The Last Beacon

XXXV

"Oh no," Laurenz muttered.

Sascha wanted to move, but somehow, she knew that the axe would be swung down on her if she tried to escape now. She gulped and glanced around nervously.

"Oho, I remember this one," one of the dwarves said, nodding at Laurenz, "the king will be very pleased with our find. He'll finally get his justice for the actions of this beardless fool."

"What about this one?" The other asked, gesturing to Sascha.

"She's clearly a part of his schemes," the first dwarf responded, "we'll take 'er too."

With a quick manoeuvre, both dwarves simultaneously swung their axes so that they were poking into Laurenz and Sascha's backs.

"Move it," one of them barked, forcing the pair forwards.

Sascha and Laurenz both stumbled forward, feeling the sharp prodding of the tip of the axe blades. Sascha looked anxiously up at Laurenz, and he returned the look with a hint of sadness in his eyes.

"Sascha, I'm sorry that I got you into this," he admitted, looking down.

"It's not your fault," she whispered back.

"Shut it!" One of the dwarves growled, jabbing Sascha in the back. She whimpered as the blade poked harder into her skin.

The dwarves led them down countless hallways, and Sascha had quickly lost track of where they had been.

After many minutes, Sascha and Laurenz were ushered into an enormous hall, one that was decorated with a white marble floor and golden-coloured columns. At the end of the huge room was a throne with a dwarf sat upon it.

They were pushed inside, shoved further into the room.

They were stopped when they were a few paces away from the throne, and Sascha felt something whack the back of her knees, causing her to fall. She ignored the shock that rippled up her legs as her knees hit the marble tile. She heard a thump beside her, and she knew that the same thing had happened to Laurenz.

Without warning, Sascha's arms were yanked backwards, and she felt thick rope being tied around her wrists behind her back.

She heard a throat being cleared, and she looked up to face the dwarf upon the throne who was peering down at them, wearing a judgemental look.

"Well ain't this a surprise," the dwarf, whom Sascha assumed to be King Mortimalus, said roughly, a twisted grin on his face.

Sascha tried to pull at the ropes binding her wrists, but the rope was thick and strong.

Mortimalus was large, bigger than all the other dwarves, and even from where Sascha was kneeling, she could tell that he would rival her in height. His hair and beard were red, lined with grey streaks from age. His beard was thick, adorned with many different sized braids. A thick, ugly scar took over his facial features, starting from his right temple and running all the way down to the corner of his lip. A huge golden crown sat atop his head, and he had various animal pelts draped over his shoulders atop his dark attire.

"I never thought you'd come close to ever showing your face anywhere near here, hunter," the king continued.

"It was not my favourite decision," Laurenz muttered.

"What makes you think I'd let you go after what you did? Oh no, I'm not letting you get away this time. I'll make sure you suffer for your crimes, hunter," Mortimalus snarled.

Sascha looked up, gathering a rushed idea.

"Excuse me sir—er, your majesty," she started, trying to think of a way out of their situation.