Huntsman

Chapter 9

Abram was frozen before the old woman while the rider had his fist still clenched around her hair. His thoughts swirled in chaotic turmoil to the point that it became impossible to focus. All he could manage was to stare into the defiant glare the woman aimed at him.

"The queen must be obeyed," the rider growled. His fingers curled tighter to the elderly lady's grey dreads, the pressure causing her to squirm and cry out in pain.

Abram's eyes darted to his leader. He could feel a cold sweat beginning to form upon his brow. The gloves covering his hands became sticky, his helmet felt like it was suffocating him. He managed to move one of his feet, but instead of moving forward, it slid back.

The lead rider loosened his grip around the old lady. His other hand went to his sword on his side, ready to draw it out. "Do not disobey your orders!"

Abram froze again, his eyes darting between the rider and the woman. This was it. His mother had warned him; he knew all of this would happen someday. He had tried to ignore it, to hope for the best. Glancing at the old woman once more, he found no reason for killing her. What had she done to deserve to be murdered in her home?

Without a second thought, Abram darted out the door. He didn't think about the crowd that had gathered outside or the fact that he knocked over a woman as he ran through, and he didn't think to get on his horse. His feet carried him in a clumsy sprint toward the trees and he was grateful for the lightweight armor he'd grown accustom to.

"Huntsman, stop!" The rider mounted his horse, yelling again as he flicked the reins. In a matter of seconds, he had caught up to Abram.

Abram tried to run faster, throwing his helmet off so he could see and breathe clearer. All his training had prepared him for quick movement, but nothing could prepare him to outrun a horse. As he turned his head to look back, his vision was filled with the pommel of the rider's sword slamming against his head, knocking him over. White spots filled his vision, his temple throbbing. The last thing he heard was the rider cursing him out, then all went black.

**********

"He's coming to..."

A pulsating thump pounded in Abram's head as his eyelids peeled open. His vision wavered at first, but the fuzzy images soon turned into a clear sight of where he was. He'd been brought to a dull room with cold walls and a dark floor, the queen and the rider he'd been with standing before him. Glancing about, he lifted himself from the ground and tried to determine where exactly they were standing. No doubt it was somewhere in the castle, but it was not a ward he had been to.

"Welcome back, Huntsman," the queen spoke. Her red-tinted lips split into a grin and her eyes sparkled in the dull torchlight.

"How's your head?" the rider asked with a sneer.

Abram couldn't help but rub the sore spot on his temple at the mention of it, and the tenderness of it to the touch caused him to shoot a glare at the rider. "She was an old woman," he said. "I couldn't be the one to take her life." The vibration of his voice caused his head to pound even harder.

"She's a traitor, and traitors will not be tolerated," the queen said rather mildly. Her palms dragged across the front of her burgundy dress as she smoothed a crease.

"A traitor to what? What did she do that deserved death?"

"Being a traitor is worthy of death itself!" the rider exclaimed, jerking himself forward to intimidate Abram. His sword was suddenly unsheathed and against the Huntsman's throat, and his lips parted in a snarl.

The queen grabbed his shoulder, pulling him back. "You did not understand the situation," she started, directing her gaze to Abram. "You were unprepared, therefor your reaction was only to be expected. You are not to be punished. However, if you attempt to flee from your duties again in such a manner, there will be consequences."

Abram suddenly felt very trapped. His hands were tied without using an inch of rope. He was pledged to do the queen's killing, and no matter who the victim, there was no turning away. He was powerless.

"Are you deaf, Boy? The queen has spoken to you!" The rider attempted to lunge forward again, but the queen kept a firm grip on his shoulder.

"It's alright, Borice, he has done nothing wrong. He's probably in pain and, from the looks of that bruise, I do not blame him," the queen said. "Try to be a little gentler with them, will you?" She turned and gave Abram a charming smile, her ruby lips able to melt any man's heart. "Just remember, you are sworn to serve me, that meaning you must not back down. Your mother would not appreciate knowing you are the cause for any harm that should befall her."

Abram wanted more than anything to grip his fists around her throat. His mother was his world, and the fact that the queen was threatening to harm her made the violence inside him stir. He couldn't act out upon it, however, for the hundreds upon hundreds of guards and huntsman roaming the castle would be summoned in but a moment to skewer him with sword and spear, and ultimately harm his mother just as threatened.

"Take the poor boy to get that wound taken care of," she said. Gliding across the floor, she caressed Abram's jaw and bit her lip. "I can't be having any injured men around, now, can I?" She smiled again, and Abram noticed the fragrance of her floral perfume. His eyes drank in her perfect skin and youthful complexion, and the temptation of giving into her seducive ways nearly overpowered him. Sickened with himself, he crushed the thought, and did everything he could to be disgusted with her.

As if disappointed, the queen let her hand slide away from him, but not before she brushed his arm. Leaning in to reach his ear, she whispered, "Don't worry, you won't be able to resist my power for long. Your father couldn't."

Abram felt hurtled into a whole new level of rage. He knew his father, and he knew he was never a man to give into such wickedness. After all, he loved Abram and Abram's mother. Still, the idea burned in him and crept throughout his mind until he knew he'd never be able to shake it.

"Come on," the rider said, slapping Abram on the back to get him moving.

Abram followed him, the whole time imagining what he would like to do to Her Majesty and her loyal stooge. It was then at that moment that he promised himself he would do everything it took to escape the claws of the wicked queen, and if that meant her throat being cut, he didn't mind.