The Fall of Dorkhun Read Online Free Page B

find a good meal soon, he would become too weak to fend off his hunter. After everything he had survived, the thought of dying a predator’s prey before killing Crushaw tormented him.
    To his right, a few yards off the trail he spotted a tall oak. Its base was wider than his arm-span, and its lowest branches were eleven feet off the ground and thick enough to support him. He fixed the shaft of the pike to his back and drew his two daggers. Then, using the daggers, he climbed to the first branch that was good enough to stretch out on. He drove the daggers deep into the bark of the trunk and, using strips of cloth from his shirt, tied the pike to the branch above. Satisfied that his weapons were secure, he leaned against the trunk and steadied himself.
    He dug out the berries he had kept and chewed each one slowly, as if relishing them might offer more nourishment, but as soon as the last one was gone, his hunger roared more fiercely. How had his life come to this? He had been a loyal soldier and had stood toe-to-toe with the phantom on the Slithsythe Plantation. He had risked certain death to get word to the fortress of the approaching slaves and had tracked down the phantom in the Marshwogg lands. But here he was, a fugitive running from his own masters, starving in a tree, and hunted by a creature he couldn’t spot. None of it made any sense.
    He looked around the forest floor for a hint of the predator, but there was no trace. After surveying the area, he was certain that this position offered him the best opportunity to defend himself. If something started up the tree, he was sure he would wake and be able to get the daggers drawn before anything could reach him. He stretched out as much as he could and got as comfortable as possible in the crook of a branch twelve feet off the ground, and within moments, before the sun had set, he was fast asleep.
    ***
    Crushaw drove his hoe into a thick clod and carved out a weed to its deepest roots. Sweat dripped from his nose and forehead onto the hard dirt and disappeared as it hit the ground. He only had two and a half more rows to finish, and he wanted to be done before the hottest part of the day. He had more work to do in the evening, but now that his age was catching up to him, he didn’t like staying in the fields through the afternoon heat.
    Behind him, he heard Kwarck approaching and pretended not to notice. Since Crushaw had returned, the old wizard had been trying to sneak up on him, but at each attempt, Crushaw had heard his footsteps, seen a rustle, or smelled the scent. After each failure, Kwarck had joked the next would be successful. Crushaw stepped to another plant and dug out a new weed, offering no hint he knew Kwarck was within a few feet. Then, with unnatural quickness for his age, he spun and faced the wizard.
    “Your footsteps are too loud,” Crushaw said, laughing.
    “Seems so. You’re quite keen.”
    “In my youth, I could make out the slaves’ songs two fields over. Not anymore.”
    “In my youth, I could see for many miles. It’s the elf in me. Haven’t been that sharp for some time. I brought you some water.”
    Crushaw accepted the canteen from his friend and took a mouthful but didn’t swallow. He swished it around his mouth, letting his cheeks and gums absorb as much as they could before spitting. Then, he took a second drink and swallowed it slowly. He had learned that trick as a young boy in the fields. The elves had taught him that by rinsing his mouth first, the actual drink felt more satisfying and his mouth and throat wouldn’t feel quite as dry. He had followed the habit his entire life, unsure if it really worked or if he just believed it to be so. Handing the canteen back, he thanked Kwarck.
    “Not at all. You earn it every day.”
    “I want you to know. I’ve never had a real home before. You’ve been a true friend.”
    Kwarck nodded silently, a look that told Crushaw the feeling was mutual.
    “This elfish bond you spoke