a king's game

chapter five

A heavy mist had settled over the fields, hovering close to the ground. Swathes of mist wafted around his legs, playing around them as Payton dragged them limp across the ground. Dozens of horses had trotted through here before him, trampling down the grass, churning up the earth. The ground was still wet from the rain a few days ago, and at times Payton's foot sank into the mud up to his ankle, soaking his shoes and feet.
Walking for days in wet shoes had chafed his feet until the red skin had blistered red. Eventually, however, the blisters had also been worn down. Now the shoes made of light leather were brown with mud and blood oozed from the seams and dried there into a dark crust, all of which the boy wiped off with his other shoe, balancing on one leg.

"Move", the man riding beside him, barked harshly, poking the boy rough in the ribs with the wooden end of his spear.
That was as far as they dared go. But to lay hands on a Burdened? His arms might be bound, tied tightly behind his back, that he could barely feel his fingertips, and yet he would be able to draw his weapon, and it would snatch some to their deaths before they could overpower him.
In theory.
However, the truth was, he was debilitated, feverish and exhausted to such an extent that he fell asleep while walking not just once. Moreover, even in the best of health, he was no fighter, being small, slender, and clumsy with weapons.

Albeit he was obviously not a threat, he did his best to meet their fears and acted as fearless as he could, provided he was conscious.

There were moments when the fever seized him, where he found himself in the most tangled depths of his memory, and suddenly he was a child again, and a blizzard raged around the Tower.
He had hid under a holey blanket then, squinting his eyes tightly shut and telling himself there was no storm until the gusts of wind stopped whistling and the first rays of sun announced that the blizzard was over.
Oh, how he wished he could pull a blanket over his head right now and talk away the shackles around his sore wrists, the blisters on his feet, his impending demise.

He was too young to die.

Again and again this thought struck him, and he wanted to stamp his foot like a child in defiance at this injustice. Would it be so reprehensible?

Not so long ago, he had been a child, running through the empty, chilly corridors of the castle. And barely a handful of years had passed since he had sneaked out of his lessons to kiss a girl in a field.
Was he not burdened for a reason? Chosen to full fill a destiny other than dying after barely two decades of meaningless existence?
It was the arrogance of a young man who had always been taught that his life outweighed that of hundreds of ordinary mortals, that spoke out of him. Yet the last few days had taught him - no, downright beaten into him - humility.

The worst was not the disgust he was met with, nor the slurs they threw at him, well aware that he understood each one. Rather, it was the stench that emanated from him after days of walking without washing, it was the constant observation, the lack of any privacy when he needed to relieve himself.
It was the encrusted dirt on his arms, the foul water in the bucket to which he had to bend his head in order to drink.
It was his reflection looking at him from the greenish surface with blank eyes, a face he did not recognize under all the grime and dried blood.

At nightfall, they would tie him to a tree, and then he would be free to sleep among the roots, at least for a few hours. But even in his sleep, the war haunted him.
As soon as he closed his eyes, the battle in front of the tower played in an endless loop. When the images became too gruesome, when he felt the breath of his pursuers on the back of his neck again, he woke up, drenched in sweat, desperately gasping for air.

It was in the third night in a row of waking up wheezing for air that a burly figure loomed above him when he opened his eyes. It was pitch dark in the forest where they had set up camp, but the shadow stood out even from the blackness of its surroundings, darker, as if swallowing the faint light of the surrounding stars.