Mom,
I know you’ll be angry, but I have to do this. I’m going to Branscombe to join the King’s Army there. I also hope to find Uncle Johnathan and Eric to let them know you and Sammy are safe.
Will
He stared at the note. It was very short, and he knew there were many more things he could say, but none of them would matter. He left the page on the table and put on the cloak before going out the door. The goddamn cat was sitting on the porch, as though waiting for him.
“I’m leaving,” he told the cat. “I’m going to join the army to help liberate Barrowden.”
The grey tom began cleaning himself, starting with his balls, as if to show his opinion of that course of action.
Will couldn’t help but chuckle. “Granddad would have likely thought the same.” After a few seconds, he added, “Thank you for the deer. I hope you’ll watch over them until I get back.”
The cat sat up, his ears snapping forward as all of his attention came to rest on Will. Then he walked forward until he was in front of the young man’s boots. Unsure what to do, Will bent down and held his hand out, offering to scratch the feline’s chin. With no warning, the goddamn cat’s paw lashed out, leaving a bloody groove on the back of Will’s hand.
“Ow!” exclaimed Will, snatching his hand back. “What was that for?”
The tom sniffed his paw, smelling the blood there, then walked to the front door and stretched up to catch the wood with his claws. Pulling down, he left scratches in the wood, then he turned and looked at Will again. He blinked once, slowly, then curled up in front of the door.
Was that his way of sealing a bargain? he wondered. It didn’t seem entirely fair. I should get to scratch him back. He grinned to himself at the thought.
The sky was grey to the east and still almost black to the west. Dawn was close, and he knew his mother would be waking in an hour or so. It was time to go, so he stepped off the porch and began to march west. In the summer, when the road was dry and the pass was free of snow, the journey to Branscombe took a little less than three days, but Will knew better than to attempt the road. There were bound to be Darrowan scouts watching it.
He would have to stay in the forest as much as possible, until it thinned out as the land rose into the mountains. He would only approach the road itself when he got close to the narrow part of the pass, where there simply wasn’t another option. If the Darrowans had placed sentries there, he’d have to figure out how to get past them when the time came.
Given that he wouldn’t be using the road, his travel would take twice as long, at least until he cleared the pass, and even after that, the snow would slow him down. His best guess was that it would take him a week to reach Branscombe, and he only had enough food to last about three days.
It was also cold and would be colder still in the pass itself. A normal trip to Branscombe involved three days of travel and two nights camping on the road, but he didn’t have the gear for camping in cold weather. He’d probably freeze to death if he tried.
The solution to both his food problem and the problem of camping was simple: he wouldn’t camp. There would be a half-moon that night, and it was waxing, so it would continue to grow for another week. With clear skies, he should have enough light. He’d travel through the day and continue at night. With luck he would reach the narrow part of the pass at night, making it easier to avoid whatever sentries might be there. By not resting he could keep himself warm and cut his travel time nearly in half. It was the perfect plan, or so he thought.
Will only had a small amount of uncertainty, which, as always, spoke with his grandfather’s voice, Only a fucking idiot would try crossing the mountains at night during the winter.
“Which is why they’ll never expect it,” said Will, arguing with himself.
His inner doubt didn’t reply, but he could sense it quietly cussing in the background. The years with Arrogan had left their mark on him. He’d probably never be normal, but hopefully he could conceal his oddness from others when he joined the army.
The journey through the Glenwood was harder than he had expected. The new snow concealed the ground, causing him to trip over unseen limbs and other detritus. It also made it harder to spot low spots and holes that became more common as he got into rockier terrain. His staff quickly became indispensable as he used it to maintain his balance and check the ground ahead.
In the late afternoon, things got easier. The sun warmed his back, making him almost uncomfortably warm. He was forced to remove the heavy cloak to avoid sweating and making his clothes damp. The forest thinned out, and the terrain became easier to traverse. The snow was thin here, so he increased his speed to a jog. He was already beginning to tire, but his training had given him tools to deal with that. Will first expanded his turyn, drawing in more from the air around him, then contracted it, concentrating it in his lungs and the muscles of his legs to increase his stamina and endurance.
He knew from past experience that he could run for a long time using tricks like that, but he’d never done so for more than a half an hour before. There would probably be a price to pay when he stopped, but that was all right. He could rest when he reached Branscombe.
Thirty minutes into his jog, he stepped into a hole and nearly twisted his ankle. The reflexes he had developed from a lifetime of playing in the forest saved him, taking his weight off the foot that had nothing beneath it and bending his knee before it hit bottom. After he had regained his footing and moved on, he glanced back. “Anyone else would have been in serious trouble,” he said, congratulating himself.
Fool’s luck, warned his inner voice.
“Shut up,” he told himself, resuming his journey, though he stopped jogging.
He was moving steadily uphill now, so his fatigue grew quickly, and his muscles began to feel heavy. The thinning air didn’t help. Will increased the turyn in his lungs, but they still burned from taking in so much cold air.
Night fell as he entered the mountains. He stopped to eat a carrot, for his hunger was so great he thought he might be starving to death. It didn’t do much to satisfy him, so he made a brief attempt at starting a fire.
Though his body was warm, his hands were cold and clumsy. The wood he found was coated with snow and ice. It didn’t take him long to realize he wouldn’t succeed. Making a fire in these conditions is a skill, one you don’t have—moron, said his inner voice.
Ignoring the voice, Will took out his waterskin and took a drink. He was surprised to find that it was empty after only a couple of swallows. Had he been drinking that much? He knew better than to try eating snow, though it was tempting, so he spent some time packing snow in the small opening of his waterskin. It seemed to take forever, but hopefully it would melt while he traveled.
He was only getting colder, so he got back on his feet and started walking again, which was harder than he expected. After the short rest, his legs had gotten stiff and they now felt as though they were made of lead. At a guess he had been traveling for about fourteen hours. How bad would it be the next day?
His fatigue made the tricky terrain even more dangerous, so he began moving closer to the road, where it was more even. It was less than a quarter-mile from where he was, and wasn’t even truly a road anymore, so much as a relatively clear and well-traveled path. The snow made it hard to even tell exactly where the road was, and he fell several times when his feet encountered unexpected rocks.