A moment later – or it could have been an hour, or a day – she was so disoriented at this point that she couldn't have said with any certainty – she was yanked roughly back to her feet.
Her legs promptly gave out, spilling her into the very man who had struck her. He hauled her upright once more, then leaned close and spoke in her ear. "You are going to walk, sword-wench, because if you do not, it is not you I am going to hurt. It is him."
Jane stiffened, sucking in a hurt little breath.
"Do we understand each other?" the man asked, moving around behind her.
"Yes," Jane whispered. She raised a hand to press it gingerly to her temple, swaying a bit on her feet as she did so – but a second later he had grabbed both her hands, wrenching her arms behind her back and binding them.
"That is good, Lady Jane," he said, jerking the ropes brutally tight, causing her to wince and then stagger yet again. He leaned into her then, so that when next he spoke, his lips were actually moving against her ear.
"I am Hugh, my lady," he murmured, twisting the last word into a mockery – an insult. "I am Marten's –"
"Right hand man, yes I know, we have covered this before," Jane said, just wanting to be done with the conversation, wanting desperately for him to back the hell off her.
The next thing she knew, he'd wound a fist in her hair and then clenched it, hard. She gasped, tears springing to her eyes, but managed to keep from crying out.
"Now that was not very ladylike behavior, sword-wench," he hissed, "cutting a man off like that. You have quite the high opinion of yourself, hm? Well never fear, I have a cure for that. You and I are going to engage in some very vigorous swordplay when we get back to camp… although the only one with a… sword… will be me, if you catch my meaning."
He gave a low chuckle as Jane, who caught his meaning perfectly well, shuddered with helpless revulsion. Then, "shall we invite your… friend… to watch?" he asked, and she had to swallow back a sob.
This is not happening. This cannot be happening. I hit my head and passed out, this is a nightmare, and the fighting is going on all around me, and I have to wake up. Please God, let me WAKE UP!
Then he released her hair, shoved her hard right between the shoulder blades, and snarled, "walk!" and there was nothing to do but comply.
One foot in front of the other. Not steady, no, but not in imminent danger of falling down again… at least, she didn't think so. Although everything seemed very distant somehow, very… disjointed.
Unreal.
That is because I am dreaming this – it is the worst dream I have ever had and oh God please, it is time to wake up now, I have to wake up!
No such luck, however. She could hear Gunther still trying to shout to her, but his voice was muffled now. She assumed they had gagged him, but she didn't look. She couldn't look.
On an emotional level, seeing him in this moment would completely unravel her. She didn't think she could stand it.
On a purely physical level, she was afraid to turn her head. The world was still so… wavery around the edges, somehow. Blurry. Indistinct. She could keep herself steady enough, she thought, as long as she faced front… but she was attuned enough to her body to know that swinging her head around now would cause a rush of disequilibrium strong enough to land her on her knees, if not lay her out flat.
It was enough to know that he was still alive and capable of making noise. It would have to be enough, for now.
She heard her captor shout at one of his men, "and get that sword she dropped! It looks to be worth a small fortune!"
The Dragon Sword! Jane's heart skipped a beat at that. That meant something. That was important. As long as the sword remained near her, there was a chance she could get her hands on it again. And if she did, she'd only need a moment.
They'd hurt her for it. They might do more than hurt her for it. But that didn't matter. If she could manage to call Dragon, the outlaws would be laid waste… the worse she was hurt, the more complete would be their destruction. And even if she couldn't be saved, maybe Gunther could.
Maybe Gunther could.
She had to figure out a way. But she was still so… addled. She was finding it hard to even get a firm grip on her thoughts, much less hang onto them for more than a few seconds before they went skittering away again.
She bit her lip and clenched her fists, trying to ground herself, trying to focus.
I can walk and think at the same time. I can, damnit, I can.
She had to. There was so much at stake. She could taste blood, she was savaging her lip so hard. She had to.
Please.