Chapter 17 Kidnapped #2
Phlegmy pulled me toward the tree. After the day I’d had my legs felt very wobbly, but I was grateful to be on my own two feet again.
I glanced around, analyzing my chances of escape.
There were at least a dozen people here at the camp—more than had been riding with us—and all appeared to be armed.
That meant that even if I managed to break free from Phlegmy, I probably wouldn’t make it very far.
What would Siera do? I thought, thinking of the main character in my longest-running Thrones and Kings fanfic.
In the original Thrones and Kings books, Siera had been a relatively minor character, but I‘d always sensed there was more to her. In my story, the quiet, unassuming girl had become a clever mastermind, getting herself out of all sorts of scrapes. She was the sort of girl I’d always wished I could be, when in reality I’d always worried I was more like the series’ dull, fearful Glenna.
But first things first—the Siera in my story would be taking stock of the threats around her, from the weakest to the strongest. If I had to guess, based on his level of intelligence and general moistness, Phlegmy was probably one of the least dangerous people here.
And the cloaked figure was clearly the biggest threat.
Speaking of, where did they go? I hadn’t seen the whistle-voiced leader of this group since we dismounted.
But I wasn’t left in suspense for long. Phlegmy took me to the side of the great tree, where there was a particularly scaly patch of fungus growing up the thick, russet-colored bark.
I tilted my head. The bark wasn’t quite right here, almost askew, as if someone had broken the tree apart and pieced it back together wrong.
That glow I’d noticed from the front of the tree seeped through the cracks.
Phlegmy pushed against the bark, and a whole section of it swung inward like a door.
Of course, I thought, embarrassed that, given how much fantasy I’d read—and written—I hadn’t recognized it sooner. There’s always a magical tree door.
My captor shoved me inside the tree. I assumed he’d follow, but instead he pulled the bark-door closed behind me, leaving me to face whatever waited inside the tree on my own.
For my first magical tree dwelling, it didn’t disappoint.
The trunk was almost entirely hollow for as far up as I could see, and slivers in the bark—about as wide as my hand—let in light and noise from the outside.
Most of the light came from within, though.
At various places around the room, large, shelf-like fungus extended from the “walls,” giving off a warm glow that bathed the entire place in soft golden light.
Most of the “furniture” in the room looked like it had grown right from the tree as well—from the wooden benches covered in moss to the round, bark-textured table.
There was even something that might have been a bed, with layers of moss and leaves and a blanket that looked like it was crocheted out of spider silk.
There were probably other details I missed, but I was distracted by the other person in the room—the cloaked figure.
They were taller than I realized—a good foot taller than me—and they were currently facing away from me. They must have heard me enter, but clearly they were in no hurry to acknowledge me.
Now’s my chance, I thought. But reality hit me quickly—what could I do with my hands tied behind my back?
If I could remember exactly how I’d decimated those trees at the edge of the forest, that would have been one thing, but it would have been a shame to destroy this place, even in the name of taking down my scary hooded kidnapper.
As I waffled, they drew their hood back, then unclasped their long cloak, removing it and hanging it from a protruding piece of wood shaped like a hook. And then they finally turned to face me.
I sucked in a breath. Given the raspy, wind-whistle voice I’d expected someone withered and gaunt. Instead, I found myself looking at a truly striking woman.
She wasn’t quite pretty, but she was distractingly interesting, with arched brows and unusually pale gray eyes.
She had the sort of long, natural curls that reminded me of those heroines in Gothic novels who spent their time running across the moors, and the color was somewhere between dusty brown and sandy blond—a color as earthy as her surroundings.
Her skin was tan and sun-kissed, giving me the impression that she spent most of her time outdoors.
I’d already noted her height, but without the cloak to hide her body it was less noticeable, balanced by a build that was both feminine and mildly athletic—like she could be soft if she wanted to but also beat you in an arm wrestling contest.
Was everyone from Therador fascinating to look at?
She smiled at me, and the skin on the back of my neck prickled. She may have had that statuesque, earth-goddess look, but this woman was dangerous, and my body wouldn’t let me forget it.
“I should probably introduce myself,” she said, and though her voice sounded a little more normal now, there was something wild and untamed about it that still set me on edge. “My name is Laitha.”