Merlyn
Chapter One

Pain. It burned at her right side, dizzying and distracting, and her fingers found the stickiness of warm blood as they slid over the new wound. How long were they going to keep this up before they eventually tired or she eventually lost too much blood? Another strike flashed in the darkness, metal scraping across her cheek in sharp pain. Chains, heavy and cold, held her wrists bound to the floor. She wanted to tug at them, to fight for escape but could not, finding it would only result in more pain. She felt bruised, bruised everywhere, and could feel the warmth of her lifeblood as it dripped from the cuts they had caked her body in. How had she gotten into this mess? Hissing through her teeth, more of that blinding pain struck her arm. Over and over. Sometimes with a sword, sometimes with a dagger, other times with metal bent into shapes she had never known. But always cutting, always hurting. She had been here over a week now and yet they had not killed her. That wasn't their aim. she was to be broken, to be little more than a shell. She could be easily used then, doing their bidding as they wanted. But that wouldn't be. With every strike of blade or fist, her resolve only grew. She would be out of here, she would be free.

Lack of food and water had weakened her considerably, and the wounds on her body even more so. But she knew, when they had finally made to move to a new location, that she would free herself of them. A voice outside the door sounded and she looked in the direction. Though she could never see anything in here, never see through the darkness that surrounded the room that had been her cell for almost two weeks. Never see anything until they opened that shaft above her, until they let the sky light her up if only to see better where they could cut. There was movement outside. Everyone seemed restless lately, there was much shuffling about, much grunting from the guards, and arguments broke out often. Days had started to roll into nights here and she had begun to lose her internal clock, but presumed it was before dawn. Grunts came from outside and the sound of movement before the door opened soundlessly, letting in light for only mere seconds. Precious seconds. The person who had entered did not speak, the only sound came from the clang of metal. Fear began to roll off her as a cold sweat broke out, mingling with the smell of the room. Stale and thick with the smell of blood, she gagged every time she allowed herself to notice. She slumped, knowing that- if there had been any light- she would be unable to recognise herself as the frail girl laying soiled and scared in chains. But, as the fear began to shake her, a sense of calm flooded her mind, pulling the fear back into its recesses. Men and women both had come and gone, hurting her every time, but none had uttered a word. She knew this was a man, knew by the gruffness of his breathing as he pit blade against blade, swiping them against each other. She could not see, but she could hear. Finally, he stopped, the sound of something moving up ahead being her first indication it was about to begin again. Light from outside, from the fires and moon, filtered down onto her and she blinked up at it. Smelling the air, the sweet fragrance of recent rain, she turned back to look at the shadows, noting how they were lighter- showing the movement of the man and the table where the instruments for her pain could be found. Fools, they were all fools to keep her here so long. To allow her to adapt to her surroundings, to formulate plans. Such fools. And there, as she lay trembling and hollow in her own filth, she allowed a faint smile to tilt the corners of her lips.

Her escape had hurt, it had hurt her worse than the time she had spent here. Her wrists had made such a popping sound as she dislocated them, that she had let loose a scream of pain. The guards would not notice. How could they when someone had been sent to her specifically to create that sound? No, they would not notice, and neither would the man with her. She had timed it so that her scream would sound to be caused by the wicked cut he had just inflicted upon her arm. She had timed it so well, timed it all so well. Arms shaking, she clenched her teeth at the effort it took to release herself from the shackles and relocate her wrists again- giving out another scream. The man still had not noticed, concentrating more on her contorted face than the hands that had pressed themselves to the ground, preparing to rise. He turned to the table of weapons. Fool. How foolish it was to have the weapons left in the same room as the prisoner. Without another thought, and with shaking legs, she propelled herself at the table, snatching the nearest weapon and plunging it deep into the nape of his neck before he had time to react. She both hated and delighted in the sickening noise of gargling as he choked on his blood. Her entire body was shaking now and she fought desperately to calm it. Gods, it hurt. She hurt. A lot of blood had been lost but they had thankfully not visited her yesterday- aside to bring her little food and water- so she had had the time to rest. Even if just for a day, that was enough. She had allowed herself to heal her worst wounds yesterday, allowed her to use the very magic that she had been locked in here for. Clearing her mind, she looked up to the shaft of light that had been looking down on her not a minute before. She looked up, noting how the sky had lightened a little, giving way to dawn. She had not much time before the day lightened enough that it would be impossible for her to sneak out of here. Her arms stretched above her, thinning muscles contracting, as she mustered up the strength it took to lift herself onto the roof of the wagon that had become her prison. No-one below was looking up as they milled around, preparing for a day of travel. Everyone looked so ordinary that she was slightly taken aback. It had become hard not to imagine her captors as having monstrous faces, become hard not to dream of them as being demons with scarred faces. But, looking around, she noted how the camp consisted of mere bandits and sell swords.

The daggers hilt pressed hard into her hand as she clenched her fist so tightly she knew it would be stark white. Her body was pressed against the side of a wagon and she was struggling to keep her breathing quiet as people walked past. Horses were reigned to a tree not far from where she stood and she knew one was required for her escape. She had waited for this moment, used that Northern star every moment she could to find herself, waited for them to travel again, knowing that there would be fewer people and fewer horse as they set out in their groups to the next destination. Slowly, she counted to three, allowing for deep, shallow breaths, before sprinting as quietly as possible for the horses. Not one person noticed her as she hid within them, untying the reigns of her own. Anger rose within her at the thought of them keeping her horse and treating them like they did their own. A voice broke out from among the band of people, high and alerting. And, even though she had not listened to it, she knew by the tone that she had been spotted. Footsteps were bounding toward her by the time she had successfully released all the horses and was sat atop her own. Her foot was bare as she dug it into the stallion, urging him into a gallop. His saddle was still fitted and for that she was glad, not having to suffer through the pain of riding bare-back. They ran with the other horses, splitting off in different directions, and she kept low; hoping it would be too dark to know which one to chase. Arrows shot from the direction she had ran from but she ignored them. Ignored the pain that was coursing through her body at the abuse she had suffered, ignored the fatigue that spread through her mind, trying to lull her into unconsciousness, ignored everything except the dull chant of words she repeated in her head, over and over. I am Merlyn Vere, I will be free.