Read Online Eaglethorpe Buxton and the Elven Princess by Wesley Allison - Free Book Online

feed in the world—not
that it is bad for horses, but it does nothing more than give them
something to chew on and doesn’t provide any real nourishment. You
would think by now she would know when she had it good.
    “What are you doing?” asked a small voice
from the other side of the campfire.
    “I’m pondering horse feed,” said I.
    “Well, go to sleep.” It must have been some
kind of elf magic, because no sooner had she said this than my eyes
closed, seemingly of their own volition.

Chapter Seventeen: Wherein I become prisoner
of the elves.

    I must admit that I slept well, not
withstanding the fact that I was using a rock for my pillow, and I
had no mattress but the bare ground, and I hadn’t even my own
blanket to keep warm. I slept well. I slept well until just before
dawn, when suddenly, which is to say all of a sudden and without
warning, I felt the weight of several bodies fall upon me. I
struggled and threw one or two punches which found their targets,
but having been attacked in my sleep and no doubt lulled into a
state of drowsiness by elven magic, it was inevitable that I was
overpowered. They took me captive, which is to say they tied my
hands behind my back, gagged me, and put a sack over my head. Then
they hobbled my legs with a piece of rope so that I could take only
the most mincing of steps.
    I heard some shouting and I thought I
recognized Jholiera’s voice, but with the bag over my head it was
impossible to make out what was being said. Once I thought I heard
her demand my release, but I wasn’t released. I wasn’t sure who had
attacked me, but I was relatively sure that it wasn’t goblins. Oh
to be sure, goblins are thick in those parts. But had goblins come
upon a sleeping man, they would have sliced his throat rather than
taken him captive.
    The point of something sharp jabbed me in
the back. I didn’t know if it was a dagger or a sword or a pike or
a javelin or a sharp stick, but the meaning behind it seemed clear
enough to me. I was to go in the direction opposite from the side
in which I was being jabbed, which is to say the back of me, so I
should go forward. I did, but I didn’t go very fast, being hobbled
as I was. Despite the fact that it had been my captors who had
hobbled me they didn’t seem to want to take that into
consideration, for they kept jabbing me to hurry me up.
    It is hard to judge time when your senses
are deprived, which is to say your head is in a sack. But as I was
marched along, enough light came in through the weave of the cloth
that I could tell when dawn arrived and could more or less make out
in which direction the sun was to be found as it move up and across
the sky. We didn’t stop to break our fast, and we didn’t stop for
elevenses, and we didn’t stop for lunch. When we didn’t stop for
tea, I tried to protest by planting my feet on the ground and
refusing to go on. The only effect that my protest had was an even
fiercer jab with a dagger or a sword or a pike or a javelin or a
sharp stick right below my left shoulder blade—fierce enough to
draw blood. This, as you can imagine, didn’t make the walk any more
fun at all.
    Fortunately it was only a few more hours
after that fierce jab when we arrived at our destination. I was
jerked and pulled around until they had me right where they wanted
me. Then my hood was pulled off, revealing to me three of my
abductors. They were warriors, wearing shining armor. Their long
golden hair and long pointed ears, as well as their stature, gave
evidence to their obvious relation to my little half-orphan friend,
who was at that moment nowhere to be found. The warriors removed my
gag and hobble but kept my hands tied. Then they left me.
    I looked around to find that I was in a
small cave that had been turned into a prison with metal bars
across its entrance. From the mouth of the cave I could see nothing
but trees and forest. Inside the cave there was nothing but a ratty
old blanket on the rough stone ground. You