"Wise words—spoken too late to do you any good!" suddenly declared a deep voice.
Si'Wren whirled her head around, and watched disbelieving as out of the shadows of the mists stepped the shadowy and indistinct figure of a powerfully built man with a golden bronze sword gleaming in his hand.
"Habrunt!" Si'Wren shrieked desperately as, reeling from the blows, she struggled anew and stared.
"We've got swords!" the first young man declared nervously and self-importantly, "and our fathers are high-born. You're a slave! You better run along home, before we decide to report you to your master."
Habrunt said nothing.
"The girl is not half as willing as the others," the second one said offensively.
"Aye, she's worthless, like you," the first one laughed contemptuously. "Here, see for yourself!" Still gripping Si'Wren by the upper arms, he suddenly flung her forward in the direction of Habrunt, so violently that she stumbled and fell to her knees before him.
"We didn't want her anyways," the second chipped in, emboldened by
Habrunt's continued silence. "She's far too ugly."
Habrunt stepped forward until he had come just past Si'Wren's kneeling figure, with her head still downcast in shame, and then he halted again, standing protectively between Si'Wren and her two tormentors now.
"What is she to you, anyways?" said the first young man. He was already growing nervous because of Habrunt's refusal to reply. "Here," the young man said, dipping into his money satchel, "I'll pay you for her; twenty, no, thirty pieces of silver! You can keep her in the bargain. What's the matter with you? My money's as good as anyone else's! Go on, take it!"