{So, here we go, I have not had a chance to edit yet. Never tried this genre before, so let me know what you think. And remember my grammer is far from perfect... Thanks for reading...}
Lucia is not sure where she is, but she knows that it is cold. She was traveling to a royal estate on the countryside, then her caravan was ambushed. They killed her guards, and took her. That was at least a week ago, maybe more. She doesn't know who her captors are, but she knows to fear them. They have treated her well, for now. Kept her fed, and only threatened to beat her, but the look in their eyes says that is going to change soon enough.
She is tied up, and gagged in the back of a wagon with two men watching her, and one driving the carriage. She does not know what they want. If it were ransom, then they would have made the demand by now, surely. And why the weeks of travel? No, it must not be ransom. She fears something far more sinister. The thing worrying her the most is the fact that they have not deemed it necessary to wear masks in front of her.
The carriage bounces hard. Both men nearly crash through the flaps, as she lands harshly on the carriage's wood flooring. Both men turn to grumble at the driver.
"Hey, would you mind terribly finding a rougher path?" one of them grumbles. "We have not been bounced out yet."
This is her best chance. She manages to slide the gag down her chin using the floor. She lets out a wild screams as loud as she can. One of the men jumps on top of her, the other trying to keep her legs from kicking. The driver shouts something into the back as she struggles with everything in her. One of them goes for her gag. She bites his hand and screams again, then feels the wind knocked completely out of her.
Nausea sweeps through her, and her vision blurs, as the gag is replaced. The attacker shifts on top her, his face only inches from hers. His long beard touching her chin, and smelling like rancid ale and tobacco. He stares into her honey brown eyes. A darkness in his stare that makes tears flow down the sides of her face.
***
My horse snorts as we crest a hill. He knows we're getting close. The fog rises off the wet green grass in the early morning chill. I listen to the hoofs clop, one hand on the reins, the other on the pommel of my sword. A quiet river runs to my left. Beyond the river, I can see the ridges of the mountains, then I see what I'm looking for. A hill in front of me, but more specifically, it is the large cabin style house that I know sits on top of it. My house.
I built it with my own two hands. Three floors, five bedrooms, a study/library, two washrooms-- I could go on, and on, and on, but I think you get the general idea. It is not just a house- it is my castle-- my palace. I built it high in the mountains, away from everything. There are a few villages not too far away, but far enough away to stay quiet.
A smile breaks across my face. I cluck, and my palimino horse speeds up. We crest the hill, the ground levels off as far as the eye can see. I let the horse walk for a few minutes. Rows of grape vines come into view, almost filling the horizon. I guide the horse onto a cobblestone pathway that cuts the vineyards in half.
We trot along the cobblestone path that I had layed. The smell of grapes, and smoke fills the air. Finally my house comes into view. Days of traveling has made my body weary, but the site of my home sends a tingle through me. My horse speeds up, as anxious to get home as I am. My front porch draws closer, and I spot a plume of smoke rising from the chimney, then I spot something else.
A woman stands on the porch, leaning against the railing, as if desperately waiting for something-- waiting for me to arrive. I don't recognize her, and yet-- she seems familiar, but more than that, she seems like she belongs. As I draw closer, and see her more clearly, I know. I know that she's the most beautiful woman I've ever seen.
We arrive at the porch, and I swing my leg over, and hop down from my horse. I grab an apple from a saddle bag, and give to the horse as I tie him off.
"Good job, Justice," I say, not taking my eyes off the stunning woman.
Satisfied that he's safely tied off, I approach the porch steps.
"I do not believe we have met," I say.
She suppresses a giggle, and offers me a kind smile. Her eyes catch mine, and I cannot look away.
"Something funny?" I ask, more than just a bit awestruck.
She's about to open her mouth to speak when a terrible shriek echoes from somewhere nearby.
My eyes rip open, and I sit up on my bedroll, next to a fire that has all but burned out. I know that the house, and woman were a dream. I know that it was a dream because I have had that dream many times in my life. It is always the same. Always the hills, always the river, always the vineyard, always the house, always the woman. I try to hold onto her image, but it is already gone. Everything else, I can see clearly, but her image always disappears as soon as my eyes open.
Two nights ago, I finished my business in a nation called Merthire. A small nation in population, and land, but they more than make up for that in riches. One of the richest kingdoms of the region, maybe the world. They discovered that while their land's climate is terribly cold, it is also vastly rich with diamond, and gold mines.
I made camp a short ways off of a widely used road. It had been awhile since I'd seen so much snow, and while I'd usually travel right through until I got to a village, the thought of being nestled in my bedroll next to a roaring fire was just too much to resist.
It takes me a single blink to remember the shriek. I go to grab my sword, then realize the grip is already in my hand. I make my way to my feet, then crouch behind a boulder. I hear another scream. Closer this time. I unsheathe the long blade as quietly as I can.
"Shut her up! I don't care if you have to knock her out, just shut her up!" someone nearby calls out.
I notice a certain vibration in his voice. He's in a carriage.
That's when I notice the unmistakable sound of hoofbeats drawing closer. Goosebumps start breaking out across my skin, and I realize I left my armor-vest, and duster behind. I roll my eyes at myself. If only my teachers could see me now.
I need a plan and I know it. I only have seconds. I sheathe the blade, and run out into the center of the road. A covered, double horse carriage with a single rider comes around the bend, and into view. I don't know how many are hiding in the back. Judging by the screams, I'm assuming they have at least one hostage. I limp a few steps towards the oncoming carriage, and attempt a wave at the driver.
He says something into the back, then reluctantly slows, grumbling under his breath.
"Out of the way!" he hollers, motioning to the side of the road.
He wears a long brown fur coat, his shoulder length black hair, greasy and dirty. He stops ten or so paces in front of me. Watch the opening for archers.
"Our caravan was looted. Please, can you help us?"
"Get out of the road before I run you down."
My left hand curls around a throwing dagger, concealed in my waistband. Now's the part where I ask myself how far I'm willing to take this. I don't know what they're up to, if anything. They may have a hostage, but then again, maybe not. And what if they do have a hostage? I'm ill prepared for this.
I curse myself at the thought, and can hear my teachers scolding me as well. The only weapon you are guaranteed is your mind. Your mind must be sharper than any sword, stronger than any armor, and swifter than any horse.
"Are you deaf!? I said move!" he follows with a number of curses.
"Ooof, someone has a dirty mind."
"Listen here, you gimpy little girl-"
I cut him off with a raised hand, stand up straight, and set my jaw. I've had enough of this. It is far too early, and far too cold to play games.
"Okay, okay, get out of the road, I get it, keep your pants on," I take a step to the side. "So what does being a kidnapper pay these days?"
The hesitation, anger, and fear on his face confirms my suspicions. I'm locked in now. No matter what happens, I will not let them get away.
I hear a whimper from the backseat of the carriage, then a sickening thump.
The rider tries to get his horses started again. A practiced flick of the wrist sends a dagger into his shoulder. He screams out in pain, and drops the reins, his hands flying to the blade protruding from his shoulder. A bearded man sticks his head out to see what is happening.
"Come on out nice and slow," I brandish another small dagger. "Or the next one is in your chest," I say casually.
He looks at me with disgust. I can't decide if I'm hoping that he is alone back there, or that he has a whole boatload of guys, then I remember the hostage, and I hope for their sake at least that it is just him.
"Come on out of there. Slowly, hands in front of you where I can see them."
He raises his eyes to mine, then back to the blade. He sticks his hands out in front of him, and slowly steps out, also wearing fur. I take a few steps to the side, trying to angle away from the opening.
"Off the carriage. Both of you."
They reluctantly step off, the wounded one still cursing under his breath. They are both dirty, and appear heavy. They both have swords, and look like they know how to use them.
"You want to think very carefully about your next move, gentlemen."
"I could say the same to you," the bearded one says, smirking.
I step further to the side of the carriage. They'll have to pull up a flap if they want to shoot me. It really is not much, but it is as good as I am going to get.
"You have no idea who you are dealing with," the bearded one says.
"I could say the same to you. Now bring the hostage out. Unless you want an extra hole in your body."
He hesitates, and I narrow my eyes.
"Bring her out," the wounded one calls.
A man comes out of the back of the wagon. I size him up on instinct. Taller than the others, thinner too, but he carries himself with a stride that exudes not only confidence, but experience as well. He already has his broadsword drawn, and he is holding it to a young woman's neck. Her hands bound behind her back, and her mouth gagged. She is a little on the short side, has auburn hair, and wears a long blue dress with white accents.She clearly comes from money, maybe even nobility. And these guys are not typical highwaymen.
She is not dressed for this climate. She was clearly taken from somewhere else. If her colors are any indication, then I would say Alaveria, but that is far away, very far away.
"Drop the knife, boy! Unless you want to see the snow run red with her blood," the tall one says.
Empty threat, and I know it. If they took her for ransom, then they need her alive. But their lack of masks makes me doubt the ransom angle. More likely they were hired by someone to take her. And that someone wants her alive.
I put the dagger away anyway, then draw my sword. They let out a typical string of curses about me and my mother. Doesn't anyone have any imagination anymore?
"What is your stake in this? Why would you risk your life for this girl? You do not even know her, and there are three of us, and only one of you. Back down, and we will let you live."
I won't back down-- I can't back down.
***
Lucia knows it is over. They are making too much sense. Why would he help her? Though he may be only a peasant, he is not one of her subjects who would die to save her, for no other reason than her lineage. No, he would shake his head and leave her.
"I'm bound by something you will never understand. Now let her go, and be on your way. There is no reason you all have to die today," he says coolly.
Her heart skips a beat, and she thinks maybe she misheard him. Who is this guy?
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