Lions of Men

Chapter 4

Two weeks later

A thick blanket of darkness covered the land. High rocky cliffs cruelly hid the silver moons light from view. Rowen couldn't see his hand in front of him. For three weeks he had relentlessly pursued his adversaries across Laynemarah. The Nords, the enemy of his people, had abducted his pregnant wife, Syrah from the city of Kyros. At this point, Rowen knew not whether she and their unborn child were dead or alive.

He was tempted to believe the former. He and his splintered group had hunted them days on end without rest, covering almost seventy miles a day. If the Nords didn't kill their baby, then the journey had to. But that did nothing to shake his resolve. In four months the Nords had invaded his land and put their filthy hands on his wife. He was going to hunt them all down one by one and make them pay.

The hunt had also taken a toll on Rowen's men. By the time he reached the Lagorah cliffs, a twelve-mile range of rocky hills beyond the western border of Levanorah, he was down to half strength. The others had either died or become too weak to continue, and had taken refuge at Gauz; one of the occupied territories of Levanorah. Rowen finally surrendered to the pestering of Lieutenant Gambian Wolden to rest his men, and they sought shelter in a cave in the cliffs.

Finally, the shadows gave way to the dawn, and at long last, Rowen could see the ground before him. He needed to plan his next move soon and painstakingly rose, wincing with every step. The adrenaline rush from the hunt had worn off, and the endless hours on horseback made his body ache. He limped to the cliff and peered over a slab of rock overlooking the Lagorah valley. It was still too dark to see the tracks he had been following for the past week, but the gorge gave only one clear path east and west.

Confident that he would pick up the tracks of his prey, Rowen gathered his supplies and woke his men. Quickly but gingerly, he then scaled the cliffs to the valley floor. His men followed after him grunting and groaning, apparently suffering as he was. The ledges were fragile, and the rocky paths steep. Rowen tread carefully with every step, testing the ground before him. Several times, the rock crumbled beneath him and nearly plunged to his death.

About halfway down he made a detour around a large boulder with just enough room to maneuver around the edge with his back to the stone. The path on the other side was less dangerous to walk down. It took an eternity to get around the bend because the slab of rock bulged outward over the cliff.

Gambian had lost patience and didn't want to follow suit. Instead, he tried to walk down the steep embankment on the left side, still over seventy-five yards up. But one wrong move, and he buckled, and fell on his face. The momentum made him somersault over and over until he reached the bottom and crashed into the horses. The horses whinnied loudly, and one of them broke free from its caretaker, bucking, snorting and kicking.

Rowen eased his way to the bottom and approached Gambian.

"Nice landing," he said fighting a smile. "Shall we try that against the Nords?"

Gambian rolled his eyes at his childhood friend, apparently abashed. "I'm warning you, Prince. I haven't slept in two days."

"Sleep deprivation makes you reckless. Should we one day tell this story to our children, you might want to leave this part out."

"Are you finished?" Gambian said. "How you can find humor at a time like this mind-boggling." He scanned east and west of the valley. "We're only a few hours behind. We'll cut them down at the river."

"If they stick to the river?" Rowen pointed towards the edge of the valley. "It's a vast plain beyond the gorge. They could be anywhere."

"They'll stick to the river," Gambian said, shaking the dust off his clothes. "Even the Mountain Men of the West can't survive off dry rock. Secure that horse and mount up!" he shouted to the men.