Dastardly's doubts about the mercenary’s idea were currently being overruled by a desire not to be skewered.
'To shorten our search is payment enough,' Krotar said.
The freelancer lined up his starting stretch. Around were the trees that formed into a forest to the north west but this detour to Sponge Country would take him around and north. Even from here you could see the foothills that fed into the place, if it were daytime. As it was, Dastardly would be running through near blackness, the heavy clouds overhead threatening him with rain. There were probably still six hours or more before hints of sunlight would trickle over the mountains.
'One last thing,' he said, coiling up ready to run, 'I think you're a maniac.'
He'd bounded nearly a kilometre before it crossed his mind.
Alright wise guy, what will you do when you return?
His other thoughts replied, well it's not like I'm going to return. I'll just double back onto the road to Hox when I am out of sight.
The first set of thoughts harrowed him. Krotar is a psycho with at least two trained killers at his disposal. He will hunt you down wherever you go.
The first thoughts won out again, for now. He continued across the fields, with hardly a bump in the ground to tell him where he was going. Every few minutes he could see a tree or forgotten gatepost and tried not to run into it. Twice, the trodden path swerved so hard he wound up with grass all over his legs – the lanes and road weren't designed to be travelled this quickly.
When he came across the great highway that stretched from the east mountains, he slowed down and was surprised to see people making their way along it. The road was elevated a hundred metres ahead of him along a knoll that formed the toes of the hills. Dastardly climbed the ridge and stood on the path. Despite the obscured moon he could just about make out the crags of Sponge Country, normally visible from miles around. A man brushed past as if the freelancer weren't there.
'Excuse me, sir?' he ventured.
'Can't stop too long,' the man mumbled. 'More important.'
Dastardly kept pace alongside as the man shuffled onward.
'Why is everyone really going to Hox?'
'The Clockwork City's gone.'
'Is that it? I heard that more than humans had crossed the mountains. Seen any gnomes?'
'They take the deep roads,' the man said, idly pushing Dastardly away.
'Hey!' he said, but did not press the matter. Instead he backed up and ran diagonally along this section of the road, leaping off the other side. This slope of the hill was steeper and fed to the grass-less Pan in which the Sponge sat.
The country was a mismatched scattering of different soft rocks that, over the millennia, had been shaped by the rains into a honeycomb. Beyond that, the Pan was not really a desert in the traditional sense, it was not much drier than the plains to the south, simply devoid of the large trees that characterised the local woodlands. Folklore told that the biggest rains were so excited to zoom out from the sea that they didn't stop till the mountains, resulting in shallow creek beds criss-crossing back across the Pan and flowing over the Sponge. Folklore also said that under the Sponge Country was a secret entrance to the deep roads used by gnomes and ogres, but that was proven. Dastardly knew that if a spy were in these lands they should have been at least smart enough to buy passage under the mountains and cut days off their journey.
Pangs of hunger began an assault on the freelancer's composure, so he stopped running and opened his pack. He'd brought a trail mix with nuts and fruit but not much else. A handful would serve until he returned to Krotar's camp, so he swung the bag back over his shoulders and raced to the sharp edge of the cliff.
How would I get around if I set up camp here? Dastardly thought. Without waiting he leaped into the wide space between two high walls, the springs in the Mercurial Boots effortlessly saving his shins. In between two clouds the moon could be seen.
He couldn't just rush in. The freelancer would have to think like a tracker. He looked around on the ground in the moonlight, most of it was flat rock but sandy patches had grown around corners; perhaps with footprints on them.
After wandering three or four of the larger paths, sloping up and down with the occasional ominous gaping hole he'd edged past, he found what he wanted. Better than what he wanted in fact – the print in the sand was that of a hoof.
If they have a horse, they'll be taking the widest paths he thought. What was around the following corner, though, nearly had him in stitches from laughter.
Dim firelight danced at the mouth of a nearby cave. The moon was again fading from sight behind cloud and Dastardly could make out a human shaped shadow outlined in the orange glow. It was too easy, and when he thought that the freelancer's neck twinged. He ignored it. Dastardly unclipped the boots for additional stealth and peeked around the edge of the stone.
The cave's occupant had his back to the opening. The horse was tied up, rope under a rock, closer to Dastardly. Keeping his eye on the figure by the fire, the freelancer approached the animal. He procured the trail mix and fed it some. Outside, a flash of lightening and subsequent crash of thunder made Dastardly jump, but the spy didn't move.
Laminitis, he thought. It was awful of him to feed the creature river walnuts, but the effects wouldn't be permanent.
'You think I don't know what you're doing?' came a voice from behind him. The freelancer turned slowly to see a man in silver armour. The man lifted his visor.
'That over there?' he pointed. 'That's a decoy, and you my friend are messing with the wrong Knight of the Clockwork City.'
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