[Elora]

Vanwe

The light was brighter still when Vanwe’s eyes opened a third time that day. The smell of a sweaty back filled her lungs and her head spun. She was upside down, with a shoulder pressed into her thankfully empty stomach. This time, her eyesight adjusted. The ground was lurching away beneath her. She was being carried by a Man who struggled over the rough ground of a wooded area.

Where am I? Vanwe’s heart began to race. The Man who carried her slung over his shoulder was muttering unhappily in Common Speech.

“How far is it, then,” he called testily ahead of him.

“A mile or so yet,” came a response from somewhere ahead of the man.

“Better be soon, as this one’s not getting’ any heavier and her ladyship will be wantin’ us right quick. You’d think she’d a carted this sack of lead herself but no-ho!”
“What are you complaining about? A jaunt through the woods on a sunny day with a fair Elven lass on your arm…. I mean shoulder. Wouldn’t be often you’d get the chance to toss women about, Ferney.”
“If you spent more time thinkin’ about this Tallas of yours and less time about the tavern wenches you’re used to, boyo, we’d be there already!”

The Man paused in his muttering to readjust Vanwe’s weight on his shoulder. The result sent his shoulder slamming into her stomach. Vanwe twitched beneath his hard grip, squirming. The Man stopped and wrestled her down. For a long instant the two squirmed and tussled, Vanwe grimly silent and the Man grunting and cursing.

"What are you doing," another man asked as he looked on in amazement. Bound hand and foot, Barrold was still struggling with Vanwe as though she were a slippery eel. He caught her under his arm and then finally dropped her on the ground with a oath. He scowled at her from beneath a heavy and sweaty brow and then at the Man who had asked his question.

"Can't 'alf tell whose daughter this one is." He gestured at Vanwe who was presently trying to get some weight beneath her. His companion's reply was light with laughter.

"You're about as good with her as you are with all the ladies. Why don't you take the rope off? That might make her more friendly."

"Why don't you just set her loose whilst you're at it, boyo? She's fixin' to leave, make no mistake." With that the Man bent and took her chin between his fingers and peered into her eyes. He swivelled her head so that the younger Man could also see.

"See what I mean?" Apparently mutiny was clear upon her as the younger Man nodded sagely when he saw.

"Well sort it out, Barrold. We have a ways to go yet." The Man called Barrold scowled at the other.

"Don't recall takin' orders from you, Avanill." Nonetheless, he did release her chin. Vanwe worked her jaw against the lingering pressure of his grip. Barrold straightened and pulled a dagger free of his belt. He leant towards her with it and Vanwe twisted away urgently. She heard the one called Avanill laugh.

"All charm and style with the women," he chortled. Barrold made a grab for her wrists and pulled them and Vanwe back towards him and his dagger.

"Now we’re awake again, Princess, you can do your own legwork. Nothin' too fancy though. You hear me? Nothin' that might make me and Avanill 'ere think you was escapin' or bein' difficult,” Vanwe stared up at the stranger, momentarily unsure of what to do aside from run for the hills. Barrold lifted his dagged and Vanwe tugged away again.

“Hold still, wench,” he roughly ordered before setting his knife to the rope around her ankles. He sliced it off and pulled her up to her stinging, burning feet by the rope binding her wrists. Vanwe swayed a little as she fought to keep her feet. She’d need those to run.

“We’ll move faster now,” the Man said to Avanill as Vanwe swayed precariously. Brandishing the dagger before her, he leaned in threatening, “Walk nice and quiet now, Princess, and I won’t be needing this.”

"She's looks real quiet to me. The stench of your skin would of had me yelping a half hour ago," Avanill stated baldly.
"Take it from me, they don't stay quiet for long... not women,"

Barrold waved his dagger close to her nose and then pricked her arm through her sleeve to make his point. Vanwe watched him sheath it, threat rolling from him in great waves. The Man stank of violence and Vanwe knew that stench well. Still holding the rope at her wrists, he wrenched her forward and forced her to stumble after him, wrists and shoulders aching with each tug on the rope.

"Let's get goin' then. Point the way to Tallas, boyo. The sooner we're there, the sooner we can dump 'er back on 'er mother. Never was interested in playin' nurse maid."

Avanill sketched a mocking bow, and after effusive praise for the gentlemanly manner in which Barrold "escorted" a lady, set back to his task. Vanwe was soon ostensibly alone with Barrold, and the violence that seemed to roll off him in waves. She watched the trees as they passed and she remembered. There may have been trees instead of sand, but this Man was as bad as any of the rest.

Then, as now, she had two choices: escape or wait for a lingering death at his hands. She turned back to scanning the trees. She had already made that choice the night she stole, quiet as a sand mouse, over the dunes.

Perhaps it was not so bad, Vanwe mused as Barrold dragged her forward. Perhaps she was not so far from the Inn afterall.

"Quit yer daydreamin' and watch where yer goin'. I ain't doin' all your work." Barrold sharply pulled the rope between her wrists and Vanwe was pained enough to favour his back with a rebellious scowl that furrowed her brow and set mutinious fires burning again in her blue eyes.