the night before.
Feeling detached and less than human himself, Aron drew the dagger from Falconer’s pocket, then plunged the blade into Falconer’s chest. He spoke in the Language of Kings as Stormbreaker and the Stone Guild had taught him to do, summoning Falconer’s spirit.
The man’s cardinal cheville burst open, falling to dust and bits of bright red stone. An instant later, his essence burst upward, freed from its ruined flesh by the breaking of the cheville, the silver in the dagger, and Aron’s rhythmic incantation. For a few sad seconds, the image of a powerful winged man lingered above the body.
Then all that had been Eldin Falconer lifted upward and exploded into glittering bits as it struck the Keep’s ceiling. Aron knew the man’s energy would keep rising, striving to reach the sky and the stars.
Aron folded Falconer’s arms, closed the man’s staring eyes, then withdrew his dagger and cleaned it. He fashioned himself a new belt of cloth, and used it to strap the dagger and Falconer’s short sword to his waist. When he was finished, he collected Falconer’s bracelets, and set out from the Ruined Keep.
His destination, at least for the moment, was Triune. It seemed the only right thing to do, to take Falconer’s bracelets to Lord Baldric, and explain what had happened. The prospect of Judgment no longer frightened Aron. If that was Lord Baldric’s decision, Aron would submit to it without protest. He might even submit to the killing blow rather than strike at one of his fellow guild members. It grieved him to think he had failed his trial, and failed so completely in the control of his graal. More than anything, though, it hurt Aron to know he would disappoint and wound the people he loved.
As he ran toward the Stone stronghold, Aron noticed the silence on the Lost Path, and knew that the truth was clinging to him like a tangible smell. It had to be obvious to anything that might choose to attack him.
Predator.
That’s what he was. Like Platt. Like the Altar hunters. Aron was a killer, and even the animals knew it.
CHAPTER FIFTY-NINE
NIC
“It wasn’t murder!” Lord Baldric’s voice thundered through his chambers, rattling Nic’s nerves.
The sight of Aron, stubbornly wearing his apprentice’s tunic and breeches, sitting at the opposite end of Lord Baldric’s long table beside Stormbreaker looking so utterly broken—that rattled Nic’s heart. Eldin Falconer’s silver bracelets, coated with remnants of blood from four Altar hunters, rested on the table in front of Aron, offering mute testimony to what Aron had suffered.
“You defended yourself,” Stormbreaker said. “You defended Stone, Aron. Apprentices should contend with natural elements and the dangers of the land during their trial—never human hunters.”
Dari sat on Aron’s other side, and next to her was Lord Ross. Dari’s grandfather was so powerfully built that he dwarfed everyone else at the table, and his smooth, dark skin gave no hint of his age or the sorrows he had suffered. He had large, dark eyes like Dari, and his hair was the same flawless coal-black as hers, though much shorter, with a dash of silver at both temples. With his dark green robes and black eyes, he was the picture of nobility, and Nic couldn’t help but admire the force of his character and voice.
“I’m sorry, young man,” Lord Ross said to Aron, his bass voice as commanding as his appearance. “You shouldn’t have faced such an attack alone. I would have been honored to fight at your side.”
“As would I,” Lord Cobb agreed from across the table, pulling at his overlong brown beard. He was still dressed in the simple brown robes of a common traveler, and Nic suspected he was more comfortable in those garments than the fine silks of a dynast lord. “Gods. First Helmet Brailing’s mind goes over a cliff, and he takes Bolthor Altar and the warbirds down with him. Now Thorn’s leaders have followed after them—or at least Eldin Falconer did. What are we to do, Kembell?” Lord Cobb gave Lord Ross a sad look. “How are we to stop this disaster?”
Nic’s stomach lurched as he thought about his mother, always fragile, never stable. Had Eyrie created a generation of lords and ladies who didn’t have the constitution to lead? Were the only sane nobles in the land sitting together at this table?
“We stand with our allies.” Lord Ross gestured around the table. “And we call to all who would stand with us.” To Lord Cobb, he said, “The war has come to