The Wild Dead (The Bannerless Saga 2)

The first, a slim young man, bare-armed, growling, was there as a distraction. The second, bigger and quieter, moved decisively toward her.

Ducking, Enid evaded the striking club, but the move wasn’t graceful or stylish and didn’t put her in a good spot. Off balance, she stumbled back, and they closed on her. They had all the momentum, all the advantage. She had no time to go for the tranqs in her pouch; the men would just knock the patches out of her hand even if she had. She’d be able to use that trick only once, at any rate.

The second attacker raised his club again—she got a better look at it this time. It was wood, the stout end of a branch, stripped of bark and polished smooth. When he swung, she got her staff in the way to block. Wood striking wood made a sickly crack.

The first guy lunged to grab the end of the staff, and yanked.

At first she held on, got into a brief tug of war that she knew she would lose. Recovering enough to let go at just the right time, she sent him flailing backward. Then the second one got a grip on her arm. And he just held on. He was a full head taller than she was, and he came in close, ready to knock her over. She had to get away—if she could just get away and run.

She would not scream, and she would not panic.

Enid slammed her foot on the attacker’s instep; her boots were much tougher and better made than his soft leather ones. Her boot had a heel. A scream of pain would have satisfied her, but his gasp and stifled groan were good enough, and she wrenched free as he dropped his club.

Nursing no illusions of her chances in a fight with these two hardened outsiders, she ran.

Enid wasn’t sure she’d be faster than them both. The bigger guy, yes, but his wiry accomplice, maybe not.

Didn’t matter. She had to try.

Not five strides on, she came up against a half dozen more wild folk, fanned out before her, waiting. She had no place to go. No chance of escape.

She bent over her knees and caught a breath that came out as a ch

uckle. Straightened and studied her assailants, now her captors. And yes, one of these new ones was Hawk. He glared at her with satisfaction.

Enid was the only one smiling. She looked at each of them, marking, remembering. Two were women, scrappy like the rest. They ranged in age from twenty to maybe forty.

“Well then. Isn’t this lucky? I’ve been wanting to talk to you all.”

Silence. Not even a touch of wind to creak through branches. The light was fading, the forest turning dark.

“I have a few questions about Ella,” she said. “You all knew her, yeah?” She caught Hawk’s gaze, but he ducked away, scowling.

“No talk here,” said the large man, still standing uncomfortably close. He’d picked up the club again and now held it at his side.

“All right. Where should we talk?” Maybe they had a camp somewhere. A fire might be nice right about now. Everyone felt better around a campfire. With night coming on, the air was definitely chilled. This was nothing like the sticky heat of the marshes.

“Let’s go,” the man repeated.

“I’d be glad to. Where?”

They closed on her, quick and smooth, the wiry guy grabbing her pack off her shoulders, the pouch at her belt, another one gripping her arms and wrenching them back, yet another dropping a sack over her head, forcing her into darkness.

Her breath came fast and hot, too close to her ears, held in by felted wool. A coil of rope went around her wrists and tightened. She couldn’t move her arms at all now. Hands held her shoulders, clutching the fabric of her tunic.

They weren’t going to kill her, she reassured herself. If they meant to kill her, they’d have just done it. Could have put an arrow in her from fifty paces away and not gone through all this trouble.

So they weren’t going to kill her.

Probably not.

Not yet.

Another loop went around her neck, and she gasped. They didn’t pull this one taut. Instead, they used it like a leash, tugging her forward.

“This way. Go on,” one of them said. Not Hawk, not the burly guy. She didn’t know who was speaking.

Her feet remained free, for all the good it did her. She stepped forward because she didn’t have a choice, feeling for the ground in front of her, her senses stretched to breaking. Hunched over, moving carefully as she could, she stayed quiet, didn’t struggle. The troop moved around her, setting a pace that was just a little too fast, but not so fast she couldn’t keep up. She was irrevocably off balance.