Book II - Exodus (Chapter 5)

Erich pushed the horsa hard until the sun went down. The rolling hills were no longer green; they were a mottled brown and yellow, as the dead grass set in patches covering the otherwise visible soil. Every gallop brought up a plume of dust, and the wind whipped it around Erich’s head, forcing him to lower his head and squint. He felt completely exposed the whole time he pushed the horsa, the dust made him visible, too visible. Still, he needed to put distance between himself and the men who were tracking him, so that he could be sure they were not following.

He knew that no matter how far he went, or how fast, they would find him. Most likely they’d left their own horsas a short distance from the river, and had gone to retrieve them as soon as Erich was out of sight. He could be as much as six hours ahead of them or as little as ten minutes. His horsa’s tracks would be visible until the wind filled them in with the sands that seemed to be hiding just under the top layer of rocky soil and surviving yellow blades of sun-burned grass.

There was one option left, one option that did not lead inevitably to the death of himself or the people around him. He’d have to bypass Rothkin altogether, reach the wall before they realized he’d changed course. By the time they discovered where he had gone it would be too late. They’d never expect it; to them, he was just on his way to Rothkin to hide. They think I’m stupid, that I’ll play into their hands.

The sun was set again, the blanket of cold dropping over him again and he cursed himself for leaving his clothes on the riverbank. I am stupid, he thought. But they will be so disappointed when their trackers arrive in Rothkin expecting me to have gotten there ahead of them.

He had to lose them, make them think he’d done something he hadn’t. And he knew the trackers dealt in tracks; those he’d made in abundance. They’d tell them where he was…or where he wanted them to think he was.

To do it right, he’d need to leave the horse. But only for a short while. He pushed the horsa to a trot and scanned his surroundings, looking for a place where the ground would harden, where the grass was heavier. It was troublesome, as this far East the land was more arid, and flatter. He didn’t find much green grass, and none of it served his purpose. The dark made it harder to differentiate colors, but he knew that if he found what he was looking for he’d find it in abundance. He searched in earnest for hours, traveling steadily East. Finally he saw a few trees ahead of him and to the left. No, there were more than a few. It was a line of them, all of different sizes and spaced at random intervals. They were natural growths, and that meant one thing. Water.

“Ya!” he shouted, and the horsa galloped, pinning Erich to its back again. They neared the trees and Erich pulled the reigns, slowing the beast. There was grass here, and it was thick and green. And something else, something Erich hadn’t been counting on but what made his plan so much better. A small river, one that flowed down from the North and made an oxbow so that it curved round to continue back in the direction it had come from only a hundred yards or so farther up. He pulled the horsa up to a stop, and hopped off, feeling his feet sink deep into the soggy terrain. He would leave perfect tracks. He walked evenly to the grassy area, and then pushed through the tall blades until he was at the riverside. Three days without, and then I get two rivers on the same day. He smiled. Thank the gods for the rivers. If he succeeded, they would be integral parts to his success.

He stepped into the river, judging its depth. It came to his knees. A perfect height for someone planning to travel down (or up) it on foot. Good. Now came the important part. He stepped back onto the bank, and made his way back through the grass. When he came to where his tracks were visible to the eye, he turned around. Squinting at the ground in the dark, he located each mark where his foot had landed and placed his foot back in the same spot. Working like this, he eventually arrived back at the horsa. He jumped onto its back, careful not to let it think it was time to start running again. Checking the tracks over, he grinned at his handiwork. It looked like he’d dropped off of the horsa right here, walked into the river and had tried to lose trackers that way.

Still, if he began riding again right away, they’d never believe his trick. If he’d really left the horsa standing here, after a while the beast would wander off, meandering through the plain until it decided to move on. So Erich nudged the horsa forward, and to the right. After a random interval he’d change the horsa’s direction, and when he looked behind him he knew he’d done well. The trees and the oxbow were more than a mile to the back of him now, and he figured he could run again. He kicked the horsa’s side and they were off again.

Two days, less. Then he’d be out of Meil, going home. To Mer’ka. As he pushed himself through the night, all the familiar questions he’d asked himself about his homeland went trickling through his head. He mulled them over, one by one.

And he shook with excitement.