By Treason We Perish by A.J. MacKenzie EPUB & PDF – eBook Details Online
- Status: Available for Free Download
- Author: A.J. MacKenzie
- Language: English
- Genre: Medieval Historical Fiction
- Format: PDF / EPUB
- Size: 2 MB
- Price: Free
Valley of the Isèra, October 1338
A man was climbing for his life. His hands were bloody from hauling
himself up the cliff, and his breath rasped in his throat. His tunic and hose
were both soaking wet, their weight dragging at his arms and legs. All his
mind and body concentrated on the fissures in the stone a few inches from
his face.
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A bitter wind whistled around him. He could hear noise in the abyss
beneath him; at least two other men were climbing after him. He shifted his
weight, trying to traverse across the cliff face towards a stone chimney to
his left. The rock beneath his boot broke, fragments clattering away below.
For a moment he dangled by his hands, ignoring the pain in his bleeding
fingers while he searched desperately for a foothold.
His right boot brushed against a spur of rock. He planted his foot and
tested it; this time it held firm. He reached up and found a stone ledge,
dragging himself up and using the ledge to move sideways towards the
chimney. The men below him were growing closer.
Having reached the chimney he could climb faster, bracing his feet
against the stone walls. Once he looked down. And his heart froze in his
chest. A group of dismounted men-at-arms stood at the foot of the cliff
looking up at him. Their leader wore a blue cloak with a device of a black
eagle with spread wings.
He climbed on. The chimney widened and the cliff became less steep. He
scrabbled up the slope on all fours, boots scraping and slipping, more
shards of stone tumbling down into the void. Sobbing for breath, he reached
the top of the cliff and fell on his face for a moment.
They’re coming. Get up, get up.
He staggered to his feet. Flakes of snow curled like ash on the cold wind.
Ahead, a bowshot away, lay a thick dark forest stretching up the lower
slopes of the nearest mountain, its shoulders rising like the buttresses of
some gigantic cathedral. The man ran towards the woods, looking for
shelter, just as a horseman rode up the steep hill to his right and turned,
cutting him off from the forest.
The man stopped. The horseman, who wore the same black eagle device
on his blue surcoat, dismounted and drew his sword. The climber had no
weapons; his sword and dagger had been taken before they put him in the
river. He waited, crouching a little, watching the man-at-arms’s face as the
latter came closer.
From behind came the scrape of boots on stone; his pursuers nearly at the
top.
The man-at-arms raised his sword. ‘Na kolena!’ he snarled. ‘On your
knees!’
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