Luminous

5 - Ambush

Stay safe. Don't make any trouble for the Lady. Come home next Fest in one piece.

Meya fumed at her rotten luck. With all the strength she could muster, she pushed the guard's corpse out of her way and scrambled out. Even without the collar, she didn't trust her legs enough yet to stand, more or less rolling off the road into the banks of the forest, landing upon the carpet of fallen leaves with a flump.

"There's one under there!"

A bandit yelled. Meya had no time to care. She picked herself up and dashed off. Something cut through the air and chafed her cheek. She banked sideways and lost her balance, falling flat on her face and getting a good mouthful of leaves and dirt.

Ah, crap.

A hot trail of blood trickled down her cheek to her lips. A rough hand grabbed the back of her tunic, choking her. Meya stood on unsteady feet as she fought to pull her collar away from her neck. The bandit took no notice as he dragged her sputtering, staggering back to the road, then tossed her into the other maids, who sent up a fresh round of screams.

The head bandit walked back to his place amid his minions. His sweaty, suntanned face was riddled with white scars. He surveyed his captives one by one.

"Your Lady Arinel will be married to Lord Hadrian. As per Latakian tradition, the bride must bring with her assets of value according to her pricing category as dowry. We need to know the contents of her dowry, and its whereabouts."

He spoke slowly and clearly with a foreign accent. His voice, soft and calm, clashed with his roughened exterior. A heavy silence everyone dreaded being the one to break descended as the five remaining guards glanced at each other, then looked to their leader.

The head guard gave a soundless yet enormous gulp—Meya could tell from the bulge rolling down his neck. As sweat trickled down his pallid cheek, he returned his fearful gaze to the bandit's leader.

"We don't have the dowry with us," he shook his head. Meya saw the truth in his eyes. "We don't know of the Lords' deal. How much it's worth. Whether it's to be handed before, during or after the wedding. It might even be at the betrothal. That was six years ago!"

His yell of desperation petered into a whimper when the head bandit snatched him by the front of his uniform.

"Am I supposed to care when it is handed?" His voice was colder than a midwinter lake, "Unless you want Lady Crosset to join her sisters, I suggest you learn what and where it is very soon."

"I swear by Freda, we don't carry any treasure! We know nothing about the dowry!" The guard shouted, his voice trembling as hard as his body. "You won't get anything even if you kill us! You'd have to give us more time if you want Lord Crosset to prepare a ransom!"

"I have made myself very clear. I do not want a ransom. Nor a dowry. I want Lady Arinel's dowry." The bandit repeated. He set the guard down to sputter and cough, then turned to his subordinates,

"It seems Lord Crosset exercised more caution than we had expected. If they really do not have it with them, we might have to improvise." He said serenely, then turned to his nonplussed hostages,

"Yesterday, we met another entourage which seemed to be carrying Lady Crosset to her wedding, travelling on the usual route. As it turned out, they were decoys. So, we gave them what they signed up for by sending them to the waiting arms of your goddess Freda. Then, we searched them inside out. Literally. There was no dowry."

That nonchalant revelation stole the air from the clearing. Strength left Meya as she realized how much of a close shave it was. Was this the reason Lord Crosset hired peasants to accompany his daughter? If she'd been assigned to that other group—

The thought numbed her, but she'd meet the same fate unless they found that dowry quick. Whatever it was, it must have been priceless and dangerous enough. Perhaps something the Hadrians wanted so much that they agreed to accept powerless, dowerless Arinel as their bride. Maybe that was why the bandits were so particular in their ransom demand.

Satisfied by the fear in the air, the head bandit turned back to the guard.

"You may or may not have the dowry with or within one of you. There are only two ways we can be sure. Either you hand it to us and we go on our way. Or we cut you all open to retrieve it, then we go on our way."

"Please. No. We really don't have it." The guard stammered. Every eye turned to the silent white carriage. Their only hope. Lady Arinel would know best about her marriage, wouldn't she?

Still, no one dared demand the Lady show herself and negotiate. One breath. Two breaths. Not a sound escaped the carriage.

For Freda's sake, weren't nobles supposed to protect commoners? Why in Fyr's name was she still hiding like a snail in its shell?

Meya reached for the carriage door in desperation, but her stupid, loyal peers pulled her away. Their loyalty was rewarded when the head bandit marched in, yanked one of the girls up by her red hair and dragged her shrieking and struggling away from her friends' flailing arms.

"I'm told spilling innards is an effective means of persuasion. You left me no choice but to experiment."

With that understating remark, the bandit raised his sword high. The girl screamed for her life. The guards charged in as the other maids panicked. Meya's eyes grew wide in terror as the blade lowered.

For Freda's sake! Just how important was that dowry? How many of them would have to die before Arinel relented? Who was to say Meya herself wouldn't be one of them? Wouldn't someone do something? Couldn't she do something?

"Wait! I have a plan!"

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