Talen could hear the men fanning out in the trees below him, their boots crunching to the leaves. One man called out to the others, telling them to look for spoor in the leaves. Another told Talen to reveal himself or face harsher consequences.
He pressed himself further into the rough bark of the elm. He could not see any of them at first. Then one man with a black-and-gold-checkered scarf tied at the back of his bald head walked into view in front and below him.
The man held a short sword out in front of him. If he turned around and looked up, he’d see Talen as clearly as a pig at a party. And there was nowhere Talen could go. If he moved, if he scuffed one bit of bark to fall below, someone was sure to see.
Lords, this was a bad idea. Talen thought of his experience with Ke in the tree back home just the day before. You couldn’t escape someone in a tree. Why had he jumped up here?
The man with the gold-checkered scarf turned around, scanning the brush around him.
If they saw him, what would he do? Not climb higher. He’d tried that with Ke. He’d have to go lower. Or, like a squirrel, he could run along the limb of one tree to another until he had put enough distance between him and his pursuers to drop to the ground and run like a madman.
The man in the checkered scarf examined the ground. He turned his back on Talen, squatted and examined the forest floor more closely. Then he looked up at the trees in front of him.
He began to turn about, to scan the trees.
Talen couldn’t spring to another limb of this tree. It would rustle the leaves.
He looked about for any escape. To his left he saw a small stub sticking out from the trunk. It was barely enough to stand on.
The man continued to turn.
If he could use that, if it didn’t break under his weight…
Talen quickly stepped to the stub.
It held, and he gripped the rough elm bark to steady himself.
The move hadn’t taken him totally from the man’s view. But Talen couldn’t go around to the other side of the tree because that was in full view of the road. He looked up. The next branch was too fat to grab easily, and far too high above him anyway.
Despite Talen’s fear, his limbs felt miraculously full of energy. His legs-it felt as if they carried nothing, as if his entire body weighed no more than a feather.
He could make that leap to the next branch above him. He could leap and hang there if he had to. His arms felt that strong.
Talen could almost see the profile of the man’s face. One more turn and he’d spot Talen.
Standing on the branch stub, Talen coiled himself as best he could.
The man began to turn.
Talen sprang.
The power in his legs was immense, but it wasn’t enough.
Perhaps the perch had been too small. Or perhaps it had twisted just a bit at the last moment. Whatever the cause, he didn’t make the branch. Didn’t come close.
He reach out for the trunk of the giant old elm, his fingers spread wide, reaching out with toes and knees, reached out and grasped it in a bear hug. He clung to the rough bark with all his strength.
He expected to fall, to dash his worthless brains on the ground below. But he didn’t. His fingers, like his arms and legs, were full of life, and he clung to the trunk like some great, four-legged insect.
It was odd. He had to breathe like he was straining under a great weight, but it did not feel like a great weight. It felt easy and natural.
He looked down. While he hadn’t made the branch, he was high enough to be covered by a large block of leaves.
Light-headedness washed over him. He was panting. Hyperventilating. But he couldn’t stop. He felt dizzy. The world below began to spin. He was going to lose his grip.
Talen closed his eyes. The fat branch above was not so far away. If he could shinny up to it and rest, he was sure the light-headedness would pass.
He reached up, his arms and legs wide, moved his foot, reached up again. Climbing the trunk was as easy as climbing a ladder. In moments, with barely a scrape of sound, he reached the branch. He dared not open his eyes because he knew the dizziness would take him. With a final move, he pulled himself on top of the branch and straddled it. He would have lain on his stomach, but he was panting, straining, laboring for breath. He was suffocating.
The edges of his vision began to blur.
Talen struggled for another breath, but it wasn’t enough. He’d never felt panic like this before. He couldn’t get his breath.
The world slid to the side; Talen’s vision narrowed. He was passing out, and the last thing he thought was that he’d better collapse onto this branch squarely because he didn’t want to fall from this height.