A: Ch. 6.2

Sometimes a bit of crisp morning air was the perfect remedy to a clouded mind. After a week of listening to the whining and gabbering from the supposed ‘council’, Hilt simply couldn’t take being in the castle anymore. He began occupying his days with exploring the city, but that only distracted him for so long. The lives of the citizens here were monotonous and dull and their peaceful ignorance of the world beyond their little alcove was grating.

Unfortunately, what Hilt truly wanted was far from his grasp. Ever since that rather surprising night featuring Cress’ miraculous return, the Castle in the Wall entranced the General. The story Kya had told him seemed too fantastical to be true; too much myth and spiritual intervention for Hilt to consider it. He should have tossed the whole anecdote away as legend and ignored it, just as he has always done with the pseudology of religious tales. But something was toying with him. Some hint of Kya’s words had entrapped his mind and refused to release it. The Castle in the Wall was calling to him.

And Hilt could not answer.

Unfortunately, discovering the hidden entrance to the mysterious falls was a Sisyphean task. (Hilt paused, wondering how that term came about. He knew it to be an apt term, but couldn’t recall its origin…) He dedicated an entire day to studying the topography of the land surrounding the cliffs and analyzing possible paths up and around the jagged rocks. There were no obvious stairways or paths to a secret entrance, there were no caverns or tunnels that circled back into it, as far as he knew, and each haphazard excursion he made ended in painful defeat. He had seen the great horned rhetek herds scurry along nonexistent trails before disappearing behind the falls, but closer examination only showed slippery smooth rocks impossible to navigate. Desperate, Hilt even climbed to the vertex of the hill and attempted to climb down. It didn’t end well.

Cranky, bumped and bruised, Hilt had to admit humiliating defeat. He supposed he should have known better. Hundreds, perhaps thousands of men had attempted to decrypt the secret of the Castle in the Wall, and all had failed. But those men were all bloody pasties. Hilt only assumed that he, of course, had greater prowess than such fools. Still, he was quite annoyed that a Northerner had outsmarted him, even if it was a northern deity. What was he saying? No Spirit nor God nor ghoul did such a thing. The hands of a man did this, somehow. Well, it may have been the cousin of a man. Hilt had smirked thinking that one over.  

For now, the General had to abandon the idea of breaching those sacred walls and return to his previous priority. He needed to reach the fortress. Perhaps, if he was truly lucky, he would find some sort of clue in the tomes and scriptures from the age of Aisgarde. A fool’s hope, but still a hope. But first he needed to navigate through the Ever Snows to the fortress. For that he needed his little skáld. And that little bitch was avoiding him.

Somehow, the little dove managed to piece together that Hilt had a little chat with that blubbering oaf Cress and informed him to stay away. After the next morning where Cress had to recount his new tale to the Council—which he still couldn’t keep straight—Kya made a point of veering out of Hilt’s path at all times. She changed her eating pattern, took the longest route to wherever she was heading, and even slept in different guest quarters each night. Despite finding this a bit excessive, Hilt happily ignored her droll attempts of slyness.  He had been too busy with his plight against the Wall to care, anyway.

So, Hilt’s goal for the morning was to track down the little pasty and demand they set out at once. But since the sun had hardly risen and he wouldn’t want to be rude by waking up the sleeping princess, he decided to spend the early dawn in the training grounds. They were conveniently located just outside the castle, wrapping around that temple Kya kept blabbering about.

Being an early riser obviously had some northern sin attached to it as no one in the town seemed to stir until the sun was far in the sky. Hilt would have the whole training grounds to himself. The frost coated grass crunched beneath his feet and tendrils of fog swirled around his face with each breath. His fingers tingled with anticipation. How long had he neglected his daily training for that stupid wall? This… this he could do. This he could do well.

Hilt rolled his shoulders and cracked his neck as he followed the circling path to the paddocked area. It was smaller than the multi-tiered training grounds of Beinn, but it would be suitable for him. Shall he start with a sword or bow? There would likely be no one to spar with, so some target practice would be ideal, Hilt supposed. Granted, he had to use the mediocre ones supplied for the grunts. Well, he would try not to break them.

Mist clung to the ground like a barrier and hardly relented its grasp as Hilt hopped the fence. He blinked as he landed, his ear twitching in confusion. Was someone here? But why hadn’t he heard it before? He only assumed otherwise, of course. Frowning at his negligence, but smirking at the possibility of a fresh contender to pummel his frustrations on, he moved forward.

He snorted and rolled his eyes as he watched a small little pony with a pale rider circling a stuffed training dummy. Her abysmal grip was timid and it was only laughable when the small knife (it would be an insult to weaponry to call it a sword) was knocked clean out of her hand as she whacked at the metal head. Hilt heard her swear and watched with a grin as she was forced to stop, dismount, and hobble over to retrieve her weapon.

Lieutenant Kya looked up and locked eyes with the General. Her face instantly turned beet red. Hilt’s grin widened.

“Having trouble there, dear Princess?” Hilt teased.

“Leave me alone,” Kya hissed, hurrying back to her pony, “and you shouldn’t call me that.”

“Well, I figured you didn’t appreciate ‘pasty’, but if you insist.”

Kya glared at him and trotted quickly over to the archery grounds. Hilt followed.

“I didn’t think it possible for you to awake this early. All for the best, though. I’ve been looking for you.”

“I grow giddy at the thought,” said Kya, her voice dripping with sarcasm. Such a lady she was.

“For you see, we have been staying in this castle for far too long. If you have forgotten, we made a deal. You would take me to the Northern Fortress, and I would spare your life. We hit a few snarls along this short journey of ours, but you are still bound to lead me.” Hilt picked up a bow and examined it. It was made of pine and full of knots. Relatively light, but weak to anyone but a child.

He glanced up at Kya. She was ignoring him, so he continued. “I shall plan on our leave in two days’ time. That shall give you plenty of time to gather any supplies you may need.”

The Lieutenant started to trot away, the black tail of her pony swishing lazily. Well, if she was going to be difficult… Hilt nocked an arrow and aimed at the target twenty paces away. The bow was flimsy and difficult to wield without snapping it in two. He could feel the twanging strain in the wood and released his arrow before he shattered the bloody thing. He had pulled up the tip of the arrow too soon and it landed three finger’s width above the center. He grumbled and glared at the target. He would blame it on the irritating lenses he was forced to wear.

But Hilt blinked and quickly had to dart out of the way as the rumble of trampling hooves charged toward him. Kya came screaming up to the targets and released three arrows in quick succession while still mounted. Each arrow hit square in the center of a different target; the one Hilt had missed, one nearly fifty paces away, and another dangling on ropes from the roof of the weaponry shed.

So the whelp was fairly proficient at one thing. At least that was promising. Sadly, she was completely inept at everything else.

Kya rounded the paddock and came trotting back, a proud grin stretched across her windburnt face. How long had she been out here practicing?

“Impressive,” Hilt reluctantly noted. “I suppose this means you can help me hunt. Less work for me.”

The Lieutenant’s eyes widened, then narrowed. Gods forbid she actually hunt for her food. Spoiled little pasty bitch. Well, he came here to practice. He might as well start.

“Come at me, then,” Hilt said, stretching his fingers and drawing one of his precious blades. He leaned lazily against the practice dummy that had thwarted Kya earlier.

She didn’t move from her saddle. She looked wary.

Hilt rolled his eyes. “Stay mounted. Perhaps the advantage will be of some use to you.”

Still silent, the girl clutched at her bow. Hilt could practically see the gears turning in her head.

“You can try and use your bow. But what happens when you run out of arrows?” Instinctively, Kya reached back to her quiver and her fingers touched at the feathered slivers of wood remaining.

Two shots.

Hilt licked his cracking lips in anticipation. He always loved this moment. Strategies played out in his head as he tried to guess her movements. She was still and did not dare to reveal any of her movements from darting eyes. At least she was thinking before she attacked. But what would she do?

“Well, pasty?” Hilt asked innocently.

Kya gnawed at her lower lip before leaping into action. With a yelp and a squeal, her pony was spurred into the fastest start Hilt had ever seen. The runt screamed to the other side of the grounds, effectively disappearing in the mist, before charging back in a large loop. The Lieutenant pulled back her bow as she raced directly toward him.  

Too easy. Could she be any more obvious? Hilt squared himself off and lowered into a crouch. The obvious assumption would be that she shot well out of the range of his blade, but that extra time would give Hilt plenty of time to react. The next question would be her target. Was she shooting to kill, or disarm? Kill, obviously. Head or chest?

Hilt didn’t have time to discover as Kya was thundering closer and closer with alarming speed. She wasn’t slowing down to a canter to shoot, and the distance between the two was narrowing. Fifty paces, twenty paces, ten… What in the seven hells?

The General raised his blade in anticipation of a highly unlikely close combat attack, but at the last minute, Kya changed her target. Hilt hardly saw the arrow leave the string before it lodged into the wooden ‘arm’ of the practice soldier Hilt had been standing next to. The force from the arrow caused the whole dummy to swirl around as if in a rehearsed pirouette. The fucking thing moved?!

Completely flustered, Hilt did not have the time to anticipate the club that flung around with the replica and slammed squarely in the small of his back. He lost his balance and fell down to his knees, quickly rolling away as Kya’s bloody pony nearly trampled over him. Pain seared from his spine and he fought the white spots in his vision.

The dummy was still spinning violently so Hilt had no choice but to move away. Disoriented, he tried to pinpoint where Kya could be. The whole thing happened in a matter of moments, so she could not have gone too far. Fucking pasty! Stumbling to his feet, Hilt whipped around in time to see the delicate point of an arrow mere inches from his face.

Kya was panting with beads of silver sweat forming at her brow. Splotches of red dotted her cheeks in stark contrast her now ashen and sallow face. Her eyes were bulging and her fingers trembling.

“Go on, then,” Hilt said, gazing up at her. “Shoot.” It wouldn’t mortally wound him, of course, not that she knew that. But did this pasty have the guts?

“You’ve never killed anyone, have you?” Hilt whispered, his voice shockingly light and airy. He could have been making idle conversation about the weather. “You’ve never seen how much blood leaks out from a lethal strike. You have yet to feel the euphoric thrill as their life seeps onto your hands.”

He knew he was correct from her reaction. The muscles in her neck tensed and creases formed across her brow.

“It’s addictive,” Hilt teased. “Others will claim how archaic and feral the act of killing is, but they are just denying the innate nature of us all. We desire above all else to control, to dominate.” His eyes were locked onto hers and he felt her courage melt away. “We ache for it. It’s as desperate as the breath in our lungs and an itch we can never scratch.”

Kya’s arms were trembling and her eyes watered with concentration. Seeing her weakness, Hilt’s arm flashed up and knocked at her wrist. The arrow tumbled to the ground and the string twanged loose again. She let out a gasp, as if she hadn’t allowed herself the luxury of air through the whole ordeal, as short as it was.

Hilt looked her over with a critical eye. True, she had surprised him, and Hilt was never surprised, but she lost her nerve with but a few words. That was quite frankly pathetic.

But before Hilt could scold her, he heard a jumble of grating laughter from behind him. He turned to see a group of Elivagan footsoldiers doubled over in laughter. Their forms were still obscured in the morning mist. Hilt could count over two dozen men, none higher in rank than a corporal from their blasé formation and attitude.

“…’ucking kid was bested by good ol’ Fred!” Roared one while the rest practically pissed themselves. Hilt could only assume they were speaking about him and his incident with the inanimate soldier. But ‘kid’? His eyes narrowed dangerously.

“An’ ‘Lieutenant Kya’ was quivering at the sound of his voice.” More laughter. “Whaaat?” the man called. “Has it bee’ that long since a man’s whisper’d in your ear?”

Hilt glanced back in time to see Kya’s crimson face dart away. Her feet sounded clumsy and heavy as she tried to slip away from the scornful crowd, her arms clutching her bow. She wasn’t nearly as agile on her feet as she was upon her horse.

“Men who have such courage to insult their superior officer would obviously have no problems taking on me,” Hilt hollered. He sheathed his sword and stalked closer to the group. Most were young men, though a few were significantly older. At such an age they should have moved up in rank. Obviously their attitudes restrained their progress. “I mean, obviously the best of soldiers are stationed to remain here in the empty Capital while the worst are sent to protect the King.”

The laughter died off as they slowly realized that Hilt was mocking them.

“Whatchyoo sayin’, boy?” asked one of the older men. Hilt recognized his voice as being the one who had called him ‘kid’ before. His expansive vocabulary was astounding.

“I’m saying that you must be very confident in yourselves to speak of an officer in such a way and I would be honored to witness your expertise in a battle of your only recognizable attribute.”

Sentences with more than three words seemed to confuse the men. Poor wee lambs.

“A sparring practice,” Hilt announced, planting himself in front of the group. He flicked back his cloak and rested his hands on his hips. “Or is this ‘boy’ too much of a threat?”

Hilt saw out of the corner of his eye a pale streak as Kya tried to scuttle away. She was intercepted by a gaggle of women who surrounded her. Movement from the presumptuous men pulled his attention away before he could see much else.

“Looks like this boy’s still wet behin’ the ears,” grumbled the older man. He was very thick waisted with an impressive silver mustache which curled around his several layers of chin. He hopped the fence—with more than a little effort—and grabbed one of the training swords, light pieces of wood that were roughly carved into some semblance of a sword. Hilt shook his head.

“I prefer steel.” He rested his hand on the hilt on the precious blade.  The man looked wary and Hilt only grinned. “Unless you’re uncertain of your victory.”

The man guffawed and looked back at his pack of men. He tried to look confident and sure, but Hilt saw the fear flash into his eyes. This group had probably never seen true combat. He doubted any of them had been stationed beyond the Capital.

Hilt drew the plain blade at his hip and cordially invited his opponent farther into the encampment. No reason to stay so close to the fence, hm? The man was obnoxious in his gait, but timid in his other movements. His grip was strained and his eyes kept darting over the thin sheath of metal of his blade in comparison to Hilt’s two handed broadsword.

“You are free to take the first move, good sir,” Hilt offered. “You are, of course, my superior.”

Laughably, the man took the bait. He charged forward like a bull, thrashing his sword from side to side as if her were a flag bearer swinging his master’s coat of arms. Hilt chuckled and easily tossed aside his attack with a flick of the wrist. He didn’t even feel the throb in his back anymore. The joy he received toying with this scum was more than enough to overcome the pain.

The oaf couldn’t regain his footing as Hilt only deflected his attack instead of absorbing it. He fell face first into the moist ground, much to his embarrassing dismay.

“I’m sorry. Did you trip, good sir?” Hilt asked innocently.

With a savage snarl, the man charged again. And again. And again. Each time Hilt found it easier and easier to infuriate him. One time he managed to avoid attack by hardly leaning to one side as the blade flittered through empty air. Hilt had yet to raise his own sword into position.

The clumsy soldier grew manic with rage. Determined to prove his worth, he abandoned his weapon and took to tackling Hilt with his bare hands. Not realizing that Hilt still had his, he leapt into the air with unwavering focus and desire. Hilt waited until the last moment before whacking the man across the head with the flat of his blade with enough force to send him sprawling across the dew-stricken grass.

“You’d be best to learn when to hold your tongue,” Hilt scorned, sheathing his sword, and glaring at the hump of moaning flesh. “Pathetic scum—“

Hilt paused as a flicker of light captured his vision. What? He knew he saw it. Fervently, his eyes searched through the fog at the indistinct crevices in the cliff behind the castle. There had been a light, a lantern or fire. It was too far up to be reflection from the castle, and much too bright. Hilt’s stomach squirmed and his heart fluttered. Someone was inside the Castle in the Wall.

Whack!

A searing pain flashed from the back of Hilt’s head and he stumbled forward. He winced in pain and tried to shake the blow. It was as if a dragon had clamped his claws round his head and refused to let go. He reached back and felt slick, hot blood oozing from a nasty gash. He had just enough sense to notice two grey colored lenses sitting innocently on the grass before he faced his attacker.

“You,” Hilt growled. His whole body hunched forward, yet he somehow grew bigger. His shoulders cracked ominously as his emerald green eyes focused on his new target. One of the younger boys was clutching a club with several spikes fitted into it. Obviously not a training weapon, and not one you would find with such a low ranking grunt.

In a flash, Hilt snatched the boy by his neck and held him several inches above the safety of the ground. “Who gave you that morning star?” Hilt demanded in a deadly low whisper. His voice was laced with the rumblings of a growl. His fingers squeezed tight and he grinned as the nails slowly grew thick and sharp, digging into the poor boy’s skin.

The soldier yelped and started clawing at the General’s gloved hand, to no avail. His pimply skin turned pallid as his eyes bulged.

“Who ordered you to do that?” Hilt asked. He squeezed harder and felt the satisfying twang of his windpipe crush. A stirring need nudged at Hilt’s stomach. That taste was lingering on his tongue. His blood boiled at the thought. How long had he resisted? This fucking filth deserved it. The skin on the back of his neck prickled and he could feel the hair start to poke through.

No, he told himself. Not here. He had to control it. But why?

“Stop!” screamed a high pitched voice.

Snapping out of his state, Hilt immediately dropped the boy. It was too late. His purple lips and white gums would not return back to a lively color. Hilt only now realized how young he was. Perhaps sixteen or so. That made no difference.

“Stop!” the voice roared again. Stop what? Hilt dropped the fucking kid. What more did that annoying whelp want from him?

But she wasn’t talking to him at all. Kya came running over to the group with her arms waving like a an angry goose. Hilt followed her line of sight to see the remainder of the men with spears, javelins, and longbows all pointed at him. He had been too focused. He lost sight again. Hadn’t he remedied that problem long ago? Why was he slipping?

“Lower your weapons!” Kya growled, marching between the small army and Hilt. “As your commanding officer, I order you to lower all weapons else you will all hang!”

Wow. Hilt had never heard her use that voice before. Could something that little make such a big noise?

“He killed ‘im!” screamed the man Hilt had defeated in the first match. He was battered and bruised, and could hardly hold up his spear.

“You know the law,” Kya growled. “He attacked with a banned weapon without approval from a Lieutenant or higher and joined a battle without first affirming the use of seconds!”

Hilt blinked. Kya was defending him?

“That on’y applies to soldiers!” insisted the man. The group nodded in agreement, but some seemed concerned and started to lower their arms.

“I am the highest ranking member of the Elivagan Military in this city. Defy my words, and I will take action,” Kya warned.

“Fucking woman!” the same vocal man roared. “You’re a disgrace to the crown!”

Without another word, Kya snatched her bow from her shoulder, nocked an arrow, and shot him in the shoulder. He screamed an inhuman screech and tumbled forward.

“Bitch shot me! Bitch fucking shot me!”

He’d live. That bitch had good aim. That wound would hurt.

“Anyone else question my authority?” Kya asked, daring any of the men to defy her. The only response was the soft swirl of morning wind.

“Lieutenant Kya!” squeaked a much softer voice. The gaggle of girls had finally caught up to Kya. They were panting and bouncing about like blinded mountain goats. Surprisingly, one of the women had bright auburn hair and a spectacular gown of clover and ivory. From a distance, she bore a striking resemblance to Kya. Could this be..?

“Madam Liore,” Kya said, finally breaking her icy glare with the now trembling group of scared puppy dogs. “I am sorry for you to have seen any of this, M’Lady.”

“We just… All of this…” The ‘princess’ feigned complete exhaustion and pulled out a kerchief to fan herself with. Gods, women were obnoxious. Weak and worthless. The attendees to Liore all hurried about her in an attempt to calm the near hysteric lady.

“Please, help escort the Princess back to the castle. I have matters to attend to with these men.” Her voice was firm and direct. It was almost as if she were a real military officer! Imagine that. The women all scurried away.

“Damien, I trust that you can tend to yourself? I see that you may have gotten something in your eyes,” Kya said calmly, not looking back at him.

Shit. Fucking lenses. He glanced at the ground and couldn’t find them through the sticky fog and dense grass. An aching throb reminded him of the blow he sustained. That fucking pasty boy probably fell onto those lenses and he didn’t have a replacement pair. Those were damned expensive, too. Finding those lenses was a priority, but he couldn’t be seen picking around the grass.

“Aye,” Hilt said, rubbing at his eyes. They hadn’t felt this good in ages and he resented the fact that he had to look for those minute shreds of glass. “Aye, I can, Lieutenant Kya. Are you sure you do not need… help with them?”

“No. Gather your things and I will meet you in your quarters with a formal apology from the Elivagan Military. These men,” she kicked at the man with an arrow in his shoulder, “won’t be bothering you again.”

Hilt watched as the group of defeated men were escorted by a pint-sized, female Lieutenant back up the trail. Now alone, it was easy to scour the grass and find the precious lenses. They were, as he anticipated, hidden beneath the cold body of the boy he killed.  They were scratched, but still usable. Unable to put them in thanks to the throb in his head, Hilt would just have to be extra careful making his way back to his room.

He left the boy’s body sprawled in the grass. Let it be a warning.

Sneaking through the deserted halls, Hilt reached back to touch the wound on his head. It was still bleeding, but he could feel the stinging needles of flesh stitching back together. In a few days it should be mostly healed. He was lucky Northerners didn’t use silver in their weapons.

Slinking into the luxurious bed safe in his quarters, Hilt couldn’t help but think about Kya. Why had she defended him? First, why hadn’t she just shot him when she had the chance? She was easily a good enough marksman to shoot him from a distance. She could have done it before he had turned around. And then there was a squadron of men willing to fill his body with arrows and spears. Why hadn’t she just let them? And then she scolded them?

            Confusing, this little pasty was. Given the situation, he never would have anticipated that reaction from her. That alone made her dangerous. He always knew the enemy’s move. 

            Always. 

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