Annabeth Chase
Annabeth crashed through the dense underbrush, branches snagging at her cloak and hair, her heart pounding. Her breath came in ragged gasps, the cold air burning her lungs. She could hear the distant sounds of battle fading as she pushed deeper into the forest.
After what felt like an eternity, Annabeth slowed, her legs trembling with exhaustion. She stumbled to a halt, leaning against a tree to catch her breath. Her mind raced, trying to process what had just happened. She felt the cold seeping through her clothes, numbing her limbs.
She was doubled over, panting so heavily, that she somehow did not hear the man coming up behind her before it was too late. Her hair was grabbed close to the scalp and before Annabeth could even so much as scream, she was thrown down onto the snow face first. "Thought you could run!" he gruff voice snarled as what felt like a wave of ice and snow spilled into her clothes through her collar.
A heavy boot pressed down on her back and pinned her down into the snow, leaving her squirming for a moment until she felt him drop down onto her back.
A strong hand gripped a fist full of her hair by the scalp and her head was yanked back. Annabeth's scream died in her throat when something very gold and sharp bit into her throat.
"Shut up or I will make you smile big and wide, you hear me!" the man screamed into her ear.
Her dagger, Annabeth thought. It was still in her hand, trapped under her body. She was probably lucky she hadn't impaled herself during the fall.
"You caught her!" another male voice growled and she heard more footsteps approaching.
"Yeah, the little bitch will make us a lot of good coin," the man that caught her growled and shoved her face back down into the snow and and grabbed her shoulder to turn her onto her back.
Summoning all her strength, Annabeth twisted her body, freeing her arm just enough to drive the dagger into the man's side. The blade skidded off his gambeson with a dull thud, nearly breaking her thumb in the process. He turned, his eyes wide with surprise and fury, and backhanded her across the face. Stars exploded in her vision as she was thrown back into the snow, the dagger slipping from her grasp.
"You little whore!" he said and a hand, encased in a thick leather gauntlet, closed around her throat and squeezed. "Stab me, eh? I'll show you!" He was a big fellow, with a thick brown beard that had snow flakes sticking in it. For that reason she very vividly noticed that. She barely took note of how much better the man was dressed than the others, how the cold malice glinting in his brown eyes.
"Garret, we need the bitch alive!" another voice warned as her vision grew darker. She clawed at the thick leather of the gauntlet, trying to prey his fingers lose. "Look at her, she has to nobility!"
"Damn it," Garret growled and released her throat. "Ronan, head over to Mason and his lot, see how they are fairing with the damned caravan, we can't stay long!"
Annabeth's lungs burned as they inflated, as she gasped and inhaled the frozen hair.
"Think you are going to stab me, ha!" he snarled again and slapped her a second time. "We'll teach ya before your randsomed. Someone somewhere is bound to pay for a pretty thing like you. Actually,..."
Annabeth was roughly turned into her stomach, her face shoved back into the compacted snow, flawless white now netted with droplets of blood. To her terror she felt the hem of her dress and under-dress being dragged up.
"Stop!" she screamed and began to thrash around, trying to break free as terror took hold of her usually calm and collected mind. "Get away from me!"
"Bram, hold her legs there," Garred growled. "Stop fighting you dumb cunt, or you'll get my dagger up your cunt instead of my cock! Boys, come here. Hold her! At camp you all can have a go."
She barely heard his words and suddenly become aware of more men suddenly standing around her. Before she knew it bare knees and thighs were scraping across snow and ice.
"Stop, please!" Annabeth begged. Instead of answering a blow struck the side of her skull like a hammer.
When she regained consciousness, her thighs were numb with cold and fatigue, the snow burning against her bare flesh. Impatient hands were tearing at her undergarments. Her ears still ringing, Annabeth was just about to give up and let it happen when a horn, sharp and clear, rang out through the cold forest. A moment later, a second deeper horn answered, this own further out.
"Helton can't be this close!" Bram's voice reached her ears. More of the men were muttering in discontent and unease. Suddenly the weight off her disappeared and she heard a hard scratching sound of metal sliding against wood. It was an unmistakable sound of a sword being drawn.
"Can't be, we burned the fucking bridge," Garret replied. What ever was going on, Annabeth decided, was of secondary concern. This was the best chance she was going to get. With her last remaining strength she began to drag her self forward.
"Let's just kill the bitch here and get going," Bran said, his voice shaking.
"Kill her? You said yourself, she is worth her weight in coin. Besides, never just kill your hostage," Garret replied.
"Boss," one of the six other men warned. They all looked like a miserable bunch, three were armed with spears and shields, and the three others with clubs and long knives. All were gaunt and malnourished.
"Oh no you don't," Garret then said, apparently only realizing that Annabeth was attempted an escape. Annabeth tried to scramble away fast, but Garret caught up with her in three strides and kicked her in the stomach, his now drawn arming sword braced across his shoulder, and a round shield slung across his back. The force of the blow knocked her over onto her back and drove all air from her lungs.
Another horn called out, this time far closer. The sound now clear and sharp in the morning. Bran cursed and hurried up to join Garret, a cleaver now held in his hand. Where his master was large, and imposing, he was skinny, a face dominated by oily thin hair, a too large nose, bright red from cold, and sallow, unshaven cheeks.
"Gold be damned," he said, his eyes wild, and hurried up towards Annabeth. Annabeth, clutching her stomach and trying to stop herself from throwing up, could to little more than groan in process, as Bran strapped up towards her and raised the cleaver. Expecting an ugly death, Annabeth closed her eyes shut, and only heard a dull thud followed by a loud, very colorful curse. She opened her eyes just in time to find a white goose feathered arrow sticking out of Garrets flank.
"By the damned gods," Garret exhaled, plucking the wide headed arrow from his gambeson and glared at it before hoisting his shield and holding the tip of his sword to Annabeth's throat. "Show yourself, or I will cut her throat!"
Then he turned to his men. "Boys, stay together, shields out."
Garret did not have to wait for long for their foe to reveal themselves. The three men with the spears and shields moved closer to their commander and Bram, the other three just turned around and ran. A horn sounded very close by and seemingly without warning, and a deeper one, the first that had called, answered not much further away.
Suddenly, the air filled with the thunder of hooves breaking through the snow as half a dozen horses burst from the underbrush, charging at full gallop in a line abreast. These were massive beasts, bred for war, ridden by men-at-arms so tightly aligned they seemed like a solid wall. Annabeth caught a fleeting glimpse of grim great helms, a banner fluttering in the wind, thick chain-mail, polished heater shields, and glinting bloodied spear tips lowered with lethal intent before they were upon them.
Abandoning any remaining pretense of composure, Annabeth rolled herself into a fetal position and screamed in pure terror as a storm of thundering hooves engulfed her, the very forest floor under her trembling. The carnage was absolute, and she was caught in the hart of the storm. With an ear splitting weapons struck shields and horses collided with men. She was caught in a maelstrom whinnying and neighing of horses, weapons clashing, the shouting and screaming of men, and the writhing mass of body and armor around her. Annabeth barely registered a boot stepping on her thigh, and its owner slipping and falling down onto Annabeth, trapping her underneath his weight. Hot blood gushed out of the expiring bandit, his vitae drenching her clothes and spilling into her mouth, still open in a scream.
A heartbeat later relative silence fell as the riders passed her.
"Hey!" she heard one of them yelling as he reigned in his horse, his voice as loud as if he were right next to her. Annabeth turned her head to look around, the snow around her was died a harsh red. One of the bandits, Bran, was crawling through the snow, his face looking like it had been cleaved open. One of his legs was bent in an odd angle, and she spotted broken bones poking through his clothes. His eyes were wide and white in panic, his screams coming in rasping breaths. It took a moment until Annabeth realized that a shattered lance had impaled the man through the chest. His face burned itself into her memory. Two more of the bandits lay on either side of her, completely motionless and a third was in the process of breathing his last few breaths.
Somehow Garret had survived the clash, unharmed apart from a laceration across his forehead. He was still holding his sword and shield.
"Come about, form a rung and draw!" one of the men at arms yelled and the horses dispersed on all directions.
Apparently realizing he was running out of time quickly, Garret rushed forward and grabbed Annabeth's hair. Trapped under a corps, there was nothing she could do but cry out in pain as the cold unforgiving blade of a sword bit into her flesh.
"Leave me alone or I will kill her! I swear I will," he screamed, his voice high pitched in panic. "I will gut this whore like a fish!"
He seemed to have focused on one of them men, the large rider holding the banner. He looked like a giant, to Annabeth's desperate eyes. "Unhand her!" he commanded, his voice booming.
Suddenly the thundering of hooves grew louder and both she and Gerret looked around just in time to see one of the riders coming up from their flank fast. There was a flash of silver as a sword came down, and another spray of blood and bone, showered down on Annabeth. Garret didn't even scream, he only went limp, his heavy form also dropping onto onto Annabeth aswell, once again knocking all air from her lungs.
Men shouted around and and suddenly she heard heavy boots and hooves thundering through the snow around her. A moment later Garret's corpse was dragged off face and tossed aside and she found herself looking up into the visor slits of a helmet.
He too was tall, and well built. He worse a fine suit of polished mail with a surcoat over a gamgason made, the etire package kept together by a sword belt with an empty scappard and a dagger. This bucket helmet even had golden laurels adorning the brow. Finally a thick wool cloak rested on his shoulders.
A bloodied sword was sticking out of the snow next Annabeth, and a shield lay next to it. Like the suroat, it's motive too was evenly split green and blue, the green side holding a trident, while the blue one showed in image of a black winged horse. A set of golden laurels embraced both sigils. Another worrier dismounted and grabbed the other dead bandit, and dragged him off Annabeth.
Annabeth lay in the snow, her body trembling from the cold and the slowly subsiding terror. The knight stood over her, his polished mail gleaming even in the diffuse light, surveyed the aftermath with what she imagined to be stern expression under his helmet. His surcoat, emblazoned with a trident and a winged horse, fluttered slightly in the wind.
"Beckendorf, take the brothers and return to the caravan. Ensure no more of these scoundrels attack while they are vulnerable," he commanded. His voice was steady and authoritative.
"Aye, it will be done," the banner carrier responded, signaling the other men-at-arms to follow him.
The second warrior, dressed in much the same colors as the man standing over her pulled his helmet off, revealing a chain male hood, and a handsome face with warm complexion and flushed cheeks. Only after he pushed the hood back and pulled off a cloth arming cap, and saw the thick, blond hair, did Annabeth realized how young the man was.
"My Lady, are you hurt?" he asked, his breath forming small clouds, as he knelt down next to her in the snow.
Annabeth looked down herself and realized she was covered in blood and gore. Her long blond hair was a single red mat.
"I,...I don't think so...," she stammered, hastily trying to cover her thighs with her dress again just as another woman woman came running towards them through the snow, leading a normal sized horse by its reigns. She was lean, and dressed in the robes of a woman of a faith. In her hands she held a hunting bow, and a quiver with arrows hung from her belt. Her hair was cut indecently short, and her face was pale.
"Took you long enough, Kelp Head," the pail woman growled, electric blue eyes boring into the warrior standing over her . "Nearly thought I'd have to try to charge those low-lives ourselves."
The warrior standing over her sighed pulled off his cloak and wrapped it around her shoulders before also kneeling down next to her and pulling off his helmet. "Don't mind her, she is insufferable," he declared, nodding over at the pail woman. Then he too pulled his helmet off and pushed back his mail hood, revealing a quite familiar face. "And so we meet again."
As Annabeth met the knight's green eyes, she burst into nervous, myrtles laughter, the harsh sound a strange mix of relief and hysteria, as recognition settled in.
"Well, Kelp Head. Looks like you broke another one," the woman said, while Will Solace regarded her with genuine concern.
"You," Annabeth wheezed, trying to catch her breath.
"Yes, me," the knight replied, his lips curling into a smile, and pushed a loose strand of his untamed black hair from his face. "But where are my manners, I am hailed Sir Perseus of Atlantis. But you may call me Percy, if it pleases you."