“There are fallen trees along the main road because of the storm. It will take us hours to have them removed. Shall we go off the course, Sire?”
“How far are we from the Southern border?”
“Quite near, Sire. Half an hour of walking at best.”
“Good. We will only take the horses and our weapons. The rest, we will leave by the side to return to later. Make haste. It is almost sun-down.”
Alaric woke up in a startle—the sound of his own voice ringing in his head, an auditory remnant of the dream he had just had. He stared up at the ceiling—which was now being illuminated by the morning sun—and looked at the patches of chipped off paint and the cobwebs starting to form in one corner. He could hear the sound of someone yelling loudly, and those terrible honks coming from the death machines on
