Page 87 of Through the Wicked Wood

The rope around Jarek groans as he attempts again to wiggle and shimmy out of its hold. “But how could they know about the wolves?” he asks. Quite honestly, I haven’t the faintest idea.

I let the thought simmer as my fingers begin to work on the rope behind me. Whoever tied us made a fatal mistake leaving my hands unbound, and determination outweighs every other emotion flooding through me. The caravan hits another bump and takes a slight decline, which leads me to believe we’re headed off out of the woods, possibly toward Davenport.

“Likely we were followed, probably since Elora used her magick on that moose.” My fingers stretch and work the knot tied around the middle of my back. “Someone knew the wolves would be the perfect lure. Maybe they thought they could get Elora alone.” The rope loosens slightly as I begin on the next knot. I glance at Jarek who has fallen silent. His eyes are glued to Sam who’s tied across from him, her head tilts downward, swaying lightly with every bump and turn of the caravan.

“She’ll be okay,” I say, returning my focus to the rope. “Probably took a hit to the head. You know damn well she didn’t go down without a fight.”

Jarek huffs a laugh before starting again on his own ropes. The man is massive in the tight caravan, his knees would certainly reach the side that Sam and I are positioned on if he wasn’t so balled up. My mind starts turning as I think of a way to escape. Once I’m free of the ropes, I’ll get Sam and Jarek out of theirs, that’s easy enough. I scan our surroundings, looking for any weapons or anything that could be a weapon and fall short. Hand to hand combat it is, then. Just as I work the final knot free from my back, I unwind the rope as Jarek’s voice cuts through the caravan.

“Where the fuck is Galen?” Jarek asks, panic lacing each word.

Sighing, I rest my head on the wooden siding of the caravan for a moment. “Taken,” I whisper, meeting Jarek’s eyes. “I tried to get to him, but I was too late.” Guilt riddles my insides. Galen and Elora needed me, and I failed them. Just as I failed Sam when we ventured to the Wicked Wood. Just as I’ve failed every Enchantress in Teravie for not stopping Roman sooner.

I’m left with no time to weigh the possibilities of how hurt he could be, before the caravan comes to a swift halt, sending me flying forward from the now lack of restraints. Regaining my balance, I quickly untie Jarek, who then begins on Samaria’s ropes. The muffled voices of the guards whirl around us, and I close my eyes to better focus on what I’m hearing.

Their words are indistinct, but I catch three voices. Three guards. I’m almost offended by how easy Roman has made this for me. Does my little brother really doubt my abilities?

“Wake up, Sam,” Jarek whispers to her as he unties the final knot behind her back. She rolls forward into Jarek’s arms, her unconscious body limp, but from what I can see, her breathing is steady.

“She’s not waking up, Sorin.” Jarek’s panic pulses through the small space, but now is not the time. I’m just as worried about my sister, but we have minutes, if we’re lucky, and being one body down is going to make things that much more difficult.

“Lay her on the floor,” I say in a hushed tone. Jarek does as I say. He cradles Sam’s head onto the floor and places her there gently. As he pulls his hand back, it’s blood soaked. Leaning down, I lift her head to get a better look. The contusion is small but still bleeding.

“I’ll kill them all, brother. Let me the fuck out of here and I swear to your gods I’ll kill them all.”

“Lower your voice,” I hiss through my teeth, sitting back in my place, draping the rope loosely around my middle. The guards outside have moved to the back of the caravan. Their laughter is a momentary distraction leaving me a few extra minutes to put a plan in place.

“What the hell is going on ‘ere! What’s she doing on the floor!” the guard yells as he opens the door and steps inside, hand placed lightly on the hilt of the sword.

“She fell.” I roll my head to face him. “Apparently tying a simple knot isn’t among the skillsets of the royal guard.”

“Shut your mouth.” The guard steps towards Sam, and Jarek’s face reddens, his rage about to boil over and ruin any attempt at freedom. I cut him a glance. Not yet. He steadies his breathing as the guard lifts Samaria up, propping her against the back of the caravan.

“Hurry up in there!” a guard shouts from outside. His steps are heavy against rock as he paces back to the front of the caravan where the other stayed put.

Evidently happy with his work, the guard fastens Sam’s ropes and steps toward the exit. Stopping to face me, he leans low. His breath hot in my face. “Try anything,” he says, “and I won’t hesitate to gut you. Boss’ orders or not.” The boss. I fight to roll my eyes, thinking of that ridiculous officer as the boss. I know I shouldn’t but I can’t help myself, so I laugh. A low and drawn out laugh as the guard’s fury dances across his face. Before he can open his mouth, I’m on my feet and have him pinned against the caravan wall.

“You try anything, and I’ll have this sword embedded in your belly before your two mindless companions out there have the slightest inkling as to what’s happening.” Keeping my voice low, I pull the sword from its sheath at his side, as well as the dagger he wears on his opposite hip. Jarek’s already untying Sam as I hold the guard by his throat, my nails digging into the flesh. “Do you understand?” I ask him as my fingers tighten even further. With wide eyes he does his best to nod. “Good.”

With Sam untied and tucked into Jarek’s arms, I quietly push the guard out the back of the door, keeping the dagger pinned against his back.

“About time,” one of the guards shouts as the door of the caravan slams shut. With slow steps I weave the guard in my captivity toward the front. With Samaria placed gently under a nearby tree, Jarek’s footsteps follow closely. The sword I swiped from the guard now looks comically small in his large hands. He silently moves to the opposite side of the caravan while I make my way to the front. Night is deep and with how sporadic the trees grow, I can tell we were headed east, likely to Davenport as I suspected. Luckily, as I round the corner, the moon gives just enough of her light to see the shock that spills over the guards faces as I come into view.

“Lower your weapons, or your pal here will cease to breathe another breath.” The guards swap glances at each other before they break into laughter.

“You think we give two shits about ‘im? Go on then, make right on your word. Won’t stop the boss from slitting you across the middle when we haul your sorry asses to ‘im.” Before their boots can land in the dirt, Jarek’s growl pierces the air as the swing of the sword blows through the first guard, leaving his innards displayed grotesquely across the caravan.

The second guard jumps down and immediately bolts through the woods. Coward. The guard I’m holding uses my momentary distraction to his advantage, wriggling free before spinning on me.

“You should be ashamed, mingling with that filthy Enchantress,” he says, pulling a hidden dagger from his boot. His words ignite a rage within me I didn’t know I possessed. It takes two strides before I’m on him. My fist collides with his jaw, a loud crack sounds through the forest as he stumbles backwards, pinning himself between me and the caravan.

The shock of my punch has caused him to drop his dagger, and I kick it away, reuniting my hand with his throat.

“What did you say,” I whisper, leaning down so I’m inches away from his face.

“No–nothing,” he stammers, blood trickling from the split in his lip.

“Tell me where she is,” I whisper, inching my face closer, wrapping my palm tighter around his throat.

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