knowledge that he would be; the Torrance hunting party should find him the next day, before he even got really hungry. Then the designated ones did as they were told; Jason slumped under an expertly-applied baton to the base of his skull, then was secured to a small tree.

Dana had time to wonder at the use of a baton—criminals didn't normally use that sort of weapon—before the leader approached her, holding another one. He looked at her consideringly, then nodded. "I've seen better, but you're not too bad. I like redheads, they tend to be spunky." He grabbed her jaw, forced her mouth up for a rough kiss.

She took advantage of that; as soon as he was within reach, she bit him.

He swore, backhanding her, then signaled the two holding her to let go. "Spunk's one thing, lady, but you've just bought yourself more hurt than you've ever had. Fight if you want to; that'll just make it more fun."

Dana moved back, licking blood from a split lip as she dropped into an awkward protective crouch. She really should have paid more attention to the unarmed-combat lessons Chief Hanson had insisted she at least watch … but it was too late now, facing the leader's feral grin and twirling baton. Fear was a coppery taste in her mouth, and sweat trickled down her back under the enviro-suit.

The leader could obviously tell he had an inexperienced opponent, because his grin became a laugh. Then he moved with smooth, deceptive swiftness, and before Dana could back away or defend herself, his baton lashed out, seeming to do no more than tap her forearms—until she tried to move them.

She gasped with the pain, somehow managing not to cry out, trying to focus on the use of batons by thieves. The pain did have an advantage, though; it helped her distract herself from what took place next. She kept fighting, but it was by pure reflex, and she couldn't keep herself from being stripped, or ignore the sudden cold air against skin no longer protected by an enviro-suit, or the other pain and humiliation as six men took turns using her body. Neither the pain nor the odd weapons were enough, though. She couldn't concentrate on them single-mindedly enough to block out everything the attackers were doing to her, and before they were done, she heard herself whimpering. By the time they finished the rapes and began a general beating, she could no longer control her reactions; she fought and screamed and wept, to no effect, until she felt consciousness starting to depart, and welcomed it.

Shouts and weapon-fire interrupted her descent into peace, something she resented even as she knew it meant safety for her thakur and perhaps for herself. Then someone knelt beside her, and even with pain blurring her vision, she could tell it was a Sandeman; that dark skin and blond hair didn't belong to any of their attackers. "Warrior…" she managed to whisper.

"Yes, Garvey DarTorrance. And you?"

"Dana Manfredi, thakur-na to Richard Jason. He's all right?"

"Unconscious, but not hurt."

"Good." Dana sighed, relief letting her outraged body take over; she passed out.

The time Dana spent unconscious was less peaceful than it should have been. She dreamed, bits and pieces of her relationship with Richard Jason, from meeting him shortly after her college graduation, to swearing fealty, to the mountain hike that had ended so disastrously.

She woke slowly, realizing as she did that she had been reliving a dream become nightmare, that she was actually in a hospital; the smell was unmistakable. Her next awareness was that she was blissfully free of pain, and she spent several minutes enjoying something she had taken for granted before.

Then she heard the room's door open and stirred herself to look toward it. The one who came in was a Sandeman, a warriors'-woman from the gold-gemmed ring she wore; Dana inclined her head in the closest she could come to a bow.

"Good afternoon, Dana," the w'woman said. "I am Mona, a warriors'-woman of Clan Lewies and your