Secrets of the Elders (Chronicles of Acadia: Book I)
Page 19
Like a cat pouncing from shadow to shadow, Logan moved quickly through the deserted upper level streets of Fal. He had just narrowly avoided a passing patrol of watchmen before making it all the way to the top level of the city, heading as fast as he could muster toward the wall. He was still unsure what Fafnir’s men were looking for back at the Grey Crow, or why the despicable magistrate wanted him dead in the first place, but either way he knew he needed to get out of the kingdom, and fast, if he had any hope of surviving to see another day. In the distance, he could hear watchdogs braying in search of his scent, confirming there was no more time for thinking, only for action.
Just around the curved road, he carefully followed the movements of the men guarding the great wall, who were more concerned with watching the wildlands than the city streets. His muscles tensed, waiting for the perfect moment as he carefully timed their patrol.
Mustering up enough courage, Logan slipped behind one of the guards and caught him in a headlock, squeezing with just enough pressure to cut off any airflow without breaking his windpipe. He wanted the man to be unconscious, not dead. Once he was down, Logan slid his backpack off to the side and pulled out the rope he had commandeered from the Grey Crow.
His fingers were working quickly to loop it over the parapet when another guard shouted for him to stop. The man blew hard on an elk horn to alert the watch he had found the outlaw.
Logan cursed to himself, running straight past the soldier to throw him off balance, and then stopping short, he looped back around the way he had come. The guard was baffled by his actions until he felt the rope that had been wrapped around his torso. Before he could look up and plead for Logan to stop, the outlaw jumped straight off the edge of the massive wall that protected the capitol from the wildlands. Logan gripped the rope tightly in both hands, and his weight pulled the guard hard across the ground, slamming him in between the parapet’s merlons. With the rope hanging through the gap, the guard became a human anchor, clutching desperately to the stone around him, breaking his fingernails as they scraped along the rough surface. He prayed to the All-Father not to let him fall through the embrasure as Logan nimbly made his way down the fifty feet of rope, having to drop the last stretch through the open air when the cord ended.
Other city watchmen arrived as he made it to the ground, letting loose a barrage of bullets from muskets and revolvers at the fleeing outlaw. Thankfully, none found their mark. It did not take long before Logan was out of view, hidden among the long shadows of the wildlands.
“He won’t last long out there, fellas,” one of the men snorted. “Probably be dead before the week’s end.”
“Yeah? Great. You tell that to the magistrate,” another watchman said.
Logan smirked, hearing the guards overhead arguing over who would deliver the news of his triumphant escape, yet in his heart he felt nothing but sorrow, knowing he would never again set eyes on his homeland or speak to his brother.
With one last look at the towering marble wall, that impenetrable barrier to the kingdom of New Fal, he turned toward his fate, hustling through the shadows and wondering what life would mean for him now that he was an exile.