He looked past her, into the empty courtyard that had received them. “When can we expect the rest of your entourage?”
“We are all that are coming.”
“Oh, I see.” His voice seemed as confused as it was let down. He snapped his fingers. “Very well, Binseman. We will see to it that you are well-attended for as long as you are in our care.”
He smiled wide and a young girl, shorter than Práta and deeply tan, came up beside him. She bowed her head quickly and the attendant placed a hand on her shoulder. “This is Nath. She will see to your every need.”
He pushed the girl out in front of them and she smiled awkwardly. “Welcome to Fásachbaile.”
v
Óraithe
A wind-blown piece of sand across her cheek was the thing that brought her back to her senses. Óraithe still lay where she had landed, though she had reflexively curled into a ball to shield herself from the wind. The cold that began to grip her body made her briefly wish for the empty surrender of unconsciousness. She rolled onto her stomach and pushed up from the ground. It took more effort than she’d hoped it would.
Worse than the effort was the pain in her stomach muscles. Not just where the muscled elf had struck her, but every single inch. Her legs hurt more than her stomach, at least she had thought as much until a sharp breath of cold air made her cough. She dropped to her knees at the pain and let out half a ragged yelp before catching the sound in her throat. No doubt, someone had heard.
She stood again as quickly as she could manage and moved herself toward the rocks that she had meant to rest behind during the day. They would provide some small shelter from the wind. She made it to the pile and huddled down as tightly as her muscles would allow. She scanned the edges of the yard that she could see from her place. There were a few dim lights but nothing bright enough to tell her what sorts of people stood near them. Most seemed to be asleep. The moonlight made the bulk of the forms into nothing more than dark lumps along the far wall. Only a single form moved in the night, but there was not nearly enough light to see how it moved or what sort of person the form might belong to.
The wind couldn’t quite get her and the still of the air slowly warmed with her presence. It was not so much heat that she was comfortable, but it would make the night pass well enough. She wanted nothing more than to remain awake, to watch the figures and make sure they did not come close. The strain on her body did not allow it and it was only a half hour before she fell asleep again.
The pain struck before she woke entirely, and she felt her back impact the ground and slide across the sand. The sun was not yet up, though the sky had begun to shift a deep purple. The full pain ran through her arm as her mind caught up to what exactly was happening. She opened her eyes on the ground, not able to move herself quickly enough to move away from the source of the pain. The elf that had taken her sleeves was standing over her in the dim light.
“The sleeves weren’t enough, girl. We come for the rest.”
Óraithe scrambled back. There was some room between them now and she pulled herself to her feet. The pain was still in every part of her being, but she pushed it aside. She was breathing heavily just from the effort of the move she had pulled. She could feel her joints screaming against the strain. There had been no warning and her body wasn’t nearly ready to move at any sort of speed.
The large man stopped, his cohorts behind him well enough that they would not be able to reach her. He stared at her as though he was waiting for something to happen. It was clear he’d not expected anything out of her aside from quiet compliance.
“You want these rags? Kill me. Musclebound oaf. You are a sad excuse for an elf. You are why we have become what we are.”
“Got no idea what you’re talkin’, girl. But if it’s death you’re after, I can oblige.”
He lunged at Óraithe as quickly as he could manage, but the muscles made him anything but agile. Óraithe ducked and slid around his side as he passed. She managed to grab onto his ankle and dug her nails in with all of her strength. The muscled elf fell, landing with a deep, meaty thud. A small cloud of dirt puffed up around him as Óraithe climbed onto his back and dug her nails into the side of his neck. She screamed, half in rage, half from the pain of her ruined body. She screamed and raked her fingers through the flesh. A gush of blood spilled out and warmed her hands.
Before she could do more damage, her arms were arrested by four pairs of hands and her tiny body was ripped off of her bleeding adversary. They held her aloft. It was the cohorts. She gritted her teeth and kicked against them but it was no use. There wasn’t nearly enough strength in her to break free of them. The bulky elf stood and turned, face bright red and blood pouring from his neck.
“BITCH!”
He roared and spat. She saw his leg come up and braced as best she could, but it was no help. His linen-wrapped foot slammed into her chest and pushed the air from her lungs. The cohorts lost their grip on
