He reeks of fear.
“What has your Queen planned next for me, Freckles?”
The young warrior’s Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows deeply. “S-she wants to l-lure you. To Scarwood Citadel.”
How quaint of her. The little Queen wishes to invite me to her castle for tea.
“Was that so hard?” He whips his axe from his hip and slices the boy’s head clean off his shoulders before he can realize his end. “For the rest of you,” he smirks, wiping the blood on his black trousers. “Stand them up.”
Five of his Drengr swarm the prisoners, each clutching a pike. The blood-curdling screams of the young men echo throughout the night as the sharpened points ram through their backsides and out through their mouths.
Displayed along the perimeter of their encampment are their skewered, shrieking bodies. Gargled screams join the crickets and distant waves as the sounds of the evening.
“Open the mead!” Sigvid announces to cheers. He flops onto a log between Kar and Slode, where they thrust a drinking horn into his hand.
“She is getting bold if she thinks you’ll stride up to the Citadel and offer yourself to her.” Kar chuckles in his drink.
Sigvid has the same thought. Still, how the Timber Queen’s mind works never ceases to amaze him. Ever since he ripped the spleen out ofher husband, they have engaged in a game of cat and mouse across Treland.
“Is she still sending you gifts?” Slode nudges him with a wink.
He responds by finishing his drink, wishing Slode had not discovered that element of their rivalry.
“Were you courting the Timber bitch?” Kar mocks him with a belly-shaking laugh.
“Sarcastic notes and jest items. Hardly what anyone might call romantic.” Sigvid pours himself another horn in an attempt to cleanse away the bloodlust of the day.
“Wonder what type of woman would marry Rendel?” Helga cackles.
Sigvid smirks into his mead. She could be beauty itself and still fall to his axes. His foe may be the most intelligent woman in the country of Treland, but she is still his enemy, and her life would end on her knees.
“When my axes gut her, my father’s spirit can finally rest easier in the Depths with the Briny God with one less Ridge royalty left alive.” He sloshes the mead over the tops of their heads as he stands with his arms wide at his side.
Stars dot the vast night sky as darkness descends upon the Drengr encampment to find Prince Sigvid and his warriors singing Salt chants in a drunken stupor. Their fearless commander stumbles into the brush to relieve himself when he hears rustling in the tall grass.
“Come out and fight me.” Sigvid slurs his words.
He slides his hand to his hip to withdraw an axe. Even that tiniest of movements unsteadies him, and his boot slips upon the wet grass. The ground connects with his back with such a force that he loses his breath, leaving him to gaze upward at the stars.
Before he can appreciate the clear night sky, a hood shoves over his head, and all goes black.
July 26th, Year 100, 9th Era
Outskirts of Scarwood, Timber Province
The swaying of a cart beneath him roughly rouses Sigvid. He struggles to sit upright only to find his wrists and ankles chained to the wooden platform beneath him, forcing his body onto his knees. His mouth is dry from the cloth gag secured around his head.
The hangover, mixed with his position on the cart, only makes him nauseous.
How did they get the jump on me?
“Look who’s awake.” One of the guards greets him with a slap to his back, causing him to collapse.
Sigvid glowers at the men who were too cowardly not to have taken him in battle. His eyes fall to the sigil on the man’s shield, which details a collection of gems cascading around a jagged crown.
The Ridge Province.
He glances to the other side of the cart and recognizes the Timber uniform with its rising oak tree encircled by thick twisting knots.
