COMMAND THE TIDES - Wren Handman Page 0,26
closing again, and it was taking a supreme act of will to stay awake. She knew she couldn’t fall asleep—her message was far too important. They would need to know. Never mind the ache in her bones, never mind how long it had been since she had last slept. She was strong, capable. She could go without sleep for another few measly hours. No problem.
She awoke to a hand covering her mouth and a strong arm wrapped around her waist. In the bleary grogginess of exhaustion she tried to scream, struggling even as her sluggish mind tried to take in the details of what was happening. Whomever had hold of her hoisted her off the stool and dragged her out her back door; someone else caught it before it could slam against the far wall. She kicked out, fear lending strength to the attack, but didn’t connect with anything. It would have been pitch black outside, but the light from the kitchen spilled into the courtyard and gave her a good view of the man who had caught the door. He was dressed all in black, a mask covering everything but his eyes, and he carried a large jug of something in one gloved hand. As she watched he uncorked it and began to splash something across her floor. A sharp, tangy scent floated to her nose, and she almost fainted. Oh, Ashua. That’s oil. And then she had an idea.
She drew in a sharp breath, and then went completely limp in her captor’s arms. He gave her a rough shake, muttering a curse as he was forced to carry her entire weight.
Her captor hissed something to the other man in Sephrian. Her understanding wasn’t great, but she was pretty sure he believed she had fainted.
“Good. Something her there and something help me,” the man inside answered, in the same language.
“Something her? You something that’s a good something?”
“We only need her if we something this up. And if you something something help me, we won’t something it up. So hurry the Oblivion up,” he snarled in response, and then disappeared back inside.
The man holding her hesitated, and Taya feared he would disobey. The pause proved only to be momentary, and he hoisted her further up and then threw her over a horse’s saddle. It took more willpower than she had ever used before not to cry out as the pommel crashed into her stomach, and even more to remain still as he bound her arms tightly together, but the sounds of retreating footsteps assured her it was worth it. She opened her eyes and froze for a moment, worried there might be others in the courtyard. The saddle beneath her was black, with a strange gold weaving through the pommel and down the side. Noble houses, she knew, sometimes identified their mounts that way.
Assured that she heard no breathing but her own, she lifted her head and scanned the courtyard. She saw another horse standing nearby, and briefly cursed herself. If she had been unaware of the breathing of an animal that large, she never would have caught a third man. As it was she was alone with the two animals, and safe for the moment, but the smell of oil was growing stronger. She considered running inside, but discounted it immediately. She might not get past the two men, and if the stairs caught fire before Darren could get down them, he would definitely be unable to jump from the window. So she did the only thing she could think of. She screamed.
“Darren! Fire! Help!”
Almost simultaneously, she heard swearing from within and the sound of the upstairs window’s shutters slamming back against the wall. Framed in them was a man she had never seen before. He had sandy blond hair and a beard that lent a gravity to his relatively young face, and Taya couldn’t have cared at that moment if he was the Emperor of the Lost Kingdom.
“What’s going on?” he cried down to her, and even as he spoke Taya heard the sounds of shattering earthenware within and saw a flicker of brighter light against the glow of the kitchen lanterns.
“They’re lighting a fire! Get out!” she screamed, and as she spoke she saw the two men emerging from the house, a trail of smoke on their heels. She awkwardly launched herself off the horse, unable to catch herself because of her bound wrists. She hit the ground hard, twisting her ankle, but managed to scramble up