The Prince's Angel

Chapter Seven - A Flight to Remember

Very loud, hot breaths in his ear roused Stefan. His eyelids slid open, and there was Torin. Their hands were tied together, their backs pressed against each other. Torin was crying, hence the noisy breathing.

"Stef, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to wander off, I just... wanted to be alone, and... I'm sorry." He sniffed, and Stefan could feel his little brother's head droop. Then it snapped back up again. "Atara! Stefan, where's Atara?"

"I don't know..."

Scanning their surroundings, a damp, low-ceilinged cave with a glimpse of the forest outside, Stefan realized Atara was nowhere to be found. Real fear rooted in his heart. He forced himself to keep calm for Torin's sake.

"We'll get out of this, don't worry. We'll find a way."

"Sure you will, boy." From the shadows deeper inside the cave echoed a menacing, disembodied voice. Torin cowered against Stefan.

Heavy footsteps came closer, then stopped.

A hulking body materialized out of the darkness, and Stefan shrunk back. It was a man the size of a bear, thickly built in the chest and arms and clothed in a filthy tunic and pants, his shoulders draped with animal hides. Perhaps he wouldn't have been so scary if Stefan hadn't recognized him as a foreigner, with dark hair, bushy beard, and leathery bronze skin. The only anomaly about him was the piercing blue eyes that glared at him and Torin from beneath wild eyebrows.

"Just try it," grunted the bear-man, in a surprisingly gentle voice.

Stefan couldn't say anything for several minutes. Torin was shaking uncontrollably.

"Who... who do you think you are?" Stefan finally mustered the courage to spit out. "Kidnapping innocent boys and their nanny for no reason!"

The bear-man dropped an iron pot with a loud clang and turned to face them, his furs swinging. "Trust me, little prince, I know who you are," he growled.

At this, Stefan quieted. This wasn't good. The hulking man knew his parentage; knew that his father was the King. Worse, Da had just left yesterday, sailing to the Islands to put down a band of merciless raiders. There was no chance of him coming to their rescue.

An hour slowly passed. The bear-man busied himself with making some sort of stew, stirring it over a small fire. Eventually, he offered some to the boys. Stefan vehemently shook his head.

"Suit yourself." He sat down on a rock and began sharpening a wicked-looking axe with a stone. Torin whimpered.

"Quiet, boy," the man grunted. "This isn't for you."

"Who are you anyway?" Stefan demanded. He'd had enough of this being captured business.

"Alemeth Bloodcrag."

"And why are you keeping us here?"

"First of all, little prince, I'm not the one who captured you. Second, I don't know why they're keeping you here. I don't ask questions. I'm just a guide."

"A guide for who?"

"For us."

Stefan might have had the urge to laugh if they hadn't been in such a dire situation. Five or six men had come crashing out of the bushes, most of them as large and mountainous as Alemeth Bloodcrag, except for one, who was obviously the leader. He couldn't have been any taller than five-and-a-half feet, but what he lacked in size he made up for in boastful presence. Stefan could tell that the man constantly went around with his chest puffed out to make himself look important. A sword that was too big for him was strapped across his back, and he sported far too many daggers on his belt. He reminded Stefan of a rat, with his narrow face and beady eyes that darted back and forth.