Prologue

Running

I was running.

Running on those stupid, flimsy little sandals.

Running for my life.

He was on his horse, I could hear the beast’s hooves pounding behind me, hear this mingled with my own, panting, ragged, panicked breaths – and they were getting closer.

I was covered in blood. Not mine. It was still warm from spurting from that man’s body.

I didn’t know where I was or how I got there. I wasn’t certain what was happening. I went to bed in my bed in a world I understood and I woke up here in a world that was entirely foreign to me, everything about it, and not one thing about it was good.

And now I was running for my life.

The horse’s hooves got closer; I knew they were almost upon me. Frantic, I glanced back and saw I was right. Not only were they close, the man, the rider, so huge he seemed giant, had leaned so deeply to the side, his body was in line with the horse’s middle.

And his long arm was stretched out.

I faced forward and tried to run faster.

But I couldn’t go any faster and I certainly couldn’t go faster than a horse.

I cried out when the arm hooked me at the waist, closed around and lifted me clean off my feet before my ass was planted on the horse in front of him.

Without thinking, I screamed bloody murder, twisted on the horse and prepared, instead of running for my life, to fight for it.