On either side of him, peering down at him, were two average-height and athletically built men; one with long black hair and the other with shoulder-length brown hair. They were wearing filthy tan breeches and once-white shirts, now stained with dirt and other substances that Albert’s mind wouldn’t allow him to process.
They both held broadswords in their hands as they glared down at him with menace. And standing on his chest was a tall, wiry bald man with an only slightly cleaner white shirt beneath a black vest and matching breeches, and the black boots, one of which was creeping its way up to Albert’s throat.
“You will stay right here, and you will not move,” the man in the vest hissed. “And maybe, we’ll let you live.”
The other two men howled with laughter, the black-haired one tracing the ground beside Albert’s head with his sword.
“Probably not, though,” he said. “Unless you’re willing to trade your pretty little companion here for your life.”
Albert’s confusion and disbelief cleared in an instant. His sense heightened and his mind flashed images of the men doing terrible things to Cordelia. He stopped struggling and looked up at the man with his foot on him and shook his head.
“Take whatever you want,” he said. “Just leave my Cordelia alone.”
The men laughed as though Albert had just told a funny joke. The man stepping on him pressed down with his foot, making it harder for Albert to breathe.
“I dare say that you’re in no position to give orders,” he bellowed. “We’re in charge here, and we’ll do as we please.”
As if to emphasize the fact, Cordelia shrieked a second later. Albert twisted his head to see the other two men dragging Cordelia from the coach. Tears streamed down her cheeks and her black hair was coming free from its combs and pins and falling down in her face.
Albert watched with horror as one of the men pulled her up against him and held a gun to her head. The man put his face against her neck and drew in a deep breath.
“What a pretty smelling flower she is,” he said in a tone that made Albert’s blood boil.
Cordelia sobbed, struggling vainly against the man.
“Get your foul breath away from me,” she cried. She was trying to sound authoritative, but her horror made her feel like a frightened child.
Albert thought quickly. He had to do something to make them release Cordelia before they did a type of harm to her that she would never recover from. And from the man’s hand placement, he was only moments away from doing just that. Albert made a grand show of seizing on the ground, then forced his panicked body to go completely limp. He doubted they’d believe he was dead, as he was sure they had taken more than a few lives. But he needed them to believe that he was dying, or at least unconscious.
It worked. The man standing on him stepped off him. Albert had his eyes firmly closed, but he suddenly sensed the man’s face close to his. Albert did his best to hold his breath and not move as the man began feeling for a pulse.
“Is he dead?” one of the other men asked.
Cordelia wailed at his question.
“No, Albert,” she screamed, sobbing again. “Albert, please, get up.”
The man touching Albert was mumbling to himself. The other two men began muttering to one another, and Albert knew he had to make a quick move.
“I don’t know if…” the man above Albert began, but Albert didn’t let him finish his sentence. He opened his eyes and grabbed the man’s arm, swinging his leg around and connecting with the side of the man’s body. The element of surprise afforded Albert a bit of luck, and he managed to get the man onto the ground. It was foolish, and he knew he would likely be killed. But he knew that Cordelia would be able to get away in the confusion.
As anticipated, an instant later, the other two men were on his back. The three of them tussled, punching and kicking and thrashing on the ground. Albert made eye contact with Cordelia for a brief second, and he made the instant count.
“Go, darling,” he shouted, pleading to her with his eyes. But the man who had been standing on him rolled him over, breaking his eye contact with her. An instant later, he and one of the other men had Albert pinned completely to the ground. The third man was looming over him with something in his hand, held high above his head.
At the last minute, as the object came flying at his head, Albert saw that it was a small pocket knife. He felt the first cut on his right cheek, and the second, but after that, his whole body began to feel numb and cold. He lost count of how many times the man brought his arm down toward Albert’s face, and soon, his vision began to darken. The last thing he heard before everything went dark was Cordelia shouting for help at the top of her lungs.Please, get out of here, my love,he pleaded silently as a strange, hot liquid rapidly covered his face.I love you forever, Cordelia…
***
The next two weeks of Albert’s life were a blur of agony, hushed voices and cold metal instruments, and fever dreams. He was beginning to believe that he was dead, and in purgatory, when he finally awoke to a state of reasonable consciousness about two weeks after the attack. What woke him was a searing pain in his right cheek. His eyes shot open, and a blurry figure slowly came into focus.
“Forgive me, my lord,” said a man in a doctor’s coat. “Your wounds ran deep, and some of them are having trouble healing. The bandages stick to them, no matter what I have tried.”
Albert shook his head, the room spinning as he did so.
“What?” he asked, wincing against the pain.
The physician put a hand on his shoulder and gently pressed him back against the bed.
