Hellrien could hear someone breathing nearby. She tried to turn around but the pain was so severe her vision grew dark. She lied still, breathing heavily. Her ear was against what felt like a wooden floor. What had happened?
Gradually Hellrien began to see clearly. She was lying on her side in between two trunks. Unpleasant smell of blood floated in the air. Taraborn was sitting still next to her. Hellrien tried to turn again. Her hands were tied behind her back with something. Every movement caused pain in her arms.
”This the one righ'!?” said a coarse voice outside.
”It better be”, said another voice. Hellrien recognized this one - it belonged to the redshirt. ”This one's just got... what is this crap?”
A woman’s voice splurged out a muffled laugh. ”Bout as close ter those you'll ever get!”
”Something fer Ast I'd guess!”
There were a few smashing sounds, as if somebody was smashing wood and metal with an axe or something similar. ”They in there?”
The hooded woman stuck her head in the back of the wagon and prodded Tara with the end of her mace. ”Miss me?” she sneered. The smell of her rancid breath filtered into the wagon. Hellrien had preferred the smell of blood.
”Bugger off, ye cow”, Tara snapped.
There was another crack outside as one more trunk was forcefully opened. The coarse voice spoke again, sounding delighted this time. ”Aye, this is more like it! Bloody hell, these are nice!”
The hooded woman made a slow licking motion in the air with her long tongue and chortled: ”He wan’s me.”
”I don’ shag orc spawn”, said Tara.
”Better be a good fifty just like that”, said the redshirt’s voice. ”Let’s see.”
The hooded woman grinned and said to one of the brigands nearby: ”Watch ’em.” She turned and disappeared from the doorway. The coarse voice was cursing like a sailor.
”Doggies got the bird?” the woman asked.
”C’mon man”, the redshirt’s voice said, ”let’s have ’em down and get gone!”
”Where the fuck’s the rest!” Hellrien heard a crash and clattering sounds.
”This it?” asked the woman’s voice. ”One bloody sword?”
The redshirt appeared in Hellrien’s view in the back of the cart, eyes gleaming maniacally.
”Where the hell is the rest?” he shouted. Crashing and smashing sounds filled the air as more crates were tossed outside of the other cart and busted open. The woman climbed up in the back of the cart and gave Hellrien a hard nudge in the back with the tip of her mace.
”Answer him, bitch!” she demanded.
The redshirt looked over his shoulder. ”Crap”, he said to a hooded man who had appeared behind him. ”Get these bodies into the wagons before anyone comes calling, while I ask these birdies where our goods flew off to.”
”Ya heard 'im, move ya arses!” shouted the woman, tapping Hellrien’s cheek with the mace.
”What do you want?”, she slurred.
The redshirt knocked her hat off, grabbed her by by the hair and pressed the edge of a dagger on her neck.
”Where”, he articulated slowly, ”are our bloody weapons?”
”Cut th’ whore”, the woman practically sung, banging her mace against the floor of the wagon.
Hellrien tried to smile. Redshirt’s bleak face spun obscurely before Hellrien’s eyes. She had no idea what weapons the brigands had expected, but evidently things were not going according to their plan. Colewulf must have outsmarted them all, sent the shipment over some other way while using this caravan as a decoy!
”There are… no weapons!” she managed to say with great pains.
The woman stopped banging the cart’s floor, turning her attention towards Tara, starting to fondle his hair. The redshirt hesitated, then slammed his fist, wrapped around the dagger’s hilt, into the side of Hellrien’s head.
”Wrong answer, bitch! Try again.”
”You can skin me alive if you like!” Hellrien responded. Maniacal laughter escaped her mouth. ”It's a trap! A setup! Cole's fooled ya, you rotten bastards!”
”Could ye keep yer filthy paws away from me?” Tara protested. ”I'd rather not get the plague.”
”Tha's not nice, pretty boy!” The woman grabbed Tara’s hair, yanked his head back and licked his face.
”Maybe it'll loosen her tongue if we cut his off”, the redshirt suggested. ”Sounds like he uses it too much. Or mebbe cut off his dick, which I'd guess he don't use at all...”
”Lemme find tha' out”, the woman laughed like a hyena.
"I use it more 'n you do ye cock-sucking sheep shagger."
The woman slid her mace back in her belt, drew out a dagger and put the tip to Tara’s crotch. ”Can yer spare an' inch, pretty boy?”
”Mebbe it's a setup ... or mebbe you sold off the loot already?" the redshirt wondered out loud, grinding his teeth. ”Better answer quick, sweetie... or a little bird is going to lose his little bird...”
”Well I thought ye'd want it in all it's magnificent glory?” Tara commented, dryly.
”Mebbe I'll cut it off an' keep in an' use it later ... stick it over th' end o' me mace!”
Hellrien spat blood. She tried to keep the tongue out of her cheek. She felt elated seeing the brigands enraged and frustrated. Now that the scoundrels were beaten, she might just as well die…!
”We knew you were going to rob this caravan... you tried it before... we set you up... and you fell for it… what you're after is in Michel Delving already...”
Just then there was a whistle from the top of the hill – long, two shorts, long. ”Crap, we’re about to get company”, said the redshirt. ”Grunt, Bug. You two are cart drivers now. Get these horses turned around. ”We’re just a troop of merchants from Bree.”
He glared down at Hellrien. ”We aren't done... talking”, he promised. He picked up a discarded piece of clothing and gagged her roughly. ”Get Ugly there too”, he instructed, yanked Hellrien out of the cart and started dragging her towards the other wagon, separating the two Dawners from each other. Soon the trussed mercenaries were sprawled and out of sight, one in each of the wagons, both uncomfortably lying on a pile of sticky, cooling corpses. One of the brigands was nursing a bite on one finger he got while helping gag Tara.
”Back to camp!” the redshirt called. ”Where we can take our time with these two…”
