Ch 4: From Bad To Worse

  As Megan’s head cleared, her eyes opened to profound darkness, finding herself inside a container of some kind. The sides were concave, and the air stank of stale wine. As her eyes regained focus, a small air hole, emanating a shaft of pale light, confirmed she was indeed inside an empty barrel. The constant rocking motion led her to believe that she was most likely on a wagon of some sort. Outside the confines of her tiny prison, she could hear muffled voices.

  Gagged, and with her hands firmly tied behind her back, there was nothing she could do.

  The voices were those of her captors, so there was little point in drawing their attention. Sleep encroached again.

  Groggy, half aware that she was awake again and staring blankly ahead, her mind returned, the memories of the last few days hazy at best. They were drugging her, that much she remembered. Every day offered the same routine; the wagon would stop, the sound of approaching voices followed by a blast of fresh air as the lid was removed.

  Then, she would be dragged out, fed, watered, and allowed to relieve herself, the regimen always finished off by the forced consumption of a foul-tasting brown liquid.

  The drug was powerful, causing her to vacillate between being comatose, to mindless delirium or semi-consciousness, and back again in a constant unending loop.

  On the few occasions in which clarity returned, her world was a confusing blur of twisting unfocused images before sleep swept back in to take her again.

  Some days were better than others.

  Some days, she could remember the ambush, remember seeing those brave men dying. Those images were vivid, comprising so much blood, so much noise, the cries of the wounded and the panicked squeals of terrified riderless horses, careering left and right. Sensing the fear and smelling the blood, every one of them galloping for their lives, followed, all too soon, by that terrible quiet.

  In her mind, she had imagined battles lasting for hours with gallant soldiers fighting backwards and forwards, and heroes rushing to the fore, slaying all in their stead. Reality was very different. One minute, she was safely surrounded by handsome men in shining armour, ready to die at her command. A short few minutes later, they were all lifeless bloodied heaps.

  Then there was that huge bear of a man with his wiry black hair and bushy beard, laughing as he dragged them out of the carriage. Tears slipped down her cheeks at the recollection, and she didn’t try to stop them.

  Thankfully, sleep returned to drag her down; this time, she welcomed it.

  A heavy jolt made the barrel sway, and she banged her head hard against its side. It really hurt, but at least she was awake again. It could have been minutes, hours, days; she wasn’t certain as there was no way of knowing how long she had slumbered; knowing only that it was cold, her legs were numb and lifeless, and her knees were jammed right up under her chin.

  They had placed something soft on the bottom for her to sit on, but it made little difference; she was still in agony.

  The wagon was no longer moving. Rough deep voices drew closer, and she felt movement as someone jumped on board. After a few seconds of fumbling, the lid was opened, inviting cold fresh air to wash over her face. Megan inhaled the refreshing coolness that felt so good, intoxicating, offering a promise of life.

  Stars twinkled in the night sky overhead, her eyes slowly focusing on those tiny little pearls, so high and free.

  Enjoying the story? Show your support by reading it on the official site.

  A shadow loomed; there was a face looking down at her. It was the bearded man from the ambush, and he was grinning. Her heart sank.

  ‘Come on, Your Highness, out you come.’

  He bent down, removed her from the barrel, and placed her on the bed of the wagon. Anabel had also been released, and was lying curled in a ball, eyes firmly shut.

  With one hand supporting Megan’s head, the bearded man slipped a blade between her bonds to sever the cords, allowing the blood to return back into her hands and legs in a joyous tingling rush.

  She was as weak as a day-old babe, but free at last from the hateful ropes.

  He looked at her for a moment, drinking in her beauty and perfect form. ‘You’re a pretty one, aren’t you? We could have a lot of fun together, you and me.’ He bent closer, smelling her neck and face, and ran his hot fetid tongue up her cheek, his breath a rancid mixture of tobacco and spicy food, a foul expulsion, odious and repugnant.

  Megan cried out in disgust and tried to pull away but had no strength. She weakly punched the side of his head, but he just laughed. He stank of wine, stale sweat, and other vile odours, and she was completely powerless to resist his intentions.

  ‘Leave her!’ boomed a deep powerful voice from somewhere behind the giant.

  He turned slowly and looked. ‘I wasn’t goin’ to cause her no mischief, m’lord. Just Grik’s way of funnin’, sir. No harm done.’

  The hairy brute released Megan and jumped down from the wagon bed in one quick movement. ‘Just getting her out for you as ordered. An’ there she is, with not a hair touched on her pretty little head,’ he said, his black-toothed smile failing to conceal his anger.

  ‘Tend your troop, Grik. I will speak with her alone.’

  ‘Yes, Lord Alsheer.’ Grik nodded, banging a fist against his chest, fear tremoring his tone.

  Megan could see why. Lord Alsheer had a strangely menacing look. He was tall but not broad, and his eyes were as black as a demon’s heart. They had no pupils, just inky black emotionless ovals under hairless brows. Megan noticed he had no hair at all anywhere on his face or on his head. Though the greater portion of his bulbous head lay hidden beneath the shadow of a dark cowl, his skin had a corpse-like deathly white quality.

  A cold shiver ran the length of her spine. Evil was at hand.

  ‘Sincere apologies, Highness, for this rudimentary mode of transport. But we are short of fineries at the moment, you will understand. That will be remedied when we reach our destination.’

  ‘And what is our destination?’

  ‘All in good time, Highness. For now, know that escape is pointless. You are no longer in your homeland, and your only hope of survival lies in accepting your situation. Out there in the wild, there is only death... or worse, for you.’

  ‘But sir, my friend needs help, she’s sick.’

  ‘Just a side effect of the sleeping potion; it will wear off soon. Now eat and drink and we shall speak again another time.’

  Alsheer clapped his hands, turned and walked away. One of his men hurried up with a tray of food and a jug of water and placed them on the rig bed beside Megan’s feet.

  Splashing water on Anabel’s face caused her to open her eyes but only briefly, Megan held a cup up to her friend’s lips, encouraging little sips as she began to wake.

  Glancing around the campsite, she watched as men moved here and there with familiar purpose, some preparing food, others tending horses. They had stopped for the night by the side of a small stream.

  There was very little she could see in the darkness, but the land felt alien.

  Alsheer had spoken true, and she somehow knew that they were no longer in Jarro.

  ‘Oh, my head,’ groaned Anabel.

  Megan raised the cup to her friend’s face again and for the first time, noticed that Anabel’s hair was different. Her long blond locks were gone, chopped back into a rough bob and dyed black. Her own hair was the same. Gone too were their fine clothes, replaced by roughly made breeches and shirt. Her face reddened at the thought of having been stripped and redressed by male hands while unconscious. At a distance, they would look like two boys or young men. Very clever, she thought. A strangely dressed slightly built man approached. ‘Good evening, Your Highness. I am Karem Toriz, and I have been assigned to you by Lord Alsheer for both your comfort and protection. My lord felt it prudent to ensure you have someone at hand to watch over you while we travel these barbarian lands.’ Karem gave a quick nod in the direction of Grik and his men.

  ‘Are these not Lord Alsheer’s men?’ asked Megan.

  ‘Heavens no, Your Highness. Slavers and pirates, most of them. They would cut your throat in a blink if there were an inkling of profit in it.’

  ‘Your clothes are strange to my eyes. Silks and satins I see, but of a different cut.’

  ‘They would look strange to your western eyes,’ he nodded. ‘It is a style best known in the east, my homeland, before I was called to serve the Great One.’

  ‘Lord Alsheer?’ asked Megan.

  ‘No,’ he answered smiling. ‘Lord Alsheer also serves the Great One.’

  ‘Exactly who is this Great One?’ asked Anabel, finally coming fully awake.

  Karem’s smile was warm. ‘Some say he has been sent by the gods to unite the world and bring peace, happiness, and tranquility to all.’

  ‘And his name?’ Anabel raised an eyebrow.

  ‘Why it is Sulan Al-Imri of course. Lord of the east and south; and soon, the west.’

  The women looked at each other in silence. Things had suddenly gone from bad to worse.

  If you are enjoying Wyvern the completed Dark Lair Trilogy is available now on Amazon.