This is part of the Malik story. Here the second protagonist is introduced. As I mentioned previously, the stories of the two protagonists (Malikand Sheraine) run separately and parallel until they meet.
"Hie! Hie, there! Move you mangy beasts!"
The wagon tore across the prairie at breakneck speed, but Belzak continue to lash the span of Rhinovoren.
In the back, Sheraine lurched helplessly with every jolt of the wagon. Her shackled wrists, chained to the wagon bed, were bloodied and her arms felt as if they were being ripped from their sockets. Supplies, torn from their restraints, flew about striking her defenseless body.
"Turn me loose, Belzak!" she screamed. "I am being killed!"
"Hold on, Miss," Belzak yelled over his shoulder. "We can't stop until we're clear!"
With both hands, Sheraine grasped the pin anchoring her chains and struggled to her knees. She glanced up at Belzak's bouncing back. Just then an arrow tore through the back of his head, spattering her face with blood and bits of bone. Transfixed with horror, she stared at the gore-ridden arrowhead and short length of shaft protruding from Belzak's skull. Before she could close her eyes, he crumpled and disappeared from his seat.
Peering over the seat, Sheraine saw a mounted soldier attempting to grab the reins to gain control of the team. Then he, too, was shot. He fell from his saddle and disappeared into a cloud of dust and flailing hooves.
The rhinovoren galloped on at full speed. Sheraine was at the mercy of the terrified, unchecked beasts and the deadly chaos in the wagon box.
Suddenly, one of the animals went down taking the other with it in a confusing jumble of legs, rolling bodies, and dust. Seemingly in slow motion, the scene unfolded before her panic-stricken eyes. As the front of the wagon rose over the bodies of the fallen animals, she glimpsed a portion of azure sky through the canvas cover. The wagon turned end over end and she was cast into blissful darkness.
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Sheraine could hear muted voices. The blackness in which she was enveloped seemed lighter, more gray than black, but her eyelids were too heavy to open. She struggled to lift them, then surrendered to sinking darkness.
She felt a cool, damp, soothing sensation on her forehead and someone lightly caressing her arm.
"Look. Eye movement. I think she's coming around." It was a pleasant voice, a woman's voice. Even in her semi-consciousness, Sheraine felt the adrenaline coursing through her body. Home, she thought foggily, I'm home again.
Reaching deep within herself for strength, she forced her eyes open. The figure before her blurred and faded, but slowly her eyes focused on a beautiful, red-haired woman with piercing blue eyes. Beautiful, but not familiar. Sheraine sighed; she was not home.
"So at last you've decided to join us.," the woman said with a friendly smile. "We wondered how much longer you would sleep."
As Sheraine raised her head, lightening flashed behind her eyes, and she winced. She became aware of pain in her knees, elbows, wrists, and left shoulder. She felt like she'd been overrun by a team of rhinovoren.
"Lie back," the woman gently commanded. "You'll not be up and about for some time yet."
Taking a deep breath, Sheraine sank back. She exhaled to a stabbing in her ribs and a fire in her chest. She was lying on a bed of robes, warm and comfortable. Or it would be comfortable, she thought if one excluded the pain. Continuing her survey, she realized she was in a tent.
Looking at the woman again, she whispered, "Where am I?"
The woman, still lightly touching Sheraine's arm, smiled faintly, then turned to a massive hulk of a man and asked, "Leopoldo, did you bring the gammaquaff?"
Leopoldo, nodded silently and presented her with a bag that looked as if it were made from an animal skin.
"Thank you," the woman said as she poured from the contents of the bag into a small gourd. Placing the bag with the remaining liquid careful into his outstretched hand, she told him, "You may inform Solomon our guest has awakened."
He nodded and turned to leave the tent.
"And, Leopoldo, tell him to stay the hell out of here until I decide he may visit."
Without acknowledging that remark, the man bent his large frame and left the tent.
The woman turned to Sheraine and said, "When you feel better, there will be time for questions and answers. For now, it is sufficient that my name is Thorn and you are safe. Thorn gently raised Sheraine's head and placed the gourd to her lips. "Drink now. This is gammaquaff. It will help to heal your injuries."
The liquid smelled vaguely like freshly mown hay. Sheraine drank and found it pleasantly sweet and refreshing. She could feel new strength course through her body almost instantly. "Thank you, Thorn," she whispered and lay back amidst the robes.
Thorn rose. "Rest now. I will be back soon. Should you require anything simply ask Marissa. She will stay with you."
Marissa was an elderly, deeply tanned woman with a face heavily lined and creased by years in the sun and hair liberally streaked with gray. Her dress of soft, tanned animal skin was adorned by patterns of colorful bead work. She smiled sweetly at Sheraine.
"Rest, child, and let your cares float away. You are safe with our people," she softly advised as she gently tucked Sheraine into her sleeping robes.
Marissa had the manner and touch of a grandmother, and Sheraine did feel safe. But her cares did not float away. Her mind raced with possibilities.
Are these the people who attacked the wagons? If so, they must be warlike and fierce. They live in tents and sleep on robes of animal skins. Does this mean they are wild and nomadic? What would they do if they found they had kidnapped the princess of the Rhitwizah Queendom? Would they sell her, hold her for ransom, or let her loose? And where are the soldiers who were escorting the wagons? Have the soldiers told them who I am?
If this was the land of these people, why did they allow the wagon train to come so far before attacking? They had traveled for days through endless grassland and had seen no people, only vast herds of rhinovore, huge beasts with one thick, blunt horn on their nose. Although these animals were the same as the beasts that pulled the wagons, the herd animals were fascinating. The wagon beasts were tame and plodding, the animals of the herds were wild and free - free . . . Sheraine lingered on the word; it seemed so long since she had been free.
Sheraine's mind went back to the last day with the soldiers. Belzak was the only one she knew by name. It was he who brought her food, drove her wagon, and saw that none of the other soldiers came too close. Belzak was her shadow. When she was permitted to bathe, Belzak was there; when she attended to her personal needs, Belzak was there; wherever she looked, Belzak was there. Captivity was a humiliating thing.
Under other circumstances she may have liked Belzak. He was old, probably as old as her mother. Although not too bright, he was cheerful, but he was her jailer. Even so, she was horrified at his violent, horrible death.
The attack seemed to come from nowhere - and everywhere. Sheraine was forcing down her morning ration of mush and water when, suddenly, the sky seemed filled with arrows. Three soldiers went down almost as one, and the camp erupted in confusion.
An officer yelled at Belzak, "Get the woman into the wagon and secure her tightly."
Belzak lifted Sheraine as if she were a sack of meal and threw her into the wagon. As he shackled her wrists and chained her to the wagon bed, he mumbled. "I'm sorry, Miss. I'm sorry, Miss." His hands trembled and his eyes betrayed his fear.
Sheraine had not caught sight of the attackers. Were the people who now held her the warriors who had attacked? Or did they come upon the wreckage and rescue her? She decided she must be wary and began formulating a fictitious story before sleep overtook her.
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