In the Horseman's Den

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            Ichabod’s wrists and arms hurt. Which rather made sense, as he was hanging from the
wall by them. He frowned, why was he hanging on a wall? The last thing he remembered was
talking to Magistrate Phillips, who was running, then sheep, and then, he saw, a horriblhanthantasm. A man, in old fashioned armor riding a large warhorse, a man with no head. The
Horseman, he was real. It was all true. No amount of logic could explain this, only magic. It
didn’t make sense, but Ichabod couldn’t refute the evidence, the Horseman was real, his whole
life was turned upside down. A small part of his mind continued remembering what had
happened, how the Horseman had killed Phillips, how Phillips’s head had rolled between his
legs, and how he had fainted when the Horseman had ridden back to claim it, but most of him
was focused on the terrified repeating of that one, impossible fact, the Horseman was real.
****
            The black witch had not ordered him to kill the child, that had been solely his decision.
He had known enough orphans of war to know that death was preferable to living like that. He
dumped the sack with the Killian’s heads in it to the floor and regarded his prisoner, who seemed
to have woken at last. Also, he had the wide, darting eyes of a spooked horse. He was terrified,
and with good reason. The child opened his mouth to say something, but no sound came out.
             However, the sack that held the heads opened, spilling them to the floor. Now Ichabod
regained his voice and confidence, spurred by the sight of the three heads and his own sense of
justice to say something. Shout it actually. “You unfeeling monster! Why did you kill those
people? They were harmless! The boy couldn’t be more than six! You murderous–” He cut off as
a gloved fist backhanded him. But he did not cease glaring at the Horseman. (Who was unable to
see it, but sensed it clearly, and was impressed)
            Ichabod continued in a more normal tone of voice, “Why have you imprisoned me? Why
not kill me like the others?”
            Hard to explain with no mouth to talk with boy. I’m afraid that’s still attached to the skull
the black witch stole from me and is using to make me kill. The Horseman thought sardonically.
            To his surprise Ichabod’s eyes narrowed, “Who are you working for?”
            Will wonders never cease? The child figured out he wasn’t killing on his own initiative.
How he had come to the conclusion was a mystery.
            Ichabod’s frown increased, “You haven’t answered any of my questions.”
            The Horseman spread his hands helplessly.
            Ichabod’s eyes widened in understanding “You can’t talk. Of course you can’t, you don’t
have a head. He shook his head, as if in disapproval of himself for not realizing this earlier.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Darkda (to (to readers): Don’t worry, almost to the slash. I promise I’ll try to make it worth the
wait.
Ichabod: Oh yay.
Darkdancer: What’s with you? You’re in an awfully bad mood lately
Ichabod: The others explained what non con and bondage meant to me.
Darkdancer: Oh is that all. Don’t fret, you’ll get used to it eventually.
Ichabod: That’s what I’m afraid of.