Page 5 of Through the Wicked Wood

The horsemen, who I now notice wear the grizzly bear crest of King Roman on their chest plates, begin their way toward the river. Their horses pace and stamp uneasily as they eye the waters tumbling depths and swift currents.

“You’re more than welcome to join me in here, the water's lovely this time of year,” the man in the water yells. His confidence is jarring given his current circumstance, his grip on the boulder loosening by the second.

“You’re just as daft as you are ugly,” one of the horsemen shouts. His voice, booming, carries over the white rapids and makes me flinch. Keeping my stance low against the pine tree, I continue to observe the three men below me.

“We can wait here all day, thief. I’m not sure you can say the same,” the same guard says with a grin revealing several missing teeth. These must be guards stationed in Copenspire.

My stomach churns. Anger boiling deep in my veins as the men who wear the crest of King Roman encroach the river. The guard, no matter how vile, is right, however. The man can’t hold on much longer. In fact, I’m not sure how he is still holding on at all.

Dismounting their horses, the men make their way to the water’s edge. Shifting on my feet, I place my daggers back in their sheaths before sliding down to a crouching position.

“Return the shillings, and we’ll call it fair. Maybe even let you live to see another day of your miserable life,” the second horseman says, his balding head reflecting off the sunlight. His frame is much shorter but larger than the first guard’s. Could a few shillings really be worth this effort?

The portly guards’ boots dip into the water, his eyes scanning the area for the easiest way to the boulder. With a plan in place, the guards link arms. The shorter one in the front draws his blade and makes his way into the river. Using the second guard as an anchor, he plants an entire boot into the water. The slim guard follows behind, holding the reins of his horse like a tether to the shore. Wading waist deep, the current whips around him, but still they press on until they’ve nearly reached the boulder.

The thief’s face is turned away from me, but his laugh is deep and assured. With a halfhearted salute to the guards, he lets go of the boulder. A small gasp escapes my lips as the man floats down the river, his body tossing and turning with the raging current. Must be a blasted idiot to think he could survive these currents.

“Dammit!” the slim guard screeches. “Back to the horses, we’ll catch him downstream.” The galloping of hooves fades into the forest as they set off into the thick woods, away from the river's edge. Mind still reeling from what I just saw, it takes me a moment to shake back to reality. Without thinking much further, curiosity fully piqued, I begin the jaunt downstream.

Quickening my pace, I dart through the trees veering toward the downward slope of the riverbank to my right. The water slows its course around the banking river turning toward a rock wall. If the current didn’t sweep him under or he managed to avoid hitting his head on another boulder, I’d imagine he’d be...

There.

On the curve of the narrowest part of the river, the man has washed ashore. Knowing the horsemen will be back any minute, I lower myself onto my backside and slide down the dirt hill to the riverbank. As I approach the man, he lies face down on the rocky shore. Head turned away from me and sopping wet, I can’t tell if he’s breathing, and panic begins to race through my veins. Horse hooves sound distantly as the guards get closer on the opposite side of the water. Once the guards reach the bank, the slower current will be easy for the horses to cross. I must move quickly.

Lowering myself, I place my hand on the man’s back, hoping for any sign of movement.

It’s faint, but the slow rise and fall of his chest gives me hope. Relief floods my system, an unwarranted and confusing feeling. Nonetheless, I’ve decided I have to move him.

Without letting myself think any further, I take the man’s hands in my own and attempt to drag him to a nearby tree. They’re hot to the touch, despite being submerged in the freezing waters. He barely budges, his body weight plus the weight of the water seeping into his clothes will take a lot more strength than what I’m able to give.

Leave him.

The hiss of the demons in my head sounds like a challenge, and I want nothing more than to spite them. You can do this, I think to myself. You can do this. Shaking off my inner conflict, I try again. This time, I link my arms around the man’s and lower myself for more leverage. Digging the heel of my boots in the rocks, I heave in an upward motion and take a step back. A small budge, but movement, nonetheless. I repeat this motion again, and again, and again. Sweat beads on my forehead and down my temples, but I only need a few more steps until we’ll be hidden behind a giant pine tree. The thundering of horse hoofs clambering against the rocky shore stops me in my tracks.

“Aye! Down here! I think I see something!” One of the guards calls out from just beyond the treeline.

The shorter guard comes into view on his horse, cresting out of the thick forest trees on the other side of the river, the slim guard following closely behind. Frozen, I remain hunched before the thief. Breathe, Elora. Breathe. Before they can get any closer, I close my eyes, masking their natural golden color to a soft brown.

They’ll still know.

An arrow whizzes through the air and plants itself into the giant pine tree directly behind me with a cracking thunk. The hiss of another arrow hauling through the air catches me off guard. I rip a dagger free from its sheath, but before I can make use of it, the second arrow collides into my shoulder sending me backwards, until I crash into the earth beneath me. My head cracks on the rock laden ground and a piercing, sharp pain floods behind my eyes. The fall backwards has caused my dagger to tumble out of my reach. Inhaling a sharp breath at the sudden pain in my head, I attempt to sit up but am pinned in place.

The second arrow has shot through the fabric of my cloak and buried itself into the shore, pinning me to the ground.

Too late.

“Would you look at this?” One of the guards says, slamming his boot atop my wrist, using his other foot to kick my dagger even farther away. “Looks like we caught ourselves a little rabbit.”

The round guard snickers, “Oh, aye, Ruben. She’ll look swell stuffed and mounted on the wall. If the boys back at camp are lucky, maybe we’ll even share.”

“Let me go!” I spit toward them. Writhing my body to inch away, my movements are unsuccessful. I’m freed from my cloak but am now pinned by the two guards by either wrist.

The men share a laugh, as I attempt to scurry backward through the rocks, but the grip on my wrists is too tight.

Hope diminishes in my chest. Trapped. How did I let this happen? My rage turns on me as I face the predicament I’m now in. Kicking my feet, I don’t give up.

“Easy, there.” My gaze darts between the two men as the second guard continues, “We just want to know if you feel as soft as you look.”

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