SECOND BOOK OF THE CHRONICLES OF FANTASILIA SERIES
𝘈𝘯 𝘪𝘯𝘤𝘶𝘳𝘢𝘣𝘭𝘦 𝘱𝘭𝘢𝘨𝘶𝘦. 𝘈 𝘴𝘪𝘦𝘨𝘦 𝘢𝘨𝘢𝘪𝘯𝘴𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘛𝘦𝘮𝘱𝘭𝘦 𝘰𝘧 𝘚𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘴. 𝘈 𝘥𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘦𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘴 𝘫𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘯𝘦𝘺 𝘵𝘰 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘰𝘯𝘦𝘴𝘦𝘭𝘧.
Xanthiene Vivenca, af...
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2412 Strilaxis 17, Velpa : Jered Axilia
Reeca's jaw hurt.
It was dark around her. Her body was twisted in a wretched position with her arms behind her and legs folded to her face. Thick ropes around her chest prevented her from moving so much as an inch.
The air was stocky, smelling like moldy fresda. The light was strange, like it's bright and dim at the same time. With painstaking kicks, her foot hit a fabric-like surface. There's not much room when she tried rolling left or right. Her wings perked with painful throbs.
Reeca's throat constricted. She's in a sack, literally.
But where that sack was and would be traveling, she had no idea. For all she knew she was in Gaimouth and would have to spend months trekking back to Carleon. A growl escaped her throat.
Poachers. It had to be them. She only knew about this because Rhys disguised himself as one once in his many journeys. He told her to be wary of them because they take fairies far away from their settlement to rob them off. Then, they would let their captives run free without anything. They won't kill but they would take what one considers valuable.
Reeca closed her eyes, frustration budding in her gut. This was how a normal transaction was conducted.
How many days has it been since she was in Anchester? What has happened to her from there?
Muffled voices exploded in her ears as her senses returned. Words blended in her ears as the men talked in Keijula, Ylanenla, and an occasional unfamiliar slang from each sub-racial dialect. Reeca counted the varying tones and judged that they were not more than five. That presents a manageable number.
She tensed. Her sword. Her flintlocks.
Even with half of her muscles bound, she could feel that she was weaponless like a newborn akrise. If those men have at least two swords, the fight would be hard. That count excluded the use of synnavaimis, but with Reeca's luck, that's where this would boil down to.
A flood of light blinded her. Reeca averted her eyes as someone opened the sack, letting in a rivet of fresh air that she greedily breathed in.
"Aye, thar goeth our li'l princess!" the stout man said, his boots level with Reeca's eyes. Reeca recognized his ancient hide boots with the laces undone from the forest. Where had they taken her?
A hairy hand reached inside the sack and grasped Reeca by her hair. She gritted her teeth to avoid crying out in pain as she slid off her fabric prison. She plopped stiffly into a cobbled floor when the man let go.
It's taken her a while to adjust to the light. As soon as her eyes could take in proper shapes, she noted open, square windows, a wooden ceiling painted brown, tables and chairs arranged inside a circular structure, and the men standing in a hazy circle around a square table while drinking from tall, wooden mugs.
