Jack walked through a twilight grove, moving as fast as he could. He knew Sylvian Forest and also knew he had ridden a significant distance on horseback. Thus, he would have a chance to cross the forest and find shelter in a village before dawn. But only if he walks for the entire night. "You already had some sleep," he reminded himself. "You did rest. You've been resting for five and a half years; it's time to stretch your legs, Jack."
After starting on foot travel, he came across a small wooden structure, a little cabin nestled among trees at the pathway. It was empty, so it made sense to stop. Pursuers would look the place up and down if they noticed anyone. Jack didn't linger and moved on.
Every step was taken with difficulty. Jack looked back at the slightest rustle, froze, went off the pathway, and prowled through a prickly, tangled thicket. His wasn't sure whether he is delusional or if he indeed can hear dogs barking and horses neighing from a distance. He knew his pursuers could unleash dogs to catch him; if so, his chances would drop to a minimum as his clothes were permeated with odors to the extent that even an untrained dog would find him. "I must get to a river and go in." Jack didn't like the idea of being soaked in cold water and walking in wet clothes all night but being caught by dogs was even worse. He recalled with horror his attempt to escape from Lumi-Perro Castle: dogs caught up and encircled him, and one sank its teeth in his leg. It was scary and it took a while for his leg to heal.
At last, reaching a narrow river, winding through the forest to the sea, the runaway heard a drawn-out, distant, barely audible noise but couldn't understand its nature from the first try. The sound was familiar, but what was it? Jack froze at the riverbank, listening. The sound came again. This time, he guessed: the hunting horn was blowing again. Why? The answer might be simple. One of the pursuers found a dead horse and was signaling the others. That's bad. After leaving the horse, Jack was walking on his own two feet, so dogs could easily smell his scent in the grass. He can't tarry much longer.
He decided to keep at least his boots dry and took them off. The fugitive entered the river, wincing. This was a mountain river with bone-chilling water. He needed to get rid of odors. After emptying the pockets, he took off the jacket and threw it into the water, wishing the current to carry away all unnecessary rags. The jacket stank the most. Of course, he won't wash away all smells, considering the boots. He stuffed the pockets' contents — coffee pouch, ammo, pistol, and revolver — into the shoes, with the dagger clenched between his teeth.
When Jack was in the middle of the river, he got an idea. Instead of crossing the river directly to the opposite bank (which pursuers will anticipate, do the same, and the dogs will pick up his smell on the soil again), it will be better to go along or against the current and climb ashore in about two hundred meters upstream or downstream. And even better still: get out of the river, rest for a while on the shore, enter the water again and leave it in another place. This idea seemed reasonable. If only there were enough time as he moved very slowly, feet slipping on underwater stones. He should give it a try. And Jack did, successfully, as at least for now, no one had followed him. Surprisingly, since the hunting horns, Jack hadn't heard a single sound from his pursuers. Maybe they were trying to move silently so as not to be heard? Getting out of the river, he shook off the seaweed, squeezed the water from his pants and shirt, fastened his supplies to his belt, and pulled on his boots.
The night was deep and silent, and the darkness covered everything. Jack continued walking; he knew he would soon encounter another deep river where he would repeat his trick of obscuring the trail. It was cold and unpleasant to walk, his clothes were wet, and the coolness of nightchilled him to the bones. Jack wouldn't be so exhausted if not for the cold. Apparently, he was no longer influenced by the energy drink, and when no one runs after you, shooting at your back and exciting the blood, it's harder to continue.
YOU ARE READING
The Guardian Of Empires
Historical Fiction"...If you dare to kill the Head of the Holy Synod, the Inquisition of all Europe will hunt for you. Even YOU can't get away from this, and Theodore knows it. He also knows that you are not a devil, you are nothing more than just a cunning guy who...