Lost in the Woods

Chapter 8

Loki stumbled through the hallways, toes catching on the marble floor. His hands reached out vainly for the support of the walls, bony fingers scrabbling on the slick, gold surface. The wound across his side gaped open as he ran and he could feel sluggish liquid oozing along his torso and down his legs. Small splatters of red followed him down the long corridors, smearing out a trail for those in pursuit. He felt his vulnerability like a presence beside him, mocking his helplessness in these echoing aisles. There was nowhere he could hide in this castle where they wouldn't find him.

The very thought of being dragged back to his cell sent a terror so acute through him that the demigod doubled over, hunching against a smooth wall. His panicked breathing sounded loud in his ears and he tried to slow his pants. The reflective floor shone Loki's face back at himself and he winced at the sight. His eyes were wide in their shadowed sockets and his hair, once so smooth and controlled now lay in warped strands over his prominent cheekbones. He looked feral, like a savage from the wilds.

A flicker of an idea warmed Loki's heart and he straightened up.

"Wilds... the Black Mountains... Perhaps?" his voice was thin in the cavernous hallways, frail but hopeful. His weakened heart began to beat a little stronger and the despair that weighed him down fell away. The glimmer of a plan began to form in his cunning mind and he took a purposeful step away from the wall. After another halting step forward Loki found that he was pelting once more through the palace. His unbound feet skimmed the floor, and in the mirrored surfaces of the building he could see his pale form flash by like lightning. Now that he had direction, nothing was going to get in his way.

The stables were still darkened by the gloom of early morning. The lithe form of the demigod flickered between the shadows, starling the horses out of their sleep. A few snorted in fear, catching the rusty scent of his blood in the air, but one leant forward and whickered in greeting.

"Slepnir," Loki cooed, reaching out to caress the stallion's quivering muzzle, "my son we have a long journey ahead."

The horse's black eyes blinked steadily, watching Loki as he fumbled with the big animal's saddle. He had managed to sneak back into his room and hastily pack a handful of clothes into a pouch, along with a book for casting spells, an assortment of food he pilfered from the kitchen and a thick blanket. A knife was already tied to his ankle and a bow slung across his ravaged shoulders. He had even managed to coax Jörmungandr from beneath his bed, and the serpent now lay curled at the bottom of his bag. His heart ached at the thought of leaving Fenrir behind, but the wolf was too hard to get to, and daybreak was upon them.

Finally the tricker's shaking fingers were able to secure the pack to Slepnir's saddle, and he hurled it onto the horse's back hastily. The buckles to secure it were stiff with disuse and he cursed the tough leather through gritted teeth. Outside the stable block he could hear people already walking about.

With a final tug the saddle was secured and he swung into it with a muffled grunt of pain. Slepnir shifted uneasily beneath him, the horse sensing his rider's agony. Loki placed a calming hand on the animal's massive shoulder, before directing him at the barred stable doors. The horse, trained to battle frost giants and raging monsters charged at the flimsy wooden barrier without hesitation and burst through into the courtyard beyond with ease.

People looked up as the gargantuan stallion reared, pawing at the guards already rushing towards the escaped convict. Loki clung to Slepnir's mane as the stallion leapt over a group of armed men and shot between two buildings. He leant forward, head ducking low to avoid signs and lampposts that rushed by. The clattering sound of Slepnir's hooves rang out loudly in the almost deserted streets and Loki wished fervently that he had magic to muffle the sound.