The Kingswood #2
Slaide and Hazel made their way down a heavily trodden path which Slaide had said would lead them to the Kingswood, a sprawling woodland in the Wilds butting up to the Border on the eastern side of the kingdom.
The Kingswood was vast, Slaide informed her, indicating they likely wouldn’t cross its entirety on this trip, but would need to see where the day took them.
To Hazel, that sounded promising, and not in a good way.
As they entered the Kingswood, Hazel thought it was one of the most beautiful forests she’d seen.
Due to its proximity to the Border and the magic beyond, the Kingswood was lusher than those back home.
Tall, white birch trees towered toward the heavens, and the forest floor was a mix of lush moss and dark, fertile soil.
Mushrooms and other fungi littered the underbrush, and new growth, well, it actually existed here.
Hazel imagined that this must be how all forests looked, once upon a time.
“So,” Slaide began, “Phillip has taken a liking to you.”
Hazel wasn’t sure why this was something to comment on.
In her experience, if you treated an animal with the respect it deserved and paid attention to its body language, it wasn’t terribly difficult to get along.
Though, she’d always had an easy relationship with most horses.
Even the difficult ones. She shrugged. “He seems easy enough to get along with.”
“Phillip has never let anyone touch him except me. Until you came along.”
“Seriously?” She whirled on him from Nanna’s back. Nanna didn’t appreciate the movement and huffed her disapproval.
“Seriously. He has a sad history. One where he was overworked and abused. And because of that history, I am the only one he has ever trusted. He’s bitten, kicked, maimed, and damn near killed people for trying to do what you did today.
Most horses take issue with him as well.
The only stablemate he puts up with is Nanna.
He picked a fight with her once, when they were first introduced.
And boy did she put him in his place. They’ve been inseparable ever since.
” He smiled at the memory, then frowned.
“Magnus despises him, though, and once threatened to have him carved up for the royal hounds. Needless to say, he’s never made that threat again. ”
“Wait. Were you trying to get me killed?” Her eyes bugged.
Slaide laughed. “No. I told you. I wanted to see something. And I was mostly confident he wasn’t going to act out. After all, he did let you on his back once already.”
“Yes—with you. Who’s to say he would have allowed that if you weren’t also there? He could have turned on me today, and you didn’t bother telling me.”
“I seem to recall you riding him by yourself last night without issue,” he reminded her.
“Look, Hazel. This animal has a way with people. It’s as though he can read someone’s true intentions…
maybe even see their soul. Animals do have a sense for those things, you know.
And after all he went through, I would say he’s especially attuned to the intentions of those around him. ”
“Are you certain? He likes you, and I’m fairly sure ‘good intentions’ are not associated with your name.”
“I saved him, remember? I earned his trust. And besides, have you ever considered that my intentions and my actions are two totally different things?” He rode ahead of them slightly and looked over his shoulder.
“Maybe you should be less of an asshole every now and then, if you want to make your intentions clear,” Hazel retorted.
“Or, maybe you need to stop taking things at face value all the time.”
Hazel pulled back on Nanna’s reins softly, momentarily stopping them.
She watched the swaying of Phillip’s steps and the swishing of his long black tail.
How Slaide sat lightly on the horse’s back, despite his size.
And how the two worked synchronously, one body instead of two.
Her hand found the locket, and she worked it between her fingers as she watched them.
She clicked her tongue at Nanna and the pony got moving again, trotting briefly to catch up with her friend.
Maybe he’s right. It certainly gave her something to think about.
“So,” he spoke, changing the subject. “The first trial is tomorrow.”
Nausea overtook her, and her grip tightened on the reins.
Slaide looked over his shoulder. “Stunned into silence?”
“I don’t know what to say. I thought we—I—had more time. I don’t feel ready.” She wanted to crawl into a hole.
“The fun could only last so long, sweets. But, look on the bright side. You’ve got me to tell you what the trial is and what to expect.”
She cocked an eyebrow.
“We really need to work on your thank-yous. Mind you, no one else gets this information ahead of time.”
“Whatever. What’s the first trial then?” she asked.
“An enchanted labyrinth. No rules. Nothing is off the table. The only task is to survive and get out.”
Something was far too easy. She could feel it in the marrow of her bones and her locket warmed in confirmation.
I’m going to die tomorrow.
The pair trekked for half the day. It was uneventful—peaceful even—and for that Hazel was grateful. The tension eased out of her. The horses were less uptight as well, their bodies relaxing under their riders, even Nanna.
Hazel took the time to enjoy the sights and sounds the forest offered, trying to ignore the proximity of her demise.
Birds chirped and squawked in the canopy while crickets chittered and frogs sang their songs along the forest floor.
A pair of fox-eared squirrels darted across their path, causing Nanna to snort her aggravation.
She had no idea who or what Slaide was searching for, since he’d evaded her attempts to get those answers out of him.
She grew suspicious that he wasn’t hunting for anything at all, but instead using this as an excuse to get out of the castle walls.
And who could blame him? He wouldn’t hear a complaint out of her.
She didn’t even mind his company at the moment.
Slaide came to a stop without warning. Well, he had warned her, she just wasn’t paying attention.
After almost running Nanna into Phillip’s backside, Hazel became aware of Slaide signaling their halt silently, with his fist in the air.
Hearing her oomph behind him, he darted a disapproving glance over his shoulder. And that was when she noticed it…
When did the forest get quiet?
As if in answer to her thoughts, something whizzed past her head, nearly grazing her ear. She turned to see what it was, only to find an arrow lodged into the tree across the path from her. Her stomach roiled. That tree could have been her head.
“GET DOWN!” Slaide shouted, rolling Phillip back with a tight rein to give Hazel some cover.
All at once he was grabbing his hunting bow and leaping from Phillip.
He tackled Hazel from Nanna’s back in one swoop.
The ground drove the air from Hazel’s lungs, and she’d inadvertently struck Slaide in the belly with her knee, causing him to gasp as well.
But he recovered more quickly, hauling Hazel to her knees and forcing her to crawl to the cover of the bushes.
With a sharp whistle from Slaide, Phillip took off for his own safety, Nanna close behind.
When the dust settled, it was quiet, save for Hazel’s panting—which felt louder than it probably was. Her eyes were wide as saucers, her face saying what her mouth didn’t dare.
What. Was. That?
Slaide didn’t answer immediately, steeling his gaze on the path before them.
He was preternaturally still, the very picture of a helcat stalking its dinner.
She watched as his eyes transformed into their other form: those dark, obsidian pools.
She was quite certain she could drown in them, even if they were fearsome.
As she watched him, her gaze drifted and she noticed something that caused her to freeze. Slaide had an arrow shaft protruding from his calf.
“You’re hit!” she hissed.
He turned to her, face contorted as though not understanding.
“Your calf. You were hit with an arrow!” It was everything she had to keep her voice low.
As the realization washed over him, Slaide rotated to look back at his leg and sure enough, there was an arrow taking up residence where it didn’t belong.
He sighed as though this was just another inconvenience he was used to facing.
He worked himself up to a seated position, then without warning, he grasped the shaft and yanked the arrow free, hardly wincing as the arrowhead ripped through his flesh again on its way out.
Hazel, on the other hand, balked when the arrow was torn free. She watched as Slaide examined it in its entirety, going so far as to sniff the feathered fletchings.
“Fucking gobkins,” he muttered. Meanwhile, blood dripped steadily from the untended wound on his calf.
“What’s a gobkin?” Not that it mattered in the grand scheme of things, but she was curious anyway.
Slaide was digging for something in his pack as he answered.
“They’re… uh… you’ve heard of goblins, yes?
Shit… where did I put it? So… they’re like goblins…
except… there it is…” He withdrew a roll of cloth and began wrapping his leg.
“Like I was saying, they’re nasty relatives of goblins, but smaller and cleverer.
” He held up the arrow. “Their weapons-craft is superior to most lesser beings. Combine that with their ability to actually use them? Well, this is what happens. Oh, and they’re particularly skilled… in… poisons.” He winced.
And then he toppled over.
“Slaide? Shit! Slaide, get up!” She was no longer being quiet.
“Can’t… poison… arrow. Magic… blocking.” His voice was strained, barely above a whisper. And somehow he managed to convey his annoyance just the same.
No no no. You are not leaving me here alone like this. “Slaide, I need you to stay with me and tell me what to do. Please!”
Something moved in the brush across from them, and she froze. She’d ignored her locket’s prior warnings, but now it was unmistakable: danger lurked nearby. In the tall grass, a small form moved, two grotesque yellow eyes blinked. They were staring.
At her.
Think, Hazel. Think. She didn’t have any weapons with her, but Slaide did.
She dove toward him and heard the gobkins burst into movement behind her.
She tucked into a roll and grabbed his ashwood bow and three arrows from the ground.
By the time she was standing, the bow was drawn, string taut and prepared to fire.
Her toad-like adversary was nearly upon her when she released, sending the arrow through one too-large, sickly-yellow eye with a squelch.
The beast reeled backward with the force of the blow, flopping twice before it went still.
Another arrow flew past her head, and Hazel whirled to find her assailant posted on a boulder at least fifty paces away. In an instant, she sent an arrow back at him—while dodging his second shot—and thumped the gobkin in the chest, knocking him from his perch. Two down. But how many were there?
A gurgled cry sounded from above her, and she looked up just in time to see a third gobkin diving toward her from a tree limb, daggers outstretched. She dove just out of reach but quickly realized her mistake as she righted herself.
They weren’t after her; they were after Slaide.
And she’d given the beasts exactly what they wanted.