Page 5 of Sy (Alien Berserkers of Izaea #2)

5

T he night wrapped around him like an old friend, familiar and comforting as he slipped out from the shadows of the garrison wall and into the nearby trees. The moons above cast just enough light for him to navigate by, their pale glow filtering through the thick canopy overhead. It wouldn’t have mattered to him if it were pitch black and he’d been unable to see. He’d made this journey so many times over the centuries that he could do it blindfolded.

The forest floor, damp from the recent storm, muffled his footsteps as he moved between the massive trunks, his eyes wide and all senses on alert. Just because he knew the way through these forests like the back of his hand didn’t mean they were safe. Ferals were always lurking, and some of them weren’t the kind that could be reasoned with.

A night bird called somewhere ahead. He froze, enhanced senses stretching out to catalog every whisper of wind, every rustle of leaves. Nothing felt out of place. The garrison lay behind him, its lights a dim glow through the trees. As always, he’d chosen his exit point carefully, timing his departure between guard rotations on the battlements.

The rich scent of decay and new growth filled his nostrils. He touched the bark of a nearby tree, sliding his fingertips across the rough surface. It was an old habit, the score in the trunk he’d put there to mark the way long since grown. It didn’t matter. Time had taught him that the best trails were the ones that existed only in his memory.

A branch snapped in the distance. Taking a step back, he melted into the shadows of a massive trunk with his back pressed against the bark. His heart remained steady, not panicked as he waited. The sound turned out to be a browsing herbivore, but he waited three full minutes before moving again. Patience and wariness had kept him and his secret hidden for this long.

Walking for long minutes, he paused at the crest of a small rise to scan the darkness ahead. A feral’s hunting cry echoed from somewhere far to the west. He allowed himself a small smile. The predators would keep the garrison’s attention focused outward, away from any internal mysteries. He’d long ago learned to use the natural rhythms of Parac’Norr to his advantage.

The ground sloped down ahead, and he moved with practiced ease, each step placed with precision. He’d done this in storms, in darkness far deeper than tonight’s, and in conditions that would have killed lesser beings. The routine was as much a part of him as his own breath.

Something shifted in the undergrowth nearby… smaller than a feral but larger than the krevasta. He didn’t alter his pace, but his muscles tensed in readiness. There shouldn’t be any scouts from the garrison out here, but there was a slight chance Banic and his search party for the lost human women were back early. If it was them, they would have challenged him already. Even so, he really didn’t want to have to explain what he was doing out here so late at night, so he changed direction slightly, using a dense patch of vegetation for additional cover.

The moons shifted position, casting new shadows across his path, and the sound of water reached his ears. The tension eased from his shoulders. He was nearing the stream that marked the halfway point of his journey… which meant he was making good time. Plus, the sound would provide additional cover, masking any small noises he might make. Moving parallel to the water’s edge, he stayed just far enough back to avoid the exposed bank and potentially leave footprints in the softened earth.

The forest stretched ahead, dark and inviting. Once he was past the stream, he merged with the shadows again, leaving no trace of his passing. The garrison’s lights had long since faded behind him, but he knew better than to relax his guard.

He hadn’t survived this long by being careless, and tonight’s mission was too important for mistakes…