Chapter 9 : Claimed

The gentle sway of Alastor's plodding walk relaxed me, though I was still a little unnerved by being unable to see.

It was hard to tell if the rustling was from the cloak or from the woods, but it sounded as if it was coming from all sides. I desperately wanted to stick my head out, but that seemed dangerous at the moment.

I had never encountered bandits. There weren't exactly many bandits roaming the streets of Knoxville. Maybe some idiot with a gun mugging people, but a real, true bandit? No, and definitely not a whole gang of them. What was the protocol when dealing with bandits?

Following Fynn's lead seemed like the only way to guarantee my safety. I could always take a risk and hope that these were a merry band of misfits like Robin Hood and the boys, that they might award me my freedom, but that seemed pretty unlikely. I was beginning to wonder if I even wanted to get away from Fynn at all at this point.

Fynn clicked his tongue at Alastor, and the horse rolled into a rocking canter. I was surprised by the smooth transition, but grateful because the jarring trot that usually came in between seemed to always shake me loose. I should have taken my mother up on her offer when she suggested we take horseback riding lessons together for some good exercise.

My breathing quickened an unwelcome response to my inability to see. It sounded as if there were other thundering hooves, and I didn't know what to make of it. The path had seemed so narrow and small, there couldn't be room for more than just Alastor. Every now and then, a branch would brush against either of my legs, confirming that this path was narrow enough as it was.

Alastor's gait began to speed up, and I could feel the way he stretched his legs under him longer and longer. The branches that earlier brushed my legs now whipped at them, and the beat of my heart matched the pounding of his hooves.

Shouting erupted, though Fynn stayed eerily silent. We were still flying through the forest, but there was a cacophony of noises getting closer and closer.

"What are you hiding, traveler?" an unfamiliar voice shouted.

Fynn didn't answer, the rain pelting harder on the cloak over my head.

"Don't you want to donate to the cause? There's war nearby," another voice called.

"Be a patriot, have a heart," a third man yelled.

I wasn't expecting the abrupt stop. My face smashed into the solid column of Fynn's back. I wrapped my hands tighter around his waist, holding myself steady. Alastor's feet wouldn't stay still, shuffling underneath us. He seemed about ready to take flight, though I couldn't see to know if there was something in the flight path.

"Kind of you to stop, traveler," the first unfamiliar voice said. He had a strange accent and spoke as if he was pretending to be diplomatic.

"I'd advise you to let me pass," Fynn announced.

"It would be a shame for us to deprive you of the opportunity to express your support for the cause," a new voice added from dangerously close behind us.

"I'm doing my best to remain a neutral party in the conflict," Fynn answered back.

"Unfortunately, friend, there is no more neutrality. You've got to choose a side, and I can tell you who the right choice is, in case you're still feeling uncertain," the first voice reported.

"And which side is that?" Fynn's voice was curious now, sounding as if he might be testing them.

"Water Court. We should never have allowed our princess to be disrespected for this long. Bring an end to Lord Fynn," the voice added.

"Bring an end to Lord Fynn!" the other voices chorused.

Lord Fynn? I wasn't a huge believer in huge coincidences, so I wondered what the odds were that they could be talking about a different Fynn. This man didn't seem like a lord of anything though. Clearly, the bandits didn't recognize him. So, they had to be talking about someone else. Right?

Fynn's back expanded and contracted from the effort of a long sigh. He shed the cloak so that I could see, being gentle to make sure that it settled around my shoulders without fully turning around to look at me.

"A traveling partner," one of the men mused.

"And a lovely one at that," another called.

There were five men in total, all weathered and ragged. Two of them had sunken cheeks, but one of the others was a plump man with full cheeks.

"Leave the lady out of it," Fynn ordered, dismounting Alastor.

"Well, well, he's a bold one, isn't he?" the apparent leader chuckled.

"Let's get on with it, I've got somewhere to be," Fynn grumbled.

One of the men rode forward, the curve of his lips either a snarl or a grin. Fynn grabbed him by the boot and shoved him off the horse he was riding. The brown horse shuffled backward, one foot landing clumsily on the man's stomach. The horse leapt back and took off as the man cursed it and Fynn.

Another of the men dismounted his horse and strode toward Fynn. The casual, one-by-one nature of the conflict was confusing to me, and I wondered if this was just the way of things here. The man who had been stepped on by the horse was groaning in pain, rolling over to his side.

The second man took a bold, one-armed swing at Fynn, who returned the strike with a slash of his sword.

The second that blood sprayed from the wound, all hell broke loose. Two of the other men leapt into the fray, the second injured man now lunging for Fynn.

I wondered why Fynn didn't just use his abilities to restrain the men, to do something to give himself an advantage. This was just plain swordsmanship and boxing, and while he was more nimble and powerful than your average man, it wasn't a spectacular show of the power I knew he was capable of.

As the men struggled against Fynn, dodging and fading his strikes and swinging blade, I wondered how I could help. The last man who wasn't engaged in the fray rode toward me, and I swung off of Alastor to stand on my feet. I had seen the way Fynn shoved that other man off his horse, and I hoped I could repeat the motion myself.

I grabbed the man by the toe and heel of his boot, shoving up on his leg to push him over. Instead, the man kicked viciously, landing a blow to my lower jaw. It rattled my skull, and the pain sent a blinding white flash searing through me.

The man took the opportunity to snag me by the forearm, dragging me up and across his saddle before kicking his horse down the path.

I screamed. I screamed bloody murder as if my life depended on the entire world hearing me. Watching the ground blur dangerously close to my face, I was too afraid to kick or hit this man. After seeing the other man get stepped on only once, I wasn't interested in falling and getting trampled.

"Shut the fuck up," the man growled. "I'll slit your throat."

I didn't believe him. I didn't believe for a moment that he would kill me. I felt certain that I knew what he was planning to do, and I wasn't interested in that either.

The sound of thundering hooves was beginning to cause dread to form in the pit of my stomach. I never wanted to hear it again, it only seemed to bring trouble. But when I turned my head to see who was coming behind us, I could have sworn it was a miracle.

Fynn was pushing Alastor faster and faster through the whipping woods. He was standing in the stirrups, leaning forward over Alastor's sleek, black neck. The gray horse I was trapped on surged forward. The gray horse was lighter and more nimble, but he lacked the muscle power that Alastor had and was slower.

Alastor was now even with the gray horse's flank. Fynn pulled his sword and slashed out. I clamped my eyes shut, not wanting to see how the stab landed. Something thumped along the path next to us, the sound getting quieter as we rode away. The man's body slumped over me, and when I looked up, I realized the corpse was missing its head.

Within a couple of steps, Alastor gained more on the gray horse, and Fynn grabbed the reins. He seemed to be trying to slow the horse gently, to keep me from tumbling to the ground. I was gripping at the saddle and other pieces of the horse's tack to try and keep from sliding as the horse stuttered to a stop.

I slid to the ground, in between Alastor and the gray horse. Fynn let go of the gray horse's reins, and it took off into the underbrush, eyes still wild from the pursuit.

"Are you okay?" Fynn asked quietly.

I sank to the ground, knees weak. I was getting used to the way my legs felt wobbly like Jello after a long day of riding every day, but this was a different feeling. My body just couldn't hold me up for another second. The adrenaline had left my body, and now I was exhausted.

"I think so," I answered honestly, wanting to lay in the cool leaves for a while.

"We should keep moving. I don't want people to come looking when they realize five horses returned to town with no riders," Fynn advised, eyes still scanning the woods.

I nodded. He had a point. Horses had a way of finding their way back to wherever they considered home, and they wouldn't go unnoticed.

Climbing slowly to my feet, I looked up to Fynn. He held out a hand, the knuckles bleeding. I refused to take his hand, not wanting to hurt him further. Fynn rolled his eyes and kicked his foot free of the stirrup, making room for me to climb up behind him. His hair was dripping rain water, visible even in the limited light, laying plastered against his head.

I pulled myself up, settling behind him on Alastor's back. Alastor was dragging in heaving breaths through flared nostrils, and I tried to give him a reassuring pat.

Fynn clicked to Alastor, who took steady steps deeper into the wood. "We need to get to town."

His voice seemed too loud in the dead quiet of the forest, the sound of dripping water the only other noise in the night. It gave me the shivers, but I was thankful that Fynn wasn't ready to stay here.

Something warm was pooling in my palm where it rested on Fynn's hip. I shook my hand free and put it back on his hip, but within minutes, it was warm again. I tried to wrap the cloak around both Fynn and myself again, but Fynn flinched as I touched his shoulder.

Riding out of the thick cover of the wood, it seemed the rain had stopped and the full moon emerged. In the silver light of the full moon, I realized the warm sensation pooling in my palm was blood from a massive cut on Fynn's left shoulder.

"We need to get this cleaned and taken care of," I said quietly, trying hard not to touch the wound and contaminate it, though I had already touched it by accident.

"It's fine," Fynn snapped.

"It's not fine," I retorted.

"It can wait until we get to town," Fynn grumbled.

As a small village appeared on the horizon, I chose not to argue.