The Battle for Skandia Read Online Free PDF Page B

he wore shapeless trousers made from a thin kind of felt, with soft hide boots pulled up over them, about knee high.
    He walked toward her now, rolling slightly with the bowlegged walk of a man who spent most of his time in the saddle. His features were sharp—almond-shaped eyes that slitted to almost nothing from years of looking across long distances into the wind and the glare of a hard land. His skin was dark, almost nut brown from exposure to the sun, and the cheekbones were high. The nose was short and wide, and the lips were thin. Her first impression was that it was a cruel face. Then she amended the thought. It was simply an uncaring face. The eyes showed no signs of compassion or even interest in her as the rider reached down and grabbed her collar, forcing her to her feet.
    â€œStand,” he said. The voice was thick and the accent guttural, but she recognized the single word in the Skandian tongue. It was basically similar to the Araluen language and she had spent months with the Skandians in any event. She allowed herself to be raised to her feet. She was nearly as tall as the man, she noticed, with a slight feeling of surprise. But, small as he was, the strength in the arm that dragged her upright was all too obvious.
    Now she noticed the bow and the quiver, and was instinctively glad that no chance had arisen for her to try to escape. She had no doubt that the man shoving her forward was an expert shot. There was something totally capable about him, she realized. He seemed so confident, so much in control. The bow might have simply marked him as a hunter. The long, curved sword in a brass-mounted scabbard on his left hip said that he was a warrior.
    Her study of the man was interrupted by a chorus of voices from the camp. Now that she had the time to look, she saw another five warriors, similarly dressed and armed. Their horses, small and shaggy-coated, were tethered to a rope slung between two trees, and there were three small tents placed around the clearing, made from a material that appeared to be felt. A fire crackled in a small circle of stones set in the center of the clearing and the other men were grouped around it. They rose to their feet in surprise as she was pushed toward them.
    One of them stepped forward, a little apart from the others. That fact, and the commanding tone in his voice, marked him as the leader of the small group. He spoke rapidly to the man who had captured her. She couldn’t understand the words, but the tone was unmistakable. He was angry.
    While he was obviously the leader of the small party, it was equally obvious that the man who had brought her here was also relatively senior. He refused to be cowed by the other man’s angry words, replying in equally strident tones and gesturing toward her. The two of them stood, nose to nose, becoming louder and louder in their disagreement.
    She stole a quick glance at the other four men. They had resumed their seats around the fire now, their initial interest in the captive having subsided. They watched the argument with interest, but with no apparent concern. One of them went back to turning a few green twigs with fresh meat spitted on them over the fire. The fat and juices ran off the meat and sizzled in the coals, sending up a cloud of fragrant smoke.
    Evanlyn’s stomach growled softly. She hadn’t eaten since the meager breakfast she had shared with Will. From the position of the sun, it must be late afternoon by now. She calculated that they had been traveling some three hours at least.
    Finally, the argument seemed to be resolved—and in favor of her captor. The leader threw his hands in the air angrily and turned away, walking back to his place by the fire and dropping to a cross-legged position. He looked at her, then waved dismissively to the other man. Her fate, it appeared, was in his hands.
    The horseman took a length of rawhide rope from his saddle bow and quickly ran two loops around her neck.