Eaglebreaker by Murray C. L

Author:Murray, C. L.
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2020-01-12T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Twelve

Last Man Living

Morlen had used to savor the quiet of the wilderness—a retreat from the commerce and quarreling of men and a respite from the competition of insecure boys. Such immersion in the natural depths had helped him look beyond the shallow construct of walls and castes into which he’d been born, toward an open domain where he could be anything he wished.

He was almost nostalgic now for the Pyrnaq’s tortured cawing that had welcomed him into these mountains. Their total absence only deprived him of much-needed sleep in the four slow-passing weeks since he’d let them escape his sight. Every time he bedded down and the overwhelming silence set in, his mind transported him to the obscure northern valley where the cave clans had flown with their entire horde. Its reddened grass barely poked through a field caked with feathers, offering his feet very few places to slosh between twisted wings, upturned beaks, and eyes like cold, blackened pits wherein centuries of vibrant life had been extinguished.

Calling for Roftome, he searched desperately among the countless dead but could not tell one apart from any other, and received no reply to his screams as he stood, unseen, unheard by his friend. Then when he woke from his recurring nightmare, sitting up sweat-drenched to see the shrieker he’d chosen to save from the cruel end it had once tried to force upon him, he was reminded why he and Roftome were still separated by untold miles and barriers.

Now in the sweltering middle of summer, he and Hironthel plunged on through shady forested routes, streams of green and brown that flowed northeast around razor-edged bergs where no creatures perched. Springs were scarce in the stretches covered over several days, so he met each one as he had the apples of the Forbidden Isle, life-giving and rich when the caress of death drew near.

Harsher still must be the fallow landscape through which the Eaglemasters had pressed without him these last months. When heat and thirst were most severe, he could almost see Valeine’s tall, sleek outline before him, batting down one ferotaur after another while he reached in vain to shield her from thousands more. No matter how fiercely she held her ground, she always dissolved before his eyes, obliterated by horns and fangs.

Were she and the king unshakably determined to press deeper into the Wildlands until they ended their humanoid foes forever? Could they perhaps devise some alternative that saved both opposing forces from further bloodshed, before their losses became too grave?

He was not completely certain which outcome he favored as he observed Hironthel, whose tanned hide no longer resembled congealed milk about to drip off a spindly frame. His unlikely guide strode fluidly a short slant ahead of him, graceful through obstacles that surely would trip the entire rabble of shriekers that ran oblivious to all but hunger. The initial shame he’d stomached at their temporary alliance had receded slightly with each step taken toward Roftome along his former adversary’s path.

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