door instead.
Falconer was standing in the archway.
The Thorn Brother’s hands and bracelets and robes were soiled with blackish stains Aron presumed to be old blood, and his eyes were wide with surprise.
Aron’s hand smacked against his waist to grab a dagger, but he had no weapons belt. Falconer must have taken it while he was unconscious.
The Thorn Brother, however, was wearing a short sword, which he drew. “I don’t know how it’s possible that you’re standing, boy, but you won’t be leaving unless it’s under my supervision, with a new dose of nightshade elixir.”
Aron calmed himself, drawing on session after session of practice with Dari. He let his awareness ease through the Veil, all the while keeping his actions and graal masked from the Thorn Brother. He wasn’t adept enough at traveling over distances to reach out his mind to Triune, not while he had to concentrate on Falconer’s drawn sword, but he would communicate with Dari or Nic or Stormbreaker soon enough.
“I won’t be going with you,” he told Falconer, holding his hands palm out to discourage the Thorn Brother from charging him with the blade.
“You don’t understand what’s at stake,” Falconer said, turning the short sword in his grip like an experienced fighter. “You don’t understand what Lady Pravda is trying to do.”
“And you don’t understand me,” Aron countered. “I have no interest in your Lady Provost’s schemes. Let me pass.” His gaze dropped to Falconer’s stained garments. “We don’t have to bring this to more bloodshed.”
Falconer emitted a low growl and circled Aron, keeping his short sword ready. “I don’t want to kill you, boy. Not when fate has spared you once already. What you could mean to Thorn, to Eyrie—you have no idea.”
Aron kept his awareness on both sides of the Veil, paying attention to the man’s movements in the Keep chamber, and to Falconer’s increasing red glow on the other side of the Veil. The man did have a strong legacy, and he was preparing to use it.
But how?
The Mab gift was broad, like that of the Stregans, but primarily it involved seeing what might be, what could be, and what would be.
Aron started to move to his left, but Falconer blocked him with a quick lunge. Aron feinted right but jumped hard to the left again—and Falconer beat him to the position, keeping him at the same distance from the Keep door.
Was he anticipating Aron’s strategies?
To test his theory, Aron executed another series of potential escape moves.
Each time, Falconer stopped him easily.
“You know where I’m going,” Aron said.
Falconer’s smile was chilling, like the sunlight reflecting off his sharpened sword. “You can’t get past me, and you have no weapon. I can see that you can’t use your graal yet, either, so what choice do you have? Sit on the floor, boy. A drink of my nightshade elixir, and we’ll be away from this place, heading for much kinder, brighter lands.”
Aron didn’t smile back at the Thorn Brother, though he was gratified that his shields prevented Falconer from seeing that his legacy had been restored to him. Dari would be proud.
Dari…
A surge of desperate worry nearly distracted Aron from his purpose, but he fought to maintain his concentration.
“Stone trains us to fight with and without weapons,” he told Falconer. “We could be at this cat-mouse game for a long time.”
Falconer’s upper lip pulled back in a new snarl.
“Not all the predators on the Lost Path hunt at night,” Aron continued, watching Falconer’s blue eyes and the color of his legacy. “The longer I hold you off, the more likely we’ll be eaten by something as we make our escape.”
Falconer struck out with his sword, aiming for Aron’s arm.
Aron sidestepped and spun to keep Falconer in front of him.
The Thorn Brother swore and jumped to block Aron’s egress, once more occupying the space between Aron and the chamber door. His eyes had gone wider, and Aron thought he caught a gleam of worry.
“A Great Roc attacked me last time I made this journey.” Aron tried to sound both taunting and frightened. “And I’ve seen far more dangerous creatures outside these walls.”
Falconer was definitely getting more rattled.
Aron figured the man couldn’t be thinking well, given his recent actions. He didn’t want to underestimate anyone with a lifetime of guild training, but something had left Falconer a shell of what he should be. Maybe it was a troubled conscience or the ravages of some illness, or some other destructive force. Aron didn’t really care. He just wanted to