Aethelrien doesn’t see it coming, a boot kicks out, sweeping her off her feet. She lands on her back with a thud. Her bow and sword skitter away across the floor. The dust rises up in a billowing cloud around her. She coughs, stunned from her fall. Suddenly, she is being pulled up by rough hands gripping her by the throat and hair. Another set of hands is gripping her arms, holding them behind her back and is tying her wrists together. “Well, what do we have here?” a croaking voice says. Her head is violently yanked backward, she stifles a cry of pain, and flinches. The hand around her throat loosens slightly and she gulps in a large breath of air.
Her assailant brings his face close to hers, his foul breath reeking. She feels him look at her ears, “Mmmm, seems I caught myself a she-elf. What would this delicate flower be doing here all alone?” He flicks a wicked tongue out and tastes the side of her face.
She flinches and tries to get out his grasp. In response, he tightens his hand around her throat. Her voice rasping, she growls, “I’ll have your head for this.” She glares defiantly at him, baring her teeth.
Bringing his face close to hers, he whispers, “It seems you are no position for threats, beautiful.” He runs a filthy finger down her cheek, scratching it with a blackened fingernail. She spits at him and glares. She receives a hard slap across the face in response.
Finally free of his grip she breathes deeply, and struggles to loosen her bound hands. She continues to glare at him, but remains silent. When he reaches for her again she attempts to dodge his grip, but he catches a fist full of hair and pulls, “On your knees!” She relents, as the pain in her hair intensifies. He flashes her a wicked smile showing her his dirty, yellow teeth. Then, spinning on one heel he addresses the others, “What shall we do with the she-elf, boys? “ Several men lick their lips and eye her hungrily, while others sinisterly chuckle. “Seems that since she trespassed into our territory, we have to show her how wrong it was.” He slides onto his knees in front of her and grips her chin, squeezing hard, “You see, this here is our territory and we don’t need anyone sticking their nose in here.” She flinches at the pain his grip is causing and attempts to wrench her face out of his hand. Gritting her teeth, she glowers and growls angrily. He just chuckles wickedly and slaps her face again.
Aethelrien slumps, her face stinging. She bends her head down and spits, tasting blood from where she bit her cheek. She looks at the group from beneath her eyelashes. The leader’s back is turned. He and the rest of the group stand close together discussing something in heated, hushed voices. Quietly, she bends her body, gaining access to a knife she slides from her boot. She uses it to cut her bindings, but remains on her knees to prevent bringing any attention to her now freed hands. She spins the knife and hides the blade behind one hand. She watches the group, and tries to catch their words.
After several tense moments she hears soft footfalls coming from the tunnel outside the room. Then a deep voice resonates, “Let her go.” She looks up and is relieved to see Chris standing there, a familiar and friendly face.
The men, draw their knives, ready for a fight. One man, hastily lunges at Chris, but is quickly struck down. The other men stand in place, their resolve wavering. They remain facing him with weapons raised.
“I am only going to say this one more time. Let…her…go,” his resonating voice dripping with animosity, “now.”
The leader, her main assailant, steps behind Aethelrien and grips her throat again, his fingers pressing deep. He pulls her to her feet and speaks loudly into her ear, “It seems…your rescuer is under the impression we are willing to negotiate.” Aethelrien blinks, her vision swimming as she gasps. Turning his attention to her friend, “You see, this here she-elf is our prize, and we intend to keep it.” The man once again licks the side of her face, his mouth stinking and slimy. She hears Chris suck in a breath and snarl. Fury fills his face, his eyes blazing.
“You…” Aethelrien struggles to speak, “you…will…pay for…this.” She blinks rapidly, waiting for her moment.
The man lets out a malicious laugh, and his grip loosens slightly. Taking her chance, Aethelrien slides her knife out and slams her hand back, driving it into his side. “Gah!” He cries out and staggers backward, blood seeping through his shirt. He looks down at the knife hilt sticking out, stunned. Aethelrien drops to the ground gasping and choking, her vision blurring.
“Aethel!” Chris shouts her name.
Turning her head, Aethelrien sees his sword gleaming as he swings it, fighting his way through the group to reach her. Aethelrien coughs and rolls to her side, struggling to catch her breath. As her eyes flutter closed, she sees his boots land in front of her. His strong arms lift her from the ground and she moans, “Unhh…” her voice raspy and hoarse. Then all is dark and silent.
