Chapter 1

Fields of tall grass the colour of old jade swaying in the wind rolled past alongside the wagons wheels as they turned, and Cayla knew with certainty that she would never see her home again.

Bound tightly wrist and ankle by rough hempen cord, the stiff fibres of her restraints had bitten deeply enough to draw blood during the course of the journey. She could feel small beads of it steadily drip down onto the wood beneath her feet, staining it a deep crimson brown as it dried. The pain of her wounds had been pushed to the back of her thoughts however, compared to the tight iron choker she wore around her neck. Having been kept sitting in the same position for so long, an icy numbness had spread out from her toes to her hips, and she couldn't have stood after so long even if she had still been able.

Her body was weak from having been starved for days, and she'd had little to eat even before that. The small amounts of liquid she received had been given grudgingly, and accepted even more so. She knew they didn't trust her, and the feeling was mutual. She drank to survive, nothing more. She would survive, had to survive.

It wasn't quite spring, it wouldn't be for a few more days yet, and the chill still lingering in the early morning air made her chafed wrists sting afresh with every little bump of the carts wheels as it made its way along the packed earth road beneath them.

The last chorus of early morning birdsong filled the air, singing to each other treetop to treetop, although not a single bird could be seen from where she sat. Blissfully her captors had left her face uncovered, and she breathed the damp air deeply in through her mouth. Feeling it flow over her cracked tongue, she savoured the freshness as the cool air helped moisten her parched mouth.

Keeping her eyes to the ground, she traced the pattern of the woodgrain under her feet with her gaze, following the same ritual she had done every day she had been there. It took her mind off of the pain, gave her something to focus on apart from her feeling of hopelessness. One end of the carriage to the other, the soft swirls and ripples ran, and her eyes followed them. There was a simple logic to it she could appreciate, the way the lines flowed marking the rings of the tree the planks had been hewn from, the rings themselves having marked the passage of time as that tree had grown.

Cayla wasn't quite sure where the wagon was headed, having been when they had first loaded her into it. The few times she had allowed herself to sleep had done nothing to help her keep track of how far they had travelled either. Not that she would have recognised any of the sights or places they had passed along the way. Growing up, she'd rarely had the chance to venture far from her home. She had heard stories of other towns and villages of course, and her grandfather had often told her the story of the time he had gone to Gaheris to try his luck in the melee tournament in his youth. He came back months later with shattered dreams and a hip to match. The limp he had earned in his right leg had pained him from the moment he had returned through until the final days of his life. The young man, boy really, had been no match for the professional Knights in training there

That was all she really knew of what lay beyond the land where she had been born. Horses to make a long journey were a luxury only the rich could afford. The few mules her village had possessed were used for working the fields, not for travel, so if you wanted to go somewhere you had to walk. At any other time, the notion of riding in a cart, one being pulled by not one but two horses, would have been cause for excitement to her.

The thought of trying to steal one of them had crossed her mind constantly, but the fact she didn't know how to ride a horse even if she had been able to had put that plan firmly to rest. That, and the fact that she was watched at all times day and night in case she tried to run. She thought that must have been one of the reasons that they starved her, to keep her too weak to try to flee. So she sat, and she waited for them to take her wherever it was they were transporting her to.

It wasn't likely to be a good place, she thought sadly. Criminals weren't generally treated courteously anywhere, and the reality of her guilt was something she had herself to accept during the course of her long journey.

She was a criminal, a murderer in everyone's eyes including her own, albeit an unwilling one. People were dead by her hand regardless. Families ripped apart because of her actions, never again to spend a day together, or sit down to share a simple family meal around their kitchen table. She lived with that, even accepted it now. It was a curse she carried alone. How she wished that was the only one she bore.

As the morning went on, Cayla started to get an idea of roughly which direction she was being taken in. She had watched the sun rise from the same direction each morning, and they had been going that way for the past few days. The faint tang of salt that was now in the air also told her the ocean couldn't be too far away. Although she couldn't yet see the coastline, she now knew there was only one place they could be taking her. To face judgement.

Their journey halted a short while later as her captors stopped to break their fast, and water. Having travelled for the better part of the night without rest, by this point Cayla's stomach was painfully empty and her bladder was full.

After uncoupling the horses and tying them to a nearby tree, one of the men climbed up into the back of wagon and herded her out, whilst the others brushed their horses down and made sure the animals were fed. Those horses were treated far better than her, but she bore them no ill will.

Her legs betrayed her as she attempted to put weight on them for the first time in hours. Stumbling as she tried to walk, she would have fallen if not for the tautness of the bonds around her wrists being held from behind her back. She was escorted to where the horses had been sidled. She felt her bonds loosen briefly before they were retied, each arm now attached to a different animal's saddle. If she spooked them and they bolted, the horses would likely run away from each other, pulling her limb from limb in the process. It was an effect incentive to stay quiet. She could have wasted her breath and asked for them to let her relieve herself with a bit of privacy, but knew it was pointless. Not a moment had passed since she had been snatched up that she hadn't been watched by at least one pair of their eyes.

The rough clothes that she wore, more rags than proper garments now after being worn for as many days as they had, carried the pungent smell of dried urine and worse by this point. Cayla had moved passed caring about retaining her modestly. If they though her little more than an animal, she would act the part for them.

There was enough slack on the ropes securing her to allow her to walk a few feet in either direction, so was able to avoid having to soil where she slept thankfully.

Soon enough there was a small camp set up. A fire pit had been dug into the ground close by, low enough into the earth to keep the flames out of sight from more than a short distance away. Before long the smell of cooking meat slowly drifted over, the tantalising aroma carried on the breeze made her mouth water. Her empty stomach growled, and she desperately hoped some of the food would find its way to her after going hungry the last few nights.

Three of her captors sat and dined, whilst the fourth kept watch and waited for his turn to eat, one eye to towards the road ahead, but the other fixed firmly on Cayla. They threw grease slicked bones and taunts over their shoulder towards where she sat, and she snatched them from the floor. Not caring enough to even pick off the flecks of dirt that clung to the scraps, she cracked the bones as best she could, sucking the marrow from the shards. A few small pieces of meat still remained, and she savoured the taste of them.

Her starved belly still ached, but she didn't care. Every other part of her ached too. A half filled water skin was dangled in front of her not long after. Grabbing at it, she popped the cork and drank deeply. It wasn't fresh, but it helped wash the food down somewhat.

"Better?"

The voice was barely above a whisper, almost half afraid to be heard speaking to her, and it took her a moment to realise the question was meant for her.

"Tha . . . Thank you." Cayla whispered back. She hadn't spoken for days, the sound of hearing her own voice aloud was strange to her ears. She drank another mouthful. Too fast. She coughed and spluttered trying to swallow the liquid.

"Slowly, not too fast." he took the skin from her. "Don't let them hear us."

She didn't know his, or any of their names. They hadn't even used them amongst themselves, and she hadn't cared enough to ask them. But she was gratefully to him for this small act of kindness none the less. It was the first time any of them had acknowledged her in the slightest way since she had been in their company.

He offered her the water back, and she followed his advice, taking small sips rather than gulps this time. Leaving the skin with her, he made his way back towards the fire. After a few minutes he returned, carrying half a rabbit still skewered on a spit with him. Seating himself cross legged down on the ground close to her, he began to eat. Pulling a chunk from it, he offered a chuck of meat out to her.

Seeing that he had eaten some already, and fearing that he would take it back again, she wolfed it down without hesitation. The rich taste of the meat, unseasoned and gamey but dripping with grease was delicious. Watching her from behind deep blue eyes, he nodded approvingly as she managed to keep the small morsel down. He gave her a second piece.

"Listen to me," he said, checking that the others hadn't heard him before he continued. "We'll be there by this time tomorrow. I can't free you, it's too risky. But I might be able to help a little."

She didn't understand. "How?"

He finished what was left of his meal, wiping his fingers on his legs. "Does it matter?"

With a shake of her head as she stuffed more of the rabbit into her mouth, she told him it didn't. He could have been toying with her, there had been little else to amuse him and the rest of his band since she had been with them. She couldn't see how he could possibly do anything to make her situation better though. If he tried to set her free, the other three would surely turn on him. Could he fight them she wondered, looking at him properly. He didn't look all that tough too her, but the wicked looking daggers he wore strapped across his chest did. Cayla had seen him bring down a deer in flight with them not two nights past, so she knew he was fast. Maybe that would be enough.

"I'm sorry."

She didn't have chance to ask what for before he hit her, the hard boiled leather on his gloves hand striking her hard across the face. Tears welled in her eyes, the pain blossoming across her cheek reducing her to tears. Walking away, he earned himself a round of approval from the others as he made his way back to the fire laughing to himself.

Sliding to the floor, she sobbed quietly to herself, too disheartened to cry aloud. So, it had been a game to him. She hadn't thought that they could have been any more cruel than they already had, but she had been proven wrong. There was no hope. No one would be coming to rescue her, there was nothing that could save her from her situation.

Digging at the soil beneath her, Cayla tried to pry some of the stones out from where she would be sleeping. Fresh pain tore through her finger as it was sliced open. Looking down to find whatever rock had hurt her and planning to hurl it away in anger, she saw that it hadn't been a rock after all. Laying there in the ground, and looking like it had been hastily covered with loose dirt, was one of those wicked looking blades staring back at her.

Waiting to make sure there were no eyes looking her way, she plucked it up swiftly. Carefully, she drew the sharp edges of the blade across the inside of her thigh. Not enough to cause real harm, but enough to let blood flow in slow trickles down her leg. Falling down into the earth below they disappear swiftly, swallowed by the hungry earth now dry after the days sun had baked it. She was careful not to let it bleed too much, she didn't want to risk being caught. She craved this. She didn't want to, hated herself for it, but it didn't make any difference. The need to bleed was becoming too strong now, the urge to feel it wet on her fingers too overpowering. Better her blood that someone else's in her mind, although she would have made an exception for the men she was with.

Feeling the skin around the thin cut she had drawn already knotting together, she hid the knife more carefully than she had found it, and settled down to sleep.