Gaston spoke with the calm demeanor of a man in charge. “You will regret your actions when Catheldor knights get ahold of you. They will see you will be racked with regret for the remainder of your short life.”
“Somehow I think I doubt your knights will risk harm. You six are a valuable commodity which should fetch a large ransom. A prince, a son of the Catheldor captain of the guard, a magic infused son of a prominent Catheldor landowner, a dwarven trading apprentice, and two members of the visiting elvish delegation. It would be fitting to fund a just war with Catheldor’s own coin. The only thing that could be better was if Arlin was the first born, not the fifth.”
Blondie grabbed a crossbow bolt embedded in Prince Arlin’s flesh. The young man screamed as the bolt was twisted and pulled from his body. “My healers will mend your wounds enough so you don’t die. It’s the least I could do for prized trophies.”
Ildonian guards led the six to the awaiting wagon and hoisted them aboard where they joined the queen and elf prince and princess. The elf princess smiled when Jarik was shoved onto the wagon. It was a small gesture that built resolve into the young man. He leaned against the side wall of the wagon and hid the struggling of his bonded hands. The coarse rope dug into his skin.
Blondie and a handful of guards mounted the wagon just before it began to move. Blood flowed from Jarik’s wrists, blood which he used to lubricate and loosen the rope. With a muffled grunt the half-elf tore his hands free.
Ildonian soldiers held onto the wagon as it rolled towards the village. Thothen and Gaston shifted to hide Jarik’s movement from the guards. The half-elf retrieved a hidden dagger from his boot. With a few flicks of the blade, the rogue set about freeing his companions.