A/N Yo, wassup? I really don't have aything to say... so I guess I'll ramble for A while and if you want you can skip the bolded stuff...ummm...yeah. SO if you're still reading this, I must say you are either incredibly bored or have no life. I seriously hope it's the former. okay I'll shut up now so y'all can get along wtih your reading...
~Will POV~
Hands grabbed Will and dragged him from his cell. He was dumped on the floor of a room mostly occupied by a fire pit. The fire caused the small room to be sweltering hot.
Will's shirt was ripped off and he was hoisted up by his arms. The two men holding him had a tight grip, as if to make sure he couldn't escape. A third man pulled an iron rod out of the fire, an oakleaf shape with an 'R' in it glowed cherry red on the end.
Realizing what was happening, Will began to struggle. The two men just held him tighter. Will howled as the brand touched his skin. He could fell it, smell it, burning the skin of his back.
His shoulder was on fire. All he knew was pain.
'It's started,' he thought before he fell blessedly into unconsciousness.
~Horace POV~
Sitting in the meeting hall in Hallasholm brought back memories of the first time Horace had been in Skandia.
They were planning a war then. Now they were planning revenge. It would take a week to reach the Steppes, and then their plan would unfold.
"You won't be forgotten, Will," Horace promised his greatest friend and boyhood enemy.
~Will POV~
If he looked far enough over his shoulder, Will could see the brand burned into the skin of his right shoulder. He knew it would eventually turn white as it faded into a scar, but he would carry it forever.
Will shivered. He could see the goose bumps on his bare arms and chest. Of course the Tumujai would not have seen fit to give him a new shirt. He was only a prisoner.
Rolling his eyes, Will began to stretch. Once his muscles were lose, he droppe3d to the ground and did as many push ups as he could without his arms giving out, ignoring the pain in his shoulder.
'I won't go soft here,' he vowed. 'Just like on Skojhkill (sp? It's the little island where the Skandians stopped in book 2...), I won't stop training.'
~Gilan POV~
Gilan knew he and Halt were expert archers, which was why they'd been =put in charge of the archers currently staying in Skandia, but he wished Halt would stop scaring them out of their wits. Besides that, there were a few who whispered about the King Duncan, and none of it was flattering.
Gilan cleared his throat.
"Oberjarl Erak may not have had enough authority over you to execute you for treason, but I am under no such restrictions, and suffer no qualms about it either. I don't care how few of you there may be, the next man caught slandering the king will be hung," he announced loudly. "We meet here tomorrow at this time to begin training."
"I never knew you were so hard, Gilan," Halt commented lightly as the two left the archery range.
"Someone had to do something," Gilan muttered.
"I would have said the same thing, Duncan's a good man," Halt said. "Will on the other hand, would have worked that magic of his and had them all smiling and skipping around and praising Duncan within an hour, and become beset friends with half of them. I'll never understand how he charmed people."
Gilan put a hand on his one time teacher's shoulder.
"We won't ever forget him, but we can't dwell on his death, either. Promise me, you'll let him go."
"After his murderers are dead, I'll let him go," Halt said quietly, before slipping away into the shadows. "And that's all we can ask," Gilan said to himself as he went to see how Erak was doing getting together a fighting force.
A/N REview Please! And none of that OmG! I LUV IT SOOO MUCH crap! give me something to work wtih people!