When Angels Fall

Chapter 37 - The Traitor

Mikal

Autumn winds howled, lashing against his face and upsetting his hair. Prewinter cold seeped through the tears on his worn out coat, making him shiver. His head throbbed and his legs ached as he walked through rocks and dirt, chains clanking heavily with every step he took. He only slowed his pace for a moment to catch his breath, before a sudden tug forced him to keep moving forward. He winced as the metal collar around his neck bit into his skin, and he looked up with a bitter frown at the guard who walked before him, leading him by a long suspended chain.

This could not be happening...

It had been a whole week since he was knocked out in Vilfred's tent. He did not understand what had happened then. And he still did not understand what was happening now. All he knew was that by the time he woke up, the battle was already over. That they had lost. And that he was branded a traitor.

Mikal Nordstrom, the most important figure in the North, had been branded a traitor for giving false information about the Vausterian forces, luring his own people into a trap and leading them to an outrageous defeat.

Vilfred had not even given him a chance to explain. Not that Mikal had anything to explain anyway. He had told them what he knew of Tristan's plan. He did not know anything more than what he told them. He hadn't hidden anything. He hadn't betrayed them. But no matter how many times he said so, no one would listen to him.

Vilfred had not spoken to Mikal since they fled Grytia. Neither had any of the knights or nobles who had once regarded him as a hero. And now he was forced to march at the very back of the remaining forces as a prisoner, along with the workers and the slaves, and a few winged guards.

How could Vilfred do this to him? Vilfred, his beloved brother...

Mikal knew that Vilfred was angry. Frustrated by their terrible defeat. But he was certain that Vilfred didn't really believe him to be a traitor. Vilfred wouldn't really do any real harm to him. And eventually he was going to listen to him.

"I need to speak with my brother," Mikal said as he turned to the nearest guard. He had lost count of how many times he had asked to speak with Vilfred during the past week, and how many times his request had been ignored. "Please," Mikal pleaded, suddenly stopping in his tracks.

"Move along traitor!" the guard leading him spat as he pulled him along, and Mikal tripped, falling to the ground.

Another guard stepped in at once, aiming a brutal kick to his stomach. Mikal groaned and doubled over, before a third guard came to join the game, punching him in the chest...

For the following days, Mikal marched in silence, knowing better than to grab the guards' attention again. But as the march dragged and more days passed, his silence had rather grown into a resigned acceptance of his hopeless state. Dia cawed as he flew behind Mikal, his cries loud and mournful, as if lamenting the fate of his precious owner.

Mikal could not tell exactly how long they had marched, but it must have been over a month already. Judging by how shorter the days had grown, and how long the nights stretched, he could tell that winter was approaching. And by the chilling Northern winds that slapped against him, and the downpour of late autumn rains that soaked his shivering body, he knew he was too close to home.

Home. His mother.

A sliver of hope shone before him as he thought of his mother. Perhaps his freedom lied within his mother's hands. Yes. Only his mother would be able to sort out this whole mess. Only she would believe him. Only she could save him.

Mikal took in a deep breath as he spotted the cold grey stone walls of Nordenvania ahead, longing for the moment when he ran into his mother's arms.