A: Ch. 3.3

That little bitch.

She’d drugged him! The little snake drugged him! How had he allowed that? How had he lowered his guard long enough for that to happen? As soon as he caught up with her, he would show her the true meaning of pain. She would pay.

The fucking pasty had used Somnola, more commonly known as Stone Salts – they were so potent that they could knock out a full grown man for days at a time, as still as stone. The salts had a distinct aftertaste, but only noticeable after you awoke. They must have dosed him heavily; he should have easily been able to fight them off. He’d grown an immunity for this exact reason, but he’d never anticipated getting five times the normal dose! They’d obviously thought it would keep him unconscious for a couple of weeks.

Oh how wrong they were.

He assumed he’d only truly been asleep for a day or two as he could still feel the sun warming his skin. Hilt was blindfolded and chained but he was certain they hadn’t gotten to the thick and ancient forests Elivagar was so famous for. Based on the source of the wind and the angle of sun that shone through his mobile prison, they were heading North, North-west, rather than a true North-West. To Marigold, then.

Granted, he didn’t need to figure that out. His captors were obnoxious and talked loud enough to inform the entire country of their plans. They weren’t even smart enough to talk in code. They openly discussed the General and what they’d like to do with him. All save for that pudgy boy who had been behind the bar. Hilt knew it was him—he smelled different than the others. Sticky and acrid.

One person was notably absent, though. Fucking Kya. Oh, she needed more luck than the Gods would ever be willing to grace when he caught her. From what he gathered from the gabbing gaggle of incompetent soldiers, Kya had stolen his horse, his horse, and raced ahead of them to send a letter to the King. She’d then turn back and finish the journey with them.

Stupid. She was overconfident. She thought that since he had made a minor slip, the rest of her mission would work without her leadership. Oh, but she underestimated Hilt’s fury. In a small moment of reason after he awoke he considered allowing them to take him to the Capital where he would make a  glorious and bloody escape, but that thought passed quickly. He wanted, no, he needed to confront that little whelp. He needed to teach her a lesson.

There were a few saving graces in all of this, things Hilt had to remind himself constantly, otherwise he would already be on his way after that girl. First, Kya took his horse. When he first heard that, he had been furious, but now he was quite giddy about it. That steed had been trained from the moment of his birth to be the perfect warhorse. He was strong, fast, and above all, obedient to no one but Hilt alone. Kya was likely having a wonderful time trying to control him. He smirked at the thought. He could only imagine the tiny little girl pulling at the reins and spurring him on, only for the horse to refuse. She probably would have been better off with the ass.

Second, Hilt had this Cress boy. He was an idiot and the soldiers ignored any orders he gave. They teased him relentlessly when they weren’t discussing women they’d fucked or men they’d killed or how they’d torture Hilt. Exiled and lonely, this Cress boy did the unimaginable: He talked to Hilt. Obviously he thought he was completely unconscious, but Hilt found the situation laughable. Wouldn’t it be like talking to a corpse? It was absurd!

So Hilt was lying in his bumpy cart, shackled and blindfolded, as the procession slowly made its way farther into the north for the sixth day. He pretended to still be asleep from the salts and hardly moved or resisted, even when he would have been easy to kill the whole lot of them at this point. The chains on his wrists and ankles were basic, but they were lined in stinging nettles which caused his skin to blister and itch. Those were annoying. Just another item to add to the list of reasons to painfully destroy every cell in Kya’s body.

The group grunted to a stop and started setting up their camp. As always, the four guards would tend to the horses, start a fire and cook the food while Cress wandered over to spoon the mixture of milk and honey down Hilt’s throat. Hilt waited, listening to the uneven and wobbly footsteps of the boy before he creaked open the iron gate of the cage that held their helpless prisoner. The wheels creaked and groaned as Cress stepped inside and sat down next to him. The lad could stand to lose a stone or two.

“There you go,” Cress said almost tenderly as he dripped small amounts past Hilt’s lips. “It’s not much, but it’s enough to keep you alive. I thought you may have lost some weight, but apparently you don’t need much nutrition when you’re just lying there.”

Hilt heard him sigh as he swallowed down his pathetic meal. He was starving, but he’d fix that in good time.

“I hate that they call me a knight. It’s an insult. A joke. Everyone knows it. The King likes to do that, embarrass those around him. Usually he does it to affect more than one person, though. I thought maybe it was because of Kya but…” Cress cut himself off and gave Hilt some more of the sickeningly sweet liquid.

“She tries so hard, she has since her father died. She seems to think that’s the only way to honor him. And now that….” He stopped again. What did it take for him to actually finish a sentence? More milk and honey before the lad shifted in the cart which wasn’t exactly built for such girth.

“You’re lucky to be in the South. It’s strange. Save for your skin, you could be from the north. Your nose, your face, and of course those eyes. Granted, no one else in the world has your eyes.” Cress seemed uncomfortable talking about it. “The north is going to fall. Kya keeps talking about it. It’s only a matter of time before the King locks himself in that fortress for good and Elivagar crumbles. She hates the politics, which is rather ironic considering…” If he stopped one more time, Hilt would strangle him right then and there.

“She’s a skáld.”

Hilt felt his heart skip a beat and it took every ounce of training to keep from grinning. A skáld? Oh, this was not something he had anticipated. A skáld was once a derogatory word for the royalty in Elivagar, but the family soon adopted the word and it was now synonymous with those with the richest royal blood. They were easily spotted by their red hair and cold, dead grey eyes. But who could--?

“Late Odin’s daughter,” Cress whispered before Hilt could finish his thought. “A princess with a rightful heir to the throne.”

Oh, this was getting better with each passing moment.

“She’s changed, though. Changed her name, dyes her hair black, she even has a little substitute who sits on the royal court all pretty like so she doesn’t have to. Not as pretty as Kya of course, but she does the job. Kya prefers the military—the structure of it, the order, and the strategy. King Odin was known for it, of course, and Kya thinks she can do more good serving rather than dealing with the daily monotony of the court. I don’t blame her. I’d hate it, too.”

Cress was rambling now, but that was better. He’d been rather careful of what he said for most of the journey, but now it seemed the fat little boy had made a friend. Ha!

“I’ve known her all this time. We had grown up together. I was a page, then, she a pretty princess dancing along life, the spitting image of her father with all the rough edges smoothed over.” Cress paused, as if thinking back. “When he died in the Ylid battle she changed. It hurt more than she let on. She couldn’t take the throne, of course. Too young. Too many politics. So her Uncle, Yaro, took the throne.”

Hilt knew the history, or the basics of it. Apparently there was a small loophole in the laws of succession making Odin’s brother rather than daughter heir to the throne. He’d never been interested in it, so he hadn’t looked farther than that. Hilt ran his tongue over his teeth, anxious to leave now. This was exactly what he had been hoping for when this loose-tongued boy first started talking.

“It’s horrible, but I honest to the Gods think that Yaro allowed this mission with the thoughts he’d finally be rid of Kya. Luckily she’s even smarter than the Third General!” Interesting that the boy prayed to the Gods rather than the Spirits. Apparently the faith was losing its support. Cress started laughing and accidentally spilled some of the milk. The boy cursed and stood up.

“Guess the King will have to eat his words! I never thought she could do it, but she’s never failed to amaze me. It’s just a shame we cannot kill you yet.” Cress groaned and the cart creaked as he stood and wobbled out to talk to the foot soldiers and, more likely, to get more food.

This was more brilliant than Hilt could have ever imagined. Kya, the strategist, a girl in assassin’s clothing, was actually the daughter of the late King of the north. Hilt allowed himself the joy of grinning as he planned his final escape from this crew. He’d learned all he wanted, and plenty more. He had a pretty little dove he had to speak with. And here he thought the Gods couldn’t possibly bless that girl with enough grace for Hilt to spare her.

The next morning two of the guards had been killed. One had been dismembered, nothing but his trunk remaining at the camp site, and the other had his face clawed and scratched out.

“It was a mountain lion, or a pack of coyotes,” Cress had quickly said as they packed up, trying to ignore the corpses which would take too long to bury.

“If it was, why did they attack the fittest members? And how did they do it without spooking the horses or wakin’ any of us up?” asked one of the two remaining guards.

Cress couldn’t answer, but Hilt could feel the boy’s eyes boring through the iron bars of his prison. Hilt was still innocently shackled, his gate locked up tight, and his eyes still peacefully closed. He couldn’t possibly be involved. 

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