wolf Mask jumped off his horse and swung another long silver chain, gradually increasing its velocity. One end of the chain, the end he kept close, attached to a nasty silver blade with a spiky protrusion on one edge, while the end he swung in a wide circle looked like a cat-o-nine-tails, each tail tipped with a vicious-looking hook. He whipped that end so that it hooked to Landor’s back and pulled with all his might, jerking Landor out of his saddle.
Landor crashed hard on his back, grunting in pain.
Wolf Mask took the opportunity to rush forward, but the opening closed lightning quick as Landor rolled to his feet and parried the silver blade. Parry, parry, thrust. Landor moved with a fluidity and grace that made even the obviously adept man with the silver chain seem clumsy and labored in comparison. The way the young Laverium held his stance reminded Kora of her father.
Her father. Did she ever have one?
The man in the helmet leaped off his horse and rushed to join the fray on foot, but by then Landor had disarmed his opponent by gripping the chain with his free hand, dashing in close, and slashing down, blade lopping off the masked man’s thumb.
Landor spun around just in time to sidestep a two-handed swing from the man with the helmet, a great arcing blow meant to cleave Landor clavicle to waist. The silver chain was dragging behind Landor, still attached to his chain mail, as the young Eagle scrambled to higher ground.
Apparently, Wolf Mask had seen enough, because he backed away from the fight and struggled again to get onto the horse with Kora.
“You leave, you die!” Landor warned as he traded blows with the helmeted man.
Wolf Mask must have decided to take his chances, because he grunted in pain as he pulled his good leg over the saddle and settled in. The last thing Kora saw as they galloped away was Landor driving his helmeted enemy back with a flurry of blows.
They rode fast. Kora almost fell off twice, but her captor tugged her close before she did. He growled in pain to do it, his pinky and ring fingers still lacerated to the bone. After a short ride, he began grunting with every breath, wheezing. Finally, he pulled his mount to a stop. Kora saw the blood still seeping from the hole in his leg as he rifled through his saddlebag and pulled out a long strip of burlap that he tied around his thigh to stop the bleeding. He poured a clear liquid from a small metal flask onto his fingers and wrapped them too.
“You’d best be worth this,” the man mumbled as he eyed Kora.
They both heard the approaching horse.
“Enough!” her captor yelled. “Take the damned girl.”
“Get off the horse,” Landor’s rasping voice commanded, and the man almost fell from his horse trying to dismount. “Move away from the horse.” Limping footsteps crunched leaves underfoot before Landor continued, “Who sent you?”
“The Count of Darkbridge. He wants the girl.”
“How did he know about her?”
“He is Malus Volans. He knows. As he knows about you.”
“I made you a vow,” she heard Landor say, closer to her now. “You leave, you die.”
“The Lord of Hell take you and your entire bloodline,” the man replied.
“That ship has sailed. The Order of the Silver Chain,” Landor muttered with disdain, “relegated to kidnapping young girls for coin. Your order was noble once.”
Kora heard the man growl in anger.
“Take that dagger out of your boot. I want you armed,” Landor ordered.
The sound of metal on oiled leather.
Footsteps on the ground.
A gasp.
A thud.
A few moments later, Landor gently lowered Kora off the horse.
The man in the wolf mask lay in a heap on the ground, a crumpled, bloodied mess, on his knees, in a fetal position. Six dead. Why? For what? Were these lives any less precious than her own? They would all lose their lives for the dormu-lilies in her blood? It was all so pointless! Was life so meaningless?
Landor unhooked the silver chain that kept her bound and removed it from her mouth, allowing her jaw to mercifully shut.
“Are you hurt?” he asked gently.
“Gram…”
Landor didn’t need to say anything. His eyes and body spoke the truth as he removed the chain from her torso and ankles.
She had her answer.
Yes.
Meaningless.