Total pages in book: 204
Estimated words: 193124 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 966(@200wpm)___ 772(@250wpm)___ 644(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 193124 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 966(@200wpm)___ 772(@250wpm)___ 644(@300wpm)
As I put the compass back in the satchel, return it to the pack, and swing the weight onto my shoulders once again, Merc just keeps staring at me.
“What is that thing,” he says in a remote voice.
Gathering the reins, I meet him in the eye. “Would you believe me if I told you I don’t know?”
There’s a long silence. “Yes, I think I would. But what I do know is that these animals just ran too hard for too long, and if we don’t locate a water source and some shelter before dark, we could find ourselves in another … situation.”
As I focus on the direction I was given, I feel an echo of the vibration reenter my palm and my arm.
And then I utter hoarsely something I never imagined I would: “It was left to me by my mother. It is very, very old.”
My mother. The words feel as strange on my tongue as they do entering my ear.
“Is it magic, then.”
All I can do is shrug. “I don’t really have to answer that, do I.”
Merc releases a slow exhale. “No, you don’t.”
When he glances back at where we came from, his eyes narrow and I wonder how much he noticed about our escape from the ogres. Nearby, there’s a fire flare, and I glare at the flames as if they’re a child I’m telling to pipe down. I don’t understand what I did any more than I can explain the compass—
“Okay, we go that way,” he announces gruffly. “And maybe we find some water.”
I’m nodding in agreement as he urges his horse forward, and Lavante follows without any heel from me, though he tosses his head and stamps his feet because he hates not leading the way. He will go too fast for the gelding, though, so the weaker horse has to be first.
More red trees. More fires that spontaneously appear out of holes in the red dirt. We avoid the latter with a big margin, but at least the horses are no longer reacting to the blasts of heat and light, either because they’re used to them or they’re just tired. Actually, it’s more like Lavante is no longer threatened, and Merc’s steed is too exhausted to care.
I continue to scan the landscape, and Merc does as well, as the cliffs we were chased out of get closer and closer. We’re as yet too far away for me to spot any ogres blending into the rock faces, and I worry that we’re being tracked and just don’t know it.
“The soil is changing,” he remarks.
Sure enough, the red color is dimming because it’s being diluted, its replacement the normal brown of the ground I’m used to—and soon, I catch little sprigs of green. The trees change as well, new varieties coming in and choking out the ugly, knarred red ones, the leaves becoming green. And no more fires, either, as we presently enter a forest—
Merc draws in a great breath through his nose. “I can smell it.”
“What?”
“The water.”
I try out the sniffing routine, but all I can scent is the sulfur and the burning flesh, as if it’s stained my sinuses.
“There.” He pulls his horse to the right and points. “Through the trees. Hear it?”
Leaning forward over Lavante’s pale mane, yes, I do see it … a river that’s flowing with a brisk current. The horses pick up on the stream, too, nickering and trotting faster through the low-hanging branches.
The trees by the rushing current are green, leafy, and packed in close together, and as we break through the congestion, the sight of the river is a huge relief. And it’s big, the shore seeming to be overrun, no doubt because it’s swollen with runoff from the Badlands’ storm.
“Hold up,” Merc orders as he hauls back on the reins. “Look.”
Sure enough, there are a variety of footprints along the edge—as well as one big disturbance that’s marked with a bloody trail that leads off into the trees. My fear immediately labels it as a demon attack, and I search downstream for a bloated animal corpse that has its stomach open and the meat ripped from its bones.
As Merc continues to scan the area, neither horse appreciates the delay, but I would rather wait, too. Thirst is not an issue if you’re eaten alive.
“Hold him here,” he says as he dismounts. “I’ll test out the water.”
I take Merc’s reins, and he goes over and kneels down. He keeps his broadsword in his right hand, and makes a cup out of the left one. Though I need to stay aware of my surroundings, I focus on the dried gray blood on the blade and remember the fury on his face as he thundered by me and stabbed that ogre in the head.
To make sure I lived.
“It’s clean,” he announces.
As if the horses understand him, his breaks free and goes over to drink, and Lavante impatiently stomps forward. I barely have a chance to dismount before my stallion wades in up to his armpits.