Sir Rowan and the Camerian Conquest Read Online Free PDF Page B

fear in the lad’s face shook Rowan. Besides this, three marauders with crossbows were aiming their arrows at Rowan’s chest.
    “Drop your sword now, or they will die!” the man holding the knifecommanded. “And so will you!” A jagged scar ran from his left eyebrow down beneath a black eye patch and then halfway down his cheek.
    Rowan looked about for the other two guards and spotted their lifeless bodies nearby. He was breathing hard from the fight but was far from spent. He wanted to tear these thugs apart, but Hatfield and his squire would pay with their lives if he did. It was obvious the attackers wanted to capture Rowan alive … probably for a ransom.
    “Take our money and be gone.” Rowan gripped his sword tightly. Every fiber in his body refused to let go of it.
    The man holding the knife sneered at Rowan. “You’re not listening.”
    He pressed the knife against Hatfield’s throat until blood trickled down.
    “Stop!” Rowan screamed.
    The man just smiled and continued until Rowan could take it no more. He dropped his sword, and six brutes collapsed upon him in an instant. They bound his hands behind his back with thick ropes and looped another rope around his neck and down his back, tightly securing the end to the rope binding his hands. This made it difficult for him to move his arms much more than to allow a little slack in the rope around his neck.
    When the ropes were secure, one of the men behind Rowan kicked his legs just behind his knees, forcing him into a kneeling position before their leader. The man played with the moneybag that had been retrieved from Rowan’s horse.
    “You have our money,” Rowan said. “Now let us go.”
    The marauder to Rowan’s left kicked him in the stomach so hard that he fell to the ground. The pain was so intense he thought he might be sick. He opened his eyes just in time to see another riveted leather boot smash into the right side of his face. A tooth in his lower jaw broke loose, and blood filled his mouth.
    Rowan spit the tooth and blood on the ground, hoping the beating would stop. Two more kicks to his abdomen left him breathless.
    “You are in no position to make demands!” the voice of his captor exclaimed.
    Two men grabbed him by his arms and lifted him again to a kneelingposition. Rowan was dizzy with pain, teetering on the brink of unconsciousness. The leader grabbed his chin and lifted it so he could look into Rowan’s eyes.
    “Camerian hero—ha!” the man spit on Rowan’s face, then motioned to his companions. “Bring him. Kill the others.”
    “No!” Rowan screamed.
    Hatfield and the squire struggled briefly, but two swords pierced them each from behind. The look of absolute horror on their faces made Rowan close his eyes and turn away, but the images remained etched in his mind.
    Rowan was placed on a horse and taken deeper into the forest. The marauders stopped once they were well clear of the road and placed a black bag over his head, then journeyed onward. For two days the marauders traveled without giving Rowan any food or water. He thought he would die of thirst. At last they stopped, pulled him off the horse and onto the ground, and dragged him deep into a cavern that echoed with each curse and footstep the marauders made. He was left facedown in the dirt with the bag still over his head.
    “Water … please,” Rowan begged. His plea was rewarded with a powerful kick to his unprotected ribs. He knew his ribs were bruised, if not cracked, and the pain made his stomach churn. Footsteps echoed in the cavern and faded away.
    He wasn’t sure how long he was unconscious, but he was glad for the oblivion. Then he was jerked awake as hands brusquely grabbed his arms and yanked him to a sitting position. The bag was removed, and he blinked against the brilliant torchlight that burned his eyes. Two of the men moved aside to allow their leader access to Rowan.
    “The mighty Sir Rowan—a champion of Cameria.” A black-haired