Dana neared the cloaked stranger, angling her head to get a peek at what was hiding behind the shadow cast by their hood. The darkness revealed nothing. Not one facial feature or movement. Now standing directly above the stall, Dana's brows furrowed. She glanced behind and below the stranger, but she still had no clue what they were selling. She opened her mouth to ask what they were, in fact, doing there, only to be cut off by a scream. She flinched at the sudden noise and spun to see the crowd swarming in panic. Pushing their way through, the mass of people churned and swept through the street, pulling others in and knocking others to the side. As strong and as deadly as the current, Dana thought. It was then she spotted the cause of all the commotion. A slave wagon. Iron bars gleaming like freshly polished teeth, solid timber sides reinforced with strips of metal. Once inside, there would be no escape. Four horses blacker than shadows pulled the wagon, silver chainmail draped over their hides. It rolled and rumbled over the cobblestones like distant thunder, sinking fear into the hearts of those who fled. Men dressed in mail jumped down, whips and shackles in hand. Shoulders proudly bearing the Queen's insignia of a roaring crimson dragon in flight. Dana frowned, curling her lip in disgust. The fact that those men willingly obeyed that evil woman and carried out her cruel deeds, it made Dana sick. If the land was to gain a new ruler during her lifetime, she would like to see them punished. With death. The soldiers shoved through the crowd, searching, hungry eyes scanning for young, healthy women to capture as slaves. Dana's heart raced, and her stomach churned like the rolling waves would when a storm was on the horizon. There was no telling where those soldiers would take you. All Dana knew was that no one returned from a slave wagon. She glanced around for an escape, alarm coursing through her body. Finally, she spied the passageway she came from through the blur of countless people rushing past and shoved into the crowd. Immediately, shoulders crashed into hers and bodies collided with a sickening crunch. She was flung like a ragdoll to the cobblestones. Blood dribbled from her grazed knees. Now gasping in terror, she braced a hand on her leg and attempted to stand, eyes still fixed on her escape route. A knee collided with her face, sending her onto the hard stones once more. Everything was a blur as Dana's eyes watered with the pain, her ears whistled, the cries, shouts, and heavy footsteps of the people around her now reduced to nothing but muffled voices. The only clear sound was the quickened thump of her heart, pumping blood to her fresh wounds and sending red streaks trickling down her skin. Then a solid hand grabbed hers, rough, scarred fingers wrapping around her wrist. Dana looked up to see a blurry human figure tugging her forward, through the writhing, suffocating mass of bodies and practically hurling her into the safety of the alleyway. She pressed herself tightly to the cold stone wall, breathless and stunned. As her eyesight cleared, she realized that the hooded person standing before her was none other than the same shady shopkeeper she had met moments earlier.
"Who… are you?", she breathed.
"You need to leave here", the stranger replied in a voice deep and as smooth as honey. He spoke sternly and calmy, as though he had done this a million times before. Yet he spoke as quietly as possible to avoid drawing the attention of any keen ears.
So, this strange person was a man, then.
Dana cringed with the throbbing pain in her head. She pressed her palm to her forehead and held it in front of her. Her skin was scarlet with blood. She slumped against the brick wall, eyesight beginning to blur. The man had a gentle voice, she thought. The kind that would fit a soft, handsome face, dreamy hazel eyes, and a gentle, misunderstood character. The voice of a wealthy man, maybe royalty. Oh, if only he was a prince. The kind that saves helpless damsels from their towers, and rides into the sunset on horseback with them…
"Hey", a muffled voice echoed in Dana's head.
"Hey, wake up!", Dana's eyes flickered open. Light blinded her, her head spun. I must have fainted, she thought. Her saviour knelt before her, one hand gripping her shoulder and shaking to the point of numbness. She shook her head, shock and blood loss must but be getting to her.
Peering around the corner, the man glanced back towards the Queen's men scrambling through the screaming heap of people. Young women were being snatched left and right, stripped of their valuables and anything that could be used as a weapon. They were tossed, arms and legs flailing, shrieking like banshees, into the rolling prison, where they were shackled to the iron bars by their ankles. Some fought back. They kicked and screamed, some even going as far as to claw and bite the soldiers, drawing blood in places. Sadly, not in the places that mattered. The man watched as those few brave women who rebelled were kicked and beaten until the only sound that remained was the wheeze and gurgle of their breathing. He swore under his breath at such brutality, and must have been louder than he thought. Pointed ears twitched, and a soldier turned in his direction. Beneath the shadow of his hood, the man felt amber eyes lock with his. Then he knew, felt it deep in his core. That soldier was a devil. A bastard-born descendant of the famed, legendary beast-men of the Restless Mountains. The animalistic snarl the soldier replied with proved it. His canines seemed to grow, protruding from his gums to an unnatural length. Bright-flecked yellow eyes almost glowed in the sun. Wait, was that a trick of the light? Maybe he really was seeing things. The beast-man's nose twitched. He had their scent. The man whirled, pressing his back firmly against the cold brick.
"GO", he said sternly to the poor, petrified girl.
Dana didn't waste a minute hesitating. She didn't ask what he had seen. Didn't need to ask. The ache in her knees and pulsing throb in her head slowed her down as she attempted to run. Clutching her forehead, slick and sticky with drying blood, she hobbled down the path toward home.
Otto, please be safe. Please tell me those men haven't hurt you. Dana prayed.
A loud thump sounded from behind her, she halted and turned to see, just in time to see the stranger withdraw his knee from the stomach of a soldier. He returned the blow with a swipe of his fist to the face. The man dodged, reflexes as fast as a hare. Grabbing the soldier's clenched hand in his own, he twisted, throwing him to the ground. Stone splintered skull with a sharp crack that reached even Dana's ringing ears. The soldier's body went limp, dark blood oozed through the gaps between cobblestones, leaving the cloaked stranger standing in a pool of it. He stood there, unnaturally calm and still, shoulders barely heaving. He faced the commotion of the street, rolling and flexing his wrists, just waiting for the next man. His cloak swayed ever so slightly with the movement, the shadow cast by his hood still concealing his identity. Dana wanted to run. The steady rhythm of her blood pumping in her ears was urging her to. Run. Run. Run. It seemed to speak. Her head was full of mixed emotions. The mysterious grace and skill of this strange man perplexed her. The danger that emanated from him set her heart racing. But most importantly, she didn't know who to be afraid of more, her saviour, or the Queen's men. It was that alone, that innate, intense warning, that set Dana's legs moving, feet propelling her away from the looming threat. Each bound forward took her one step closer to home. To safety. Well, at least that's what Dana thought.