Editor's note: this story contains scenes of non-consensual or reluctant sex.
***
Kaylie was pulled out of her uneasy sleep by the early morning sounds of the manor farm. On the barn floor, far below her refuge in the hay loft, teamsters' voices made a low chatter among the sounds of horses being led out and hitched into their team. Horses whickered and chuffed, turning her initial panic into a deep aching homesickness.
She squeezed her eyes shut, feeling hot tears making tracks over her dirty face. Another day on the run, another day of constantly gnawing hunger, another day of the terror and loneliness of being hunted down in a strange kingdom, far from home. Angry, she wiped her arm over her face, getting rid of the tears. Crying like a child with a lost sweet wouldn't help her. She was beyond the law, a deserter from her Laird's army and trapped in enemy lands.
Kaylie had been born as Moibeal Brìde-Ceilidh ap Dòmhnallach to the Clannad MacMhiadhchain, although the village cleric had been probably the only person to use her full name when she'd been dedicated to the Goddess at their little chapel. Every child was taken, soon after birth and presented to the sigil of their Holy Protector, the Green Lady, in hopes of a long and fruitful life.
And for the first nineteen years of her existence, the Goddess had seen her through the mix of good and bad that marked every life in the little village.
And then, the cavalry of Mad Gregor, the Laird's War-Chief and Heir, arrived at their village. She'd been out in the fields, far from the secret places the villagers maintained for these kind of events. Gregor's outriders had caught her in the open with nowhere to hide. They ignored her pleading, not even letting her say goodbye to her family. Kaylie had been conscripted, like so many others, into the latest expedition against the Elvish settlements, far to the east.
She was given an iron cap and a plate with straps to wear over her chest, both ill-fitting. Instead of a sword or bow, she struggled to carry an unwieldy 12-foot pike with the other conscripted soldiers. Shackled and guarded at night, they marched at the rear of the column, in the dust raised by thousands of boots that led the army.
Week after week, they trudged on. Days bled into each other, an monotonous cycle of dust, heat, and stink. She'd tried to keep the calendar straight in her head, but soon Kaylie had no idea how long they'd spent staggering through the dust clouds. It had felt like forever.
Then, one morning, her world changed again.
The night before, Gregor's army camped beside a broad and shallow river, noisy in its rocky bed. In the setting sun, Kaylie saw that the meadows on the opposite side of the water were invisible beneath the camp of the defenders, their white tents and pavilions glowing golden in the setting sun. It was a stark contrast with the human camp. Of course, the nobles had their own pavilions. Their favored rank leaders even had tents, but the majority of the rank and file huddled out in the open to sleep. Kaylie collected her evening meal and managed to get it down before she fell asleep where she sat.
She opened her eyes again in the pre-dawn half-light, woken by some unknown sound. Yawning, she peered through the early-morning ground fog. There were a series of thumps, and then a high, burbling shriek from her left. A low thrumming sound came from the direction of the river and she got up, confused. She went toward the noise, finding a knot of conscripts gathered around a man who lay kicking weakly in the dirt. A long shaft protruded from the chest of the man, nailing him to the soil. As he went still, Kaylie's eyes focused on the silver and gray fletching.
A hissing whisper grew in the sky above them and the conscripts looked up, just as the second flight of arrows struck. Another gray fletched arrow hammered through the face of the man next to her, emerging from the back of his head. He dropped to the ground without a sound.
In contrast, there were screams and shouting all around her. Another whispered thrumming from the river sent Kaylie running. Her helmet chest plate felt like anvils, and she pulled them off, leaving them behind as she took cover in a stand of trees.
She stayed hidden through the rest of the day, hearing the noise of the fighting. The thunder of hoofbeats mixed with unearthly bird-screams above them. Once she caught sight of gryphon sky-calvary, wheeling and diving as they harried the humans from above. Kaylie had no idea how long battles were supposed to last but the noise of fighting died away long before the sun had reached its peak overhead.
Still, she stayed hidden, waiting. They'd been told over and over that desertion was a death-sentence. If the humans won, (unlikely), she'd be hung from a tree-branch and left for the ravens to pick clean.
And if the Elves had won...she had no idea what they'd do to a human survivor, but it probably wouldn't be pleasant. She stayed on the leafy floor of the little copse until well after dark. Then she got up and began to run.
Three days later, she'd come across this large manor and had climbed into the empty hay loft of a horse barn. It was the most comfortable place she'd slept since she'd been dragged away from home.
Once the barn was quiet again, Kaylie crept down the ladder and stole a couple of handfuls of oats from the feed bin. She'd have to eat it raw, but it would quiet her noisy stomach. She'd keep heading west today, looking for anything she might have remembered from the march here.
