moving very quickly in her direction, but before they could reach her, a massive form moved between her and the advancing knight. She couldn’t see much other than big, armored legs, and then she heard a strangled grunt followed by the sounds of something snapping. A body hit the ground next to her, splattering mud, and she shrieked.
Startled, she looked over to see the knight with the bloodied hand lying in a heap next to her, and he was quite dead. His head was bent at an odd angle and, horrified, she looked up to see de Russe standing over her. Before she could say a word, he reached down and pulled her to her feet.
“Are you all right, my lady?” he asked. “Did you hurt yourself?”
Ellowyn was feeling disoriented, astonished and sickened. Everything she could possibly feel all rolled in to one. Her exhaustion, coupled by the events, all fell in to line and before she realized it, she was feeling rather woozy. She couldn’t look at the man with the snapped neck on the ground next to her and she tried to turn away, but she couldn’t quite catch her balance. She could see the trough in front of her and she thought she might make her way to it and sit down again, simply to collect herself, but her body had other ideas. She hadn’t taken two steps when the world faded to black.
CHAPTER FOUR
It was that field again, the one with the men dying upon it, as plentiful as driftwood upon the sea.
She was slugging through the bloody mud, trying not to step on the dead and avoiding the desperate hands of the dying. She should have felt guilty for ducking those who needed care, but she couldn’t manage it. All she could feel was a desperate yearning to seek out something, something that drew her to it like a moth to flame. She could think of nothing else and her heart was near bursting with fear and anxiety because of it. God, if she could only find it!
The bottom half of her surcoat, shift, and cloak were soaked with mud that smelled like the bowels of hell. The stench was everywhere. She thought perhaps she would smell that scent forever, like a fog that would never leave her. It was horrifying. As she pushed through it, her cloak snagged on something and as she reached down to yank it free, a hand grabbed at her from one of the countless bodies strewn about and took hold of her glove. He yanked it off as she drew her hand back in horror. Her naked hand, exposed to the dark and heavy hair, glinted oddly. Gazing at her exposed flesh, she could see a ring on it.
A wedding ring.
***
Something was popping and crackling, and there was a great deal of warmth on her face. Ellowyn gradually became aware of heat on her body and the smell of smoke, and her eyes rolled open to the sight of an enormous fire a few feet in front of her.
Somewhat startled, she pulled away from it, realizing that she laying on a floor in only her shift. It was dirty and cold. Her heavy brocade surcoat was hanging above her head on exposed rafters, drying in the heat of the blaze.
Confused, frightened, she looked around the small, dark room. She had no idea where she was, or what had happened, but as she rolled into a sitting position, bits of her memory began to return. She remembered the inn, the aggressive knight, and de Russe’s appearance. Hand to her aching head, she remembered tripping on the road when the aggressive knight came after her but nothing after that. Looking around the small room again that smelled heavily of unwashed bodies, she had no idea what was going on.
Standing up unsteadily, she reached up for her surcoat and realized that it was wet. Parts of it that were nearer the fire seemed to warm and moderately dry, but other parts were almost sopping. Curious, she was in the process of fingering it when the door to the chamber jerked open.
Startled, Ellowyn jumped away from the door. Her first instinct was to protect herself and she grabbed the first thing she
Learning to Kill: Stories