On the Hook

Nathaniel awoke early the next morning, as was his routine. Careful not to wake his wife, he only gently brushed some tousled black hairs from her cheeks, before dressing, and leaving the tent. He assumed that pregnant women had every right to start the day late.

Outside, the sun already warmed the moist morning air, and birds chirped in the crowns of towering beech, oak, and maple trees. When he strained his ears, Nathaniel could also make out the cackle of the campfire that was held alive by the Nightwatch, accompanied by some quiet conversations.

Just when his long legs started moving in that direction, he heard something else. Steps, coming from the woods. Warily, he peeked along the row of tents to the patrol team and saw one man raising his arm as a signal. Though it was not yet a sign of distress, Nathaniel's legs brought him in the direction of the newcomers, one hand wandering to the hilt of his sword.

Reaching the patrol man's side, he could make out three figures in dark clothes between the tree shadows. Though the firepit was now further away, the smell of ash settled in a sheer taste on his tongue.

"Halt! Introduce yourselves!", the patrol called.

The figures to the sides stopped, while the one in the middle, the smallest, stumbled a few steps further before something seemed to pull him back. There was a sparkle of steel in the light that glimpsed through the leaves above.

Despite some speckles of light, it was hard to discern the faces of the newcomers, almost as if they merged with the dark. The voice that answered was rough. "Pather and Dellinger. Guess I cannot blame you for failing to recognize; this arse has done us pretty bad."

The man to the right, Dellinger, Nathaniel assumed by the sound of the voice, pulled on what he now recognized as a chain, and made the third man stumble backward again. When he got close, Dellinger kicked the backside of his legs, and the prisoner fell to his knees with a short gasp of pain.

Contrary to Nathaniel, the patrol man seemed to struggle to recognize the voice and threw a questioning glance at his master. Nathaniel nodded but gave him the sign to stay back as he approached the trio first, one hand still on his sword. When he drew near, the smell of ash intensified and mixed with the stench of burned flesh. Finally, he could make out the faces of the newcomers, and his red eyes narrowed menacingly.

From the tip of their hairs down to their boots, Pather and Dellinger were covered in soot and dirt. While Dellinger seemed to fare better with holes in his clothes and a coat that flattered around his elbows instead of his kneecaps, Pather sported a horrifying burn that razed all hair on the left side of his head and left the skin patterned in black and red like magma-cracked coal. Recognizing who had neared, both men bowed, and pain flashed by Pather's darkened face.

"My Prince." Once again, it was Dellinger who did the talking. "I am obliged to report that the Great Vaya Woods are ashen fields now... however, we caught the Duke of Sleipnir, as commanded."

Nathaniel's eyes fell on the prisoner, but he didn't see the Duke's face before today, so he didn't linger for long. Just enough to check if the brown eyes and slightly curly hair matched the description. "Good work. I will take it from here."

He reached out to take the chain from Dellinger's hand, yet the latter held on to it. "Be careful. Something is wrong with this man. He might be as crazy as me."

Only after this advice did he let go. With wrinkled brows, Nathaniel wrapped the chain around his palm once, then twice. If Katherine's rare recounts hadn't made him wary yet, this warning was enough to get his attention. Despite this, his voice gave nothing away. "What makes you think so?"

Dellinger paused before he finally shook his head. "No idea. But I've got the nagging feeling he came with us willingly. Despite..."

He gestured in Pather's direction, who gazed at the ground. No, not at the ground, but on the blackened stump of his left arm that he held pressed against his middle. The air around Nathaniel grew colder before he nodded. "I'll take it from here."

When the two retreated into the camp, Nathaniel saw Pather glance back once. He stared at the prisoner with deep hatred, yet below that was a glimpse of fear.

"I am delighted to finally make your acquaintance in person."

The hoarse whisper came from the prisoner on the ground. With slow movements that were much more controlled than the stumbling before he came to his feet. His hands were still bound behind his back, yet he carried himself nothing like a prisoner. Proud and fearless despite his smaller stature, he blinked through the brown curls hanging sweatily on his forehead and bared his teeth in an almost grin. "I believe you are the Earl of Hymirhall, infamous newly found Prince of the Icelands?"

Expressionless, Nathaniel stared down at the man that had hurt his wife more than anyone else. Then he tugged strongly on the chain, making the other yelp as he was forced to turn around and show his back where his hands were bound. Nathaniel didn't stop for a second and took long strides toward the camp - strides that a man walking backward could never match.

It didn't take long until he dragged a squirming and howling Duke of Sleipnir over the ground like a freshly caught fish. Seeing the surprised soldiers stumbling out of their tents, Nathaniel only regretted that he'd forbidden them from drinking last night. Glass shards on the ground would make the lesson so much more memorable.

When he reached his wife's tent, the whole camp was up and about. While the soldiers were mostly confused, some brainwashed young mages covered their mouths with trembling hands, and others glared and yelled at their fallen captor. Frey even spat him in the face and howled almost as loudly as the Duke: "We are free! We are free!"

The flap of the tent opened, and Nathaniel saw violet eyes blinking through, and heard a gasp before it fell close again. Nobody else seemed to notice, they were too occupied cursing and booing at the prisoner. When a girl, maybe five years old, came forward and kicked the man, Nathaniel finally swept them all with a cold gaze and raised his voice. "That's enough."

Without further ado, there was pin-drop silence. However, he felt an indignant glare from the side and turned to the young man that hated the Duke of Sleipnir maybe even more than his wife. Decisively, Nathaniel gave him the chain. "Hold this. Don't kill him yet."

Frey's dark brows sprang up in surprise. After a moment of hesitation, he nodded. Slowly, but he nodded. Nathaniel exchanged a short gaze with the soldier behind Frey to signal him to help the latter if necessary, then he entered the tent to speak with his wife.

He found her crouching on the mattress, eyes wide with fluster, and hands pressed to her pink mouth. "Wha-what should I do now?"