long. He grinned at the druid then spat contemptuously on the ground.
Aware that all the crossbows were now turned on him, Haarn held his position. No emotion touched him as he faced his captors.
“Hyle,” Brugar called out, “you better not have crushed her damn skull.”
“I ain’t crushed her skull.” Hyle knelt gingerly and held a palm over Druz’s face. “She’s breathin’ all right. Anyways,
any wrong I coulda done her coulda been fixed by the tree-lover over there.”
Standing his ground, Haarn glanced down at the mercenary lying helplessly on the ground. Dark blood trickled through her red-gold hair. Anger stirred within the druid.
The fact that the men were slavers had nothing to do with the dark emotion that moved restlessly inside Haarn. This part of the forest had been given over to him for his protection and he had never forsaken that charge. The presence of the slavers was an encroachment upon that territory, but even worsethey knew the group he represented and they had chosen to ignore that. Behavior like that couldn’t be tolerated.
Broadfoot huffed and growled out in the forest again, chafing at the restraint Haarn had urged him to.
“Hyle,” Brugar commanded, “take that man into custody.”
The tattooed man stared deeply into Haarn’s eyes for a moment, then broke the contact. “This’n gonna be trouble, Brugar. Be best to just cut him and gut him.”
Haarn stood easily, his manner relaxed, but he remained ready.
“Try to kill him,” Brugar said, “and I’ll slit your throat myself, Hyle. Bind him and gag him. Alive, he’s worth a few gold pieces that I’ll enjoy spending.”
Moving warily, the tattooed man took a leather string from his kit and strode toward Haarn.
“Stick your hands out.”
Conscious of the crossbow quarrels pointed in his direction, Haarn held his hands out. Hyle pushed the druid’s wrists together and wrapped them tightly with the leather string, then confiscated his weapons. Breathing shallowly through his nose, Haarn distanced himself from the degrading treatment. In all of his years he’d never been taken captive.
He glanced wistfully at the forest. If the woman hadn’t been with him, he could have escaped and wreaked vengeance from the protective shelter of the woods. However, he hadn’t been in control of his life since he’d started finding the executed and scalped wolves.
Hyle checked the tightness of the leather and seemed satisfied, but the man’s mocking, cruel grin faded as he looked into Haarn’s face. Suspicion narrowed the tattooed man’s eyes.
“What are you doing, druid?”
“Praying,” Haarn answered simply.
“You got nothin’ to pray for,” Hyle said.
“I’m asking Silvanus for the quick deaths of the men who have chosen to become my enemies tonight.”
Haarn kept his face impassive.
Scowling, Hyle pulled out a dirty rag, jammed it into Haarn’s mouth, and tied a knot behind the druid’s mouth to keep it in place.
“If I had my way,” the tattooed man promised, “I’d have you sacrificed on an altar to the Beastlord.”
A chill threaded up Haarn’s spine as he heard the reference to Malar the Stalker. Malar and Silvanus were old enemies, and those who followed each of those gods carried the enmity between them. The druid looked at the other slavers, noticing tattoos upon a couple more of them as they stepped confidently from the forest’s darkness. Perhaps all of them followed the Beastlord’s teachings. Perhaps everything that was happening followed a grand design Silvanus had put into motion.
Hyle shoved Haarn from behind, pushing the druid down toward the valley floor.
Forcing himself not to resist, Haarn stumbled then began walking ahead of the slaver group. He gathered his power within him, drawing it from the earth, the trees, and the very air around them.
CHAPTER FIVE
The pounding echo trapped inside Druz Talimsir’s aching skull woke her. Rough leather bound her hands at the wrists,
Aware that all the crossbows were now turned on him, Haarn held his position. No emotion touched him as he faced his captors.
“Hyle,” Brugar called out, “you better not have crushed her damn skull.”
“I ain’t crushed her skull.” Hyle knelt gingerly and held a palm over Druz’s face. “She’s breathin’ all right. Anyways,
any wrong I coulda done her coulda been fixed by the tree-lover over there.”
Standing his ground, Haarn glanced down at the mercenary lying helplessly on the ground. Dark blood trickled through her red-gold hair. Anger stirred within the druid.
The fact that the men were slavers had nothing to do with the dark emotion that moved restlessly inside Haarn. This part of the forest had been given over to him for his protection and he had never forsaken that charge. The presence of the slavers was an encroachment upon that territory, but even worsethey knew the group he represented and they had chosen to ignore that. Behavior like that couldn’t be tolerated.
Broadfoot huffed and growled out in the forest again, chafing at the restraint Haarn had urged him to.
“Hyle,” Brugar commanded, “take that man into custody.”
The tattooed man stared deeply into Haarn’s eyes for a moment, then broke the contact. “This’n gonna be trouble, Brugar. Be best to just cut him and gut him.”
Haarn stood easily, his manner relaxed, but he remained ready.
“Try to kill him,” Brugar said, “and I’ll slit your throat myself, Hyle. Bind him and gag him. Alive, he’s worth a few gold pieces that I’ll enjoy spending.”
Moving warily, the tattooed man took a leather string from his kit and strode toward Haarn.
“Stick your hands out.”
Conscious of the crossbow quarrels pointed in his direction, Haarn held his hands out. Hyle pushed the druid’s wrists together and wrapped them tightly with the leather string, then confiscated his weapons. Breathing shallowly through his nose, Haarn distanced himself from the degrading treatment. In all of his years he’d never been taken captive.
He glanced wistfully at the forest. If the woman hadn’t been with him, he could have escaped and wreaked vengeance from the protective shelter of the woods. However, he hadn’t been in control of his life since he’d started finding the executed and scalped wolves.
Hyle checked the tightness of the leather and seemed satisfied, but the man’s mocking, cruel grin faded as he looked into Haarn’s face. Suspicion narrowed the tattooed man’s eyes.
“What are you doing, druid?”
“Praying,” Haarn answered simply.
“You got nothin’ to pray for,” Hyle said.
“I’m asking Silvanus for the quick deaths of the men who have chosen to become my enemies tonight.”
Haarn kept his face impassive.
Scowling, Hyle pulled out a dirty rag, jammed it into Haarn’s mouth, and tied a knot behind the druid’s mouth to keep it in place.
“If I had my way,” the tattooed man promised, “I’d have you sacrificed on an altar to the Beastlord.”
A chill threaded up Haarn’s spine as he heard the reference to Malar the Stalker. Malar and Silvanus were old enemies, and those who followed each of those gods carried the enmity between them. The druid looked at the other slavers, noticing tattoos upon a couple more of them as they stepped confidently from the forest’s darkness. Perhaps all of them followed the Beastlord’s teachings. Perhaps everything that was happening followed a grand design Silvanus had put into motion.
Hyle shoved Haarn from behind, pushing the druid down toward the valley floor.
Forcing himself not to resist, Haarn stumbled then began walking ahead of the slaver group. He gathered his power within him, drawing it from the earth, the trees, and the very air around them.
CHAPTER FIVE
The pounding echo trapped inside Druz Talimsir’s aching skull woke her. Rough leather bound her hands at the wrists,
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