March of the Chosen: Children of the Prime, Book 4 by T.C. Edge

Author:T.C. Edge [Edge, T.C.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2019-01-16T16:00:00+00:00

13

That night, as the storm rages on, I'm left alone in the carriage as Perses sets off to confer with his primary leadership group. He returns briefly to update me on what's happening a little while later, displaying his new intent, perhaps, in keeping me more in the loop. A token gesture, no doubt, but one I do appreciate.

The plan, it seems, it to take a longer, alternate route, one plotted out over the last few hours by some of our finest, and speediest, scouts. The way forward, particularly in this weather, is too difficult to traverse in a direct line. A path around the more obstinate of obstacles is agreed upon as the most sensible way to go.

That, however, means travelling through the night and not stopping to make camp, as has become customary. With the storm as it is, and with our journey now forcing us into an extended path, it's considered the best way of not losing time. It will, of course, require that the soldiers try to sleep all squashed together in the carriages, but that's surely not something anyone's going to quibble about, given the current circumstances.

Well, they probably will, but no one in high command is going to care.

With his update completed, Perses departs as he usually does in the evening, leaving me to sleep alone in Black Thunder. I don't ask anymore where he'll spend the night; his answers always range from one thing to another. He could very well just move from one carriage to the next, keen to keep morale up with the men, or simply take refuge with one or several of the other senior members of the army, spending the twilight hours in further debate over the upcoming conflict and how to go about it. Perhaps, just as likely, he'll join the scouts in their next recce ahead, or else march off on his own lonely vigil, spending the night in solitude.

Such is the enigmatic nature of the man, that I just don't know, and nor would I necessarily trust any answer he might give should I deign to ask.

So I don't, and merely indulge in my own nightly seclusion, rearranging the interior of Black Thunder into its bedchamber format and creeping under the comfy covers. I drift off quickly enough, rocked to sleep by the rolling motion of the transport, and the pleasing sound of raindrops on its roof. It's no surprise, really, given the day I've had. The exertion of practicing with Elian certainly lends itself to a good night's rest.

I don't know how much later it is, but I wake what seems like moments later to the distinctive sound of creaking hinges. A rush of wind blows in from outside, bringing with it a swirl of rain, the sound of the ongoing storm growing suddenly loud once more. Without moving, I turn my eyes up from the bundle of covers to find a silhouetted figure climbing the stairs of Black Thunder, his body framed against the faint signs of morning light outside.

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