Chapter 21
Kell turned once again in his saddle to look down the line of mounted soldiers, to the far end where the wagons were trudging heavily along in the army's wake. Until now the road had crossed fields of tall grass and stands of wild barley. This was the last time he'd have a clear line of sight from the front before they entered the last expanse of forest surrounding the road leading to the river.
"Something bothering you, my prince?" Rión asked with an eyebrow arched, and Kell sat back in the saddle to give him a reassuring smile. Though he barely managed it, he was worried, he had to admit.
"No, Rión. Just making sure everyone's with us."
The high commander didn't seem convinced, but he turned his eyes back to the road ahead without any more questions. The man had insisted on going with them this morning, leaving the camp in Captain Heon's capable hands. He had a score to settle with the Iloron bastards, he'd said when Kell had asked him to hold the camp, and that was that.
Piotry was riding not far behind and Kell felt the sorcerer's eyes on his back too. Piotry knew he worried about Will, Kell's concern had been evident enough this morning when Piotry had had to keep Kell and Will from arguing out in the open about whether or not Will was to ride up in the front with them. Kell had more or less ordered him to find a mount and Will had stubbornly kept to the idea that he was to stay in his place in the back of the wagon. This did nothing to calm either of them, the morning – as the night before – had been strained, both of them tense and short of temper. Will had won and now Kell could hardly sit still in the saddle. Yes, he was worried.
He couldn't say exactly why, but the nagging feeling had begun in the bottom of his stomach as soon as he could no longer see Will, even though he knew the young sorcerer was there in the rear, and it grew worse the closer to the forest they came.
No, he told himself, there's nothing to worry about. Why would there be? I'm in the front of an army, three sorcerers in our midst. We're just making sure the enemy is leaving our border, nothing we can't handle.
And still he found himself twining restless, gloved fingers in Runner's mane.
The forest closed its lush arms around them and blocked out the immediate sunlight, leaving the road in a hazy kind of dappled twilight. It was still early in the morning and the forest had not yet fully come to life. Which only added to the feeling that something was wrong, like the world was apprehensively holding its breath, waiting for something.
A scout came trotting back down the road and Rión waved him to his side. But he had nothing new to report. It had been the same for the past few hours; the traces after the Iloron force was telling them they were indeed heading back across the river and that they were still a day's march ahead of the Waunban men.
The Iloron had moved fast, leaving everything that could not be carried on horseback, and hadn't bothered to wait for those who fell behind. Four times so far Kell had ordered a few of his men to give the fallen Iloron soldiers a decent grave, if even by the roadside and without the proper prayers. One of them even bled out as they watched, Piotry with a miserable frown on his face, but it was too late to save him. If it continued at this rate Kell wasn't sure there would be any enemy left alive when and if they caught up with them.
There was a faint glimmer of light to the left among the trees, but when Kell turned his head to discern what it was, there was nothing to be seen. Not even a shadow moving or a leaf rustling in the breeze.
The leather of his saddle creaked under the shifting of his body, and the jingle of metal and armor mixed with the thumping of horses' hooves. Rión swatted irritably at an insect buzzing past his face.
There is was again. Kell squinted in the rays of sunlight that sifted through an opening in the overhead foliage.
A horse neighed down the line and then threw its heavy body into the mount and rider next to it. The commotion was instant and screams reached them from down the line.
Kell pulled on the reins and turned to see what was the matter, when a dark shadow flew across his face. His attention was instantly drawn away from his men and he stared up among the trees. He sat frozen in the saddle, unable to do little more than breathe. The world narrowed down to a blur around him and the noise of his men faded out as if covered by a blanket. Runner took two nervous steps under him, his dark ears flicking to pick up the sound of heavy, running feet. But his master paid him no heed.
Kell wasn't even aware of Rión bellowing orders down the line, or of the men that came rushing out among the trees around him. He could only stare at the night black raven that sat on a gnarly branch, eyeing him with its piercing, yellow gaze and flapping its large wings.
No. Oh no, no no no noo...
* * * * * * * *
Will wasn't aware that his fingers were tapping a staccato rhythm against his thigh, not aware of the wagon driver carrying on with the monologue with his four heavy horses pulling the wagon. Trees and bushes passed by on either side of the wagon, a bump in the road caused the sack of potato next to him to sag even more. But none of these occurrences were paid any attention. It was like the world around him had tuned out into a background noise.
Will pulled an erratic breath and shifted restlessly. He was more than a little apprehensive, had been all since this morning when Kell had insisted on him riding in the front with the rest of them. Gods, he'd seen the fear in the prince's eyes, the fear to be left alone even among his men. Will had stubbornly kept to his place in the wagon. But now he wasn't so sure.
He could feel it, the prince's worry. Kell was tense to the point of aching and deprived of any of the sharp focus he usually displayed when leading his army. Will could sense that too.
Why do I suddenly feel him like this? he wondered, and craned his neck to try and see past the wagons ahead.
~You have a bond between you, Will. Didn't you realize?~
~A bond? How? I haven't done anything,~ he said confused, out of focus himself as well.
~You both have,~ Ashiná explained patiently. ~You've spent nights together, shared bodies and life-essences. It's inevitable that a bond should be created.~
Will stared unseeingly at nothing. ~I've marked him. Oh, gods, I didn't mean to!~ He fisted a hand in the rough burlap of the sack next to him, his insides growing cold. ~He said it last night, like I had put a spell on him.~
~You didn't do anything wrong, Will. This bond between you is mutual.~
~That doesn't make it right!~ he exclaimed, nearly desperate. ~How can we ever go separate ways now?~
Ashiná didn't answer.
A spell-bonded lover was fiercely loyal to his or her sorcerer, sometimes to the point of dieing for them, starving to death to stay by their side when the sorcerer went into hibernation. A spell that could never be broken, only lifted by the sorcerer himself. Will had never intended for this to happen, he had never meant to rob the kingdom of its prince heir, and without consciously casting a spell to bind them, how could he ever lift it?
Somewhere up the line a horse neighed and the wagon driver pulled on the reins to stop the wagon. Raised voices turned into screams and Will became aware of the world around him again.
"What's going on?" he asked the man, rising to his knees to look at the sudden chaos ahead.
Something had spooked the horses, every mounted man tried his best to rein in his mount and calm it, but there was no such thing in the animals' minds.
In the next instant Will became aware of the frozen terror Kell was feeling. Without realizing it he bolted out of the wagon and rushed past it, deaf to the driver's shouts. Will couldn't breathe, his heart racing like it was beating its way out of his chest. He ran as fast as he could up the line, dodging horses and men, and trying desperately to see where Kell was.
Then the world exploded around him, pelting him with stones and dirt, and toppling him blind and helpless to the ground.
* * * * * * * *
He came back to it sprawled on his back ten feet from where he had been, an insistent high-pitched ringing in his ears and a warm wetness lazily seeping down the side of his face from somewhere in his hair. He pushed himself up to his knees with an effort, only distantly sensing his body protesting the pain and effort.
Men and horses were scattered on the ground around him, some dead or unconscious, some beginning to move slowly out of the same shocked haze he was experiencing. Others, further away further away from the blast were already on their feet and staggering back into some semblance of order.
Will got to his feet and found himself steady enough to stand without support. The sight that met him was bewildering, to say the least, and terrifying in what it implied. The ground next to the road had literally exploded, splitting up a six feet wide ditch that ran up and down the length road. Will, as so many of the soldiers and horses, had been hit by earth and rocks from the blast and the road was littered with rubble, making it hazardous to even walk.
Will had never seen spells that worked like this, not without a sorcerer present to cast them. But what terrified him the most was that the trees on the other side of the ditch were unscathed, not even a leaf torn off its perch or a twig broken.
Will pulled a shuddering breath past a slowly but steadily forming lump in his throat. It had been a trap. The retreating Iloron force the bait that was too tempting to ignore and they – the ignorant, revenge seeking fools – had been too wrapped up in their hunt to see it. A mistake not to see it. And Will knew who was paying the price for their stupidity. He could no longer feel Kell.
* * * * * * * *
Kell felt hands tearing at his tunic and chain mail, seeking purchase in cloth and metal to drag him out of the saddle, and he was jarred back to reality. He forced out a startled cry at the hostility on those grabbing hands and wrenched his arms free to grasp at his sword. He fought like a man gone mad, wielding his blade at the bodies crowding around him, pulling at the reins to swing Runner's heavy body into them. He couldn't tell how much good it did him; he was too terrified to see properly, his vision narrowed down to a tunnel with hazy edges.
Someone shouted foul words to his left and he swung his sword in a wide arc at the voice, garnering a pained scream, then spun his shores around again and the bodies dispersed for a moment only to crowd close again in an instant. They were many and persistent in their malicious intentions, but he fought them.
Then there was a harsh, cackling noise from overhead and a large shadowed form swooped down towards him from the trees. He jerked back from it, twisting in the saddle to ward it off with both arms, and his sword was lost in the mass of bodies around him. Runner threw his head and snorted wildly in agitation at the heavy wings flapping around his ears. A man caught his bridle and jerked his head down to control him now that their prey had other concerns, distracted by a fear of the unbelievable happening to him.
The raven flapped its large wings close to Kell's face, its beak and talons stabbing through the air at him, and he screamed, shielding himself with his arms over his head.
No! Not this. Not now!
Hands grabbed him and when he was distracted by the large bird they pulled him down from Runner's back. He flailed around desperately, trying to get solid ground under his feet to stand and fight, but he was forced flat on his back in the dirt.
He could make out faces, evil grinning faces of men an instant before they hit him on the side of his head. The world went away in darkness.
* * * * * * * *
Will kept searching, desperately nursing the ragged remains of hope that he would find the prince safe and unharmed among his commanders. He searched through his inner self for the connection that he had recently identified as Kell. But he couldn't find it.
One moment – before the blast, he realized – it had been there, and then no more. He refused to acknowledge that whimpering, wailing voice in the back of his head that said he was too late. If he did, it would mean he had failed to protect Kell and that could not be. But the lump in his throat grew steadily with every step closer to the front of the line and still no prince.
"Sorcerer!" Someone screamed for him to help a fallen comrade, but Will pushed on ahead, in no frame of mind to save those who were still alive, albeit injured, when Kell was missing. No, not dead. Not yet. He refused to believe it.
"Master sorcerer!" a familiar voice called.
"Will! Over here!"
He turned his head and saw Piotry kneeling over a battered high commander Rión, his hands on the man's red soaked shoulder. "Where is he!" he demanded desperately, as he ran up to them. Piotry took his hands away from Rión's arm and they both looked at Will with tense, miserable expressions. "No!" Will cried harshly, his hands fisting at his sides.
"He's not dead, sorcerer," Rión said, his voice lacking its usual authority. "Although I cannot tell for sure what state he's in since they took him with them."
"What? Who? Where!" He had no time for this; Kell could be vanishing out of his reach even as they spoke.
"Men," Piotry said unhelpfully. "They were dressed as woodsmen, though not in greens, but black. They took him with them up the road, as far as I can tell, and then just vanished."
Will stared at them. "How could you let this happen?!" he snapped, unable to stave his fears any longer.
"We didn't 'let' it!" Rión barked back. "We fought them as best we could right up until that explosion hit us. Even you would've fallen under that!"
Will shuddered and closed his eyes, ashamed. "I did fall," he whispered, an apology, if he could manage it. It was not their fault, it was Will who was supposed to protect Kell, care for him, and he who had failed out of stupidity and pride. "I must go after them."
"Good." Rión got to his feet, waving impatiently at Piotry's helping hand. "I'll assemble a troop and we'll go to get the prince back…"
"No," Will interrupted. "There's no time to waste while you gather your men, commander. I must go now while I might still have a chance of catching up to them."
"You're able to track them?" Rión asked surprised.
He hesitated to answer, glancing at Piotry, who was staring intently at him. "I might. In a manner of speaking."
"Then leave a trail for us to follow and we'll catch up with you once we're back to order."
Will didn't answer that, he turned and looked for a horse that could take him where he needed to go, any animal that was still uninjured from the blast and reasonably manageable for his limited skills.
He saw the prince's Runner not far away and the empty saddle in his back. As much as Will knew the stallion would do anything in its might for Kell, he also knew he could never master the animal. He could do mostly anything with his powers, except save those who mattered to him.
"I need a horse," he ground out and turned to Rión.
"I'll get you one." The man hurried away to see to it himself, limping as he did so.
Piotry was looking at Will, his gaze intent on his face. "You know where he is?" he asked quietly.
Will shrugged, uncomfortable. "Maybe." He swallowed to bring strength to his voice. "When he is conscious I can feel him. Right now I'm guessing he's not, but there is like a gossamer thread of his being leading into the forest. It is diminishing as we speak. I must hurry."
"You marked him, didn't you?" Was it censure in Piotry's voice?
"I didn't mean to," he defended himself. "I don't even know how it happened. We just…" Made love. He couldn't say it out loud.
Piotry nodded slowly. "If it's not intentional it might fade. I just hope you find him before it does."
"Yes, me too." He had to swallow again.
"You're bleeding." Piotry put a hand to his head and he became aware of the pain stinging his scalp, the blood clotting his hair. Piotry healed him gently. "You be careful, Will. These are dangerous men and they won't hesitate or stop at anything."
"I know." Will glanced at the destruction around them.
Piotry looked at him for the longest moment and then nodded. "You'll need water and blankets," he said and turned, presumably to find the things mentioned.
Will stood alone in the broken, chaotic lines of the troop, staring unseeingly ahead, praying for just a hint of connection with Kell to tell him where he was being taken.
"Your horse." Rión came back with a dark gelding by the reins. There was a knapsack tied across the saddlebags, and two flasks of water and a pouch over the pommel.
"Thank you." Will took the reins and made to mount up when Piotry returned.
"Take this," he said and gave Will his grey coat and herb pouch.
"Piotry…"
"You'll need it. At least the coat will keep you warmer than your tunic will. If the gods are merciful you won't need the herbs, but take them anyway." He put the pouch in one of the saddlebags and made sure Will put on his coat, it was too long and too narrow across the shoulders. Will mounted and gathered the reins, anxious to be going.
But Piotry grabbed his stirrup, a frown of concern on his face. "You know this is a bad idea," he murmured. "You'll be out there alone and we don't know what you might be up against."
"I know. Still, how can I not follow?" He heard the note of tension in his own voice. Piotry held his gaze a moment longer. "I'll find him," Will said, to make them believe it as much as himself. "I'll bring him back." He pulled on the reins and kicked the gelding forward, it snorted and set off in a gallop down the road.
* * * * * * * *
Consciousness was a fickle, elusive thing and Kell was actually grateful for it. The numerous pains in his body gathered to an insurmountable whole when he was awake and it numbed him, made him weak and wishing for relief. Better then to sleep and not have to suffer the indignity of whimpering like a child in pain.
But there was also something else there when he was conscious. Something warm and soothing in the back of his mind that was nearly as elusive as consciousness itself. If he concentrated and groped his way past pain and agony it almost reached the coherent surface of his mind and he could nearly grasp it. But it drifted away out of reach like a moth when his efforts took their toll and the world blackened out around him again.
* * * * * * * *
He'd been floating under the surface when he was jarred out of the dimness and gasped for breath, pain shooting through his chest and shoulders to manifest to a pounding in his skull. He blinked a few times to try and clear his eyes and the odd surroundings came slowly into focus. The pine needle and leaf covered surface of a forest path moved past under him and he saw his own still gloved hands dangling above it, tied around the wrists with a tough leather cord. He smelled the warm hay and dung scent of a horse, and realized its hooves were just beyond his hands' reach. He couldn't understand this view; it was such an odd thing to see upon waking.
He grunted with the effort of moving one arm to search for purchase to rise, and the attempt to lift his head sapped all his strength. The wagging motion of his body ceased then and he realized he must be slung over the horse' back as its withers dug into his left side and a sack of some sort nudge his right hip when it stopped. A not so gentle hand grabbed his tangled hair and pulled his head up. Pain streaked down his stretching muscles and he whimpered as the pounding in his head increased.
"So, awake, are we?" a rough voice said and an unfamiliar, leering face appeared at the edge of his vision. A sour breath reached his nostrils and his stomach, tight from tension and his own weight, turned in revulsion. He tried to answer the man, some biting, confident remark, but his lips only moved soundlessly and the man laughed at him.
A voice from the other side of the horse uttered some words Kell couldn't make out.
"No," the man in front of him answered. "Can't have that." He took something offered to him from his companion. Wrenching Kell's head up further he forced something into his mouth with a gloved finger, the leather tasting of things best not to dwell on.
Kell's mind screamed in panic at the intrusion and he willed his body to fight. All he managed was a pathetic flail with his bound arms and make fresh tears spill down his cheek. The man laughed again.
"There," he said and patted Kell's shoulder, a strangely gentle gesture. "You'll soon be sleeping again."
Kell wasn't aware of the hand releasing his hair and his head falling back down. All he could feel was the churning of his stomach and the bitter, harsh taste in his mouth.
* * * * * * * *
It was dark the next time when Kell struggled to become wholly aware. The movements of his body and those of the horse had stopped and he stared at a patch of moss covered ground instead of that of the forest path. It took a long moment for his befuddled mind to understand he was actually off the horse now, his arms tied behind his back instead and his cheek pressed to the ground. Short stalks of grass tickled his lips with each breath.
Taking stock of his body he found himself whole, if not in pain, muscles straining and no doubt sporting a number of bruises. His cuirass and chain mail were gone, so was his helmet and weapons, even the dagger in his boot was missing, he couldn't feel it when wiggling his foot around. His head and neck felt the worst, attempting to roll over onto his back made spots dance in front of his eyes and his gut roll uneasily. He let out a breath and willed the nausea back down.
He heard the sound of movement and then hands were on him, turning him over. A bearded face appeared above him and he squinted to better discern it in the flickering light from a small camp fire.
"Who…?" he managed in a hoarse whisper, but he got no answer.
"Bring him over here," a voice said somewhere to the right, and the man bent to grab him.
He tried to find the ground with his feet, but there was no strength in his legs and he had to accept his weakness and lean against his captor's body. Two more men sat around the fire where he was unceremoniously dropped back to the ground, only the fist around his arm keeping him from falling on his face until he found his bearings.
He could look at them all now in the light of the fire, and realized with dismay and not a little bit of panic, that he didn't recognize any of them. He tugged at the bindings around his wrists, but they wouldn't be loosened.
"So, your highness," the one crouching nearest to him said, a leer on his face that made Kell acutely aware of how vulnerable he was. "Seems you'll be having supper with us this fine evening." His voice had the smooth cant of a man of some stature, if not exactly that of a noble. It went in discord with the rough black clothes he and his men were wearing.
Kell tried to buy time to gather his wits, and glanced around him. The horse was tethered not far away, a small shaggy pony it was and he wondered how it had fared with the weight of him for a whole day. There were three packs and blankets around the fire and a short bow lay next to one of them.
Someone snorted and muttered under his breath, and Kell turned back to his captors. They were all studying him, various degrees of amusement or annoyance on their faces. They were all tall and rather strongly built, daggers and swords in their belts, and Kell knew he wouldn't be able to fight his way out of this.
"Who are you and where have you taken me?" he demanded to know, but heard how faint his voice still sounded.
The man whom Kell though to be the leader of this little band, chuckled. Another, the bald, heavyset one, spit on the ground, a brown-tinged glob that landed next to the fire. "Do you believe we're going to tell you that?"
"Not bloody likely," the bearded man muttered. A much rougher accent in his voice, and by the look of him, the one to keep a close eye on.
He didn't answer, not knowing what to say, and unwilling to let hem know just how uneasy he was. They seemed to lose interest in him, or at least decided he could be ignored, bound and hurt as he was, and started a simple meal for supper. The smell of cooking meat had him gagging and he rolled onto his other side, his back to the fire.
"Too good for simple fare, are we?" one of the men said in a hoarse voice, and spat again. Kell didn't see where it landed, nor did he care. He tried to fight down the nausea rising from fear and the lingering effect of what he'd been given before.
He heard steps behind him and stiffened, bracing for something to happen. A hand appeared in front of him, holding a piece of bread. "Might be good to eat something, your highness. Might help with the sickness."
Kell glanced up at the man, the leader, wondering if this was some sort of joke. But he saw nothing of the sort in the man's face, only grudging concern.
The man snorted, obviously knowing what Kell was thinking. "We've got to have you delivered whole and hearty, sire. So eat, or we won't get our pay." He grinned, showing teeth, and dropped the bread in front of Kell's face.
He stared at it for a moment, deliberating whether or not it was safe to eat. He bitterly admitted his stomach might settle with a bit of food. And he did hold some value to them, or he wouldn't have been taken alive, so what use to poison him now? He turned his head. "My hands? How will I eat with them bound?"
The bearded one glared, obviously not caring in the slightest, and continued to spoon food into his mouth. But the other two shared a look, then the leader said, "We can't have you running off, so you'll have to sort it yourself." A grin spread on his face. "Might humble you a bit too, eating like a dog."
There was much laughter at that notion and Kell had to bite his teeth together not to spit at them.
So he lay there, glaring out among the trees and not immediately willing to humiliate himself. But his stomach rumbled uneasily, at the sight of the bread, at the smell of the cooking food.
As his captors finished with their meal and uncorked their drink – a spicy brew, by the smell of it – Kell slowly edged closer to the stump of bread. He would only do himself a disfavor, not taking what he could get. He might not have a second chance.
And they found that amusing too, when they realized what he was about. He suffered their laughter and comments, biting off a mouthful at a time and chewing and swallowing slowly, fighting nausea, until it was all gone. And then he felt just how thirsty he was instead. But they seemed unwilling to share their drink, which was probably just as well considering how unsteady Kell still felt when he moved too much.
As the men quieted down Kell made the effort to sit. The world spun before his eyes for a moment, the bread threatening to come back up, but he held still, willing it to stay down. It did, after a few moments the world stopped spinning, or maybe his head did, and he could look around the camp from a better perspective.
They were all watching him, the leader grinning widely and the other two frowning or right-out glaring.
"Where are you taking me?" he asked again, this time with a bit more strength in his voice.
"Nosy, your highness." The leader made a wagging motion with his finger. "You sure you want to know?"
"Yes."
"Can't see what good it'd do you."
"What harm can it do?"
The man chuckled, amused by the banter. "Stubborn. He said you were."
Kell narrowed his eyes, sensing he might get an answer, if not a full one. "Who?"
"Who indeed?" the man murmured, leaning closer. "Who would want you away from your army, away from that sorcerer."
A breath hissed in between Kell's teeth, his gut knotting in tension. Who? Gods, there could only be one. The world swam before his eyes as he felt the blood drain from his face, his hands cold with sweat and fear. Would Calon go to such lengths to have his way? To have Kell in a position where he could do nothing but accept what Calon wanted of him? Sweet gods, merciful gods, let it not be so.
And Calon had once said he had men at his disposal that would do his bidding, do whatever he asked of them. Kidnapping a prince was surely not the least of their tasks. Who knew what else they were capable of?
There was movement around the fire; it seemed they were breaking camp already. Kell frowned in confusion at his captors.
"We need to arrive before dawn, your highness. Can't be late now." The man grinned and leaned closer, his breath now smelling of the wine they'd had. "Scared?" he murmured, probably seeing it in Kell's face. "You must be, not knowing where we're going or why."
Kell leaned away from him, searching his weathered face for anything that could tell him... anything. He was growing desperate. With enough head start they could bring him well out of reach of his men. And in the dark, in a forest more or less unknown to himself, he wouldn't have much of a chance of getting away.
Still, he needed to try. He needed to buy himself as much time as he could, he needed to stall and hopefully Will or Rión would come that much closer to catching up. He knew they were looking for him, he knew Will was out there, searching even now. He had to be.
There came a moment as the bearded man went to see to the pony, their leader ducked behind a tree to presumably relieve himself before they set off again, and only their bald companion remained to put out the fire.
Kell's body tensed for a moment, and then he burst into action. He kicked out with a boot, causing embers and ash and still burning twigs to fly up at the bald man. He was startled enough to shy backwards, his hands going up to shield his face, exclaiming and cursing.
Kell didn't sit idle; he rolled to his feet, struggling in his urgency to keep his balance and not fall again as the trees swayed in his vision. He heard a loud shout and more curses behind him, and that was all it took to make him start running.
It didn't matter where or in what direction, as long as it was away from his captors. Panting with desperation and feeling adrenaline pumping through his every nerve, Kell bolted headlong out among the trees. He stumbled over something in the dark and cursed his bound hands and the loss of balance.
Then there was another shout not far off to the right, and cold sweat broke out between his shoulder blades, panic pricked his skin and he took a sharp turn in the other direction. He heard voices and heavy, running boots.
Suddenly the shadows ahead of him began moving and a tall shape lunged at him. Kell cried out in alarm and tried to dodge it, but speed and lack of balance had him stumbling and bounding off a tree trunk. He fell and a thick root dug into his side as he landed, forcing what air he had out of his lungs. The night grew darker for a moment before he could see again, but by then it was too late. A meaty fist grabbed hold of his hair and dragged him halfway off the ground. Kell nearly choked on bile and the stink of the man's breath as he snarled incomprehensible curses in Kell's face. Then a fist impacted with his temple and nothingness was all.
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