Ch 3 P.4. Captured

Marle registered a throbbing head. He looked around through barely open eyes. As his senses returned to him, Marle realized he was propped against a tree, looking out across the erosional plain. The sun was setting, causing the sky to blaze orange and red. He could hear the stream babble, but he could also hear a crackling fire.

Marle focused on the fire and saw a stocky man squatting beside it. The man had long black hair and a dense beard. He wore skins and rags; his calf-high sandals were laced on the outside. When Marle spotted the large broadsword on the ground beside the man, his head gave a knowing throb. Then, it occurred to Marle that his hands were bound; he opened his eyes wide as he raised his arms and saw the rope.

“Shit!” said Marle loudly. “Not again. I just got them free.” He pulled furiously at the rope, but it held fast.

The man turned from the fire and laughed. “Ha!” said the man. “I thought the snoring would never end.”

Marle speared the captor with an angry glare. “And who the hell are you?” asked Marle. “You know you've committed a serious crime. Assault and battery. Kidnapping. Not good. Untie me.”

The man smiled through his heavy beard, asking in an amused voice, “Why would I untie you?”

Marle shot back as he continued his failing struggle, “So I can smack you into next week.”

The man turned back to the fire, adjusting a large rodent on a spit. “You're my prisoner,” said the man. “Settle down. Tomorrow we head for Dawnchill.” The man stood with his big sword in hand and crouched in front of Marle. Seeing the sword so close, Marle thought better of his attempt to free his hands. The man peered at Marle through dark, hooded eyes, then spoke.

“I saw you fly,” said the man, wonder evident in an awed tone of voice. “You were like a flame shooting across the sky.” He paused and took a breath. “So, tell me,” he said, leaning in, “do wizards fly where you are from? Do you live in the sky?”

Marle answered, “Untie me and I'll tell you all about it.”

The man stood with a derisive snort and pointed the sword at Marle's belly. “I hear your hunger, wizard. Tell me and I'll share my meal.”

Marle looked around the man at the animal sizzling in the flames. At the prompting of his noisy hunger, Marle asked, “What is it?”

“Field rat,” answered the man.

Marle sat back and said, “No thanks. I don't eat rats.”

The captor lowered his sword. “What?” he asked, startled. “Everyone eats rat. They taste like swine.”

Marle grumped, “I don't eat swine either.”

The captor crouched by the fire and turned the spit. Laying his sword aside, he said, “You don't know what you're missing.”

Marle replied, “I know exactly what I'm missing. Rat must be the favorite food of criminals.”

“Really,” said the man. “How do you fly? Is it because you eat no rat meat?”

Marle tugged at his binding as he answered in an off-handed manner. “How do I fly? That only works from the top down. I'm surprised I survived.”

The captor turned enough to study Marle momentarily, then turned back to the fire. He said, “Wait until our wizard learns I have a flying wizard. Redbral Skath will soil himself.”

Marle asked, “So, like, is there a troupe of actors you're a part of?”

The captor sat by the fire and crossed his legs. He leaned forward and turned the spit idly. He said, “You mean bard. No. I am the Manzar's man. Scout, spy, whatever he needs. Tomorrow we journey to Dawnchill. If you refuse food, you should sleep; the trip is long.”