The carriage jounced in every pothole left after the recent barrage of late spring rains. The tender new growth enclosed them, the snorting Clydesdales, creaking axles, and rustling halters drowning out the usual noises of the forest. Taiga had scouts in the woods, because he wasn't an idiot. There was an odd birdcall on the wind. Taiga, who'd been cracking a walnut, exchanged a meaningful look through the carriage window with his captain of the guard, who kicked up his horse to his men, whispering to them.<br/><br/>Taiga, for his part, closed the windows faux casually and took a different seat, unsheathing his sword and mourning the absence of his mare Black Dragon, a well-trained warhorse who was as unconventional as her master. Taiga knew well-enough most warhorses were stallions.<br/><br/>Of course, most knights didn't realize that a well-trained stallion would happily break line once he scented mare.<br/><br/>Taiga, though only newly twenty-two, already had a marked mean streak.<br/><br/>Taiga warged his consciousness with a nearby hawk, surveying the enemy. Longbowmen. Damn.<br/><br/>One of the scouts yelled in pain as he was discovered. Before Taiga could shout an alarm the first volley were loosed. The shots were good.<br/><br/>The captain of his guard and four of his eleven men fell immediately, an arrow through the eye, the armpit. The clink of metal in the forest said another of his scouts was engaged in combat for his life.<br/><br/>The guards were well-trained and had had ample warning from the bird call. Still, they were outnumbered. Taiga unwarged from the hawk—an intelligent creature, too hard to control—and grabbed a flock of sparrows, who flew in the face of the archers to the left. He kicked open the carriage door on that side and raced into the woods, yelling to bring those six remaining men to the woods. He cut down two of the archers as they struggled to free weapons, and one of his men took down another.<br/><br/>It was looking like they were going to rout, but Taiga couldn't focus on the sparrows and his sword at the same time. Once their vision was cleared, things became much more difficult. In the ensuing panic, three of his men were shot. Two died by the sword. Taiga had already singlehandedly dispatched five or six of them, his blade scarlet with blood, but he was only one sword after his final man-at-arms threw down his weapons and surrendered.<br/><br/>In all, his men had depopulated this section of the forest, but the ambush on the other side was already crossing the road to fill in the gaps.<br/><br/>This would be a ransom party, but Taiga didn't want to give in despite that.<br/><br/>Plenty of kidnappings ended in mutilation, humiliation, or death for the rich.<br/><br/>He heard horses and his heart sank. Getting his back to a tree, he fought skillfully. Men shouted at him, taunting him, recriminations and hatred flung in his face. He was holding his own, but tiring fast.<br/><br/>The first of the horses were on him. He looked up—and faltered for a second. That was enough of an opening for a man to tackle him back into the tree, pinning his sword arm.<br/><br/>After a neat bout of wrestling, he was disarmed and thrown to the ground, his blood-stained hands grabbed and yanked behind his back. Someone spat in his face as he was hogtied. His breath rushed in and out like an overworked draught horse. A man still crazy with battle lust dragged him up by his hair and punched him hard, leaving him in a heap on the ground, his cheek smarting terribly. A red thread of blood dribbled down his lips from his mouth cutting against his teeth.<br/><br/>Taiga craned his neck up, still panting, and met the gaze of the very familiar redhead. He knew this mercenary band<i>very </i>well indeed. He cocked an eyebrow and rolled his eyes, an eloquent comment on what he thought of this, even as the cloth gag was looped around him and bound between his teeth. Recognizing he was bested, he offered no further resistance.