zealous soldier even looked in saddlebags and under cloaks. Satisfied that the boy they sought had truly deserted Quicksilver Squadron, the dark-cloaked Militia led the Elites up the gap toward Portal City. Duke Jaryn would have words for Lieutenant Fahrr.
Hopefully just words , thought Chism.
A group of forty eight militia detached themselves from the main group and walked down the pass tracing the path the Elites had taken. They wouldn’t find him. Even if they had the best trackers in kingdom, the ground was too rocky to track anyone trying to hide a trail.
As soon as his squadron was out of view, Chism saw Duke Jaryn’s soldiers enter the Gap and meet up with the Militiamen from the ambush. Even from the distance the Duke’s flailing arms and outraged behavior was apparent. With a smile, Chism settled into his craggy hiding place. Eventually, his uniform would be a beacon as he tried to slip out of Far West Province, but for the first couple of days it would blend perfectly with the dark granite.
When Chism awoke from his nap there was just enough light left to survey Serpent Gap. Other than the six Militiamen guarding the lower entry, the pass was clear. He used the remaining light to plan an approximate route of escape. The dark Antidiniss Mountains offered good cover but he didn’t want to risk moving during the day. The night would have to be his camouflage.
He ate while waiting for night to fall in full. If he stretched his rations, they would probably last a week. Living off the land was not an option—he had no skill at foraging and carried only Thirsty and his throwing knives. The leg injury would make traveling fast impossible, and he didn’t have enough food to travel slowly. At most he had seven days until he had to find another resource.
No. Eight days. I’m sure I can make it eight.
One thing was sure—Duke Jaryn wouldn’t give up the hunt. He had to know Chism was somewhere in the Province and had proven that he would spare no resource in pursuit. Within days Chism would be the most infamous fifteen year old in Far West history.
Moving slowly, he emerged from the nook where he’d rested. Sentries could appear anywhere, and Chism wanted to avoid killing any hapless soldiers. The duke would not fare as well if they ever met again, but Chism had no desire to shed innocent blood.
The barren landscape was perfectly still. Occasional sounds from the men that guarded the pass carried across the countryside. A single rock rolling or falling against the stony ground would be as good as an alarm for the soldiers.
Hour after painstaking hour Chism worked his way west. Both of his legs burned – the right from his injury and the left from compensating as he marked a ponderous, controlled pace. Somehow he sweated, despite chilled extremities and his clothes dampened with sweat, which only made the cold more bitter.
All of the sneaking could have been avoided by heading south when he split from Quicksilver, but witnessing Jaryn’s frustration was so fulfilling he didn’t regret his decision. And there was always the chance of traveling Serpent Gap without an ambush, in which case Chism would have joined his squadron immediately.
The ground flattened out eventually, but it took almost the entire night to reach the foothills. He found another crevice to shield him during the day. The erratic snowfall had been insufficient to whiten the ground, and Chism hoped it would stay sparse. He could deal with the cold, but all of his clothes were dark and he knew of no way to hide footprints in the snow.
Dawn was still an hour away and he was too energized to sleep, so he ate a bit of food. Whittling was a bad idea, even if he could find wood in the inhospitable terrain. He took his leather from the pouch at his waist and stroked it with his right thumb one hundred times then passed it to his left hand. One hundred times and back again. The leather was the only thing that kept him sane.
By the time the first
Hopefully just words , thought Chism.
A group of forty eight militia detached themselves from the main group and walked down the pass tracing the path the Elites had taken. They wouldn’t find him. Even if they had the best trackers in kingdom, the ground was too rocky to track anyone trying to hide a trail.
As soon as his squadron was out of view, Chism saw Duke Jaryn’s soldiers enter the Gap and meet up with the Militiamen from the ambush. Even from the distance the Duke’s flailing arms and outraged behavior was apparent. With a smile, Chism settled into his craggy hiding place. Eventually, his uniform would be a beacon as he tried to slip out of Far West Province, but for the first couple of days it would blend perfectly with the dark granite.
When Chism awoke from his nap there was just enough light left to survey Serpent Gap. Other than the six Militiamen guarding the lower entry, the pass was clear. He used the remaining light to plan an approximate route of escape. The dark Antidiniss Mountains offered good cover but he didn’t want to risk moving during the day. The night would have to be his camouflage.
He ate while waiting for night to fall in full. If he stretched his rations, they would probably last a week. Living off the land was not an option—he had no skill at foraging and carried only Thirsty and his throwing knives. The leg injury would make traveling fast impossible, and he didn’t have enough food to travel slowly. At most he had seven days until he had to find another resource.
No. Eight days. I’m sure I can make it eight.
One thing was sure—Duke Jaryn wouldn’t give up the hunt. He had to know Chism was somewhere in the Province and had proven that he would spare no resource in pursuit. Within days Chism would be the most infamous fifteen year old in Far West history.
Moving slowly, he emerged from the nook where he’d rested. Sentries could appear anywhere, and Chism wanted to avoid killing any hapless soldiers. The duke would not fare as well if they ever met again, but Chism had no desire to shed innocent blood.
The barren landscape was perfectly still. Occasional sounds from the men that guarded the pass carried across the countryside. A single rock rolling or falling against the stony ground would be as good as an alarm for the soldiers.
Hour after painstaking hour Chism worked his way west. Both of his legs burned – the right from his injury and the left from compensating as he marked a ponderous, controlled pace. Somehow he sweated, despite chilled extremities and his clothes dampened with sweat, which only made the cold more bitter.
All of the sneaking could have been avoided by heading south when he split from Quicksilver, but witnessing Jaryn’s frustration was so fulfilling he didn’t regret his decision. And there was always the chance of traveling Serpent Gap without an ambush, in which case Chism would have joined his squadron immediately.
The ground flattened out eventually, but it took almost the entire night to reach the foothills. He found another crevice to shield him during the day. The erratic snowfall had been insufficient to whiten the ground, and Chism hoped it would stay sparse. He could deal with the cold, but all of his clothes were dark and he knew of no way to hide footprints in the snow.
Dawn was still an hour away and he was too energized to sleep, so he ate a bit of food. Whittling was a bad idea, even if he could find wood in the inhospitable terrain. He took his leather from the pouch at his waist and stroked it with his right thumb one hundred times then passed it to his left hand. One hundred times and back again. The leather was the only thing that kept him sane.
By the time the first
Similar Books
