The army was quiet now, unnaturally so. And she could feel a reverence seething beneath that combined strength of arm. It was not directed at her, of that she was sure, but at the beast of a man dragging her along the pallid ground. He was huge and well muscled, no doubt, but she felt it to be so much more than his obvious physical prowess. There was something at the back of her mind that balked at drawing his attention, and she wasn’t convinced that she would be able to withstand the full force of his presence if she stayed this close to him. She could almost see the power flow through his veins in gushing streams, and his pulse beat slowly where his palm was closed on her arm; that grip was oddly cool in the heat of the air.
Stray voices came to her from the left and she saw a small band of men approaching. They were all of them the same race as her captor and she now noticed the faint burgundy hue to their skin. Stopping a dozen strides away, the closest one spoke fluidly in a language Sophia could not identify. She could not even distinguish individual words – it was more like the melodic line of a classical song – but the chains passed from the back of the group made his meaning all too clear. Polished silver shackles were connected to a leather handle by a hundred or so finger-length loops and the man who had spoken brought them forward as the others held their positions with expert discipline.
Then came his voice.
She felt the weight on her shoulders double as the heavy, bass timbre of his voice sang a shockingly beautiful reply. It seemed to want to crush her under its authority, and she slumped, as wan as the grass she fell to.
