Prophecy Of Kings: Volume 1 ✔️

Chapter 20 - Scald Law (Part 2)

"Now there's a MacBean a' recognise." Erskine knelt to the floor, and, much like Rupert, hairy antlers retreated and hooves turned to hands. A man haggered by age stood to his feet. Time had not been kind to Erskine, greying his beard, balding his head and leathering his skin.

A wide grin grew on Rupert's face, "Erskine ye old bastard!" The two wrapped their arms around each other, in a strong embrace. "This is my friend, Firmin." He looked back at Firmin, causing his grin to invert with remorse. "Sorry I left ye pal. Went ahead tae check they were still settled on the East Kip side. Ran back as soon as the ladies telt me the lads were away tae check oan a stranger that was climin' the hill."

Firmin smiled despite himself, sighing at the relief of not having to fight ten territorial reindeer. Your timing could have been better though, Ru, he thought to himself. However, even with the cold biting and an empty stomach rumbling, he knew that he owed his life to the Scotsman; a bit of ill-timing could easily be forgiven.

The reindeer that attacked Firmin moments ago stood to its feet. Shaking itself off, it cast a malicous glare in his direction. "We gan to forget that this savage jist cut a piece o' my antler aff? Been growin' that since the last snows. The ladies were finally takin' notice oh me. Only fairs that I get tae bite one o' those fingers aff!"

"Fergus, enough! Yer antler will grow back, ye ken that. I doubt oor guests appendages would grow back in a hurry though."

Fergus snorted as Firmin clenched his fist, noticing the intent in the reindeer's stare. "Lucky oor Chief is in a good humour stranger. I'd sleep wee one eye open whilst ye visit these parts. I get affae hungry at night ye ken."

"Fergus!" Erskine drew the sword on his hip and thrust the hilt against Fergus' rear, sending the beast running. After taking a moment to ensure his Chieftain had returned up the hill, he nodded solemnly at Firmin. "Apolgies for earlier, it's nae very often we get a Sassenach wonderin' oor hills. Truly, a friend of Rupert's is welcome at oor table any time, even if ye do speak the same tongue as the Butcher King."

"Thank you," said Firmin, resheathing his sword. The swirling mists danced in the air, almost hypnotic as it moved around him; only the sharp grumble in his stomach gave him the alertness to fight the increasing weight of his flickering eyelids.

"Ach, nae worries." Replied Erskine. With his hand on Rupert's shoulder, he turned to walk up the hill. "McBeaths and MacBeans have always looked oot for one another, eh Ru?"

"Come on Erskine," said Rupert, coaxing the old Chief up the hill. "My pal has nae been blessed with a thick coat, nor the fat tae go along wee it! Let's reminisce aroon the fire!" He nodded to Firmin as they began to trudge up the steep incine.

The peak of Scalds Law would have provided a wonderful view. However, with the current weather, Firmin could barely see his hand in front of his face. Even if it had been the most lucid of evenings, Firmin would not have paid attention, his head fixed below him, looking for any signs of life; like a sentry peering through the battlement, scanning for any signs of the enemy. Through the thick fog, he could see the hazy glow of firelight as they descended off of the exposed peak to an area that was sheltered by an overarching rock. Finally. There was a yearning within him that continued to grow, not just for food and rest, but for peace. For safety. For her. It had felt like an eternity since he had marched North as the newly appointed Knight Commander of the imperial army. An eternity since he changed his fate forever when he chose to save Finn from the wolves jaws, and even longer since he had seen Barabel. He didn't even know if she was still alive, but every hardship he had endured was for her. For the chance to meet her again. To be happy once more.

Firmin sat alone on a boulder, perched in front of the fire with a bowl of hot soup. The woman who handed it to him spoke of mushrooms and herbs, but her accent was too thick, and Firmin's mind too vacant to pick up what she had said. Regardless of the dubious ingredients, Firmin enjoyed the feeling of warmth trickling down his throat and stoking the dying embers in his stomach. He slowly mixed the soup as he looked up to the celebration taking place; causing his face to light up for the first time in hours. Of course Rupert is in the centre of it all, he chuckled to himself.