Chapter Sixteen
When Sabre woke, the control unit’s chronometer informed him that it was two in the morning, local time, as he had planned, and he wondered if the computer had woken him. Sitting up on the hard bed, he listened to the amazing variety of noises men made in their sleep. The barracks resounded with rattles, buzzes, whistles, wheezes, grating, grunting, moaning, sawing, and a peculiar flubbing sound made by lips flapping in the breeze. He smiled as he dressed. He certainly did not need to creep around. The racket would cover any noise he made, unless he shouted at the top of his voice.
Sabre left the barracks and used the shadows to seek the outer wall. The three-metre wall was easily climbed, and he walked into town in search of a stable, still angry that Tassin had refused to scale the wall. At the Singing Harlot, he cast his eye over the assortment of horseflesh available. Spotting a rangy chestnut with a broad blaze and four white socks, he recognised it as the mount of the young nobleman in Arlin. Sabre saddled and bridled the animal, then led it outside. The chestnut pranced and sidestepped, tossing its head, so he led it to the outskirts of the city before mounting. On the open road, he gave the horse its head, allowing it to stretch out in a cracking gallop.
Dawn found him watering the horse at a stream, wishing he had been able to bring provisions. He also wished he had not lost the wrist laser, even if there had been little ammunition left. When the horse had drunk its fill, Sabre rode on at a more sedate pace, conserving the animal’s strength. The horse remained eager and bouncy, moving at a fast trot.
Night spread a gloomy shroud over the land when Torrian’s coach came into view, parked beside the road. Sabre tethered the chestnut and walked closer, using the cyber’s scanners to ascertain the sentries’ positions. Crouching behind some bushes at the edge of the camp, he studied it. Torrian’s warriors shared a fire, while the King and Tassin sat at another, a servant attending them.
Two tents were pitched close to the coach, presumably for Tassin and the King, and Sabre smiled. The horses were picketed beyond the firelight, and he approached them, using the scrubby bushes for cover. Selecting a sturdy bay, he saddled it and led it back to his chestnut, tethering it there. Returning to the camp, he settled down to wait for everyone to retire, his stomach rumbling at the smell of cooking.
The Cyber Chronicles - Book I: Queen of Arlin Page 49