Chapter 8 – Part 11

Orphan maintained the best speed possible over the broken ground. The trail wasn’t the smoothest, but it was better than the pockmarked and cracked earth to the sides. For the first four or five hundred feet outside of the walls of Blood Crescent the ground had been more or less flattened. Beyond that point only the trails beaten down by many Tharashk feet were paths on which he wasn’t likely to crack an ankle pinion when moving at more than a hustle.

And he was running at a far faster clip than a hustle. His trip from the gate to the edge of the flattened perimeter took maybe ten seconds. Now he was ten minutes and almost five miles out, and he could see flashes over horizon, just past a ridge that poked up from the broken ground. Foallus still had some magical energy left to throw around, apparently.

Orphan slowed as the trail got rougher. He’d passed excavated areas, old pits that Tharashk had long before cleared out. The area that he was entering was less-traveled territory. If he made one misstep, he could seriously injure himself.

And if he didn’t hurry, more people would die. Small battles were things that were over quickly.

He stumbled over a sinkhole that he had barely noticed, but righted himself with a somersault. Gritting his hinged jaw, he muttered a prayer to whatever power might have been listening.

He couldn’t let anyone else from Tahrashk die.