Lord of Raven's Peak Read Online Free PDF Page A

relief. She did let out a huge pent-up breath, jerking at the pain it brought her. She stopped a moment, just standing there, trying to gain control again. Her back burned and throbbed. She thought she felt damp stickiness and wondered if some of the slashes were bleeding again.
    She was nearly free. It didn’t matter. Her back would heal, only not here, not in Thrasco’s house, not in Kiev. She would get Taby and they would travel north to Chernigov, a town just on the east bank of the Dnieper—she’d heard a slave speak of it. Surely it was not more than three days’ walk from here. She would steal them clothes; she would become a widow, Taby her child. She would survive, and she would see that Taby survived. It was her first opportunity to escape and she intended to succeed. In the past she would never have managed to get this far. She supposed she had the beating to thank. Thrasco would never imagine that anyone would try to escape with a back in shreds.
    Suddenly she heard men’s voices. They were speaking quietly, from just down the way, to her right. They were sneaking toward her. They were thieves. Or they were Thrasco’s men. It didn’t matter. She closed her eyes a moment, wondering if every god of every country were against her, then she shrank back into the blackness, knowing she was trapped against the house. She couldn’t run, she couldn’t move, else she would run intothe men. She wouldn’t go back into Thrasco’s house.
    They were silent now, but she could hear their soft footfalls. There were two of them. No more. Just two men. If they were thieves, surely they wouldn’t be interested in her. She was nothing, less than nothing. Ah, but she would be there and thus they would probably kill her.
    She wanted to scream at the unfairness of it. She was trapped and any second now they would see her and that would be the end of her. And of Taby. She crouched down, trying desperately to press against the house, to become just one of the shadows that clung to the night.
    She heard one of the men speak, his voice deep and quiet. He said, “We will go through this small door I was told about.”
    The other man said, “Told, Merrik? You were told naught until you gave the weasel that silver armlet.”
    â€œIt matters not. The door should be close now. I understand the boy isn’t being kept in the slave quarters but in a small chamber in the house—”
    They were on her. She couldn’t simply stand there, pretending they didn’t exist, pretending they wouldn’t see her. No, she would surprise them, she would attack, and then she would run, for surely she was smaller and faster and . . . She leapt upon the nearest man, striking his face with her fists.
    â€œWhat in the name of all the gods—! ’Tis a boy and he’s trying to kill me!” Oleg was big and strong, a warrior, and within seconds, he grabbed her arms, whirling her around, shouting in her face. “Hold still, you damned little sod! Stop fighting me!”
    The other man whispered, “Keep him quiet, Oleg, and yourself! The last thing we need are Thrasco’s guards on us.”
    In the instant the man spoke, she broke one arm freeand struck her fist into the man’s belly. He only grunted, then grabbed at her again. It was a silent struggle then, for Laren didn’t want the guards any more than these men. But she had no chance. Her arms were finally pinned to her sides. She looked up to see the man’s hand raised and fisted. He would strike her. She looked at that fist and knew that when it hit her, it would be over. His other hand still held her upper arm.
    What did it matter now? She jerked down her head and bit down on his hand as hard as she could. He grunted in pain, but she knew he wanted to scream, for she tasted his blood in her mouth. She didn’t let go.
    The other man was on her then, and his hands were about her throat