consciousness and sleep; shaking his head he stumbled once more to his feet. He couldn’t see where he was anymore. Besides the mist, his sight was deteriorating in one eye. Likely blood was running into it from the blow. But he forced on knowing somewhere ahead was the forest and safety. He was tiring and the cloak hung heavy; soaked from waist down through contact with the long moist grass. His breath came in noisy gasps, and his head throbbed. A less fit man than he would have succumbed to the desire for rest a long time ago, but he pushed himself on. He had to escape. He would tell them all what had happened, but not now, not to a rabble intent on swift justice.
There had to be time to think, to put the facts together, to try to make sense out of a senseless act. Then he could convince them that it was not of his doing. He was sure of that.
A sharp pain ran down his shoulder as he ran into another unseen tree. Then the soft cold feel and smell of wet grass and ferns smothered his face as the earth came up to meet him. Nicholas lay still.
He could hear them. They were still following. Though some distance off: it was hard to know for sure as the mist softened the sounds. But there was no mistaking the new sound to his ears. A baying; they had brought up hounds.
He was stricken with fear. Up to now there had been a chance that his pursuers could be confused at which direction to follow. The mists were thick upon the ground, and unless they had a similar knowledge of this part of the woods as he did, they could go round in circles for hours without knowing.
But hounds you could not fool, they would seek as one who could see through the mists, as indeed they could. Their senses would guide them as if they were following a man with a lighted torch. Nicholas staggered up on his feet yet again. 'If I can make it to the great river, it may be possible to plunge in and swim some distance out', he thought. 'Then the current may carry me to safety?'
He fell heavily again, some creature had dug a home for itself and family, and he had stumbled into it. His legs hurt; his heart felt as if it would tear from his chest.
It was still some distance to the riverbank, but there was a chance, if he could only remember which way it was.
The followers were now hot onto his trail, coming as straight as an arrow. He knew that, but thankfully they still seemed some distance behind.
The clothes he wore had now become totally saturated from the wet grass. The chill of the night air stung his burning throat as he gulped great gasps. He took solace in the fact that his pursuers would be in a similar sorry way. But without the overwhelming desire of escape to drive them on, they may give up and come again on the morrow, on horseback properly organized. It was a hope, but a little one. For now he must keep making for the river, tomorrow he could make his way back to Jonathon’s. It would go well for him to offer himself to his friends. They would see that all was done to speak his case. No sane person would believe that he could have murdered his own parents; it was beyond belief. On the morrow all would be well.
His mind came back to an object in front of him. He realized in alarm that it was a horse and on it a rider. The man was laughing, and calling to unseen others. “See; here he comes, like a moth to the flame.” and with that he laughed out aloud. Others materialized out of the mist. Two: three, four other riders. Nicholas stopped and stood; there was no point in going on, they could easily run him down.
Behind he could hear the dogs and men, coming onto the scene with shouts and cheers, both baying at the end of their hunt.
He was too tired to move any more. All was lost; they would not believe him now, now that he had run. That alone was proof of guilt, guilt of a horrendous crime. He had played his last card, and lost.
Only one thing was on his mind now. It was the white star on the ear of the horse before him. No longer ridden by a dark cloaked figure, now the rider wore the blue uniform of the soldier, with the yellow sash of a captain of the Quone-Loc-Sie guard.
They were all around him now as the captain moved beside him, and called out to the mob. “This is the youth I saw arguing with the old man. We were on the other side of the Holokai hedge.” He continued. “…At that distance we heard his shouted threats of violence against his own peaceful family. I swear there is no doubt. This is the one.”
“And no doubt.” called another of the four excitedly. “As you all witnessed he held the bloody weapon with which he took his own fathers life.” His voice rose. ”Justice must be done.” There were shouts all around Nicholas as blood lust carried thought past reason.
He wanted to scream out that they were wrong. He had loved his parents and brother. They couldn’t be more wrong. But before he could speak the captain’s leather booted foot lashed out, catching Nicholas full in the face. He fell onto his back, his eyes clouding over with a red mist; the blood from one or more dislodged teeth tasting salty in his mouth.
He sensed rather than saw that the other soldiers were dismounting, as his pursuers closed about him. He groaned as the steel cap of a military boot dug deep into the side of his ribcage. Feebly he raised his arms in a pathetic defense, as it seemed every one of the mob began kicking him.
Once, maybe twice they stopped, and he was dragged to his unsteady feet and held, while uncountable punches pummeled every part of his body. Then they would let him collapse and began kicking again. It seemed it would never end, and all that existed was excruciating pain. Then suddenly it was over and the men backed off. He wasn’t aware of the heavy wooden club coming down. It was long after his body had become numb from the tough leather toecaps and beating of clenched fists. It was almost a relief as he felt the thin bone of his skull give way beneath the cudgel. Instantly there was nothing.
More Quone-Loc-Sie, and other novels and stories by John Stevenson can be found by visiting
www.caelin-day.com
www.Australianstoryteller.com
www.Australianstorywriter.com
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