The Wolf On The Run (The Wolf of Corwick Castle Book 3) by Terry Cloutier

Author:Terry Cloutier [Cloutier, Terry]
Language: eng
Format: epub, azw3
Publisher: Ganderland Publishing
Published: 2020-10-02T05:00:00+00:00

Two days later, the euphoria, pomp, and pageantry of The Walk was long gone. Replaced instead with the grim reality of what we were up against. We marched from the moment the sun came up, until long after it went down and darkness fell, with no rest or letup. At night, we slept on the ground, huddled together in our meager tunics against the chills. Each Pilgrim was allowed a small hunk of bread and a little water at midday, but that was all. I was told this was necessary to cleanse our bodies of weakness and impurity before we reached Mount Halas. I considered the idea utter nonsense, of course, though many of my fellow Pilgrims seemed quite content, even happy with the arrangement.

I believe myself to be as pious as the next man, but, even so, I couldn’t understand what difference it made to the First Pair whether my back hurt or not, or that my stomach grumbled unhappily. I wisely kept those thoughts to myself, however. Juliax hadn’t contacted us yet, and Sabina and I had decided to keep our heads down and our eyes open until such time that he did.

“How long until we reach the mountain?” Sabina asked.

I glanced over the heads of the line of Pilgrims in front of me. We were picking our way through a rock-strewn valley, with thick forestlands rising to either side. I could see the many ridges of the Father’s Spine mountains far in the distance, dominated by the majestic, white-tipped peak of Mount Halas. As far as I could tell, the towering mountain seemed no nearer today than it had yesterday.

“Another week at this pace, I think,” I said, taking a guess.

Sabina sighed unhappily. “I don’t think my sandals can make another hour, let alone a week.”

“Mine too,” I replied in agreement.

A bald man walking ahead of us turned at our words, smiling in a friendly fashion. His name was Emand, a cordwainer, which he had explained to me was a maker of new shoes. I couldn’t even imagine what it must be like to own a pair of new shoes. His wife walked beside him, tall and thin as a broom handle, with the dour personality to match.

“The Watchers will replace them, my good man,” Emand said jovially. “You need only ask.” He was short, plump, and always smiling—the exact opposite of his wife. Emand gestured behind us to the seven covered wagons that trailed the line of walkers. “Your tunics as well, should that be needed.”

I turned to look back. The Watchers were here to care for the Pilgrims, and it was they who gave us our meager food and water each day. I snorted as I studied the wagons rolling slowly along. So far, I would say our caretakers were not living up to their name. Grizzled-looking soldiers rode attentively to either side of the ox-pulled wagons, keeping wary eyes on the hills above us. The threat of bandits was real, I knew, though the soldiers seemed more concerned about an attack from the forces of the Sun than anything else.

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