The Battle for Skandia Read Online Free PDF

struggle had been brief, with her assailant dragging her backward to keep her off balance. She had tried to fight her way free, tried to kick and bite. But the man’s thick glove made her attempts at biting useless, and her kicks were ineffective as she was dragged backward. Finally, there had been an instant of blinding pain, just behind her left ear, and then darkness.
    As she thought of the blow, she became aware that the area behind her left ear was another source of throbbing, another source of pain. The discomfort of being carried along helplessly like this was bad enough. But the inability to see anything, to get a look at the man who had taken her prisoner, was, if anything, worse. From this doubled-over, facedown position, she couldn’t even see any features of the land they were passing through. So if she did eventually escape, she would have no memory of any landmarks that might help her retrace her steps.
    Unobtrusively, she tried to twist her head to the side, to get a look at the rider mounted behind her. But he obviously felt the movement, minimal as she tried to keep it, and she felt another blow on the back of her head. Just what she needed, she thought ruefully.
    Realizing that there was no future in antagonizing her captor, Evanlyn slumped down, trying to relax her muscles and ride as comfortably as possible. It was a fairly unsuccessful attempt. But at least when she let her head hang down, her cramping neck and shoulder muscles felt some relief.
    The ground went by below her: the snow churned up by the horse’s front hooves, showing the sodden brown grass that lay underneath. They were making their way downhill, she realized, as the rider reined in the horse to negotiate a steeper than normal part of the trail at a walk. She felt the rider lean back away from her as she slid forward, saw his feet pushing forward against the stirrups as he leaned back to compensate and help the horse balance.
    Just ahead of them, visible from her facedown position, was a patch of snow that had melted and refrozen. It was slick and icy and the horse’s hooves went onto it before she could sound any warning. Legs braced, the horse slid downward, unable to check its progress. She heard a startled grunt from the rider and he leaned farther back, keeping the reins taut to still the horse’s panic. They slid, scrabbled, then checked. Then they were across the icy patch and the rider urged the horse back into its steady trot once more.
    Evanlyn noted the moment. If it happened again, it might give her a chance to escape.
    After all, she wasn’t tied onto the horse, she realized. She was merely hanging either side like a bundle of old clothes. If the horse fell, she could be off and away before the rider regained his feet. Or so she thought.
    Perhaps fortunately for her—for she couldn’t see the bow slung over the rider’s back, nor the quiver full of arrows that hung at his right side—the horse didn’t fall. There were a few more steep sections, and a couple of other occasions when they slid, legs locked forward and rear hooves scrabbling for purchase, for several meters down the slope. But on none of those occasions did the rider lose control or the horse do more than whinny in alarm and concentration.
    Finally, they reached their destination. The first she knew of it was when the horse slid to a stop and she felt a hand on her collar, heaving her up and over, to send her sprawling in the wet snow that covered the ground. She fell awkwardly, winding herself in the process, and it was several seconds before she could regain her presence of mind and take the time to look around her.
    They were in a clearing where a small camp had been set up. Now she could see her captor as he swung down from the saddle. He was a short, stocky man, dressed in furs—a long, wide-skirted fur coat covered most of his body. On his head he wore a strange, conical fur hat. Beneath the skirts of the coat