Hyroc – Chapter 12

Hyroc

Sentinel Flame Book One

By Adam Freestone

Alaskan Writer of Imaginative Creativity

CHAPTER 12

Hyroc stepped through the front door of the boarding school, making his way toward the open gate. The sun was sinking low toward the horizon, and the shadows were beginning to lengthen as dusk approached. At the gate, he found Thomas standing beside two small bags of belongings.

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner,” Thomas said as Hyroc came up to him.

Hyroc waved dismissively. “Don’t worry about it,” he said. “I figured you meant to.”

Thomas nodded thankfully. “I was going to tell you after the tournament, but that didn’t quite work out.”

“Yep,” Hyroc agreed. “But it could have been a lot worse.”

“That’s for sure.”

“Still, I wish I could’ve seen Gale best, Alrich.”

Thomas nodded. The outline of a horse-drawn carriage slid into view not far away. Thomas and Hyroc shrugged at the sight; the time for the dreaded goodbye had arrived.

“And there’s my dad,” Thomas said. “I guess this is it then.”

“Yep.”

Thomas smiled. ”I think it’s funny. I thought you were an enchanted animal when we became friends.”

Hyroc smirked back at him. “Yeah, you asked some pretty weird questions.”

“Well, I was only nine.” His eyes flicked toward the carriage as it came to a stop in front of the gate, and the humor faded from his expression. “I guess this is where we have to say bye.”

Hyroc sighed. “You’ve been a good friend.”

“You’ve been a good friend too.”

The carriage driver dismounted, and a thin man with a black cap on his head stepped out of the carriage, speaking as he did so. “Thomas, get in its time to go.”

“Yes, father,” Thomas said. “Bye Hyroc.”

“Bye.”

Thomas walked over to the carriage, and his father helped him inside. When he finished, the man turned a piercing glare on Hyroc. “So you’re the one who drug my son into all those fights,” Thomas’ father said acidly. Hyroc narrowed his eyes at the man but said nothing. He had learned long ago arguing with such people, no matter how wrong they were, was pointless. “I don’t know why anyone would ever allow something so violent to be around children. At least now, my son will be free of you.” Still shaking his head, the man climbed inside the carriage, closing the door behind him. The carriage driver loaded Thomas’ luggage and climbed back into his seat. With a whip of the reins, the horse began trotting off. Thomas stuck his hand out the window and waved. Hyroc waved back, saying goodbye to the only friend he had ever known.

Steven C. Levi is a sixty-something freelance historian and commercial writer who lives in Anchorage, Alaska, his home for past 40 years. He has a BA in European History and MA in American history from the University of California Davis and San Jose State. He has more than 80 books in print or on Kindle. 

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