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He gestured to the nearby man. “Cale, silence her."
She struggled in his grasp. The other man, the one he had called Cale, strode over and gagged her with a length of torn sacking.
"That's better,” said the man with flaxen hair. With one hand, he held her wrists behind her back. With his other hand, he held her still by the throat. When he had her full attention, he stroked her chin with his thumb. His eyes were silver gray—like the birches they stood amongst—cold and calculating in their expression. His mouth twisted in a lecherous sneer.
Instinctively, she pulled back from his grasp.
He laughed. “Enough. There will be time for more of this play later, when we reach our destination."
Play? Destination? What did they want with her? She didn't have long to consider the question for he turned to the man he called Cale and instructed him to use the rope. While he bound her hands and then her legs together, the gray-eyed man glanced around and hurried him along.
Perhaps someone had heard her call. Russet hadn't been gone long; she'd be bringing help. Surely, they would be here soon? She glanced toward the path toward the village, worn by their footsteps—the familiar path to her home and family. A moment later, her eyes were blinded to the sight when a second length of cloth was tied across her face.
She was lifted and shifted, doubled over across a man's shoulder. He moved with haste. She gritted her teeth, resting uneasily, pain coursing through her shoulders and back where her hands were tied fast. Moments later, her body landed on wood. The cart, they had put her on the cart. They were truly taking her away. The thud of men clambering onto the cart rose around her. A shout was issued and the cart lurched off.
She prayed to the gods, repeating familiar words. Requesting a good harvest, safety for her family. Words that she used every day. In her inner eye, she pictured Russet coming back with help, looking for her. The image made her braver.
Her body tumbled against the rough wooden slats of the cart as it jolted along, her limbs cramped by her tethers. When she struggled to get free, she was tapped with a stick. She grew still, but her thoughts raged on. They had taken her, as if she were a ripe fruit to be plucked from its tree. The raw realization knifed through her. No one had been taken from Riversbend in her lifetime, but they said that it had happened, long ago. As children they were warned of bad people who might one day return, men who came from the east and the north and had no respect for life, taking what they wanted, killing and stealing without guilt.
With her often-cynical mind, she wondered if these tales were told to frighten the youngsters, making them stay near the safety of the village. But now she recognized the truth of those words. Those evil men had killed and looted. Women had been abducted, taken from their homes and never seen again, many years before. And now, it seemed that she was to suffer that same fate.
Fear was replaced with anger. Then despair. These men surely could not be elders, her mind cried out. Although they wore the mantle of Western Tor Elders, the men and women who led the mystic life on the far hill, this was not what the elders were about, surely? What did they want from her? She was only Maerose, daughter of the blacksmith from the village of Riversbend, and no worthy prize to be taken. Even so, the gray-eyed man clearly meant to defile her. Perhaps all of them meant to do so. Anger rose once more. She would not let them.
The journey was long and uncomfortable. She tried to keep track of the ground they covered, measuring it by counting it out in steps. They were taking her far from her village, at least to the very edges of Edren. Perhaps beyond.
Eventually the cart drew to a halt. She was lifted and carried some distance. She sensed they were indoors, heard voices. Rough hands set her on her feet; then her hands were unbound. Someone pulled her arms over her head, where she felt the cold bite of metal locking them together again. At her back, she felt stone.
Her blindfold was removed. As her vision gradually returned, she saw they were in a bare stone room, windowless, like a cellar. There was a thin cot on one side, dirty and worn. Beside it stood a bucket. Candles teetering in wall sconces lit the place. On one wall, high up, some light filtered through a carved wooden panel.
The tall, gray-eyed man was watching her. His robe was gone and beneath it he was dressed in much more travel-weary clothes, worn leather breeches and boots, a buttoned leather jerkin over his shirt. “Some time in chains will settle you in,” he announced.
Maerose could not contain the objection that rose inside her, grunting into her gag, her head shaking.
He smiled at her discomfort. “This will be your home, for now. If you are compliant, I will allow you to rest. At other times, you will be restrained.” He reached for the gag and then paused. “You can call for help if you want to, Maerose, but if anyone bothers to listen I assure you it will be to take pleasure from the sound of your screams.” He tore the fabric from her mouth, jerking it away from her head.
She gasped for air. “How do you know my name?"
"I know more about you than you do, my dear girl."
She stared at him, unable to comprehend his words. “What do you want with me?"
"You will find out soon enough.” He ran one finger down the length of her neck.
She flinched at his touch. “You wear the mantle of the elders.” She shook her head. “Elders do not seize and imprison women against their will."
"Maerose, although you may be unaware of it, your part in Edren's history is written in the elder scrolls. I have studied the scrolls and I am here to ensure that the prophecy comes to fruition.” His mouth twisted and evil glinted through his strange eyes. “In the manner I have chosen for you."
She bit back the cry that rose up inside her and shook her head, disbelief and confusion clouding her vision. “I do not understand you, but I know that death would be preferable than submitting to a man who takes a woman like this."
"You will submit to this and to me.” His voice was rising and there was madness in his eyes. “I am Veldor, and this is your destiny.” His hand landed on her breast, beneath which her heart pounded. He squeezed and pulled, as if to drag her heart from her chest.
Fear ripped through her. She pivoted on the balls of her feet. Her shoulders wrenched in their sockets, pain needling the length of her shins and spine. Denial was the only thing holding her steady. “You are no elder."
He laughed. It was a hollow sound filled with malevolence. “That, my dear, is where you are wrong."
* * * *
Maerose was gone from her village.
