Chapter 3

AFTER A WHILE, I BEGAN TO LOSE track of things. I couldn’t remember how many days we had been traveling in this tiny cart; I couldn’t remember how long I’d been here. Days and nights blurred together, punctured only by mad dashes for the daily crusts of stale bread and dirty water that were our only sustenance. Since the last addition of people to the cart, the only way you could get any space to yourself was by standing up. If you sat, you got trampled. So I hooked my arms though the bars and held onto them tightly, watching without seeing as the forest scenery passed by.

A tiny flicker of movement caught my eye. I tried to squint and see what it was. A bird perhaps? Or some type of cute and furry woodland animal?

I could tell that the forest was a little less thick than it had been; meadows were more frequent, and the path we had been following seemed to be getting wider. Once, we even saw another cart, just like the one we were in, yet there was no one in it. I heard the others, the Alfars, whisper to each other, their tones plainly displaying their worry and unease. Not for the first time, I wondered what they were saying, but I didn’t attempt to ask. I had long since given up trying to talk to anyone.

The flicker touched at the corner of my eye again. It struck me as odd, since all I had seen of this forest had been extremely still and quiet. I had no idea what it was, and I was prepared to just write it off as a bird but then I saw it again; and unless there was some sort of weird species that was six feet tall then it was not a bird I was staring at. My imagination started to go haywire with all the gruesome, man-eating possibilities.

I continued with my scrutiny of the trees around me with wide eyes, waiting for a three-headed monster or a werewolf to come bounding out of the shadows, growling with blood dripping from its fangs, but saw nothing else. At least five minutes had passed as I stared hard at my surroundings, but nothing moved, nothing made a sound except the rustlings of the cart and stamp of marching boots from the soldiers in red uniforms.

A few minutes later, a faint whizzing sound came to my attention. I looked around to see the source, and my hand was nearly taken off as a long, thin piece of wood with black feathers on the end embedded itself deep into the wood barely inches away from my right thumb. I scrambled back, eyes wide and unable to breathe. What the hell was that?

One of the red-wearing guards saw my sudden movement and looked at the thing sticking out of the cart. He wore the same shocked face I probably did, and began to shout.

“Attack! Arrows on the right!”

A split second’s hesitation was all it took for two of them to go down as about four more arrows came flying out of nowhere. I could see our attackers now. Men in dark clothes who were hiding in the trees came rushing out toward us as another onslaught of arrows arched over. The man who always addressed me as ‘Rabbit’ issued commands and I discovered in the ensuing mayhem that he was the man in charge. Captain―that was what they kept calling him.

The Alfars in the cage with me began to get excited when the cloaked men appeared out of the forest, clambering about and shouting in their strange language. The Alfars rushed to the door and I got thrust aside again, rammed hard into the wooden bars. For a moment I couldn’t breathe and I slid down to the floor, gasping for air. As I struggled, a man in red and a man in black began fighting right next me. I watched, horrified, as they both pulled out swords and the clash of metal on metal filled the air. It went on for some time; I had not realized my ability to breathe had returned until the hyperventilation set in. Oxygen came in short gasps as I stared around at my surroundings, unable to understand what was going on.

The two men fighting near me had dropped their weapons and were now throwing punches; the hooded dark one was much better at it, getting in three hits for each one he received. Eventually, however, the guard in red turned the fight around and pretty soon the hooded attacker was slammed up against the cart, the force of the impact shaking the bars. A knife was pulled out and the sun glinted maliciously on the metal blade. The hooded man struggled vainly to reach his sword, but was still a few feet out of reach. His arm also came back to grab for the black-feathered arrows that were strapped to his back, but because of the angle of his arm he was unsuccessful. They struggled some more, before the man in red slammed the cloaked man back up against the cart again.

What happened next happened within the space of seconds, and before I knew what had happened, the whole thing was over. I stared in shock as the man in red suddenly stiffened and released his opponent, then fell to the ground, eyes wide and one hand clutching desperately at the bloody sliver of wood sticking out of his neck. He was making a sickening, gurgling sound, and as his mouth opened, blood began to well up and spill over the side of his lips, joining the pool that had already begun to soak into the ground. Both the cloaked man and I watched, motionless, as the man’s eyes turned glassy.

He had been stabbed by the arrow someone had shot at the cart minutes before.

A shout came from off to the left, breaking the horrific moment and giving me the ability to look away. The cloaked man jerked his head up too, turning around swiftly, his hood sweeping back. He turned in my direction, and his eyes passed over me once before they looked sharply back.

I gasped. The cloaked man was Cambrian.

“Lei-lah?” he asked questioningly, taking a step forward. I scrambled back away from him as far as I could. He had murdered a person just now! He halted his advance when I shrank back from him, one hand still outstretched towards the wooden bars separating us.

"Cambrian!" someone shouted, and he looked up, calling back to the man in that foreign language. There was a hurried conversation between them that I could barely hear over the insanity that was taking place all around us. After a pause, he ran towards the other side of the cage, where the door was.

He was going to let us out. There was a scrambling towards the entrance, and I was pushed back again as the others clambered to get out before I did. Some of Cambrian’s friends rushed over and helped, ushering people out of the small opening.

When it was clear, I started for the exit as well, heading for Cambrian’s outstretched hand. I was still wary about trusting this strange man, but compared to the other people I had met in the past few days he was starting to look like my knight in shining armor―with the exception of him brutally murdering someone just now.

I lunged forward, but was forcibly jerked back. I fell to the hard wooden floor of the cart, bewildered as to why in the hell that didn’t work as it was supposed to.

“You’re not going anywhere, rabbit,” the Captain of the Red Coats said roughly to me. I looked to my left, and saw that he had grabbed onto the edge of my cloak through the bars, keeping me from escaping. “They’ll kill you when they find out you’re not one of them.”

A glint caught my eye, and I saw Cambrian had come into the cart to cut me free. He pulled me up and pushed me behind him, holding a wicked-looking knife out in defense.

“I give you two days,” he added, a nasty smile on his face, as he quickly retracted his hand to prevent it from being cut. “You should have stayed with us.” And with that, he turned quickly and drew his own sword, coming to the rescue of one of his red-coated comrades.

Cambrian grabbed my arm and began pulling me forward out of my wooden prison. His hand was rough on the skin of my upper arm; I could feel both the calluses on his fingers and the soft leather of the fingerless gloves he was wearing. I tripped and stumbled very ungracefully as he led me out and helped me down.

As soon as I was out of the cage I was more aware of what was going on. My feet hit the soft grass of the forest floor and reality hit me full on. There were people everywhere, the sharp sound of metal on the air as the two groups of people fought each other with swords. The others who had been prisoners with me had scattered; I caught glimpses of many shooting off into the forest, and those who weren’t able to follow as quickly were helped along by Cambrian’s people. Things seemed more and more like a third-rate fantasy movie, where it was hard to follow the action and the sound was disjointed.

The fighting wasn’t as thick as it had been a couple minutes ago, and I could see the Alfars were slipping off into the trees one by one. The remaining Imperials headed for us now; looking around for more dark-clothed attackers and only finding me, Cambrian, and the two others with us.

“Arreh,” Cambrian whispered into my ear, pushing me off to the left. I looked back at him, unsure. Did he want me to follow the others into the forest? He stared at me intently, waiting for me to do something, but I remained motionless. I was afraid to go off by myself, the reality of getting lost weighing heavily on my mind, the fear of being alone overcoming my fear of these murdering strangers.

“Arreh!” he repeated, more forcefully this time. There was a wall of red sitting on the outer edges of my vision, marching closer with each passing second. I took a step back, in the direction of the trees, but did no more than that, still unreasonably torn in my decision.

“Run!” he shouted at me finally, shoving me away.

I bolted.

Trees flew past me as I ran, low hanging branches cutting at my face and arms, pulling at the cloak that was flapping out behind me. I had no idea where I was going, nor did I care. I was just running blind in the direction pointed out for me. Through my fear, the delayed realization that Cambrian had actually said a word I’d understood infiltrated my brain.

I could hear footsteps thumping on the ground behind me, and I sped up my pace. I did not look back to see whether it was Cambrian or a soldier in red; deep down I knew that I wanted to get away from both groups. I wanted to get home.

My muscles were sore, protesting that I kept making them work long after they had lost the ability. A part of me was screaming, demanding that I stop and figure out where I was going, but I couldn’t. If I stopped they would catch me.

This was beginning to feel like that one recurring dream I had, where I was being chased by this scary, shadowy man. The faster I ran, the slower I got. The man behind me would always get closer and closer, and I remember that in my dream I would scream and no sound would come out.

I kept on running through the forest, like I had in my dream, and I could hear the footsteps gaining on me. But instead of slowing down, I tripped. Misjudging the height of an uplifted tree root, my foot got caught as I attempted to jump over it and I was sent smashing to the ground. Mud splattered all over me as I collapsed. I couldn’t get up; my ankle was twisted and tangled in some sort of vine. I turned quickly to pull myself free, my breath coming in short, barely adequate gasps as fear began to take a tighter hold.

A man in a red uniform had been the monster who was chasing me, coming on twice as fast now that I had suddenly been brought up short. His sword was held up, gleaming in the shadowy light that was able to make it through the thick foliage above. The crunch of the footsteps behind me was loud in my ears as struggled to free myself, the task a hundred times more difficult than it should have been because my fingers refused to cooperate.

“Now I have you,” he snarled, and I recognized the man as the Captain.

“What do you want?” I asked, a slight hint of hysteria and panic in my voice.

“I have orders to bring you to his Imperial Majesty,” he said, walking closer, not lowering his sword.

“Imperial Majesty of what?” I asked him.

He laughed. “Very funny, rabbit.”

I tried even harder to pull away from the tree, ignoring the sharp protests from my ankle. If I freed myself now, I would have plenty of time to scramble up and run before his sword came into range of any part of my body.

“You’re tangled up in there nice and tight,” he remarked as he looked at what I was doing, stepping forward and finally closing my only window of escape. “It’s going to be a hassle to get you out of that….However, the Emperor did say I was to bring you to him, though he wasn’t clear on the manner of your condition when you were presented,” he mused thoughtfully, out loud and apparently for my benefit. “Since you’ll be in the cart the whole way, I’m sure you won’t need the use of that leg any longer.”

To my horror, he lowered his sword and rested the cold, steely edge on the skin of my calf, about three inches above my ankle. It cut easily through my jeans, and he pressed it slowly into my skin. I could feel the sharp metal digging into me, biting my lip to keep from crying out as a small line of blood trickled down the pale skin of my leg to drip with a soft sound onto the leaves of the forest floor.

The Captain put more pressure on his sword, and this time a small, pathetic whimper escaped my lips as the pain increased. He chuckled.

I wanted to cry out for help, but who would come for me?

Who would be able to hear me, anyway? I tensed up and braced myself for the inevitable pain that was sure to come as the sword began to cut deeper into my leg.

I heard the soft whizzing a mere half-second before the black-feathered arrow appeared in the Captain’s shoulder. He howled in pain and staggered back. My eyes widened in shock.

Cambrian stepped out of the forest to my left, another arrow set and ready to go in his bow. He looked very frightening; his expression set and his body tensed, dark hair swept out of his face by a slight wind.

“Cambrian!” the man in red said angrily, grabbing at the arrow in his shoulder and pulling it out roughly.

“Captain,” he responded coolly.

“I think you’re mistaken in trying to save this girl,” the Captain said, pointing to me. “She’s not one of you.” Cambrian said nothing, but continued his advance. “Well, it’s no use talking to you, as usual,” he persisted. “Can’t understand a word I’m saying, can you, Alfar rhon-dai?”

At the last word, Cambrian lunged forward with a wordless, angry shout escaping from his lips his calm exterior falling away rapidly. I tried to scramble out of his path as best I could, but I didn’t get far. My foot was still hopelessly tangled. He spit out a couple of words that were full of hate and wrath, and I had no trouble guessing their meaning. The Captain laughed and pulled his sword back up. I was now fully aware that there was going to be a fight right where I was trapped on the ground.

“Cambrian!” I half-whimpered, half-murmured, not sure exactly why I called his name. It worked, however, and he startled out of his enraged trance and looked down at me concernedly. There was a very tense moment of complete silence.

Then everything happened at once. The Captain brought his sword up quickly, taking advantage of the momentary aversion of his attention, but Cambrian brought his eyes back up immediately and shot the arrow he had ready. I didn’t see whether or not he had hit his mark, because as soon as the arrow left his hands Cambrian was down on his knees, cutting me free from the tree and helping me up with both hands. I stumbled and winced as I put my weight on the damaged foot―I thought I might have sprained it when I fell―but I followed him as he grabbed my hand and led me at a fast pace through the forest.

Shouts echoed through the trees behind us, and he sped up, dodging expertly between the trees. Air ripped in and out of my lungs too fast for it to be of any help whatsoever. With each step, pain shot up through my leg from my injured ankle, but I tried my best to ignore it. We were ahead of the red coats, just barely.

An arrow cut a deadly, whistling path through the air a couple feet from me, lodging itself into a tree with a sickening thud. I pushed harder to get myself to run, this new fear of getting shot down sending what was left of my adrenaline through my veins. I’d never been shot at by arrows before. It was terrifying.

There was no way I was keeping this up for much longer.

Cambrian pulled me off to a sharp left. Another arrow whizzed by, and this one tugged a little at my hair as it flew past. The trees began to thin. I looked behind us, and to my horror, I saw the red uniforms were much closer than I thought.

“Cambrian!” I cried, desperate, not knowing why I did so. I had no idea what those soldiers were going to do to me if I was caught, but considering the fact that they were shooting sharp, medieval objects at me it wasn’t going to be pleasant.

I gasped with every stride, trying not to run on my bad foot, yet trying not to limp either. The trees parted finally, and I saw a thin wooden bridge spanning the width of a deep gorge. I screeched to a halt at the bridge’s beginning, but Cambrian was stronger, pulling me forward and not letting me stop.

The bridge seemed very, very old and very, very narrow. It was made of a dark wood and rope, and looked to be only wide enough to let people on in single file.

Like anyone would be stupid enough to try and cross that bridge with more than one person at a time. Cambrian started forward without a pause, and was pulled back when I didn’t move. There was no way I was crossing that thing.

He turned back at me and gave me a questioning, harried glance, as if to say “What the hell is wrong with you? Hurry up!”

I shook my head. There had to be another way of getting across; I wasn’t risking that. I could see the rushing river a hundred feet below, and there was no way my swimming skills had improved since the last time I had been in the water.

Shouts echoed behind us and I whipped around. Red uniforms were appearing behind us. I looked back to the bridge again. Somehow, with the threat of death by medieval weapons fast approaching, a rickety bridge didn’t seem so bad. Cambrian put his arm around my waist and began to guide me across.

The first step was wobbly, and I hastily grabbed onto the ropey railing to steady myself. But the bridge did not fall. It actually seemed to be quite able to support both me and Cambrian without any trouble. The guiding arm around my waist pressed me forward faster. I stumbled along in a clumsy, limping motion as I tripped over the uneven boards and suffered under the pain of my injured ankle.

Almost there.

I was waiting for arrows to start following us across the bridge, and kept bracing myself for the sudden, painful impact that I was sure would come when one of them found its mark. Behind us, the bridge wobbled, out of sync with our movements. I looked over my shoulder quickly, and I saw that two of the red coats were following us on the bridge, moving faster and catching us up.

Cambrian saw them too, and quickened our pace. It didn’t look like it was going to be fast enough. My primary functions were beginning to fail; I was noticing a definite lack of motor skills as it became harder and harder to keep one foot in front of the other. Blackness was seeping in at the edges of my vision again and I knew that he was having to support more and more of my weight as we struggled across the bridge.

The other side was ten feet away.

I willed myself to continue on. For some reason, I absolutely had to get to the other side. I had no other goal in mind but to reach the soft grass of the solid ground. Cambrian whispered frantically to me in words I didn’t understand. The world spun in an odd motion and I had trouble keeping my balance.

Five feet.

Three more shuffling steps.

Cambrian all but threw me over the last stretch before practically leaping the distance himself. I crashed awkwardly onto the ground, my arms crumpled under me in a limp fashion and the dark cloak bunching up around my shoulders.

I couldn’t move, even if I had wanted to.

Through the fog of my collapsing consciousness, I saw Cambrian wheel around and pull his sword out, stepping in front of me to face the red soldiers. The flash of fire and metallic swish of his sword danced briefly before my eyes; as suddenly as I had seen them they were gone. I was staring up at the sky, the sounds of fighting a contrasting backdrop to the serene paths of the clouds above.

And then he was in my sight again. “Leila…” Cambrian whispered. I could tell he was lying in the tall grass next to me, breathing heavily. I tried to answer him, to tell him that I was alright, but the words weren’t coming out. “Leila,” he repeated.

My answer was in the form of a shuddering gasp as my body forced me to pay for the terrible condition I had put it in. I was fading now, but I didn’t want to sleep. Fear was still coursing through my sluggish veins.

“Leila?” Cambrian was concerned now. A hand was on my face, brushing my hair back, and then I was unconscious.

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