attackers?
In her moment’s hesitation, a
jarring blow struck the back of her head. A rock. The sharp pain shattered her
thoughts. A curse escaped her mouth and the hillside reeled before her. She
staggered backwards into the arms of an unseen attacker. Vision fuzzy, she
wriggled to escape his grip. A calloused hand pried her knife away.
“Get away!” she screamed. She
elbowed the one holding her, but he caught hold of her arms and held them
together behind her back. She kicked the darker one in the gut. “Let me go!”
she hollered at the top of her voice. “You filthy criminals, leave me alone!”
She dropped mostly to the ground
as quickly as she could, suspended only by the iron grip of the man behind her.
She felt him stagger at her sudden movement and she elbowed his knee as hard as
she could. The man screamed and stepped back, but another one rushed forward
and pushed her to the ground.
Adala’s face met the dirt. One of
her attackers sat on her back. The weight crushed her against the satchel,
which was still strung over her shoulder. She saw nothing, but heard the
scuffling of boots and hasty communication between her attackers. “Get the leather--
bind her legs.” “You get her arms.” “Don’t let her get away now!”
She wiggled and cried out,
fighting the panic that threatened to consume her. She used the full force of
her sailor’s vocabulary, cursing them, their children, their families.
The work on her legs was finally
finished, and the figures in her peripheral vision backed away to see what she
would do. With the weight removed from her rib cage and her limbs restricted
with bindings, Adala’s urge to scream turned into an urge to cry. All this
way, just to be captured by a band of teenagers in the hills, she thought
bitterly. Don’t show any weakness. Not to these vagabonds. Get up, Adala .
She rolled onto her side and curled into a sitting position, legs beneath her.
She sat in the dirt and surveyed
her attackers. Four of them, in all. None resembled the build of her mother’s
murderers. They were barely men, one of them perhaps younger than herself.
Their skin was browned by the sun and their clothes faded. The oldest appeared
to be the darker one, and he looked to be of Diggerish ancestry perhaps. Maybe
farther south. He had the curly hair and rounded features similar to sailors
from that region. He also appeared to be the leader of this confused bunch, as
he was the first to break away from his puzzled gaze.
“Trigg,” he said, addressing the
smallest companion, “go tell Jarod that we need men to take her back to the
village. Tell him to send a couple at least.”
Adala listened with more interest.
If these young men were lookouts for a village, she may be on the right track
after all.
The one with dark features
continued giving commands. “Boggs, go collect your weapons; this is ridiculous.
Hal, see if she’s got anything good in her supplies.”
A boy with a missing front tooth
stepped forward. He must have been the one with the knife, or the one who hit
her head with the rock. Either way she did not like him.
“Oi, Tobin,” he called, poking her
bag. “I can’t get her bag off of her because we tied her hands around the
strap.”
Tobin sighed. “Just cut it. That’s
easier than tying her up again.”
The toothless one took a blade to
the strap of her satchel.
“That’s my weapon, you pig,” she
muttered, anger flaring in her chest.
“Ain’t it fine?” he said. His grin
made her sick. “A knife like this is hard to come by out here, unless you know
the right people.”
“Unless you ambush the right
people, more like.”
He tossed a skirt out of her bag,
saying, “At least we know you dress like a lady sometimes. Ah, here we have the
good stuff.” He gnawed on the last of her dried meat. “This is why I love being
a lookout, Tobin,” he called. “You want some?”
“This one’s all yours.” Tobin
squatted an arm’s length from Adala and
In her moment’s hesitation, a
jarring blow struck the back of her head. A rock. The sharp pain shattered her
thoughts. A curse escaped her mouth and the hillside reeled before her. She
staggered backwards into the arms of an unseen attacker. Vision fuzzy, she
wriggled to escape his grip. A calloused hand pried her knife away.
“Get away!” she screamed. She
elbowed the one holding her, but he caught hold of her arms and held them
together behind her back. She kicked the darker one in the gut. “Let me go!”
she hollered at the top of her voice. “You filthy criminals, leave me alone!”
She dropped mostly to the ground
as quickly as she could, suspended only by the iron grip of the man behind her.
She felt him stagger at her sudden movement and she elbowed his knee as hard as
she could. The man screamed and stepped back, but another one rushed forward
and pushed her to the ground.
Adala’s face met the dirt. One of
her attackers sat on her back. The weight crushed her against the satchel,
which was still strung over her shoulder. She saw nothing, but heard the
scuffling of boots and hasty communication between her attackers. “Get the leather--
bind her legs.” “You get her arms.” “Don’t let her get away now!”
She wiggled and cried out,
fighting the panic that threatened to consume her. She used the full force of
her sailor’s vocabulary, cursing them, their children, their families.
The work on her legs was finally
finished, and the figures in her peripheral vision backed away to see what she
would do. With the weight removed from her rib cage and her limbs restricted
with bindings, Adala’s urge to scream turned into an urge to cry. All this
way, just to be captured by a band of teenagers in the hills, she thought
bitterly. Don’t show any weakness. Not to these vagabonds. Get up, Adala .
She rolled onto her side and curled into a sitting position, legs beneath her.
She sat in the dirt and surveyed
her attackers. Four of them, in all. None resembled the build of her mother’s
murderers. They were barely men, one of them perhaps younger than herself.
Their skin was browned by the sun and their clothes faded. The oldest appeared
to be the darker one, and he looked to be of Diggerish ancestry perhaps. Maybe
farther south. He had the curly hair and rounded features similar to sailors
from that region. He also appeared to be the leader of this confused bunch, as
he was the first to break away from his puzzled gaze.
“Trigg,” he said, addressing the
smallest companion, “go tell Jarod that we need men to take her back to the
village. Tell him to send a couple at least.”
Adala listened with more interest.
If these young men were lookouts for a village, she may be on the right track
after all.
The one with dark features
continued giving commands. “Boggs, go collect your weapons; this is ridiculous.
Hal, see if she’s got anything good in her supplies.”
A boy with a missing front tooth
stepped forward. He must have been the one with the knife, or the one who hit
her head with the rock. Either way she did not like him.
“Oi, Tobin,” he called, poking her
bag. “I can’t get her bag off of her because we tied her hands around the
strap.”
Tobin sighed. “Just cut it. That’s
easier than tying her up again.”
The toothless one took a blade to
the strap of her satchel.
“That’s my weapon, you pig,” she
muttered, anger flaring in her chest.
“Ain’t it fine?” he said. His grin
made her sick. “A knife like this is hard to come by out here, unless you know
the right people.”
“Unless you ambush the right
people, more like.”
He tossed a skirt out of her bag,
saying, “At least we know you dress like a lady sometimes. Ah, here we have the
good stuff.” He gnawed on the last of her dried meat. “This is why I love being
a lookout, Tobin,” he called. “You want some?”
“This one’s all yours.” Tobin
squatted an arm’s length from Adala and
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