Within the Glacier

Prologue

       Silence as his surroundings blurred, concealing the very lands surrounding him as he ran, head throbbing and limbs sore. Still, he ran, leaping over fallen trees eaten from the process of decay, and stumbling on paths of weak pebbles. Behind him he could hear the thud of footsteps against musty leaves and dry twigs as his attackers followed close behind.

       His ears rang and even the thud of his feet over ground was nearly mute. The only noise he could hear was the fatigued gasp of his breathing. Sweat trickled down his skin, along with pure red blood that stained his clothes. But he kept running. The people behind him sounded to get closer every moment he ran.

       Urgently he leaped over yet another obstacle and stumbled clumsily, soon regaining his balance and jolting off into a full sprint. He heard as the footsteps behind him arrived closer, and turned around to see what real trouble he was in, still continuing to charge forward at great speed.

       Suddenly he faced ahead and noticed in surprise that a massive fallen tree lay ahead of his path. He let out a shout of regret and pain as he stumbled painfully over the obstacle and crashed into the dirt, tearing his worn and bloody clothes even further and streaking dirt across his skin. At last when he could again open his eyes, his ears rang at a deafening tone. Suddenly aware of his attackers that were now even closer than before, he planted his elbow into the dry moss and attempted to heave himself upward. Wearily, he winced as a sudden jolt of agony and pain erupted from within his right leg. He crashed back to the ground with a single arm barely keeping his face off of the ground. Trying to move his leg once more and being met with the same result, his entire body shuddered and momentarily failed from the tormenting pain. He fell again onto the ground, very close to passing out. His vision grew dark and fuzzy, and his ears rang at an even greater rate than before. Knowledgeable with the fact that he could not move without falling unconscious, he remained still, shouting in pain and regret.

       From behind him he heard the thud of a horses hooves cladding against the forest ground and stopping to a halt as the horses stopped nearby. No, not nearby. They were right there. They were directly behind the fallen tree that he had so painfully tripped upon. Full of fear and dismay, he winced and opened his eyes, turning to see his attackers that awaited him.

       Before him were around seven men appearing to be of great strength and little mercy. Ahead of the group was a very large and irregularly tall man with a bald head moist with sweat, a leather tunic, and a heavy metal breastplate polished well but stained with blood and dirt. He glared down at him in revulsion under thick eyebrows. The men behind him slid off their horses and stood beside the others, them too cloaked in thick metal armor. Holding a wide sword close to his waist, the front man spoke, his voice thick and malevolent. "Who are you, boy?" he rasped, pointing his sword menacingly at him.

       The injured boy winced and lowered his head in regret and loss of hope. However, he found no point in lying to the man. Reluctantly, he slowly lifted his head and glared at the man with narrowed eyes. "Peter.. my name is Peter," he choked. The man scowled and glanced at the people beside him, who shifted uncomfortably. "Do not play innocent, boy. We know that you know about the girl, otherwise you wouldn't have tried to escape when we tried to squeeze the truth out of you."

       "I have told you, I do not know where she is! And even if I did, I shall not til' the end of my days tell you anything!" he shouted in anger. He did not care if they would kill him for his stubbornness, those foul thugs did not deserve to learn anything about the girl, for he was not a person to give away information that might kill a person. The men appeared to be even more disgusted to this response than before, for all of them scowled and shouted things such as "kill the boy!" and "he's useless!", movement arousing angrily throughout the mob.

       Many insults were thrown at him, but none moved from their places. A long shout erupted from within the chatter, and Peter noticed that it was the man in the front. He was waving his blade in the air like a banner, demanding silence to those who talked. Quickly the crowd grew quiet, but still they continued to glare in displeasure at Peter. It was clear the men were easily angered.

       The man stepped forward and over the fallen tree and stopped aside him, glaring directly at the injured boy. Peter did not bother to move or to attack, for he knew it would be useless with his fractured leg. And so he sat there, side against the ground and body aching in a half trance between unconsciousness and reality. "You are pathetic to not give us the answers we ask for. Do you not know what you are up against?" the man growled threateningly.

       Peter winced again as he struggled to talk. "You shall not hear from me!" he said as loudly as he could, his voice still dry and pained. Then the man did not talk, but glared in disappointment at the boy. And then he lifted his blade from aside his waist and hefted it over his head, clasping the hilt with both hands. He shouted a cry of rage, and brought down the sword upon the young but brave child who's life had suddenly faded from his very eyes as the pointed metal met with his skin. And then the ringing subsided, along with the pain, for as death engulfed the boy all that was visible was complete and utter darkness.