Chapter 5

Ree'al knew trail craft but not enough to fool an expert. Then again, no one person could fake a trail of three people well enough to fool an expert. A long chase lay ahead. Five years ago Ree'al could have run all day and all night, but time doesn't stand still even for the young. He was not as strong, nor quick, nor hard as he had once been. Even the lessons of Aquintali had been forgotten. Ree'al had practiced hard the first few nights of this trip, but then quit as he began to grumble about Reloa. He didn't like her watching his practices.

So Ree'al scrambled down the talus field three time, carefully climbing up twice. Out of breath, he rested before starting downstream towards Aquintali. He walked in the icy water kicking over stones as much as he could while keeping a decent pace. Once he had traveled about 15 miles, he undressed and swam into the river where it was deep enough to carry him. He would have liked to swim down the river for a few miles, but the water was too icy. When he began to feel sluggish, he climbed out to the western side.

His muscles didn't want to work but he pushed himself. On the other side he dressed. His right boot was gone, somewhere in the river. In anger, his other boot soon followed the first. He thought of his comment to Reloa. It didn't matter, he'd run bare-footed before. Eventually he stopped shivering, looked up at the steep cliff. He began the climb. Over the top of the cliff, where he couldn't be seen from the river, was a game trail. He stuffed some moss into his knitted socks to add some small protection and began to run north. Not all was lost from his training, he could still ignore pain.

Ree'al's ruse worked. After looting the campsite, the twelve men who came for Reloa followed his path down the river. The men were dark with skin like leather. Nomads and mercenaries from the eastern desert, they were burned by its sun and dry desert air. They wore grey cloth robes, and each man carried a single sword. These straight swords were longer and thicker than a dinja. The men were thin and hardened by the desert. In crossing the river as he had, Ree'al confused the men, but they were being paid well and runners were sent up and down both sides of the river. They found Ree'al's tracks early the next day. Most of the morning was spent getting the entire group together and deciding what to do. Three tracks had become one track. A decision was reached. They would run down the single person instead of traveling back to the road. They had no guarantee that they would find the other tracks. When they came to the game trail, they began to run. The lone traveler would rejoin the other two or he would be made to tell where the woman had been taken.

At the same time, Ree'al was taking a short nap before continuing. He had eaten dried meat and cheese. He had no water, but in this land water was abundant. He would find water tonight or tomorrow.

Ree'al awoke from his nap and again began to run. His legs hadn't recovered from the day before. Heat wasn't a problem, the night air was cool, but leg strength was a problem. Why had he let himself become so out of shape? He wasn't a merchant or a shop keeper, he was a warrior. He should be able to run all day and all night. He again promised himself that when Reloa was safely in Dunmar, he would again practice every day. He would not embarrass himself like this again and put others in danger. He prayed that the men who might be following him were in worse shape than he was.

At dawn he stopped to eat more cheese and dried meat. Ree'al walked for much of the morning, giving his body a chance to process the food he had eaten. The game trail wound into a forest of huge red pines. The pines shut out the light, covering the ground in pine needles. No secondary canopy, no way to hide his trail on the pine needles.

The forest ended at the junction of the Dunmar River and one of its many tributaries. The game trail turned west at the edge of a deep chasm. Ree'al continued north, climbing down the almost vertical cliffs of limestone. The un-named tributary was colder than the Dunmar itself, Ree'al abandoned his plans to float down it. He crossed as quickly as possible and started up the cliffs of the northern side. He was exhausted by the time he reached the top, his overworked legs shaking up and down as fast as a woodpecker can hammer a limb.

At the top of the cliff, Ree'al's view included the game trail that had turned north and the route he had taken down the cliff. He decided to spend what was left of the day to watch his back trail. In the evening he would continue north. He found cover and watched the south side of the river, cat napping for several hours. Late in the afternoon, he opened his eyes and saw men half a mile across the river. Some milled about while others slept or fixed food. Never before had Ree'al felt like prey. These tall thin men had outpaced him and he didn't have the reserves to increase his pace. They would catch him sometime tomorrow unless he could think of something to throw them off his trail.

As he ran through the night, breath ragged, feet bloody, salvation appeared in the form of a storm. The sky grew dark, cutting off the light from the waxing quarter moon. The sky yelled its anger in violent explosions of lightning and thunder. A storm as wild as any he had ever seen.

He was out of the forest and in grasslands. Hail almost as large as figs battered him, leaving his head bruised and bleeding. The hail crushed grasses and the wind toppled the sparse trees. Ree'al turned east and desperately climbed down the cliff, his cloak covering his head. He crossed the Dunmar and climbed the eastern talus field, the heavy rain that followed the hail washed away all signs of his passing. He climbed the cliff above the road. At last he collapsed, soaked to the skin and shivering under his cloak.