Read Online The Heretic (Beyond the Wall Book 1) by Lucas Bale - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Lucas Bale
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Vaarden was here, so was the dog.
Jordi crept across the beams of the cottage, meticulously placing each foot with painful slowness. The soft wood ladder had creaked softly on the way up, and he knew it would do so again on the way down. So as he turned and began to descend, he aimed to miss as many rungs as possible, and placed his feet to the outside of each, where the noise would be least.
As one rung shrieked in the gloom, he stopped and listened.
For a moment, he heard nothing. Then he heard the voices again: soft muttering carried along by the wind as it whistled through the village.
But the voices had diminished. Perhaps they had moved to another part of the village.
Or perhaps they were ducked within another cottage, watching and waiting for him to come out.
Shifting his weight, Jordi twisted and placed his foot on another rung. Slowly, carefully, heart pounding. Ears like razors.
There was another gentle creak.
His heart pounded in his ears.
He slid across the floor and peered through one of the windows. He couldn’t see any movement.
Were they waiting for him? Hidden and watching?
Or at the other side of the village? Perhaps in another cottage, searching for him?
He couldn’t wait any longer. Every second increased the chance they might find him.
The dog might already have his scent.
So he ran.
He blew through the door and sprinted for the forest. He could lose them in there, he thought. If he ran quickly enough he could reach the trees before Vaarden saw him and could get his rifle up and firing. He knew he had only this one chance, and he seized it.
He tried to keep to the valley of each furrow so he wouldn’t fall and twist an ankle, but as he ran his footing shifted each time. He tried desperately to compensate, but he slid and tripped with what seemed like every footfall, only marginally managing to keep his balance.
Behind him, he heard shouts.
And the dog barking.
He didn’t look round.
The tree line approached. This time, unlike the night they first ran from the village, he knew the quickest route to cover. It was a shorter distance. He heard a single shot ring out over the field and, instantaneously, felt something small whistle past his ear. Vaarden was a good shot and wouldn’t miss with the next.
Jordi abruptly changed direction. He ducked low and began to weave between furrows, risking a turned ankle. But he needed to make himself a smaller, more difficult target.
He wanted Vaarden to work for his kill.
Another shot.
Nothing.
He was still running. Relief flooded him and then, suddenly, the trees were all around him. As roots and fallen branches reached up from the snow and grabbed for his legs, he jumped and twisted and dodged.
Behind him, the barking had grown furious.
The dog wanted to be released.
Vaarden wouldn’t have risked it while he was shooting, but now, with Jordi under the cover of the trees, he’d have no choice.
The dog would have his scent. It could run through the woodland faster and for far longer than Jordi could. He had to lose it. His mind raced, trying feverishly to think of something . If he climbed a tree, the dog would track him to it, and Vaarden would relish the easy kill. If he simply ran, it would eventually catch him. And he couldn’t lead them to the camp.
He had nothing to distract the dog with—no meat or anything that might smell strong enough to confuse it. Rubbing mud on his body wouldn’t work either. And it would take too long.
He turned sharply and ran in a different direction, this time jumping onto fallen logs and over branches so the ground wouldn’t be able to soak up his scent. It might buy him some time.
A sweater! Maybe if he dropped a sweater, the dog might be drawn to it. It would certainly find the sweater before it did him, which would buy him precious seconds, even a minute.
He stopped, glanced around, and hauled off the sack and jacket all at once. Then he pulled off one of the sweaters. He dropped it onto the
Jordi crept across the beams of the cottage, meticulously placing each foot with painful slowness. The soft wood ladder had creaked softly on the way up, and he knew it would do so again on the way down. So as he turned and began to descend, he aimed to miss as many rungs as possible, and placed his feet to the outside of each, where the noise would be least.
As one rung shrieked in the gloom, he stopped and listened.
For a moment, he heard nothing. Then he heard the voices again: soft muttering carried along by the wind as it whistled through the village.
But the voices had diminished. Perhaps they had moved to another part of the village.
Or perhaps they were ducked within another cottage, watching and waiting for him to come out.
Shifting his weight, Jordi twisted and placed his foot on another rung. Slowly, carefully, heart pounding. Ears like razors.
There was another gentle creak.
His heart pounded in his ears.
He slid across the floor and peered through one of the windows. He couldn’t see any movement.
Were they waiting for him? Hidden and watching?
Or at the other side of the village? Perhaps in another cottage, searching for him?
He couldn’t wait any longer. Every second increased the chance they might find him.
The dog might already have his scent.
So he ran.
He blew through the door and sprinted for the forest. He could lose them in there, he thought. If he ran quickly enough he could reach the trees before Vaarden saw him and could get his rifle up and firing. He knew he had only this one chance, and he seized it.
He tried to keep to the valley of each furrow so he wouldn’t fall and twist an ankle, but as he ran his footing shifted each time. He tried desperately to compensate, but he slid and tripped with what seemed like every footfall, only marginally managing to keep his balance.
Behind him, he heard shouts.
And the dog barking.
He didn’t look round.
The tree line approached. This time, unlike the night they first ran from the village, he knew the quickest route to cover. It was a shorter distance. He heard a single shot ring out over the field and, instantaneously, felt something small whistle past his ear. Vaarden was a good shot and wouldn’t miss with the next.
Jordi abruptly changed direction. He ducked low and began to weave between furrows, risking a turned ankle. But he needed to make himself a smaller, more difficult target.
He wanted Vaarden to work for his kill.
Another shot.
Nothing.
He was still running. Relief flooded him and then, suddenly, the trees were all around him. As roots and fallen branches reached up from the snow and grabbed for his legs, he jumped and twisted and dodged.
Behind him, the barking had grown furious.
The dog wanted to be released.
Vaarden wouldn’t have risked it while he was shooting, but now, with Jordi under the cover of the trees, he’d have no choice.
The dog would have his scent. It could run through the woodland faster and for far longer than Jordi could. He had to lose it. His mind raced, trying feverishly to think of something . If he climbed a tree, the dog would track him to it, and Vaarden would relish the easy kill. If he simply ran, it would eventually catch him. And he couldn’t lead them to the camp.
He had nothing to distract the dog with—no meat or anything that might smell strong enough to confuse it. Rubbing mud on his body wouldn’t work either. And it would take too long.
He turned sharply and ran in a different direction, this time jumping onto fallen logs and over branches so the ground wouldn’t be able to soak up his scent. It might buy him some time.
A sweater! Maybe if he dropped a sweater, the dog might be drawn to it. It would certainly find the sweater before it did him, which would buy him precious seconds, even a minute.
He stopped, glanced around, and hauled off the sack and jacket all at once. Then he pulled off one of the sweaters. He dropped it onto the
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