Page 8 of Rebel's Fated Mate
I hurtled past Soldiers and camp followers, but I paid them no mind. My only focus was putting as much distance between myself and those damnable cells as possible.
I was a fugitive in my own camp, slipping through the shadows with the desperation of a cornered animal. Transforming into the Dire Bear was not an option—not here, not in the heart of the camp where there was a possibility I might harm innocent people. I kept to the darkest parts of the camp, my senses on high alert.
Ahead, the edge of the encampment loomed, a barrier of wooden stakes and watchful sentries. I spotted a gap in the defenses, where the night’s gloom and a momentary lapse in vigilance might allow escape. My mind raced as I approached, ready to seize the moment.
A sentry appeared, his torchlight flickering across my face. Without hesitation, I lunged, knocking the torch from his hand and shoving him aside. He fell with a grunt, and I dashed past, the cold night air a stark contrast to the suffocating heat of the camp.
I glanced behind me at the soldiers hard on my tail. I knew they wouldn’t give up unless they caught me.
As they loomed closer, I ducked behind a barrel at the last possible moment, my breaths shallow, my mind racing for an escape route.
The soldiers charged past, their torches casting long, dancing shadows but they did not see me. I waited, counting the beats of my heart, before moving again, making my way toward the city gate. I had to get out.
It was then that I felt a hand on my shoulder, and for one fatal second, my heart stopped. I spun, ready to fight, to unleash the pent-up fury, but stopped short as the moonlight fell on a familiar face.
"Hurry, this way," whispered Joran, a once-trusted sergeant whose loyalty I had never had cause to doubt. His eyes flicked nervously down the alleyway, his urgency a clear indication of the danger snapping at our heels. Gratitude and relief surged through me, tempered by the adrenaline that kept my senses razor-sharp.
Joran led me through a maze of backstreets, each turn and twist taking us further from the central squares and closer to the relative safety of the city outskirts. “I don’t believe a word of it, Captain,” he said under his breath as we paused to catch our breath in the shadow of an old, crumbling wall.
“Nor should you,” I replied, the bitterness of betrayal coating my tongue like poison. “It’s a setup, and a damn good one. But why?”
“We don’t have time for questions now, but Orin wants every memory of your good deeds wiped out of this city,” Joran stated flatly, pulling me along. His loyalty, in that moment, was the only light in the darkness that enveloped my life.
Even as we reached the edge of the town, [MN22]the distant shouts of soldiers and the barking of dogs suggested that our pursuers had not given up. Joran glanced back, his face set in grim determination. “You need to keep moving, sir. I’ll hold them off as long as I can.”
“No, you’ll come with me—”
“There’s no time,” he hissed, pushing a small leather pouch into my hands. Inside, I felt the rough edges of coins and a folded piece of paper. Next, he handed me a sword. I glanced at the instrument, immediately thinking of my own that had been seized from me when I’d been relieved of my duties back at the military camp.
“Use this to get out of the city. This is the time to use every survival skill you taught us for so many years, sir. Head to the Fernwood; there are people there who will help you. I heard Orin saying the people there challenged his officers and called them liars when they took news there of your treason. Trust no one else.”
I tied the pouch to my waist and clutched the sword, letting my hand get used to the heavy steel. Joran gave me one last nod, a silent farewell, before turning back toward my pursuers.
My heart was heavy, but I was determined. Turning, I plunged into the forest that bordered the capital. Branches snagged at my clothes, the underbrush clung to my boots, but I pushed forward.
I heard Joran yell and then muffled speaking before the steps of the soldiers hurried in a different direction. Soon the sounds of pursuit faded behind me, swallowed by the dense foliage. As the city’s silhouette receded into the distance, the weight of my new reality settled on my shoulders.
Framed for treason, stripped of my command, and now a fugitive on the run—not how I envisioned my service to the Empire ending. But as the forest closed around me, hiding me from the eyes of my pursuers, I knew this was just the beginning. Ahead lay uncertainty, danger, and the faint glimmer of hope for redemption. Whatever lay ahead, I was ready to face it.
I burst through the thick foliage only to find myself at the foot of the towering stone walls that encircled the encampment. The walls stretched in all directions, too tall and formidable to scale without injury.
There - a narrow, shadowy gap near the northeastern gate, a point where the watchful eyes of the sentries might be momentarily diverted. I sprinted for it, desperation lending wings to my feet. I didn't dare look back.[MN23]
I surged ahead into the shroud of night's indigo embrace. My lungs seared, legs burned, but still I ran until was sure no one was following.
I finally slowed, wheezing and slick with sweat. Only then did I dare glance over my shoulder, met by naught but the silent blackness of the night.
For now, I had escaped. But at what cost? I was alone, injured, with nowhere to turn. Branded a traitor by those I had sworn to protect.
As a chill wind raked across the open field where I stood, I pulled my cloak tighter. The truths I clung to had been stripped away, leaving nothing but an assortment of volatile lies winnowed on the wind.
I continued moving the entire night, half running until the soft glow of dawn began to filt[MN24]er through the dense forest canopy when I stumbled into a small clearing and decided to stop for a rest.
My legs burned from the relentless journey, each ragged breath feeling like shards of ice in my heaving lungs. I had long since abandoned the roads, sticking to the overgrown game trails in hopes of throwing off any potential pursuit. I knew Orin would not let me go just like that. Whatever threat I posed to him, would only be satisfied when he has my severed head in his hand.
As I leaned against the mossy trunk of an ancient oak, I noticed something peculiar—a thin tendril of smoke wafting up through the trees ahead. Straightening with a wince, I instinctively loosened the sword in its battered scabbard and crept forward, senses heightened.
That was when I heard it—the crunch of boots on the loam underfoot. I whirled, blade halfway drawn, only to find the steel points of a dozen arrows trained upon me. Cloaked figures melted from the shadows, surrounding me in a loose semi-circle with disturbing silence.