Niklas came to, but as he realized his current predicament–as his body now hung limp, slung over the shoulder of a large Wiffeld townsman–he kept up the guise that he was still unconscious, only just barely cracking his eyes open so that he could peek about at his surroundings. Obviously some hours had passed since he had been attacked, for it was now fully night and ominously dark. The traitors had spirited him away from within the very walls of the Castle itself–and Niklas would say they “somehow” managed it, except for the fact that the other occupants of the otherwise mighty stronghold numbered only six, and that’s if you counted the mule.

  “Hurry up!” He heard Crawford growl out from up ahead.

  The group of scoundrels hurried on their way for several more minutes. In the meantime, Niklas experimented with briefly snatching more glimpses of his surroundings while maintaining the illusion that he was yet unconscious. Luckily, after the first few tries, he realized that whoever had him thrown over their shoulder was at the back of the procession, and so there was nobody in eyeshot to notice his awakening. Judging it safe to slightly raise his head, he gaped in alarm as he noticed the Castle was quite far in the distance!

  By the time the others even realize I am gone it will have been days, and God knows what will have happened to me by then! He thought to himself. I cannot rely on the chance of a rescue… I must wait for the opportunity to escape on my own!

  Suddenly the sound of footsteps stopped and he felt his captor halt in place. After a moment a new patter of more distant footsteps rang out, growing closer and louder as it continued. Somebody new was approaching the group, although Niklas could not see whoever it was from his current position.

  “Have you got him?” Asked a voice which was familiar to Niklas, yet which he could not immediately place.

  “Aye.” Crawford grunted in reply. “And they’re all none the wiser. We took care of any witnesses.”

  “Good, good.” Said the other man. “Baron Otkorn will be most pleased…”

  “Ouch!”

  Once again Thomas clasped the bridge of his nose between his thumb and his forefinger, as he was attempting to bend it back to its original straight and even appearance.

  “Come off it, man!” Nayantara laughed as she watched him. “Just keep it as it is. Scars are a warrior’s pride, after all!”

  Missy, who lay beside the two Hunters on the hay scattered across the floor of the warmly-lit stable honked over at him, causing Thomas to shoot her a most uncharacteristic brief glare, before he resumed his attempts at facial reconstruction.

  “Ouch!”

  After their battle against the mysterious, agile black-clad man, Thomas’ broken nose had healed quite asymmetrically. Since he had noticed this deformity, Thomas had spent a good deal of time attempting to pressure his face back into its original form, but to no avail. Nayantara sighed, exasperated by his most recent attempt, and rested her head back upon her outstretched arms as she stared up at the ceiling. She exchanged a glance with Missy, who blinked slowly at her before rolling her eyes, which made Nayantara grin in reply.

  Suddenly, the door to the stables flew open and a person entered at a run. The two Hunters inside could not immediately make out their identity due to how the light coming from behind them transformed them into a black silhouette.

  “Th-the Count!” The unknown man stammered out between great heaving breaths, for evidently he had been running for a great deal of time. “The Count has been taken by a group of intruders!”

  Hearing this, the pair shot up to their feet in alarm. As the man ducked back out through the doorway and ran off towards the Castle proper the two followed after with matching serious and concerned looks on their faces. Swiftly they ran together up the stairs, through the entrance hall and the ballroom beyond it, continuing further into the dining room where the Castle’s Servants had already been gathered. Belfort and Hemsley noted the Hunters’ arrival, their expressions nervous, pale and grim.

  “I shall inform the Countess as well!” Said the man behind them, and before the two could turn to confirm who the messenger was the door clicked shut behind him, leaving those he had gathered alone together.

  “What is going on?” Nayantara asked the servants.

  Belfort shook his head as he responded. “While we were all separated and indisposed, bandits snuck inside the Castle walls and made off with Count Niklas.”

  “He says he ‘eard the Count refer to one of thems as ‘Crawford’.” Said Hemsley, seemingly referring to the man who had just shepherded them all together into this room. This information rousing a startled look out of Thomas.

  “Crawford?!” He demanded. “That elder from Wiffeld? Has he lost his damn mind?”

  “It’s a good thing that man was skulking about, then.” Replied Nayantara. “Otherwise we would have discovered this scheme much too late to do anything about it, let alone know the identity of the perpetrator behind it!”

  “But who was that just now–he one who raised the alarm in the first place?” Asked Thomas, sounding confused.

  Belfort looked at him with a little surprise at first, before saying, “I suppose you must not enter the Castle as much, what with how often you stay out in the stable with the ass–I mean, the mule.” He quickly corrected himself, looking about guiltily as if he had committed a dangerous faux pas.

  Hemsley tapped his lip in contemplation. “I believe his name was…”

  Uldred was tired. She was left perpetually drowsy from the combination of the dark room and the comfort of the pillows and blankets heaped upon her bed, and yet she was also tired of her own constant anxiety, along with the heightened emotions she had experienced hours earlier in her argument with that small, infuriating man who happened to be her husband. All she wanted was to be left alone for the night... and the morning after. And perhaps even for a good week or so going forward. Maybe even all the way ‘till the end of the year.

  Every so often she would be reminded of the upcoming Ball: that hateful celebration during which she would be forced, for the first time in her adult life, to leave the confines of her territory and her home and travel to the bustling capital of the Kingdom. She could already picture a million judgmental eyes looking down on her and her lack of fashion, form, etiquette or grace. The sensation that her steadily worsening imagination spurred in her was like a cold knife piercing through the back of her brain, and she would feel her lungs constrict and her stomach twist with fright.

  Then, interrupting her spiraling thoughts, came a knocking at her door. It was a hurried, impatient knocking, followed by muffled calls that she could not make out through the thick and solid wood.

  Her silhouette rose, the only illumination entering into that dark space being the cold moonlight which shone through a rare break in the clouds and into the window. So angered was Uldred by this disturbance that she considered simply driving her greatsword in one great thrust through both the door and the hooligan stood beyond it, but she grit her teeth and stayed her hand.

  Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  …No, I will answer this caller. She thought to herself with gritted teeth. And if their explanation does not justify this disturbance, I will crush them whole, no matter who they are!

  The door was practically torn ajar and Uldred stepped out, clad only in a huge, bespoke nightgown made to fit her massive form. At first she glared down angrily at the man before her, before her expression turned more to one of confusion as she took in his tattered and harried demeanor. His pants, and what was left of his shirt, were matted with some familiar dark liquid which shone red where the light hit it. Was it stained with wine? No, that’s clearly…

  “My Lady, this is an emergency! The Count has been kidnapped!” Announced the man, thoroughly distracting her from her observations.

  The giantess’ eyes grew wide, and without a word she turned back to face the inside of her room, her eyes taking in her clothes and armor where they haphazardly lay strewn about.

  “It happened not even an hour ago–if we leave now we might still catch up to them!”

  She shut her eyes and grimaced, realizing that it would take too long to gather and furnish herself in her usual attire. Wordlessly, she reached into the dark recesses of her hoard and retrieved from it her massive sword, still in its scabbard, and she quickly threw the the leather belt it was affixed to over her the front of her simple chemise, followed by her boots and her gloves as well.

  “Walk.” She commanded her visitor, slamming the door shut behind her with a ringing thud. “And while you lead, you can explain everything which has transpired, Rochester.”

  “That is him…” Confirmed the familiar voice, while the nefarious man it originated from stroked his chin as he stared at Niklas where he hung, limp and helpless in the grip of one of the henchman. Of course, under this close scrutiny, the Count had resumed his sleeping act.

  “Are you sure he’s really unconscious?” Asked the voice, causing a faint nervous sweat to bead upon Niklas’ brow.

  He heard no reply to this query, only some shuffling and rummaging about. Then–! There was the sudden shock of cold metal on his skin, and a bright point of pain erupted in his side as a dagger was jabbed harshly under his shirt. It took every fiber of his willpower not to cry out and open his eyes in that moment! Yet he endured the unexpected and uncomfortable sensations, and Niklas only allowed himself to shift a bit, furrow his brow and moan as one would when experiencing such discomfort while deeply asleep.

  “Hmph.” The mysterious person grumbled, sounding satisfied. “I guess we won’t have to tie him up then, at least.” A wave of relief swept over Niklas at his captor’s lack of foresight, and then again as the knife was removed from his side.

  “Where are we taking him, then?” Elder Crawford cut in, his voice laced with obvious impatience.

  The other man did not respond with words at first, merely clicking his tongue in distaste. “You all will follow along with me. Together we will deliver him to the delegation from Otkorn.”

  Otkorn? Niklas exclaimed silently within his mind. So that dastardly Baron is behind this as well? I should have known!

  Crawford grumbled something incomprehensible under his breath, evidently less than thrilled with this arrangement, although he offered no further protest. Niklas felt a sudden and uncomfortable lurching as the person who was carrying him resumed his stride, following after the rest of the party as they began to move once more.

  I must find a way to escape and return to the Castle on my own! With Uldred and the Hunters there I will be more than safe from any further attacks.

  As the kidnappers continued on their way Niklas could feel that the path became more treacherous and inclined. From this observation Niklas could infer a rough idea of their current location, for a set of small mountains lay directly south of Castle Petrice, and a trek leading up them would account for the difficulties his courier seemed to be facing as they struggled against the rough, steep terrain. Several times Niklas risked opening his eyes to scan their surroundings, but he was forced to shut them again immediately, for the mysterious men that the Wiffeld folk had joined up with now trudged along at the rear of the party, and Niklas could risk being found out.

  The Count’s heart began to sink in his chest. This is becoming more and more hopeless as time goes on! What am I going to do? He bemoaned internally. And I still feel weak from my overexertion at Coronton too, so how am I to escape from so many men alone?

  He clenched his fists, attempting to muster up the courage to attempt some kind of escape while his captors were yet lackadaisical and unaware. But right as he was about to make his move, he felt the person carrying him come to a sudden halt–one so sudden, in fact, that the movement painfully jostled Niklas in his ribs and chest! Ahead of their group, a commotion was being kicked up, although Niklas could not exactly make out what it was about. Perhaps the two forces that had joined together to kidnap him were having a dispute and coming to blows?

  “What the devil is that?” He heard his captor whisper under her breath, her voice trembling with a mixture of horror and disbelief.

  Then, further ahead, a horrible howling shriek broke the tense silence that had fallen over the party! It was a horrible, inhuman wailing. Niklas could not rightly tell if the sound was one made by Man or Beast. He then heard a noise which sounded something like a more amplified version of the whistling of arrows in flight, which was shortly followed by a meaty, squelching sort of thud! He felt the woman beneath him suddenly falter from an impact so heavy that she stumbled a few steps back, and she sputtered and gasped wetly for a moment before she collapsed in a heap to the rocky soil, thereby bringing Niklas right down with her!

  His act was well and truly over. Niklas scrambled away from the fresh corpse and rose to a seated position, turning about to see what had occurred. The sight he then bore witness to was truly gruesome At first, with its back set against the bright moon, he thought that the creature before them had to be some kind of massive spider, one with long, long legs which lifted it up dozens of feet into the air, upon which a tiny main body was held aloft as if on stilts. Only after it had shifted closer could he see that the body of the ‘spider’ resembled that of a curled-up human infant, but one whose head was disproportionately massive! It then wailed out an agonizingly sharp cry from its crooked mouth, which gaped open large enough that it could easily swallow up a fully grown man. Its face had neither eyes, nor ears, nor a nose–they all seemed to have been given up to make more space for its grotesque mouth. The inside of that maw was lined with red, puffy and swollen gums from which many broken, discolored teeth which jut up haphazardly.

  Niklas watched as that sickening thing lifted up the gargantuan, yet deceptively slender leg which it had used to impale the woman who had been carrying him, bringing the body up to its disgusting, drooling jaws in order to feast upon the dead flesh!

  “W-what is it? What is that?!” Niklas heard a panicked cry ring out from behind where he sat.

  “A Monster!” He heard the voice of Crawford shout in response. “But what is it doing this deep inside of the territory?”

  “They’re real?!” The unknown first speaker spluttered out incredulously, drawing an exasperated huff from the old villager in response.

  Niklas turned to look at the source of this commotion, and he was finally able to gaze upon the mysterious benefactor who had aided Crawford in committing this heinous crime. He was a man who was for the most part tall and thin man, although he sported a hefty gut. His sharp-featured, narrow face sported thick furrowed brows and a distinctive, curly handlebar mustache.

  “You!” Niklas cried in outrage as he recognized the countenance of the late Mayor Borney’s faithful servant, who looked back at the Count with a start.

  Realizing he had little time now to act, Niklas scrambled up to his feet and broke into as best a run as he could manage in his weakened state, veering towards the treeline that started a little ways further off, and which was the very opposite direction of the Monster, which was caught up in further ravaging the men and women from Wiffeld!

  “Crawford, you must stop him!” The mustachioed servant cried out from the midst of the carnage.

  But the Elder needed no such reminder, for he had already disappeared into the thick brush in hot pursuit of the little Count.