“More of that and I’ll cut yer tongue out. There’s nae point mewling for help. Naebody is coming tae save ye,” one of the men said. He dragged her to a tree and wound ropes around her body, so tight that she could barely breathe. Her arms were rigid by her side. The other man was making a fire. Both men sat around it, taking out and laying a few pieces of meet over the fire. The scent of the roasting food made her stomach rumble. At least they had remained true to their disgust of her and had notlaid a hand on her, although she wondered for how long this was going to last. Some mens’ taste could change on a whim, and she feared their curiosity might get the better of them.
There was only one chance she had, and that was to draw upon the mystique that surrounded the Romani in the hope of chilling them with fear.
“Ye are making a mistake,” she gasped, fighting against the tightness around her chest. “Ye should let me gae. Hae ye nae heard of the curses that befall men who refuse tae help the Romani?”
The men scoffed. “Oh aye, a likely tale. It dinnae seem tae be gaeing sae badly for Laird McKovac, daes it? There’s one good cure for a curse, and that’s hard, solid gold,” one of the men said. The other nodded.
“Ye may think that now. But in years tae come yer blood will turn as dry as dust, and all the strength will ebb away from yer bones. There will come a day when ye will nae be able tae lift a finger, and what good will ye be tae anyone then?”
The men laughed. “As long as I get my fun in when I can, I’ll be fine.”
“Then perhaps it will be yer children that suffer, the curse passing from one generation tae the next. Every drop of life that drips from ye will be tainted, and end in a shadowy creature screaming in pain, doomed to live for only a short time.”
“I never hae a desire for bairns anyway,” the men shrugged.
“Ye act sae mighty when ye hae a woman tied tae a tree. I come from a long line of Romani witches, who hae whispered secrets tae each other, secrets that are as old as the wind. If ye deliver me tae Laird McKovac, then I shall make sure that ye suffer. I will make yer skin slough off and yer blood boil. I will rob the sight from yer eyes and twist yer mind. It will be as though insects are crawling under yer skin every moment of every day. I will take away the taste of food, and ale will be asbitter as poison. And as for lust… I will make it sae that nae strength flows tae that part of yer body. Ye will certainly never hae tae worry about children again. Ye will never hae tae worry about anything, and oh how women will laugh at yer shriveled thing.”
This was the only thing that brought fear to their eyes.
“She cannae really dae that, can she?” one of them asked in a fearful whisper. Elvira smirked, wishing that she did indeed possess the power to do all of these things. If the Romani did possess these abilities, then life would have been easier for all of them. In fact, she couldn’t understand why a lot of people still believed these old stories. Surely, they realized that if they did possess these powers, they would have used them to make life better for themselves?
“She’s just trying tae scare us. And if she keeps wagging that tongue I’ll find a way tae shut her up,” the other man raised his voice as he spoke, ensuring that Elvira could hear. He wore a nasty, menacing look on his face, and Elvira grew quiet. But, at least she had sown a seed of doubt between them. It might be enough to keep her safe, and if they were hasty in taking her to Laird McKovac they might make a mistake. She closed her eyes, and prayed to all the gods she knew of as well as her own ancestors that she might be protected, and that she would find a way back to her family.
10
Wind whipped through Rory’s hair. He could taste it in his mouth. The sound of hooves against the ground was like a cacophony of thunder, and the impact sent reverberations throughout his body. His face was set in grim determination. He kept himself low, wanting the horse to move as swiftly as possible. His gaze flickered towards the ground, making sure that he was following the tracks. The men who had taken Elvira seemed to have followed a trail, and they hadn’t made any attempt to hide their tracks, perhaps assuming that they were not going to be followed. Maybe they thought that nobody was going to care about Elvira.
They were wrong.
Every time Rory thought about them mistreating her, he was filled with righteous anger. She must have been so scared. She had fought back valiantly, but it had not been enough. Two men had been enough to overpower her and send her dagger helplessly to the ground. Was she even still alive? No, Rory could not allow himself to think that way. The last thing he wanted was to cradle a limp body and take Elvira back to her grandmother and siblings, knowing that this only happened because he wastoo stubborn to help. He should have listened to her better, he should have… oh a pox on it. It didn’t do him any good to think about things on these terms. The various possibilities all spiraled away from him like wispy clouds, and there were countless of them. But he did know one thing for certain; if Elvira had died, then he was going to kill the men responsible, and he wasn’t going to stop killing until he had gotten to Laird McKovac himself. He was the one hunting the Romani people, he had driven Elvira from her home.
Rory’s blood flowed as hot as fire. It crackled through his body. Although he had spent all day in the forge, he did not feel tired at all. He was emboldened by his anger. Eventually, he stopped when he saw a plume of smoke rise, and the light of a fire flickering in the distance. The horse whinnied a little as he pulled back, bringing it to a halt. Rory placed his hand upon the horse’s neck and breathed deeply, calming it. He left it near a tree to rest and graze.
“Wait here,” Rory whispered, turning with his sword still drawn. He kept himself low, skulking as close to the ground as possible. He strained his ears. The forest was quiet at night, and as he drew closer, he could hear Elvira’s voice rising above the fire. There was something strained about it. It lacked the usual strength that he had become accustomed to. He remained hidden as he approached the small camp. The two men, a surly pair to be sure, were sitting beside the fire, illuminated by the warm glow. Elvira was some way away, at the periphery of the light. Rory stifled at gasp when he saw how she had been tied to a tree. Her clothes were ragged, her hair tousled, and there was a dark look in her eyes.
“Ye will never rest, ye will never-” she said darkly.
“Nae, of course I am never gaeing tae rest if ye keep gaeing on like this! I told ye before that I dinnae believe in yer curses. Wasting yer breath, ye are,” one of the men said.
“But what if she’s telling the truth? I don’t want tae be cursed. Gold is fine and all… but what if I never get tae enjoy it? I dinnae want people tae laugh when I cannae… ye know,” the other man said, looking down towards his groin.
The first man shook his head and sighed. “Dinnae pay any attention tae her. This is what she wants.”
At this point, a malevolent look came upon Elvira’s face, and she started speaking in a language that Rory did not understand. It sounded ancient and jagged, the words as sharp as any dagger he could have forged. The words rolled from Elvira’s tongue as though imbued with a force that came from outside herself. The scared man was horrified, his eyes widening in fear. He fell back and pointed at her.
“What is she saying! What is she daeing?” he pointed towards Elvira. The other man, who was far more pragmatic, cursed under his breath and scowled.
“Enough of this,” he muttered, and grabbed some old rag. He walked up to Elvira and stuffed the rag in her mouth, gagging her and interrupting the stream of words. Elvira’s moans were muffled. She turned her head from side to side, and then the man struck her with a sharp blow, pointing a finger towards her. “I told ye tae be quiet, and this is yer last warning.”
Rory had intended to assess the situation. He thought he might wait until both men were asleep or, if one of them decided to keep watch, then for one of them to sleep. He was not a trained fighter, so he wanted to make things as even as possible. However, all thoughts of patience left him when he saw Elvira being struck like that. Some instinct deep inside him had been triggered, something that had been there since the day of his birth. He heard the roar of a lion inside, and he lunged forward, brandishing his sword. Strength rippled over his body. The men turned to face him, shock on their faces as they saw this possessed man striding towards them. Rory ran towards theman by the campfire first. He reached for his sword, but was too late. Rory came in and swung his thick leg towards him, connecting with his jaw. There was a sharp crack and a plume of blood sprayed out as the man was knocked back.
By the time Rory turned his attention to the other man, the rogue had drawn his sword. He turned away from Elvira.
“Ah, ye dae hae friends,” he muttered.
Rory snarled. His nostrils flared and he charged the man. He whirled the sword through the air, using it more like a hammer than as the elegant weapon it should have been in the hands of a skilled warrior. However, his brute strength was enough to overwhelm the rogue, at least for a time. Rory’s blade crashed against the other man’s sword so loudly that the song of steel stretched through the night. The anger was so intense inside that at one point it felt as though flames crackled along the blade of his sword.
But then, the rogue was able to deflect his blow and rolled away. Rory was slow to turn. He twisted his blade, remembering lessons from long ago, ones that were buried deep in his mind. He thought about all the duels he had witnessed over the years, and mimicked the stance of warriors. He stood between the rogue and Elvira, determined to block that evil man from his prize.
