Underestimate Me

The cool rain soaked Rowen’s visible hair and skin. It felt wonderful for a moment, until the searing pain in his shoulder gripped his entire being. He could not hide the pain any longer, but he would have tried a great deal more had he not been awoken by someone pulling him up the post. His arm twisted against the pole as he was pushed up it causing the worst agitation in any wound he had ever experienced. Mud cloaked his shins and knees bringing more memories of the most tragic day in his history.

“Bring him inside, but take care to avoid getting too much mud in the tent.” The voice was harsh; it did not fit any of his memories. He did not like the way it echoed through his head. Rowen dared not speak in front of this creature, the leader of the band of rebel slaughterers. The bindings around his wrists were unfastened before his arm was yanked forward causing another painful groan to pass his lips.

He balanced on his own feet causing some of the agitation in his shoulder to cease. If the wound was not treated soon he could expect infection to set in, but that was no matter because he did not expect to leave this camp alive. Death came for him, and the only fear he could muster was for his dear younger brother, Merek.

Rowen slipped in the mud once, the swordswoman caught his injured arm a little too harshly, almost provoking a scream from his lips. To his utter pleasure, the pain merely sounded like a tired grunt. He was taken into quite a nice tent, one he did not see women going into as they took their leave of him the previous night. The voice led the way, though he sensed the woman beside him often tried to catch her eye. That must be their way of communicating, but he could not understand it.

He took note of the few women that were awake during these early hours. Most of them grasped hands, stroked hair, whispered. These women, Rowen thought, were entirely too close to each other, and that might be a horrendous thing for him. The woman with the voice sat down in a chair by a lit candle, the fire reflected in her pale eyes. She gave into the perusing glances of the swordswoman. “I will not leave you,” the woman who pulled Rowen here stated before she pushed him into a hard chair across from the voice. She rebound his hands behind him.

Those pale eyes bore into him until he could stand it no longer. He adverted his gaze toward his sopping boots. “I knew who you were from the beginning, I could smell the death on your hands, you were raised to spill blood.” His gaze snapped back to her eyes; this time his own gaze held a heavy anger. She nearly turned away once, but he could see the strength that kept her eyes boring into him.

“I killed no one until I was forced to. My men did not attack you first.”

“Aye, but you would have,” Meredith interjected. The voice turned her eyes for a second and even Rowen could read the meaning.

“Tell me, Rowen son of Elrik, how many men your father plans on sending, and I shall consider making the punishment for your act of war more of an inconvenience.”

He tried desperately to stop the corners of his mouth from turning up, but he failed. They betrayed him only a little. Her eyes grew more and more vicious.

“How many horses?”

He did not speak a word in return.

“Weapons? Where do you keep those terrible weapons? How many are there?”

He shook his head in response, still not venturing to speak. The corners of his mouth turned up more. The woman beside him put a stop to his smile though, by digging a finger into his injured shoulder.

The voice waved a hand and the pain stopped before she spoke again. “Let us speak on a different subject, in a friendlier manner.”

“How could this,” Rowen glared to the woman beside him, “be any friendlier than a cobra ready to strike at any moment?”

“We shall talk of something you are fond of, perhaps your village. Is it a nice place?” Her gaze softened to a tone that he was more familiar with. He felt his stomach churn with memories.

“Aye, it is a beautiful place, with good people. People that you have taken liberty to murder in the streets of this forest.”

"It is come to my attention that your people torture and banish women if they do not obey.” The coldness seeped back into her eyes and it froze his veins.

“I have never laid a hand on any woman.” He knew he should stop speaking, but her voice was accusatory. His mind would not let her accuse him of such as what he thought she said.

"Not even indirectly, I understand it is easier to let some of your loyal dogs do the dirty work."

“I do not prefer my men to do my dirty work. If there is such work to be done I rather take it upon myself to be dealt with.”

“Especially when it comes to yanking unwanted company out of your bed in the morning!”

This vile creature before him knew not what she spoke of. Her foul excrements made Rowen sick, and he found himself hating this rebel leader just a little more than he did when she just ordered the slayings of his people. “And what would you know of being dragged from my bed!” He spat back at her.

The flames flared in her vision as she glared at solely at him. Those eyes nearly made his guard vanish from the room in his mind; however, something made him focus on the fight for attention in her presence. "More than you could possibly expect." The voice hissed and turned away for a moment. Her eyes met his guard’s before she turned to him again and asked, "So how is Josselyn?"

“What does a wretch like you know of a woman like Josselyn?” He growled. This time the flame of the candle reflected off his own dark eyes. He felt the woman behind him shift; prepared to invoke whatever pain she could on his being. She would never know the pain he already suffered.

“I asked you, for I have not spoken to her since I came to live in these woods.” Her voice reeked of cynicism. She knew more than she let on, he could see it in her eyes.

Rowen’s heart sank in his chest. He waited for the pain to come, and it did not take long. His eyes turned to his boots once again while his mouth tried to decide to speak or not. “Balor, save her soul,” he whispered, afraid of what his voice would have sounded like if he said anything more. He ventured another glance at her face.

The foul creature before him smiled, he could see the action in the corners of her eyes. “No need for Balor to care for her soul. She did indeed die in that forest; Maa was not done with her yet.” She stole a quick glance at his guard before she turned back to him. The veil covering everything but those glaring pale eyes was undone; the entirety of her face was revealed, and Rowen felt the shock of it fly through his bones.

No! That could not be the voice. That could not be the woman he knew once so long ago. Josselyn was dead; his father came to him before his own punishment and informed him of the news that numbed him from all other emotions save grief on the tragic day.