Skirt billowing around her long, slender legs, long black hair streaming behind her like a pennant, Faan ran over the freshly plowed fields. The lass of 18 summers had always been quick on her feet as a girl, but she ran now like she never had before. Terror lent her extra speed. The war cries of the raiders filled her eyes like the baying of wolves, mixed with the screams of the other villagers. 

It was planting season, which had brought the people of Icania out into the fields, plowing up the soil that had lain fallow through the long winter and sowing the carefully hoarded seed grains. It was that which had brought the Keladians, the sworn enemies of Faan and her people. The raiders must have crept up during the night and lain in wait, until the people of the village had come to the closest fields, then sprung their ambush. 

With fierce war cries, two score raiders burst from the trees. They were burly men of war, well armed with swords and spears and axes of iron and armored in great crested helms and corselets of iron scale. The village had few weapons of bronze and stone and those were stored back in the chieftain’s hall. For the villagers out in the fields, their only choice was to run, trying to block out the screams of those who were slow to do so. 

Faan soon outpaced raiders and villagers alike. None of them could catch her…but swift as she was afoot, swifter still was the missile which one of the raiders threw her way. One moment, the maid ran freely, the next her legs refused to move. The girl’s momentum carried her forward still, and with a wail, she tumbled to the ground. Fortunately, the loose, freshly plowed dirt cushioned her fall somewhat, but that was the end of her good fortune. Twisting around, Faan saw cords of leather, weighted with three stone balls, wrapped tight around her legs just below the knees. Frantically, she tried to loosen the cords and free herself, but she had little time before the raiders caught up and fell upon the helpless girl. 

Faan screamed as a man loomed over her. The upper part of his face was hidden by an iron helm, etched with mystic runes. Below, a large beard of dark blonde hair spilled out, braided and hung with charms. For a moment, Faan believed her life was about to end in a fateful downstroke of the axe the raider held, but he had other plans for the maid. 

Reaching down, the raider seized Faan with strong arms and rolled her onto her belly. She fought and struggled, crying for help she knew could not come. Her arms were twisted behind her back by her captor, who quickly tied the girl’s hands together with a few loops of rough, scratchy cord. Seizing a fistful of Faan’s hair, the raider pulled her head back. As she yelped in pain, a wooden bit was thrust between the girl’s teeth. On either side, holes had been drilled in the wood and leather thongs threaded through which were used to tie the gag on. 

Reaching further down, the raider slowly untangled the bolas from around Faan’s feet. They didn’t stay free long, though. From a pouch on his broad belt, the raider took out another short length of rope. This had been tied already with two slip knots tied on either end, separated by about a foot of rope. Seizing one of the maiden’s feet, he slipped one loop around her ankle and gave it a sharp tug, yanking the loop closed snug. This was repeated with her other foot, joining them together by the short hobble. 

Faan was jerked to her feet. She cringed as her captor took another rope and tied a loop at the end. This was draped over her neck and pulled snug around the girl’s slender throat. Without a word, the raider turned, giving the rope a sharp pull. Faan was helpless to do anything but follow after her captor. As she took the first step, however, the hobble snapped taut as her stride exceeded its restrictions. The girl stumbled, only barely keeping on her feet. 

The raider paid her no mind, continuing to stride forward at the same unrelenting pace. The leash in his hand snapped taut, jerking forward the girl tied at the other end. She took a few more short, rapid steps, all that she could manage hobbled. After that, she got the feel for the restricted stride, a degrading sort of shuffle, as her conqueror strode before her. 

At the far end of the failed, the rest of the raiding party were congregating, gathering the spoils of their victory: lines and huddled groups of Icanian peasants, cringing, weeping brokenly as they trudged after their captors. Like Faan, her fellow villagers had their hands tied, bits strapped between their teeth and hobbles on their feet. 

Faan was dragged to a line of captives. Most were girls her age or a little older. She recognized many of her friends among the terrified, weeping faces. Many had had the fronts of their dresses torn open or even torn off altogether, baring their young bodies to the inspections of their captors. It wasn’t long before Faan was subjected to the same degrading inspection; her tunic slashed down the front by a raider’s knife, her bare, round breasts seized and fondled by rough hands.    

The northerners had tried to capture as many young men and women, like Faan, as they could. Strapping peasant lads and comely lasses would fetch the best prices from the eastern traders. The captives would be traded for more iron weapons and armor the raiders could use for further raids, capturing yet more slaves. 

With a cracking of whips and strang, guttural orders, the coffle started forward. Faan staggered, stumbling in her hobble as she and the other maids trudged off, bound for one of the northern trading posts and thence to the eastern lands to be sold. For her and her people, this was the start of a long life of bondage serving foreign masters in a strange land…