The Mists of Sorrow_ Book Seven of the Morcyth Saga - Brian S. Pratt [14]
Remembering the ill omen that had streaked through the sky, he has little hope of seeing them again. It was decided that in the morning if the young men haven’t returned, he and several other men would ride out to see if they could find them. Some have supposed the men could have had a wagon wheel break on them, or maybe a horse took lame and they were returning slower than usual. Unwilling to dash their hopes, he keeps his opinions to himself.
Then from out of the desert a movement is seen in the starlight. From its shape it appears to be a man stumbling about. Zyrn and two of the other men rush out toward the approaching man, the women follow right behind.
“Khalim!” cries out one man in recognition. Khalim was one of the young men who had gone to the battlefield and happens to be the man’s son.
Zyrn and the father reach him at the same time. Another man carrying a lantern joins them and they stop in shock at what they see. Eyes wide, a tinge of madness to them, his hair is disheveled and matted to his head. He hardly looks like the same man that left two days ago.
“Khalim!” exclaims one of the women. “Where are the others? Where is Ibala?”
Khalim’s eyes dart around without recognition. A speck of white foam begins to ooze from the corner of his mouth.
“What’s wrong with him?” his father asks.
“I don’t know,” Zyrn replies. “Take him home.”
“Ibala!” cries the woman, and then others begin crying out the names of their loved ones.
“We can’t wait until morning,” one man says.
Zyrn turns to him and says, “No, we can’t.” Taking five of the men with him, they hurry back to their homes and saddle their horses. Once they are ready and each has several torches, Zyrn has each light one. Then with torches held aloft, they race into the desert to try to find out what happened.
Chapter Three
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The next morning they are up and off with the dawn. Throughout the day they see the signs of the battles that have raged through here. Ever since the battle at Lythylla turned the tide in Madoc’s favor, the enemy has been pushed further back toward the original border. In places the dead remain unburied though there are work details out collecting them as quickly as they can.
Travelers are still nonexistent, at least those of a civilian nature. The odd patrol, messenger or rider at times approaches them from the north but continues by without a word on their way to the south. None ever so much as says hello.
When they reach the town of Cerinet to the north of Saragon, there are more visible signs of battle. Mounds dot the countryside from where the dead have been buried in communal graves. The walls surrounding the city show extensive damage from the Madoc catapults which battered away in their attempt to breach the walls. One gaping hole in the wall shows where the attackers finally were able to bring down the defenses of the defenders.
A squad of men ride to intercept them when they approach but only delay them a moment. Once they find out who they are the soldiers allow them to proceed. Not bothering to linger any longer, they once more head up the road to the Merchant’s Pass.
They push their horses relentlessly in their desire to reach the Pass quickly. When darkness begins to fall they are forced to stop and give the horses a break. Even with the spare horses, the unrelenting pace has worn them out.
A quick meal and then they’re to bed. Out here on the road, they rotate a watch throughout the night. The recruits have the honor of pulling that particular duty. The barest sliver of moon rises to shed a small amount of light on the world. James looks at it with anxiety. For when it again passes to full and returns to dark, the knife will fall and Tinok will die.
He sees Jiron staring up at the moon too. Getting up, he goes over and takes a seat on the ground next to him. “Worried?” he asks.
Nodding, Jiron replies, “Everyday his doom approaches. And here we are, moving further away.”
“I know,” he says reassuringly. “Tomorrow we’ll see the others safely to the Pass then