And this time it was much worse than before, for now his master was an undead monster whose persistent rot had dissolved whatever small shred of humanity he might once have possessed. Now the slap of Thidrek’s hand to his cheek was not just stingingly painful; it also left behind tiny bits of putrid flesh that often were crawling with maggots and a flesh-eating beetle or two. “Hit me day and night,” William said, “but the first chance I get to escape, I’ll take it. And then I’ll bring the Rune Warriors back to hack you to pieces.” Thidrek stared down at the boy, who was tied to a tree. “Hack me to pieces? With what? The blade I now possess?” “That’ll do you no good against twenty men. They’ll get it from you, and one swipe will send your putrid carcass back to Niflheim.” “Twenty men?” “Well . . . it could be thirty. I’m not good at counting.” Thidrek slapped him. “Liar. I happen to know there are only five. And they have no idea where we are going, do they?”
