Page 101 of Silverbow
Kolvar chuckled. “Big men are they? The whole lot of them?”
Anger caught like dry brush. “Bigger than you.”
“And I bet better with a sword too,” he smirked.
“Blademasters, actually.”
Kolvar chuckled. “Get off your horse.”
Enya was rather tired of men and their orders. She thought of telling him exactly what he could do with them when a sharp crack across the back of her head stole her breath and set her swaying. She raised a hand to her scalp on instinct, her fingers coming away wet. She was staring at the blood, dazed, as Kolvar strode forward and shoved her roughly, toppling her from her saddle.
She cried out when she landed awkwardly on her shoulder. The air was driven from her lungs as a sickening crunch filled her ears. Stars exploded in her vision as she rolled onto her back, unable to move her arm. A round man who looked like a wine barrel on legs came to tower over her, twirling a slingshot in a meaty hand. Her mind worked slowly, jumbled by the impact of what had surely been a stone against her skull.
“Search her.”
Enya fumbled for her belt knife but the bulky man drove a boot into her hand and kicked it away. This was so much worse than the brigands or Trowbridge and the tangle of panic and rage that came spilling out threatened to strangle her.
“Don’t be difficult, lass.” He squatted next to her with more dexterity than a man of his conformation should have, and his hands reached for the bow still slung around her back.
She tried to shove him away, but another man grabbed her wrists and twisted her arms behind her. A surge of pain in her shoulder ripped a scream from her lungs. She tried to kick and thrash, but the barrel of a man sat on her knees, leaving her to do little but drum her heels against the earth like a child throwing a tantrum.
“I do like a girl with a bit of fight,” he chuckled.
Revulsion curdled her insides. “Let me go!” She screamed.
His hands roved over her hips, turning out her pockets as Kolvar and the wiry man emptied her saddle bags onto the ground. When those hands roamed over her backside, Enya spat. The barrel shaped man wiped it away and backhanded her with so much force, she saw stars again. The one holding her arms twisted harder, setting her shoulder afire. She went rigid and couldn’t find a protest as thick fingers caught on the cord of the signet ring hanging between her breasts. She could hardly find the air to keep breathing.
He ripped the cord free and held it up to the light. “What’s this? A suitor’s claim?”
Kolvar’s laugh cut off her answer as he held up the jar of powdered dye she used to darken her hair.
Shit.
“Donnal, bring me her waterskin.”
Enya jerked feebly as the wiry bowman hurried toward her. The quiver her father had given her was slung over his back. She eyed it and the carving that lay in the dirt at her side, so close, yet out of reach. The things that kept her anchored were suddenly gone. She threw her head back into the man who held her, but he twisted her arm so hard, Enya collapsed into his chest, tears rolling down her cheeks.
Kolvar uncorked the waterskin and poured the contents over Enya’s head. Brown dye ran down her face and dripped onto her shirt. He leaned forward and looked at her hair, copper again where the powder washed away.
“Now,” Kolvar grinned. “Why would a girl with such pretty hair want to hide it, Donnal?”
Her captors sniggered.
“Hello, lovely. A lot of people have been looking for you.”
Enya hated herself for the desperate sob that escaped her.
“It looks like we owe the High Lord of Pavia a visit. Put her with the witch.”
“Kolvar-” the barrel of a man protested.
“Put her with the witch. And keep her quiet.”
Enya’s dust scarf was balled up and stuffed roughly into her mouth. She struggled against the hands holding her as the barrel shaped man discarded the leather cord and pushed Oryn’s ring onto a pudgy finger. “I think I’ll keep this for now.”
The scarf stifled the cries that came from her as she was dragged through the underbrush, sticks and thorns tearing at her skin like a hundred little daggers. They finally stopped next to a horse line deep in the copse. A man brought forth heavy irons to clasp at her wrists and ankles. Panic squeezed her chest.No. No.
Enya shifted her tear fogged gaze to Arawelo. The mare was led toward the picket where a dozen horses turned their heads to study the newcomer. She too had planted her feet, and was being whipped by a man with a short crop as two others tugged on her bridle. Another sob tore from Enya’s throat as she watched the crop land brutally but the sound was swallowed by the gag.
