A javelin whistled past Skeld's head and stuck into the tree behind him with a thud. Skeld's ear suddenly felt wet, so he reached up to wipe off whatever liquid was on his ear, still maintaining a tight grip on his katana with his right hand. When he withdrew his hand, there was a small streak of red over his fingertips. He had been lucky, the javelin had nicked his ear when it could have impaled him. Skeld's heart began to pound, the thrower had almost certainly been an Ylissean soldier. Sure enough, a man in Ylissean armour stepped out from behind his cover, drawing his sword from its scabbard at his hip. He wasn't alone, about five other soldiers joined him, all wielding lances of their own.
"Crown Prince of Plegia, eh?" their leader grinned, "You'll make a fine bargaining tool. Now, be a good boy and come with us." Skeld said nothing, but stood his ground, "So that's how it's gonna be? Fine with me."
He lunged towards Skeld with his sword, but Skeld was quick to step to the side. He swung again, and missed again. Skeld made no effort to fight back against the man.
"Leave." Skeld ordered, albeit rather shakily.
"You're adorable." the soldier sneered and swung again.
This time Skeld didn't have the opportunity to dodge, so he instead raised his katana to block the blow. However, the soldier pushed down on him with all his weight, and Skeld simply wasn't strong enough to force him back. Skeld was pushed to the ground, giving the soldier a chance to lunge at him. Skeld rolled to the side just in the nick of time, losing a strand of hair in the process. While the soldier was recovering from the recoil, Skeld laid the sharp edge of his katana across the back of the man's neck.
"I told you to leave." Skeld iterated with the little nerve he could muster, "Drop your sword and I'll let you live."
The soldier didn't have much of a choice, so he dropped his sword, allowing Skeld to kick it away. Skeld removed his sword from the back of the soldier's neck, only to have one of his men charge at him, lance poised to impale Skeld. Skeld spun round immediately and drove his katana through the wooden shaft of the soldier's lance, snapping it in twain. However, he persisted in his endeavour and thrust repeatedly at Skeld with the half of the lance he still had left. Being left no choice, Skeld reached out with his left hand and grabbed the soldier's wrist. The jewel on his bracelet began to glow, and he yanked on the man's arm. The soldier's wrist glowed grey as Skeld tore his hand from his arm; his lifeless hand released its grip on the half of the lance it was holding. The soldier stared, wide-eyed in terror, first at the bleeding stub where his hand had been, then at Skeld, who had dropped the gauntlet and its contents.
"What are you standing there for?!" the commander snapped, "Get him, you buffoons!"
The commander had recovered his javelin, and had Skeld sandwiched between him and the other troops. Skeld could take them one on one, but he wouldn't be able to fight them all at once. The only way he could go was forward, through the commander. Mustering all his willpower, he drew Flux energy to his sword and charged. The commander had taken up a defensive stance, but it did him no good. Skeld swung his sword with all his might and discharged the Flux spell, tearing through his torso and rending his lungs. Skeld continued running, and could only hear the thud of the man's lifeless body; he couldn't look back.
Skeld eventually lost his pursuers, but by that time he was deep in the woods with no idea of how to get back to the fort. He was almost completely out of breath, so he slumped down against a tree to take a moment to recover. As he slumped the adrenaline faded, leaving him feeling sick; he had torn off someone's hand and killed someone! Despite his best efforts, he burst into tears, unable to process what had just happened. To make things worse, he was probably in enemy territory, and had no idea how to get back. Surely a search party would be sent out for him, but it was unlikely that anyone would notice until morning. He continued to cry unable to stop the constant flow of tears. He was seventeen, he was too old to cry! He was also the Fellblood, and obviously not a very good one. Putting himself down just made him cry even more, until his lap was soaked with tears. His head was beginning to hurt from the crying and his tiredness, and he prayed to Grima that he would be found and taken back to Plegia Castle. Perhaps freedom wasn't worth it after all.