Free Wildling by Greg Curtis

serve the clan.”
    “ But maybe you will be lucky. Maybe one of my brothers will find you suitable, and will gift you with a child. A son. A son that might one day ride with the clan. You should hope for that.”
    The terrible thing was that he meant it. Lorian knew that as she lay bent over the saddle trying to breathe. He was crazed but he was a dusky elf. And for them the greatest honour any woman could ever achieve was to be the mother of a rider. Of course even then they were still little more than slaves.
    She did not want to be a slave. But she knew now that she had no hope. Dorn might have been able to save her if he'd known. But he was dead, thanks in part to her. She should have called out to him, warned him. Except that Rodan would have killed Marian. Healers were not respected by the elves. Wayfarers were hated. And she couldn't let her friend die.
    She cursed herself as Rodan mounted up and prepared to lead them through the forest. She cursed herself as no one else could. How could she have made such a terrible mess of things?
    But in the end it didn't matter she knew. She was doomed. Her friend was doomed. The other prisoner as well. There was nothing they could do.
    Except maybe pray that the glowing people would learn of their fate and do something.
     

Chapter Seven.
     
     
    When he awoke Dorn knew that a lot of time had passed. His body was speaking of days not hours, and his stomach was growling at him, telling him he had to eat. But at least he was alive. When he thought back to what had happened he knew that that had been a matter of fortune as much as anything else. Eldas had smiled on him.
    Still, it was time to find out what had happened. Who that man Rodan was and why he'd attacked him, and he couldn't do that wedged into the side of a tree. So after checking that he couldn't hear anyone nearby he carefully crawled down the trunk. It was always harder for a cat to climb down than up, as they had to do it backwards. Otherwise the claws which were curved backwards didn't grip right and they tended to lose their footing and fall. But as slow and awkward as it was, he soon managed to crawl down and then started carefully working his way back to the trail.
    There he quickly found where the battle had been; not that it had really been much of a battle. Rodan had struck him while he'd just stood there like a fool. Still, the signs of the attack were all around. There was a huge scorch mark on the ground where he had been standing when the lightning had struck. And there was his pack and his clothes strewn all around. Apparently the man had gone through them and found little of value.
    He had taken some things though. When he checked Dorn found that his arrows were gone along with his belt knife, coin purse and the food he'd been carrying. That was annoying but not surprising. Save for the arrows. He had taken them yet left his longbow behind? It seemed odd, until he had a sudden memory of the man's horse. Not only was the horse dressed as a dusky elf's steed, it had had a battle bow strapped to its fur covered saddle. If the man could wield a battle bow he would have no use for his longbow. Yet at the same time he had to ask himself why he could use a battle bow. Not only was it a dusky elf’s weapon, but it also required a lot of skill to wield.
    Heavier than a longbow thanks to the angled knives attached at both ends, they were awkward to use for anyone who hadn't trained in them. Dusky elves did train in them though, every day. Practising the moves that allowed them to use the weapons as double bladed swords for close in fighting, and the draw so they could use them as ranged weapons. To a dusky elf his battle bow was his sacred weapon. He had been raised from birth to use it. He had crafted it himself. And he would never allow his battle bow to be used by another. So even if the man was or had once been a slave of the dusky elves, he wouldn't have been trained in the battle bow. He wouldn't have been