The Reformation Wars: The Venerable Rogues

Chapter 1

Deté 52nd, 991 A.D.

"I'm afraid we've lost him, Tom." 

Tom Holt glanced up from sharpening his gleaming longsword and eyed his companion James Raska with lips pursed together. The young man's concerned brown eyes stared back at him, framed in an imperfect face riddled with scars from previous acne outbreaks. His head of thick brown hair fluttered in the slight breeze. 

Tom stepped to the edge of the cliff they stood on and glanced down. Sure enough, the unmarked swordsman they'd been pursuing for so long had managed to slip away and find a way down. And now, the cloaked figure galloped away across the plains of the Kemarian countryside, folds of black fabric flaring out behind him. Tom growled. 

"He's done it again!" he snapped, "Now what?" 

James' lips twitched as his sympathetic gaze settled on Tom's single right eye. "We'll persevere, Tom. He can run all he wants, but eventually, we'll find him, and when we do, our failures will make us all the more determined." 

"I sure hope you're right about that." Tom muttered, slipping a flask of brandy from an inner coat pocket. He unscrewed the cap and contemplated his next move for a second. Then he replaced the cap and returned the flask without drinking from it. "He's headed north?" 

James nodded. "Northeast, it looks like." 

"Well, keep an eye on him until you can see him no longer. If he changes course, we need to know about it." 

"Understood." 

Tom patted the young man's shoulder with a grim smile on his face. "I'll inform the others." 

With that, he strode over the grassy surface of the cliff they stood on, hands folded behind his back. He watched his boots part little trails for themselves through the sheet of vegetation, picking up droplets of dew as they passed through. Then a bird's chirping drew his attention up. Tom watched with a gratified smile as a songbird flitted from one twisty tree with a vibrant canopy of leaves to another. A trio of its brethren trailed behind. 

Tom entered the grove of trees. As he progressed, the ground he walked on inclined downward to a lower level of the cliff formation. He took a couple sniffs and grinned at the savory aroma of bacon cooking not far off. 

He emerged from the grove and found himself on open terrain again. After hopping down a three-foot drop in elevation, he arrived in the improvised camp he and his companions had become so accustomed to throwing together these past few years. 

Tom passed by his companion Trevor Martin, who stood beside a crackling flame and held a pan full of bacon over it. A mop of wispy black hair crowned his head and served as an accent to his striking sea-green eyes. With those features set in a well-proportioned, handsome face, Trevor was a man easy on the eyes. 

Tom smirked as he eyed the strips of sizzling meat. "What would we do without you, Trevor?" 

"You'd starve, that's for sure." he remarked with a mischievous grin. 

Tom threw his head back and laughed. "And we'd likely die of boredom, as well." 

"I'd have to dispute that, Tom. Your buffoonery would be sufficient." 

"Well, I suppose you have a point." he remarked with another chuckle. Then he let his smile fade slowly. "How are we doing on supplies, by the way?" 

Trevor shrugged. "We're almost out, but the nearest village is a mere two hour ride from here." 

"Ah, I see. So it all works out in the end." 

"Indeed, it does. Breakfast will be ready soon, but you should have time for a few sparring matches with Jay before then."