XIX

Very slowly the darkness became lighter. It was not black anymore, and there was a hint of white light among the dark. The light came in the form of tiny spots that would twinkle like stars against a clear night sky. Prolur opened his eyes, and the dark was exchanged for a blurry light with dark shapes dancing against it. His vision was not the only thing troubling him. His entire body felt numb, and his shoulder ached like nothing he had ever felt before. The cold feeling was still present within him, its intensity almost making his teeth rattle. Prolur had been injured before, but this pain he felt was nothing like those other wounds, and he quickly came to the conclusion that he had been poisoned. He squirmed where he lay to see if everything was intact and it was. He also noticed that he had not been tied down at all, nor was he paralyzed, he was just in an immense amount of pain. His right arm worked, and he brought it up to rub his eyes. It worked, and his vision cleared, but he wasn’t prepared for the face staring down at him. It was the thin face of a young man with hollow cheeks and eyes that lay deep inside the head, almost hidden by a protruding brow. The man’s chin ended in a point, and because he had no hair, the face seemed almost almond-shaped. He had no facial hair, but his left side was covered in an intricate pattern in black, which appeared to be a tattoo. The pattern stretched from the point of the man’s chin up to the top of his head and from his tiny ear to the center of his face, down his nose and around his left yellow eye with its cat-like iris. The man spoke to Prolur, but it sounded more like some form of barking than any form of language that he had ever heard. The man tried again, and Prolur replied with his name and title, but it was to no avail since the man didn’t understand him either. At that moment, someone called to the man, and he looked away. Prolur tried to roll over onto his feet so that the man would not keep his position of power, looking down on him, but the stranger caught his intention and placed his right foot on Prolur’s right shoulder, keeping him down. The man looked at the defenseless Prolur, stepped back, and grabbed his robes. With incredible force, he yanked Prolur off the ground and formerly lifted him to his feet. To stand upright was more difficult than Prolur had expected, and he suddenly felt very dizzy. His legs buckled, and he fell to his hands and knees before the man, who laughed a horrible, vicious laugh and pushed him over onto his injured shoulder by shoving his left arm away from under him with his foot. At that moment, another man ran up to Prolur’s tormentor and shoved him against a tree. Prolur rolled over to see the two men in a heated argument. They fell silent and stared at each other with intense heat flashing in their eyes. The one who had tripped Prolur gave a grunting sound as if he was disappointed that his time with the prisoner was over and walked away. The other man looked down at Prolur. His face was rounder yet still maintained the pointed chin. He bore jet-black hair, which cascaded from his head and reached just below his ears. He had no tattoos on his face, but instead, he had a pattern running down from his right shoulder to his wrist. From what Prolur could see from his awkward position, it seemed to depict a dragon of sorts. The man took Prolur’s healthy arm and pulled him to his feet. He then grabbed him around the waist to prevent him from falling again. The man brought him to a tree and let Prolur lean against its trunk. Prolur got a chance to look around at the carnage. At first glance, he knew that he was the only survivor. The bodies of young soldiers were scattered everywhere. Like before, some of them had been impaled and stuck to trees, and then some had been beheaded, their heads hanging by the hair from the branches. Prolur became dizzy at the sight and queasy from the smell of blood and carnage. The attackers didn’t at all seem interested in the wagons full of food and supplies. They calmly walked through the bloodbath they had created and gathered up the weapons. Some were up on the horses and tying them together. A man jumped onto a wagon and began digging around among the supplies. He opened crates and sacks but kept shaking his head in disappointment, tossing the contents to the ground. Suddenly, he gave out a cry of joy as he uncovered a crate full of arrows and bolts. Quickly, some of his friends rushed to his aid and the find was carried off. Prolur stood there a moment as the scene played out before him. It was nothing new to him. He had been part of his share of raiding parties, but this was different. They had done it for the sake of survival, gathering food. These men seemed to be doing it out of pleasure or even hate for the Haugarian soldiers.

His thoughts were interrupted by the appearance of a man on a horse. He had a rope with him and threw one end of it to the man who had helped Prolur. He, in turn, took Prolur by his hands and wrapped the rope tightly around his wrists. Prolur clenched his teeth against the burn as the rope rubbed against skin. As the man jerked to tighten the knot, it jerked his shoulder in an unnatural fashion, which caused him to let out a pain-filled moan. No one seemed to care, and as soon as his wrists were properly tied, his savior walked off, and he was alone with the rider who pulled at the rope as a demonstration of power.