Dragons of the Valley - Donita K. Paul [7]
Two more hulking soldiers pounded past her hiding place. Shouts filled the air. The men realized they’d lost her. She heard them beating the bushes. She pictured their heavy swords slicing through the branches.
In desperation, Tipper tried to project a call with her own mind. Taeda Bel?
Did it work? Was she heard? Wizard Fenworth, Librettowit, and her father could mindspeak, but she could just barely understand the dragons when they spoke to her. Would the kimen hear her? Taeda Bel?
No response. Tipper heard the guards. They’d changed directions, coming back toward her hiding place.
This time she whispered the kimen’s name through clenched teeth. “Taeda Bel?”
Again, no answer. Tipper winced as two men shouted. She crawled out from her refuge and crouched in the indistinct path. Her sense of direction had deserted her, but she knew the correct way to go was away from the noise made by the soldiers. Keeping low, she darted from one clump of trees to the next.
The darkness spooked her as branches reached out like arms and rustling leaves brought visions of soldiers waiting for her. But the commotion made by her pursuers grew distant. Perhaps she would escape after all.
A figure stepped out in front of her. She screeched and whirled to get away, but another bisonbeck soldier blocked her escape. He grabbed her by the arms and hoisted her over his shoulder.
She screamed and kicked.
“Wait,” said a gruff voice. “Let’s see what’s in that thing she carries.”
The man with a vise grip on her legs grunted. “Shouldn’t we let First Speatus have the honors?”
A noise that blended a growl and a scornful laugh sent chills down Tipper’s spine.
“Why should we give booty to him? If it’s valuable, it’s ours. No one need know.” His voice came closer. “Dump her.”
The huge man dropped her on the ground and put a boot on her stomach. Tipper gripped the hollow sack and struggled to breathe.
With one yank, the second soldier took possession of her father’s statue, still hidden inside the nondescript bag.
“There’s nothing in it,” said the bisonbeck with a heavy foot on her middle. “Empty.”
“Sometimes things of great value are very small. A diamond, for instance.” He shook the bag and frowned.
Tipper tried to speak, but no words came out.
The rougher soldier, the one who seemed in charge, looked into the cloth sack, then stuck his massive hand inside. He hollered and threw the bag down. It landed on Tipper’s face, and she shook her head to dislodge the obstruction to her view. Smoke curled into the air over the singed hair on the soldier’s hand and wrist.
He growled, glaring at the other bisonbeck to cut off his subordinate’s ill-timed laugh.
“Pick her up. We’ll take the bag to First.”
“Get ready to run.” Taeda Bel’s warning washed relief over Tipper’s despair. “Close your eyes.”
Tipper did as she was told, losing sight of the ugly brute as he bent to grab her. A flash of light surprised her. She saw only red through her eyelids, but the men grunted and stumbled.
“Now! Run!”
Tipper snatched the sack by her head, scrambled to her feet, and took off. Taeda Bel’s light flitted through the trees, and Tipper followed. She heard her own panting. She felt her blood pumping within her ears. But she didn’t hear anyone in pursuit. She slowed. The night noises of the forest had disappeared. She trudged toward the light. It grew dimmer.
Taeda Bel, wait!
Was that kimen deaf?
“Taeda Bel!” Would her hoarse whisper be heard? Could she safely call louder?
Something gripped her ankle. Had she stepped into a mess of vines? She needed light. She needed Taeda Bel. She stooped to untangle her foot, but as she leaned over, whatever held her captive jerked. She landed on her face and felt ropelike fingers knot around her other leg. She screamed, “Taeda Bel!”
“Shh!” came a voice close to her face.
Tipper peered into the dark but saw only intertwined vegetation.
“Gotcha,”