Page 3 of Prize of the Warlord
“Tell me what you plan to do with me.”
He switches the reins to one hand and wraps the other hand around my throat. His fingers are thicker and more powerful than those of the ruffian who slung me over his shoulder.
“Such a tiny neck,” he says.
I whimper, cringing from the throat-hold, but the movement only presses my back harder to his chest.
“A scraggly mewling imp,” he growls. “And you’re the one who’s to marry the prince? My dick is thicker than this little neck of yours.”
The image of a male member as thick as my neck rises in my mind, and I squirm, terrified. “Am I your hostage?”
“You’re my prize. My new leverage.” He barks a laugh. “That is, if you survive long enough. We’ve got a rough ride ahead.”
4
The cold stabs my feet, shooting bright agony along my nerves. I’m crying, and I don’t even try to hide it or stay quiet. I sob openly, jolting against Deep-Voice’s chest while we ride. He’s holding the reins in both hands again, and from the sharp hiss of his breath I guess my crying is beginning to wear on him.
Finally he slaps the reins into one hand and clamps the other over my mouth. “If I put something on your feet will you shut up?” he snarls.
I nod, while my tears leak onto his fingers.
“Hold!” he shouts, and the rest of the riders pull to a halt.
We’re at the fringes of the wood that blankets the foothills. Somewhere in this forest, more of my father’s men are stationed. I wish I’d paid closer attention to all my parents’ talk of border reinforcements. I was never any good with maps, not even when I had a tutor, and my sense of direction isn’t worth horse-shit. Even if I ran right now, I wouldn’t know which way to go.
Still, I have to try.
Deep-Voice dismounts, pulls me off the horse, and throws me onto the ground, into the wet litter of the forest. With the fur covering gone, I feel more naked and frozen than ever. At least the black canopy of leaves overhead keeps out most of the rain.
I still can’t make out much about my captors—too dark. Deep-Voice seems to be rummaging in a saddle-bag.
Now’s my chance.
When I try to stand, my frozen feet scream, but I grit my teeth and half-stumble, half-scamper away, into the forest. My hands flail in front of me, brushing against tree trunks and branches in the inky dark.
Behind me, the men are laughing.Laughing, because they know I’m trying to escape, and they’re mocking the foolish attempt.
Jaw clenched, I try to run faster—but a band of sinew and leather slams around my waist—a burly arm sweeping me off my feet.
Even my scream is thin and weak, and my flailing doesn’t seem to affect the man carrying me at all. He plunks me down on the ground again and jams a pair of thickly furred soft shoes onto my feet. Then he tosses me onto the horse and swings up behind me.
Squeezing a fistful of my hair, he jerks my head to the side. His thick warm lips brush my ear, and the rush of hot breath is almost painful against my cold flesh. “Next time make it a challenge,” he murmurs.
I lose track of how many hours we’ve been riding. At one point, Deep-Voice’s men dismount and clear a tangle of trees so the horses can enter a narrow gap, a rocky cleft in the heart of the mountain. It’s a secret pass, practically a tunnel. The horse can barely fit through, and the rock walls rise high and sheer on either side.
Far, far above us, the night sky has cleared a little—just enough to allow a watery silver moon to shine through the clouds. With that hazy white glow so high above, and the black slabs of rock hemming me in, I feel as if I’m at the bottom of the world, or at the bottom of an infinitely deep well.
After a while the cleft in the mountain widens, creating a sort of rocky room. There are a few spindly trees and a thin rivulet of water. The raiders dismount, drink, and piss against the rock.
My captor doesn’t move from his horse, and I shift uncomfortably, conscious of my own bladder and its needs. I have to speak up now, or be forced to ride in agony for who knows how long.
“I need to relieve myself,” I murmur.
Without answering, Deep-Voice dismounts and yanks me to the ground with him. He takes a handful of my hair and pulls me toward the rock wall before letting go. “Do it then.”
I scan the dozen burly fur-clad figures. The faint trickle of moonlight sharpens their rugged features and glints in their shadowed eyes.
Deep-Voice takes my throat in his hand, pulling me closer. His face is still shrouded in the dark shadows of his fur-lined hood. “I said, do it.”
