Dudley - Forsada: Volume II in the New Eden series

Copyright 2013 Peter Dudley

All rights reserved.

ISBN: 1480172413
ISBN-13: 978-1480172418

DEDICATION

For Ethan and Sam, artistry and passion.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

I have time and again relied on the unfailing support and encouragement of a small army of friends, as well as the patient tolerance of my family. I also owe a huge amount of gratitude to of all you who read Semper and shared your thoughts with me. Your enthusiasm and kind words helped inspire the effort it took to create Forsada. Thank you.

Cover Credit: Wendy Russ

Table of contents
C HAPTER 1

Stupid horse! Im going to call you Dane from now on because youre so stupid and slow. Move it!

Best horse in Southshaw, my ass . I wanted the dapple. It looked like a pinecone, strong and healthy. Youll see, Lupay, Dane said. I could have been home in Tawtrukk by now, raising the alarm. But no, he insisted I take this skinny, white thing, and all he wants to do is eat grass.

I could have walked to Tawtrukk by now!

In the dark on the lakeside road, my voice hisses out dry. Its a warm night, more humid than it should be, but my lips crack and splinter. I spent too long in Southshaw. I should have left the morning after we took back the town, but Dane insisted I be paraded around to all Gregorys friends. I only did it because Freda convinced me.

If you were a fast horse, I whisper, leaning low to the lazy ass ear, that extra night wouldnt matter. Darius and his army would be far behind us, and Tawtrukk

Splash .

Not far ahead, a deep splash, a big rock thrown in the lake maybe. A mans cry barks across the water and into the trees, a sputtering throaty yell, followed by a handful of other men laughing.

Shhh, I whisper into the horses ear, trying to calm both him and me. He stamps once, too loud on the churned mud of the road. Silently I slip off, uphill away from the lake, still holding his rein. His shoulder twitches, and his dark eyes flash wide like circular pits in his ghostly face. I lead him quickly into the trees uphill, and hope his white bulk wont be noticed. I drop his rein, leaving him. Too dangerous to ride from now on anyway.

Crouching, I creep forward in the shadows of the trees. I reach up and loose my black hair, letting it fall around my face against what little moonlight might fall my way.

As I dodge among the redwoods and pines, hopping ferns and skirting boulders, I keep my eyes focused in the direction of the noise. There. On the lakes shore stand a half dozen men, their backs to me, looking out over the water. Their shadowy shapes flicker like black candle flames as they bend and weave and slap each others backs in drunken guffaws. Beyond, emerging from the water like a startled bear, is another giant of a man, gurgling watery curses as he slips and splashes about.

These are not Tawtrukkers. They are part of Darius army. I want to sneak up and kill them, but against seven that would be suicide. Instead, I push farther along, keeping a watch on their drunken argument while looking for

There, yes, the remains of their campfire.

I tiptoe among their sleeping pads rolled out around the cooling embers. I poke about among their things, but theres almost nothing. No tents, no big packs full of clothing or food. All the heavy stuff must be on the wagons ahead that left deep, narrow scars in the muddy road.

A rear guard, then, and expecting no trouble from behind. And theyre right. No one from Southshaw would attack. Only women and old men left there, really, and besides, Darius doesnt know we killed Baddock, doesnt know Dane returned from exile. Doesnt know Im alive. He thinks he can invade and take over Tawtrukk by surprise. And hes right, unless I get there first.

I pass through the little camp and push into the night, now farther uphill away from the lake in a shallow arc around where I expect the armys main camp to be. If I can get above it, I might get a good view.

A quarter mile from where I left that useless nag and the drunk idiots, I come to a gigantic boulder, tall as the mill on the river. I scamper to the top, then up a young but sturdy white pine. Its branches are brittle but strong, and with a few steps and swings Im forty feet in the air, hidden in a cloud of dark needles and a little breathless.

But what I see takes my breath entirely away. Below, stretching half a mile, is a sleeping army. Its a writhing shadow dotted with glowing red eyes. Here and there a silhouette stands or stumbles among the sleepers. The stench rises on their body heat, sweat and mud and horse piss and old leather and rotting fish.

My eyes water. I want to blame the foul odor, but I know better and wont lie to myself. Tears. I knew this was out there somewhere, but seeing it makes it real.

In the distance, the peaks of Tawtrukk loom gray against the black skySikwaa, Star, Inkline. At the foot of those mountains, along the lake, my friends and neighbors sleep unaware of the menace about to sweep over them with nothing but hate and rage and death.

Ive seen the Southshawan hatred, felt their viciousness. My ankle throbs at the memory of being dragged along the lake road by Baddocks thugs. Dane told me how Darius riled them into such a mindless rage that they will not stop until every Tawtrukker is dead. A cleansing, he called it. In the name of God.

My tears flow freely now, running down my cheeks and dripping from my chin onto the branches below. The blur the night, blot out the stars. But they dont help me feel any better.

Dont cry, you little girl, I whisper to myself . Crying never solved anything. Crying is for babies, and for the girls who cradle them in weak hands and nurse them from doughy breasts. Tears? Stop it!

I bite my teeth together and squeeze my eyes tight, pressing fists into them until all I see is splotchy orange and red. Even before my vision clears Im hustling down the tree, feeling my way to the boulder.

This is my land, southern Tawtrukk, where my father and I have wandered ever since I was born. I can go around the army, in the trails higher up, and make it to Lodgeholm before sunrise. In time to warn them.

That stupid horse is on his own. He can wander in the dark forever, for all I care. Good riddance.

When my feet hit the ground, Im already jogging. Uphill, away from the lake. Away from them . Into the chilly air flowing down from the mountain peaks. When Im far enough away that they cant hear me, I run, my loose hair flying behind me, my tears left behind with the horse. But the memory of them chases me through the night.

Cutting north through the woods, I follow deer tracks when I can, dodging trees and leaping brambles. Twigs catch my hair and snag my loose shirt. Fire fills my lungs.

Ten minutes, fifteen, twenty. I keep the pace until my stomach turns so much I stumble and gag up the nothing Ive eaten in the past day. I lean against a tree, bent over and gasping, clutching the cramps in my side. Im less than a mile from Lodgeholm now, still hours before dawn.

No rest, not yet. I heave myself forward and stumble through the dark, grabbing at branches for support. I pick my way along the hillsides, descending as I move north, until the tall, naked shape of a Lift Pole appears amid the trees. God, how it makes me happy to see that. It might as well be my own father standing, watching for my return. Im almost home.

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