Chapter Eight
Helm found that the journey to the north was less difficult than he had thought. Either the trails were now better used and better marked, or various aftershocks had settled the land into a gentler shape. His memories, from when he had run as far and as fast as he could from the devastating reality of Alia’s death, were of perilous chasms and narrow gorges, steep rock walls and tumbling rivers as wide as a half-day’s trek, game scarce to starvation, nothing green to be had, and the constant niggle of ferals on his trail. Now he could lope for a full day without seeing anything more dangerous than a lizard, and there was plentiful fruit along the trails, as even the scrubby bushes were laden with rather tasteless but sustaining berries. He was beginning to wonder why no other
