Drimpal, the toothless trader that captured Briana and the little girl, greeted him. “We meet again, Sir Knight. You won’t get the best of me this time. Throw your sword down, you are outnumbered.”
Horland tightened his hand around the grip of his sword. The right side of Drimpal’s face was red and while it looked painful, the soup that scorched him mustn’t have been as hot as Horland had thought. “You are on King Pradwick’s land. Be gone before the guards throw you into the dungeon.”
Drimpal laughed. “What guards? We were here twowinters ago and no one, not even rats, were here. It is but ruins, and soon will be no more than a pile of rocks.”
“The king’s household has reclaimed the ruins. Workers have already started to reconstruct the castle.”
“Rubbish,” said one of the bandits Horland hadn’t seen before. “He is stalling.” He lifted his sword and pointed at two men to his left. “Come with me, the ship should be lying in wait.”
The two men followed him as they forged their way through the bushes, cutting at the twisted branches as they went.
“Sir Horland!”
Horland looked over the slaver’s shoulder. Two more wagons stood on the other side of the path. One was full to bursting with people. An arm poked through the bars and waved.
“Sir Horland.”
Horland narrowed his gaze at the speaker. “Mayland?”
“Aye, Ma is here too.” His head turned back into the cage. “We are safe, Ma, Sir Horland will free us.”
Horland sighed. It was nice that the boy revered him so, but at that moment, Horland could see no way of saving himself, let alone a wagon full of soon-to-be slaves.
Horland faced Drimpal and the remainder of his men, wishing with all his might that the wolves would return.
One of the men behind him jabbed a long knife into his side. “Throw your sword down.”
The blade couldn’t penetrate Horland’s chainmail, but his mind whizzed through scenario after scenario of how a fight would go, but in not one did he find victory. In fact, in each scene that played out in his head, he fell dead and bloodied to the ground.
Opening his hand, he let the sword drop. A scoundrel scampered and bent to retrieve the weapon. Horland’s kneetwitched, ready to send the man flying, but with great effort, he pulled his leg back and stood waiting for Drimpal’s next move.
Drimpal stepped forward. “I don’t normally like to kill unarmed men, but with you I will make an exception.”
He clasped his sword with both hands and brought it high and to the side.
The man who held the knife to Horland’s side stepped back, out of the blade’s reach.
“Sir Horland!” Mayland shouted.
Chapter 16
Bree emerged from the dark vortex and found herself standing on the basement floor. The black orb stood as sentinel on the bench.
Bree shook her head to get her mind organized and once she stopped vibrating, she held her injured arm still, and jogged to the stairs.
“Garrett, Laura,” she called, but there was no answer.
She called to her family again as she ran up the stairs and raced to the nursery’s open door. The room was empty. They must have gone into town. She shrugged and quickly made her way to her room.
She didn’t know how long she’d been gone in the present time, but her room looked exactly as she had left it. She threw the white orb on her bed and stood in front of her dresser, trying to examine her arm. The front and side were bruised but not so much that it would cause the amount of pain she felt. It hurt when she tried to twist it around so she could see the back, so she turned and screwed her head around to see in the mirror. A giant, thick black bruise ran from her shoulder to her elbow. Gingerly, she felt it with herother hand, pushing and probing until she was satisfied nothing was broken except some skin on her elbow.
Going immediately to her chest of drawers, she used her good hand to pull out the bottom drawer and rummage through the books, papers, and journals there.
“Ah, there you are.” She picked up the green diary, the one her mother took with her the first time she time travelled and wrote in every day.
She sat on her bed, and carefully leaning against the pillows, she opened the book.
Finding the spot, she began reading. Princess Morla was a beautiful seventeen-year-old with her long brown hair and dark brown eyes, but her rudeness gave her a sour look when she learned of Patricia’s friendship with Garlain. She went out of her way to separate them. Using her title to make Garlain dance with her at the ball, sit with her at the dinner table and read to her by the fire.
