Chapter 4 #2
“Rey!” the man behind me screamed, slamming his heels harder into Asta, racing for his fallen friend. “Nooo!”
My neck craned to the side, spotting a handful of the king’s archers lined up on the ridge.
The call for them to attack roared up into the cloudy sky.
Arrows fired in waves, zipping by us with a whistle, embedding themselves near Asta’s hooves and shearing through her mane, spooking her more.
My heart thumped harder in my chest. They didn’t care if they hit Asta.
Taking her out of the equation would slow us down.
Behind us, a pounding of hooves joined the dogs, my father’s soldiers chasing after us like an army of ants zeroing in on a single speck of food.
Nearing the man on the ground, my captor started to tug on Asta’s lead to slow down, spotting his unmoving friend.
“Fuck!” His muscles rippled down his arms, knuckles straining around the reins.
An agonized sound in his throat spurred Asta on instead of stopping, pushing her faster through the array of arrows, sprinting by his friend bleeding out into the snow, leaving him to die.
Getting off Asta was my only chance for survival. There were too many of my father’s guards once he no longer had me as a hostage. He’d have to save himself or perish like his companion. Something told me he wasn’t the self-sacrificing type.
“Take yourself out of the calculation,” I could hear Yanric say. “Fight when you need to but always be looking to take yourself out of the equation.” With my arms numbly pinned behind me, my mouth gagged, and a beast holding me, taking his advice was easier said than done.
Racking my brain for an idea was like trying to see the bottom of a large stew pot. My thoughts the random bits of beef you tried to get into the ladle but slipped away each time you tried to fill your bowl.
The woodlands raced closer with every hoofprint, the shadows from the canopy reaching out and touching us. Asta galloped steadily toward them, my thighs burning as I tried to stay on her bare back out of habit.
“Sometimes in battle, doing the opposite of what your enemy assumes you will do is the greatest weapon.” Yanric’s training was for this exact situation. To prevent myself from being kidnapped.
Fighting was getting me nowhere. He was too strong. Instead, I let go. Loosening my leg muscles, my thighs slid from Asta’s slick silvery coat. Her hooves struck the ground hard, and I bounced, slipping off her back.
“Helvete!” He let out a strangled cry, his arms grappling for purchase on my limp body.
Every muscle in his physique strained as he tried to keep his seat while dragging me back up, his fingers twisting to keep hold on my clothes.
The pounding of the horse’s hooves dropped me further down.
The snowy ground rushed just inches from my head.
The hounds were almost on us. I was so close to freedom.
Asta squealed out a loud neigh, an arrow embedding into her shoulder near my head, leaking blood down her sweaty coat. Her fear took over any pain she might have felt, rocketing her faster in a crazed sprint, her back legs striking out in defense at anything she felt as a threat.
The dogs’ pained yips howled in my ears, dropping my stomach into the earth. From my angle I could see their white bodies roll over the snow, tumbling back from the force of her kick.
Asta would never hurt them normally, but she was scared and hurt, lashing out at anything.
For a moment I forgot to fight, forgot to escape. My eyes were on Iskald and Runa, the soldiers stampeding past them, engulfing my view of the hounds.
It was a moment too long.
The Northerner heaved me back up right as Asta jumped over brush, the thorny branches missing my face by a second as we slipped into the forest. His arm slithered up my torso, his palm wrapping around my neck, pinning me back into him.
Growling, his heavy breath in my ear, his fingers digging into my throat, making sure I could not get away.
The shouts of our pursuers echoed under the snowy branches, right at our heels. Even without the help of the hounds, the king’s men could easily track Asta through the snow.
It was a game of pursuit and whoever made the first mistake, lost.
And my captor was aware.
The rumble from his chest resonated into my spine, his tension spiking out like daggers. He spurred Asta harder, trees and bushes whooshing past us in a blur. The calls from the guards baying in the background were so near, I could hear the huffs of their horses, the whips of their reins.
Asta panted heavily, her coat sleek with sweat, as blood trickled down from her shoulder. Her adrenaline was starting to taper off, slowing her down, giving the soldiers a huge advantage.
Hope zinged up my chest, my muffled cries trying to reach them, keep them tight on our trail.
“Fuck,” my captor grumbled, snaking Asta through the forest, the trees thinning as the ground became rockier.
I heard the familiar rush of the waterfall from the Silver Feather River before I could see it.
I would often come here on my rides, taking a swim in the icy waters.
It was my sanctuary, a place I would retreat to when it all got too much.
Breaking out of the timberland, the milky daylight was exposed through the thick forest over the ridge, glistening off the water plunging down into the river, billowing up rays of color above the crystal-clear water.
He spurred her on, taking Asta into the water and pointing her toward the embankment on the other side. But only a few steps in, he yanked on her reins.
“Whooaaa!” He halted her in the stream. Swinging off her, he jumped down, the water splashing up, reaching his calves.
Terror knotted my chest, sensing what he was doing, my head shaking, letting myself drop the opposite way.
“Skitt!” He reached up before I fell, dragging me off her. “You are a fucking pain in the ass.”
I gasped when he dropped my feet into the icy river, the water soaking into my dress, clinging to my legs.
Shouts of men rose from the forest, the army gaining ground, tracking Asta’s hoofprints.
“Get!” The Northerner slapped down on Asta’s hindquarters hard.
The horse squealed, taking off across the shallow part of the river, the arrow still sticking out of her shoulder, blood staining her pale coat.
She leaped onto the embankment and her hooves marked a trail in the mud, leading the trackers in that direction, while he turned us another.
The man clutched my pinned arms, pulling me up the river.
The force of his pull toppled me into the water. It felt like a punch to the chest when I hit the frigid temperatures, shivering through my bones, my thick cotton dress drinking in the water, weighing me down like a stone.
Snarling, his black eyes flickered with abhorrence, his fingers curling like he was about to snap my neck and be done with me.
The voices from the guards crested the shoreline, heaving his shoulders with tension.
Clenching his jaw, he lifted me up, tossing my saturated fabrics over his shoulder.
He pushed through the water toward the waterfall, the current crashing into his thighs, rising quickly up to his chest. I tried to fight, but the numbness of my body worked against me, the cold slowing my thoughts and locking up my muscles.
He sank us below the water, swimming under the waterfall, submerging us in snowmelt.
I gasped for air around the gag. The cascade of the water crashing over my head struck like a thousand knives.
It was only a moment before we popped back up on the other side, the roar of the water deafening.
With a grunt, he pulled us up on the rocks behind the falls, dropping my body at his feet.
Hacking and shivering, I curled up, watching him out of the corner of my eye.
Nearing six-six, his massive form loomed over me, his shoulders heaving, his murderous black eyes narrowed on me.
His dirt-stained tunic clung to his muscles, revealing extensive tattoos underneath, the scar on his lip tugging it up in a snarl.
Dread fluttered in my stomach, his feral rage clawing at his seams. Nothing about him held sympathy or kindness.
He was a killer, just like my father said they were.
“The prints suggest they went across the river.” A voice towed the Northerner’s attention from me, voices echoing from the other side of the waterfall. “And up the embankment there.”
There was a pause.
“Split up.” A baritone boomed through the curtain of water, the voice of my father’s general, Backe. “You lot, follow the tracks. This group, go upriver, and we will go down. They can’t have gotten too far.”
“Help!” I tried to scream out from my gag, crawling forward, my cries drowning in the noise of the falls. But it would only take one to hear something to send them investigating. “Help!”
Sneering, the Northerner seized my wet locks, yanking me back on my ass. I yelped in pain, my eyes watering.
“No! I’m here!” My voice shredded and my head spun as a panic attack crept up my chest. He moved behind me, lowering himself until his lips grazed the back of my ear. “Scream all you want, kanin.” He tracked his free hand up to my throat again. “They won’t hear you.”
The horses splashed past us, the men’s voices growing fainter, taking my last hopes away with them.
The realization that no one would rescue me snatched the last reserves of hope.
My vision dotted and I leaned over my knees, too weak and muddled to even try to calm myself.
I struggled more to regain the oxygen I needed, gasping noisily, and clawing at the rocks.
“What the fuck is wrong with you?” I heard him snap, but everything felt like I was hearing and feeling through a pane of glass which was being submerged underwater. I felt like I was drowning. Blackness overtook my vision and stole consciousness from me.