The Choice of Magic - Michael G. Manning Page 0,98

never be normal, but hopefully he could conceal his oddness from others when he joined the army.

The journey through the Glenwood was harder than he had expected. The new snow concealed the ground, causing him to trip over unseen limbs and other detritus. It also made it harder to spot low spots and holes that became more common as he got into rockier terrain. His staff quickly became indispensable as he used it to maintain his balance and check the ground ahead.

In the late afternoon, things got easier. The sun warmed his back, making him almost uncomfortably warm. He was forced to remove the heavy cloak to avoid sweating and making his clothes damp. The forest thinned out, and the terrain became easier to traverse. The snow was thin here, so he increased his speed to a jog. He was already beginning to tire, but his training had given him tools to deal with that. Will first expanded his turyn, drawing in more from the air around him, then contracted it, concentrating it in his lungs and the muscles of his legs to increase his stamina and endurance.

He knew from past experience that he could run for a long time using tricks like that, but he’d never done so for more than a half an hour before. There would probably be a price to pay when he stopped, but that was all right. He could rest when he reached Branscombe.

Thirty minutes into his jog, he stepped into a hole and nearly twisted his ankle. The reflexes he had developed from a lifetime of playing in the forest saved him, taking his weight off the foot that had nothing beneath it and bending his knee before it hit bottom. After he had regained his footing and moved on, he glanced back. “Anyone else would have been in serious trouble,” he said, congratulating himself.

Fool’s luck, warned his inner voice.

“Shut up,” he told himself, resuming his journey, though he stopped jogging.

He was moving steadily uphill now, so his fatigue grew quickly, and his muscles began to feel heavy. The thinning air didn’t help. Will increased the turyn in his lungs, but they still burned from taking in so much cold air.

Night fell as he entered the mountains. He stopped to eat a carrot, for his hunger was so great he thought he might be starving to death. It didn’t do much to satisfy him, so he made a brief attempt at starting a fire.

Though his body was warm, his hands were cold and clumsy. The wood he found was coated with snow and ice. It didn’t take him long to realize he wouldn’t succeed. Making a fire in these conditions is a skill, one you don’t have—moron, said his inner voice.

Ignoring the voice, Will took out his waterskin and took a drink. He was surprised to find that it was empty after only a couple of swallows. Had he been drinking that much? He knew better than to try eating snow, though it was tempting, so he spent some time packing snow in the small opening of his waterskin. It seemed to take forever, but hopefully it would melt while he traveled.

He was only getting colder, so he got back on his feet and started walking again, which was harder than he expected. After the short rest, his legs had gotten stiff and they now felt as though they were made of lead. At a guess he had been traveling for about fourteen hours. How bad would it be the next day?

His fatigue made the tricky terrain even more dangerous, so he began moving closer to the road, where it was more even. It was less than a quarter-mile from where he was, and wasn’t even truly a road anymore, so much as a relatively clear and well-traveled path. The snow made it hard to even tell exactly where the road was, and he fell several times when his feet encountered unexpected rocks.

He focused his turyn once more, strengthening his legs and lungs, but it took longer this time. Even his turyn seemed sluggish, unwilling to respond, though he wasn’t sure why. Fatigue eats away at your will even faster than performing magic, said his inner advisor. Was that something his grandfather had told him before, or was his imagination working overtime?

Gritting his teeth, Will kept moving. “I don’t need your advice,” he told himself.

If stubbornness was the same as ‘will’ you’d have nothing to fear, boy, but it isn’t, said his grandfather’s