Tales of
Erogenia
Based
on the online comic created by J.E. Draft.
Episode 3: The
Chapter
3:
Slavers
The trail could not have
been easier to follow if their prey had left a trail of flags to guide Queron
and his band. They had added
incentive to catch up the two warriors now that they had found the cache
of armour. The value of the finely
worked metal was worth a hundred ordinary slaves and ideas of ransom now
flicked through Queron’s mind.
It seemed very possible that the mysterious couple were some sort
of exotic royalty although what they were doing in the middle of nowhere
he had no idea.
Gron as usual had a
theory. “I think it’s
sorcery. How else could they
be here? They clearly don’t belong.”
“Strange for sorcerers
to be walking,” Daget observed.
“What do you know about
sorcerers?” Gron countered.
“Maybe they came on a magic carpet and it flew
away.”
“This conversation
is stupid,” Queron said.
“Let’s just catch the two of
them. We can decide what they
are after we have the ropes on them.”
Zenaria kept up a steady
pace, forcing Varden to keep up.
The knight wasn’t used to walking, but she wanted to cross the
seemingly endless plain before they ran into any other
dangers. In a way they had been
lucky that it was she who had been
attacked. If it had been Varden
he might have died since she had no healing
powers. At the very least they
would have been held up for days or even weeks while he recovered from his
injuries. As it was they were
able to set out the next day although Zenaria was careful not to push herself
too hard. Varden’s healing
powers were extraordinary, but the effort of healing took a bit out of him
and she didn’t want to end up with an exhausted
companion.
Even the more relaxed pace
was a bit much for Varden. Every
chance he got he rested his feet.
However, he was given a respite when Zenaria brought down one of the
giant spiral-horned deer. She
took the time to fashion herself a new set of clothing to replace the tattered
garments that had fallen victim to the
thorns. It took her an entire
day and gave Varden a chance to rest his
feet.
She didn’t do the job
she would like to have done. It
always seemed that when she was fashioning clothing out of animal hide there
was never enough time to cure it properly, but she scraped the hide clean
with her knife and wore it inside out, promising to work on it a bit each
night until she had it the way she wanted
it.
The rest seemed to help
Varden and he kept up without complaining for the next two
days. Zenaria cut the pace down
a little, taking time to hunt along the
way. She noted that she was not
the only predator. In addition
to the heavyset dogs there were prides of lions and several other members
of the cat family, one of which she recognized as a form of
leopard. She kept clear of the
cats knowing how territorial they could
be. As before game was plentiful,
but she was becoming concerned about the lack of fruit and
vegetables. She recognized no
edible plants although she was certain she must be walking past
dozens. However, this was not
the time to experiment. Given
time she hoped that she might find a settlement; one that she hoped would
be friendly. However, she had
to find the settlement first, and so she and Varden kept trekking toward
the cone-shaped mountain.
The mountain now loomed
very large. Zenaria realized
that she had vastly underestimated its
size. It was at least as tall
as the great ranges that flanked her
homeland. The once flat land
now sloped noticeably as they began to climb toward
it. Other parts of the landscape
changed as well. Water was no
longer a problem as numerous streams flowed out from the mountain and headed
out across the plain. For the
first time since being dropped in this strange land Zenaria and Varden were
able to bathe.
They chose a place where
a dip in the land had created conditions where a rapidly flowing stream pitched
over a hard rock ledge carving a deep basin that overflowed and splashed
away into the distance. It was
only
“We’ll camp
here,” Zenaria proclaimed.
“We have water, plentiful game, and I may be able to find some
plants that look promising.”
Varden
agreed. He was already stripping
off his clothing. Zenaria looked
appraisingly at his tall, well-muscled
body. An hour in the water and
then she and Varden could lie on the rocks and dry
off. And then perhaps
…. She licked her
lips. She and Varden had not
made love since her encounter with the
rhino. Now she felt fully healed
and it was time to make up for lost
opportunities.
She smiled as she removed
her clothing and followed Varden into the
pool. To her pleasant surprise
the water was not as cold as she had
expected. She was used to the
frigid waters of her northern home and this was pure
luxury. She swam for a bit enjoying
the silky smooth feel of the cool water on her skin and then ducked her head
and swam underwater until she reached
Varden. Surfacing, she placed
her hand on his head and ducked him
under.
He fought back to the surface
and returned the favour holding his hand on her head until she was almost
level with his knees. She could
not resist grabbing hold of a convenient
appendage. She surfaced
laughing. “Now I have you
right where I want you.”
“Be careful with that,
princess. You wouldn’t want
to break it.”
Zenaria could feel what
she had hold of rapidly getting harder and was having second thoughts abut
a long swim. There was another
form of exercise she suddenly found much more
inviting. Releasing Varden she
swam slowly toward the shore the knight following.
It only took a heartbeat
to realize that something was wrong.
With a rising sense of alarm she looked about for their clothing and
weapons and saw nothing. Then
from behind a screen of trees six men stepped forward, all of them armed
and three of them holding crossbows.
They were almost immediately backed up by more than a dozen others
who ranged themselves in a semicircle behind the first
six. Zenaria noted that three
of them were armed with bows as well.
She and Varden were
trapped. Even though the knight
was still in the pool there was no place for him to go and he would have
been an easy target for any archers stationed on the
bank. She stood naked in front
of a score of armed men and was helpless to do anything about
it. But surrender was not on
her mind. She had been enslaved
once before and was not about to let it happen
again. She would let them kill
her first.
Varden stepped out of the
water behind her. Moving beside
her he placed a restraining hand on her
shoulder.
“Zenaria…”
“No,” she said
quietly. “I will not let
them take me.”
One of the men stepped
forward. He was a little taller
than most of his men and like all of them heavily
bearded. He grinned through his
dark hair. “Your man is
right. Attempt to fight or escape
and we will put more quills in you than a
porcupine.”
Zenaria replied before she
realized that she had no trouble understanding everything the man had
said. Apparently the spell of
tongues that the evil magician, Junal had placed on her and Varden was still
working. Either that or by some
incredible twist of fate the people of this strange land spoke the same language
she did, and that did not seem likely.
“You
are slavers,” Zenaria said.
“I am useless to you maimed or
dead. I will not
surrender.”
Varden dropped his
hand. “I too will
fight. You will have to kill
us both.”
“Have it your way,”
the man said. He stepped back
and motioned to his men.
Two men who had been standing
behind the others emerged from each end of the line of
slavers. They moved with practiced
ease as they hurled their weighted nets.
Too late Zenaria and Varden saw the attack
coming. They tried to duck under
them, but the nets were thrown expertly and the entangling folds engulfed
them before they could move.
Snared in the folds of the
net Zenaria and Varden fought wildly to throw the nets off, but the slavers
quickly pounced on them, knocking them off their feet and then pinning them
to the ground. The trapped warriors
struggled frantically, trying to punch and kick their captors away, but they
were easily held down while still more men swarmed forward carrying
ropes.
The man who had ordered
the attack stood over them while his comrades reached through the netting
and looped ropes about their wrists and
ankles. Zenaria and Varden struggled;
resisting with all of their considerable strength, but their efforts were
futile against the strength of the several men who pinned their arms and
legs while they were bound.
Breathing heavily both captives
were dragged to their feet as the nets were
removed. Their wrists had been
bound in front of them and a short length of rope connected their
ankles. Running or kicking was
impossible and although Zenaria and Varden could move their arms they were
held by a man on either side of them, rendering them
helpless.
The slaver who had spoken
to them before surveyed them but made no attempt to touch either of
them. Both Zenaria and Varden
were taller than him by at least a head and in spite of the fact that they
were completely helpless he still seemed a little afraid of
them.
Zenaria also had a chance
to study the slavers. They were
all similar in appearance. Most
were swarthy with dark hair and beards that reached down to their chests
although one or two had lighter hair and one was even
redheaded. They all wore sturdy
leather boots, into which were tucked into trousers of blue, red, yellow,
and orange. The shirts they wore
rivalled the trousers for colour and they wore numerous rings on their fingers
and in their ears as well as bead
necklaces.
Their colourful mode of
dress was only matched by their menacing
appearance. They were all heavily
armed carrying everything from the usual swords and knives, to axes and spiked
clubs, along with a few bows and
crossbows. Most wore some sort
of light armour as well, in addition to leather helmets.
Zenaria glared unflinchingly
at the slaver leader as he examined her.
She had experienced such degradation before when she had been taken
prisoner by the Sandakar, but found it no less easy now as the slaver leader
ran his eyes over her body. She
had to force herself not to struggle as he slowly circled
her. That resolution lasted,
however, only as long as he did not touch
her. As the slaver ran his fingers
down her back she lurched forward forcing the men holding her to pull back,
and then she went with them, slamming the back of her head into the nose
of the man fondling her. There
was a very satisfying crunch followed by a yelp of
pain.
“You bitch!” came
a cry from behind her.
There was a chorus of laughter
from the other slavers, including the men holding
Zenaria. “She got you good,
Queron. Looks like she doesn’t
like your touch.”
Queron moved back into
view. He was holding his nose
as blood streamed between his fingers.
“Voln take you,” he
cursed. He waved his arm toward
her. “Jag, Krek; help Plon
and Yerbow string her up.
She’s going to be taught some manners.”
The comment resulted in
Varden trying to break free, but one of the slavers drove the haft of his
axe heavily into the knight’s belly, taking most of the fight out of
him and leaving him slumped in the arms of his
captors. “Him too,”
Queron ordered. “He can
watch.”
Zenaria struggled to pull
free as she and Varden were dragged up the slope of the pool to a tall tree
that stood on its edge. From
the way that they were tied she suspected that the slavers had intended to
do this to them anyway, but she wasn’t about to go quietly to her
fate. But step by step she was
dragged closer until they had her under the
branches.
A rope was tossed over an
overhanging branch and attached to the ropes binding her
wrists. In quick order her arms
were pulled over her head until she was standing on her
toes. Varden was strung up in
an identical manner from a tree just short distance away, his body positioned
so that they could se one another.
Queron moved forward a short
whip in his hand. A trickle of
blood still ran from his nose and the look on his face was far from
pleasant. “I should skin
you alive you barbarian bitch, but you might be worth more to me in one
piece. Let’s find
out.”
He tucked the whip into
his belt and moved so close to her that Zenaria could smell his sweat and
determine the contents of his last meal, but there was nothing she could
do to avoid him. He started by
running his hands over the muscles of her
arms. Across from her Varden
bellowed with rage, but Queron paid him not the least notice, keeping up
a running commentary as he touched her.
“Muscled like an Urulanan
warrior. I didn’t think
any other races came in their shape and
size.” He circled her, running
a hand over the powerful muscles of her shoulders and back and then moving
to her hips and buttocks. She
trembled like a horse as he caressed the curve of her buttocks, an action
that could not go unnoticed.
“Do you like that,
barbarian? Perhaps it can be
an everyday part of our relationship.”
“You will die for
this,” Zenaria said, between clenched
teeth. The casual examination
of her body was acutely degrading.
She had endured such an inspection before and all of the shame and
helplessness came back with a rush.
She couldn’t look at Varden and tried to shut out the sound of
his rage as Queron’s exploration of her body became more and more
intimate.
She quivered with anger
as he squeezed her breasts and pinched her
nipples. “Tits like a
goddess,” Queron observed.
“But the real money is down here.”
“You are filth,”
Zenaria gasped, almost jumping as he cupped her mound of
Venus. The sweat of fear was
dripping off her body and she could not control her
breathing.
Queron leered at her, sensing
her fear and humiliation. His
fingers flexed and he grinned as Zenaria
jumped. “That is where the
money is,” the slaver jeered, “but I wish I had found
different. Who would have thought
such a magnificent piece of flesh would still be a
virgin? What’s the matter
with your friend? Does he drift
the wrong way?”
Zenaria almost wanted to
defend Varden’s manhood by shouting revealing the truth, but she knew
that Queron’s mistaken conclusion was all that was keeping her from
being subjected to a brutal rape that would probably not stop until every
one of the slavers had been satisfied.
It was something she did not have the courage to face, no matter how
much the slaver leader angered her.
So she merely glowered at him and held her piece while he continued
his mortifying examination of her body.
By the time she was finished
she was flushed with shame. Her
arms and shoulders ached from her suspended bondage and her body itched from
the bites of the small biting flies that swarmed around her drinking her
sweat. But Queron was far from
through with her.
“I’d like to know
where you got this,” Queron said as he motioned to his men and several
of them stepped forward. They
placed a bundle on the ground that Queron quickly opened, revealing the weapons,
armour, and gifts that Zenaria and Varden had thought they had
hidden.
Zenaria cursed herself for
a fool. The fact that Queron
had the treasures they had stashed for safekeeping meant that he had been
watching them for some time. She
had been so intent on taking in the sights of this new land and watching
out for possible dangers that she had overlooked the most dangerous animal
of all. Now she and Varden were
prisoners of men who would not hesitate to subject either of them to the
most brutal and degrading of ordeals.
“Now,” he
continued. “I would like
to know where you got these treasures and why you decided to hide
them.”
Zenaria tried to
explain. But her story of a powerful
wizard who had transported them from his country to the middle of nowhere
did not go down well.
“Do you take me for
a fool?” the slaver asked.
“Your story makes no
sense.” He shook his whip
at Varden. “Tell me what
I want to know or I will flay the skin from your companion’s
hide.”
“I cannot tell you
anything more than the truth,” Zenaria
said. “Torture will not
make me change my story as there is no other
explanation.”
At that point one of the
slavers stepped forward. “I
told you it was sorcery. I say
we enjoy the woman, geld the man and have done with
them.”
A number of the other slavers
seemed to agree. Although Queron
seemed to be the leader it was apparent that he did not rule without the
consent of his men. But he was
not about to have his most valuable acquisition
devalued.
“Intact she’s
worth a fortune. Deflowered
she’s just another barbarian slave, fit for nothing more than the
arena. I’ll leave her and
the man in the sun for a bit.
Perhaps they’ll change their tunes when they’ve had a bit
more time to think about it.”
She had been spared rape,
and Gron’s timely intervention had prevented Queron from flogging Varden,
but by evening she beginning to wonder if their current ordeal was not every
bit as bad. Her shoulders and
arms which had merely ached before now burned in fiery
torment. The insect bites which
had only been a minor irritation now burned as if a thousand red hot needles
had been pushed into her skin. She
was desperate for water, her lips so chaffed from licking them that they
bled, and she was so dehydrated that she could barely stand, her weight resting
on the ropes that bound her wrists as her legs refused to support her.
Varden was no
better. In spite of his tremendous
strength she could see that he too had almost collapsed, his fingers gripping
the ropes in a desperate attempt to hold himself
erect. But she could not change
her story. Nothing she could
tell Queron would have made the least sense, and finally he got tired of
waiting for her to tell him what he wanted to here.
“Cut them down,”
he ordered. “We’ll
get it out of them sooner or later.
In the meantime we’ve got other game to
hunt.”
His apparent change in attitude
was not born out of impatience or any desire to spare his victims; it occurred
because of a report brought back by one of the
scouts. “Urulana,”
the man called Daget said.
“About fifteen; half of them
women. “They’re tracking
the wildebeest. If we play it
right we can lure them here and spring a trap on
them.”
Zenaria and Varden were
allowed to lie where they fell while Queron and his men planned their
attack. It was apparent that
they had carried out such operations many times before and the fact that
they outnumbered the opposition two to one was strongly in their
favour. “We’ll lure
them here,” Queron said.
“If we position the nets just right they should find themselves
in a trap that they can’t escape.”
The planning went on for
quite some time, eventually ending after
sundown. Zenaria and Varden were
dragged into the centre of the
campground. For the first time
since they had been captured they were given water but in spite of their
rather sorry condition their captors took no
chances. A crude framework was
fashioned from two thick poles, which were placed parallel to their shoulders
on either side of their necks and then tied together with
rawhide. The poles constricted
Zenaria’s and Varden’s breathing, but it was made even more
uncomfortable by stretching their arms to either side and lashing them to
the poles at the wrists and elbows.
It was a humiliating and painful position that left both captives
struggling to breathe. Guarded
by two of the slavers, both captives were forced to make themselves as
comfortable as they could as the camp settled down for the
night.
Zenaria and Varden eventually
fell into an exhausted sleep. Being
forced to lie down with their arms spread wide made it impossible to find
any position that was comfortable and made it almost impossible to get a
proper sleep. They awoke with
the birds and lay there until the rest of the camp
stirred. Then they were given
water and forced to their feet.
They were led to the middle of the camp and placed back to back and
then their outstretched arms were tied together and they were tied to a stake
set in the middle of the camp.
It dawned on Zenaria as
the slavers proceeded with their preparation that she and Varden were part
of the trap. They were set up
so that anyone entering the campground would see them
first. Meanwhile the slavers
went to setting up the rest of their
trap. They cut down saplings
and erected barriers of stakes along one side of the
camp. When they were finished
the stakes and the deep pool on the other side formed a narrow channel the
far end of which was hung with the nets the slavers had used on her and
Varden. Zenaria guessed was that
the trick was to somehow lure the Urulana, into the area and then close in
on them from behind.
Their preparations made,
most of the slavers slipped off into the surrounding trees leaving Zenaria
and Varden almost alone. Zenaria
wondered about the Urulana. Who
were these people the slavers wanted to
trap? She had heard them referred
to occasionally by Queron and others and always as if they were people to
be feared. With no way of escaping
she simply waited to see what was going to
happen.
It was an exhausting
wait. She and Varden were almost
done in. They had not eaten for
more than a day and had been given only a couple of mouthfuls of water and
the ordeal of being hung up like dead deer had taken much out of
them. The say seemed to pass
with incredible slowness and then suddenly there was a shout from somewhere
out on the plain. The shout was
followed by what sounded like war cries.
The latter sound moved progressively closer and then two of the slavers
burst into sight. They hesitated
for a second, looking back toward the sounds of their pursuers and then ran
straight across the clearing. A
few seconds later they were followed by an amazing group of
warriors.
Their skins were as brown
as ripe chestnuts and their long dark hair stretched to the middle of their
backs. Each was as tall as Zenaria;
in fact two or three of them were even
taller. They were scantily clad,
wearing little more than coverings for their
loins. Even their feet were
bare. This was made up for in
part by the gold armbands and bracelets they wore and the strings of bead
necklaces draped about their necks.
They slowed and then stopped as they entered the clearing, looking
suspiciously around and then focussing their attention on Zenaria and
Varden.
Zenaria wanted to scream
out a warning, but could only manage a faint
croak. She could hear Varden
also trying to speak, but he could do no more than she could, and then the
trap closed. From behind the
Urulanans came the slavers. They
were armed with a solid wall of long spears cut from tall
saplings. The brown-skinned warriors
who were armed only with long spears and knives, backed away, stabbing overhand
at their attackers.
It was a bit one-sided and
got even more so as other slavers attacked from behind the loose palisade
of stakes they had driven into the
ground. As in the case of their
attack on Zenaria and Varden they did not attempt to kill but to
capture. Using long poles to
which were attached ropes, they snagged the trapped warriors, drawing them
within range and then used clubs to knock them
senseless. Within short order
five warriors were down and several more bleeding from minor
wounds.
The remaining ten edged
away from the palisade realizing it was their greatest
danger. It broke their front
allowing the slavers with the sharpened poles to surge forward, driving the
dark-skinned warriors in front of them.
One warrior refused to
retreat. She was powerfully built
and handled her spear with such skill that for a few seconds she brought
the slavers’ advance to a halt.
Leaping daringly forward she stabbed at the men hold the long poles,
at the same time deflecting any of the sharp points that came her
way. But it was one against a
dozen and she had to retreat as more slavers came out from behind the stakes
armed with nets similar to those that had brought down Zenaria and
Varden.
The daring of the tall woman
rallied her companions and they came back in a wave, driven by desperation
as much as inspiration. For a
few heartbeats they drove back the slavers, even drawing blood in spite of
the forest of spears that they faced.
But the nets flew through the air snaring three of them and throwing
the others into disarray. More
of the snares struck out catching two more and dragging them toward the
slavers. With a roar of rage
the tall woman attacked, her hair streaming out behind her as she
charged. She made no attempt
to protect herself but threw herself at the slavers stabbing again and again
as she closed with them.
For a few steps the slavers
were again driven back several bleeding from stab
wounds. One fell and with a quick
movement of her spear the woman ran him through before he could
escape. But it was her last act
of defiance. A well aimed club
struck her on the temple momentarily stunning her and she was immediately
swarmed. With the loss of their
leader there was little resistance and the rest of the warriors were quickly
overcome. Within short order
they joined Zenaria and Varden in bondage.
“Not a bad haul,”
Queron said, “even if we did lose Lahg and
Rendel. All the greater share
for the rest of us.” He
was bleeding from a cut on his arm, but was otherwise
unhurt. Zenaria noticed a number
of the slavers had minor wounds, but nothing too
debilitating. It had been a
thoroughly one-sided victory and they now had fifteen captives to show for
their efforts.
Queron bound his arm and
began his examination of his prisoners.
“A fine lot,” he said.
“Fine physical specimens.
The men should fetch a half talent each and the
women…”
He took his usual time with
the women most of whom appeared
terrified. Only the tall warrior
who had led the resistance showed any
defiance. As Queron moved in
front of her she spat in his face.
He calmly wiped away the spittle and shoved his hand between her
legs. “The only virgin in
the bunch,” he commented.
“That is too bad. I
will have to find another way of teaching you a
lesson.”
The woman glared at
him. “Do what you want,
hyena. I am a princess of the
Urulana. I don’t fear
you.”
“No,” Queron said,
“but if you defy me this is what is going to happen to your
friends.”
He singled out one of the
women. “This
one.” He turned back to
the Urulanan princess. “A
different one each night that you defy me.”
“No,” the princess
protested. “Not
her. Take me
instead.”
“You’re worth
more intact, princess. But your
companions are already used goods.
We have a long trek to get to the slave markets and you are gong to
give me full cooperation. And
this is what is going to happen if I don’t get
it.”
The next few hours were
filled with horror as the captives watched the slavers rape the screaming
Urulanan warrior. At first she
tried to be brave and made not the slightest sound, but the slavers were
anything but gentle and eventually she made the noises Queron and his men
wanted. Then she cried out begging
them to stop, eventually falling silent near the end as sheer exhaustion
overtook her. It was the most
horrific scene Zenaria had ever witnessed and she vowed brutal vengeance
on the men who dared commit such an
atrocity. But for now, she was
helpless and rendered compliant by Queron’s
threat. He would hold the other
female captives hostage for her and the Urulanan princess’s good
behaviour. Even if she was not
on the verge of collapse she dared not offer any resistance if it meant that
the other helpless women would suffer.
The night of horror
passed. Somehow Zenaria managed
to sleep and the next morning she awoke, tired, hungry, and so thirsty she
would have drunk her own urine. The
young Urulana who had been raped was freed and ordered to tend to the other
captives. Although the girl could
barely walk, she moved from one captive to the other bringing them food and
water. For a short time one of
Zenaria’s arms was freed so that she could drink and
eat. Her legs were also untied
and she was walked under guard to the edge of the camp where she could perform
her bodily functions.
She was returned to the
camp and lined up with the other
captives. They formed a long
column, each one linked by a rope to the one in
front. Their arms tied straight
out from their shoulders, they were forced to march, the slavers flanking
them carrying lengths of rope that they used to hurry anyone who
lagged.
Not that anyone deliberately
held up the march. Anyone who
slowed down was jerked painfully forward by the person in front of
them. The person in front suffered
as well and the slavers were quick to use the rope bringing it down hard
across their shoulders.
Zenaria received a number
of these blows, not because she was too slow, but because the slavers chose
to strike her and anyone else they chose out of pure
amusement. Varden too was a special
target, as was the Urulanan princess.
The indiscriminate beating continued until Queron ordered it to stop
out of fear that the selling price of their captives might be reduced if
they were marked up.
Even without the beatings,
the march was a brutal ordeal.
Although she was now given enough water the painful position of her
arms made movement difficult and she had to force herself forward to maintain
the pace the slavers demanded. The
sun beat down on her, blistering her fair skin in spite of the tan she had
acquired and with each rest it was harder and harder to force herself to
her feet. Fortunately, the slavers
rested often, stopping three times before
That night they camped before
nightfall and set up the same thorn-protected camp that Zenaria had used
when she and Varden had camped.
They were given water and food and for the first time in a day were
allowed to sleep without being tied to the cruel
frames. But it didn’t
matter. Queron was a good judge
of his captives. There was not
a one; including Zenaria who had the energy to do anything more than flop
on the ground and sink into an exhausted
sleep. And Queron kept them that
way, marching them just hard enough for the next few days that they could
do little more than collapse at the end of each exhausting
day.
For the proud Snow Leopard warrior Queron’s treatment amounted to the cruellest of humiliations. He had rendered her helpless; too beaten to do anything more than place one foot in front of the other on what seemed a never-ending march. But Zenaria knew that sooner or later it would end; and when it did she would find herself a captive in a situation from which she might not be able to escape. Somehow, before they reach their destination she had to find a way to get away. But as each day flowed painfully into the next and she became ever more exhausted and dispirited it seemed that this time she might be doomed.
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