Chapter Text
“Come along, princeling,” Pyrite, braced against a tree on the edge of the mountain trail, held a hand out toward Alcryst. “Not much further now.”
He accepted the hand and let his retainer help him up over the broken section of the trail. Gasping for breath, Alcryst bent over to rest his hands on his knees, craning his head back to see how far they’d come. In all his fourteen years of life, he’d never been this far from the castle. It was simultaneously exhilarating and terrifying.
“Princeling?”
Alcryst managed a wobbly smile as he followed Pyrite’s lead up the mountain trail. Truth be told, he hated being called that, but what else could he expect to be called? He was still little more than a child, and nothing like his brother, Diamant, had been at his age. What could anyone see but a sickly, scrawny princeling?
“Here we are!” Pyrite announced. “Thunderstone Pass!”
Two days hard riding from the castle and nearly a day of hiking had brought them to a narrow pass that cut through the foothills to the north of Brodia castle. Alcryst stumbled after his retainer, stopping to lean against the low stone wall that bordered the pass. In the middle of the pass, a rough, wooden bridge crossed the icy mountain stream below.
“F-forgive me, Pyrite,” Alcryst stammered. He tried not to flinch back when the man turned to face him—though not as tall or broad as King Morion, Pyrite still cut a large figure. “…never mind.”
“Speak your mind, little prince,” Pyrite boomed. He strode over to Alcryst’s side to gently guide him forward toward the bridge, one broad hand on the prince’s narrow shoulders.
Gloved hands twisting at the strap of his bag, Alcryst worried his lip for a moment before rallying his courage to ask. “Couldn’t…couldn’t we have gone fishing closer to the castle?”
Pyrite threw his head back, his booming laugh echoing around them.
Alcryst flinched away from the sound. “S-sorry!”
“Don’t be sorry.” Pyrite patted him on the back, hard enough to make him stumble forward. “There are other spots, of course, but this one is important.”
“Oh?” He tried to make his voice sound surer. Steadier. But the shadows were growing long and they were nearly three days out from the castle…alone. “I’m not…”
“It all depends on what you’re planning to catch,” Pyrite continued, as though Alcryst hadn’t spoken.
Stones clattered behind them. Alcryst whirled around to see roughly dressed men climbing down onto the trail from hiding places up on the sides of the mountain.
“Oh no,” he whispered, reaching for the bow strapped to his back. His hands were shaking. He’d been training with his brother, of course, but hadn’t seen combat like this. “Pyrite, w-we have to—”
His words cut off with a yelp as Pyrite seized his wrist and twisted it up behind his back, holding a knife to his throat. “Not another move, princeling,” Pyrite snarled in his ear.
“I see you’ve caught the pipsqueak,” one of the men called as he swaggered forward. He was taller than Pyrite, though not as broad. A wicked-looking axe was thrust through his belt, and a dark patch covered one eye. “He give you any trouble?”
“This one? Not a chance.” Pyrite had managed to trap both of Alcryst’s slender wrists in one meaty hand. “He has no fight in him. Don’t know why the king even bothers.”
Teeth clenched, Alcryst fought the tears that threatened to well up at his retainer’s cruel words. They were right, of course. He wasn’t worth his father’s time, no matter what Morion or Diamant said. And yet, the king would no doubt waste precious resources mounting a rescue attempt.
“H-he really shouldn’t.” Alcryst managed to force the words out, even as Pyrite pressed the blade closer against his throat, pricking the skin. “My father. I’m not worth the ransom, and-and he knows it. You won’t get anything from—”
The one-eyed man backhanded him, snapping his head to the side hard enough that the knife cut into his throat. He grabbed Alcryst by the chin to force his head back around, until he could stare up at the single gray eye glaring down at him.
“No ransom?” the man spat. “Everyone knows your daddy looks at you and your meathead brother like you hung the stars. He’ll pay.”
Pyrite shoved him forward. Rough hands snatched at him, tearing his bag and quiver away. His hands were forced in front of him and bound together with rough rope that cut into his skin between his gloves and sleeves. His mind whirled, his limbs heavy with panic.
His father would pay almost any ransom, maybe even the Emblem ring, for his son’s safe return.
He wasn’t worth that. Not the gold, not the Emblem ring, not the safety of their country. He could never break away or outrun these men, but if he could get to the side of the bridge….
Alcryst lunged away from the hands holding him. This time of year the river would be fast but high, and he’d always been a strong swimmer. There was a chance, if the bridge wasn’t too far from the river or the river too shallow.
Something collided with the back of his knees and he fell forward, nearly a dozen feet from the edge of the bridge. Someone was swearing, hauling on his coat to pull him back, a rough hand tangling in his hair to hurl him bodily back toward the gathered bandits.
“Filthy little…” the one-eyed man snarled. He hauled Alcryst up only to strike him across the face hard enough to knock him back down. Then stomped on his hand, grinding his boot until Alcryst cried out in pain. He tried to roll away from the man, but a heavy boot caught him in the back, just above the kidneys. The same boot came down to stomp on his hip, then his back again, then…
“Enough!” Pyrite was tugging the man away. “Unless you plan on carrying him?”
The man sneered down at Alcryst, then glowered over at Pyrite. “Have it your way,” he snapped, before stomping away to speak to one of the other men.
Pyrite watched him go, shaking his head. “Up you get, princeling,” he announced, roughly hauling Alcryst to his feet. “We’d better get moving. It’s a long way to Elusia.”