A Prince Among Killers - By J. B. Redmond Page 0,94

stone fortress that held a measure of food, water, and extra weapons. He couldn’t see the path beneath his feet, but he felt sure of its direction, and his memory soothed him by marking clumps of rocks and rotten branches he had memorized on his previous journey. There were small dips and hills, but for the most part, the land was flat and straight, though rocky and shrouded by ever-present clouds from the Deadfall.

If he could keep his speed, he knew he should make it to the Ruined Keep far ahead of moonsrise.

Aron had been running less than an hour when he heard the first moans of manes, no doubt moving toward the heat and blood they sensed. He let his surge of panic renew his speed, but he maintained his focus on the bit of path he could see through the fog. His heart was already pounding, but he refused to allow his breath to become too shallow, or to slow his progress by drawing his weapons too soon. Though he had sworn to himself he wouldn’t do it, Aron couldn’t stop himself from remembering the impossible odds he and Galvin Herder had faced—and the fact that Herder hadn’t survived his own trial.

Aron forcefully returned his thoughts to his running, and to the fact that he thought he understood now some of the reasons for Stone’s trial. Yes, it was antiquated and dangerous beyond reason, but Aron realized that the peril had forced him to do what he could to repair damaged relationships before he left. And he would feel pride in himself for weathering this test of his skill and intelligence. Also, his first combat and first hunt would seem easy compared to this.

The moaning of the manes rose again, this time closer.

Aron told himself to stay steady, but when the howling of rock cats joined the eerie keen of the dead, the mists began to feel colder and thicker.

“I can do this,” he said to himself, gasping as much as speaking as he forced himself to run even faster. He estimated he was over halfway to the Ruined Keep, and likely much closer. Another fifteen minutes, maybe twenty, and he would reach it and be able to set up his defenses for the night.

The prowling manes moaned again, joined by the feral screech of rock cats from behind Aron.

He clenched his jaw.

The predators were herding him. If he ran forward, he would find the manes, but if he retreated, he’d have to battle the rock cats.

Even as he realized this, the sound of the cats ceased in mid-warble. Aron thought he heard the cry of one of the beasts dying, then the choking hack of another. Like something had sliced open the cat’s throat and left it to bleed its life onto the rocky ground.

He stopped running so fast that pebbles and branches sprayed outward from his feet, striking nearby rocks with too-loud clatters and thumps. Aron stood still, breathing so loudly he could hear little else until he managed to get control of his body.

The Lost Path went unnaturally still, and instinct loosed his graal even though he struggled not to use it.

Something was off.

Aron’s mind hummed from the wrongness, and the sensation was so strong he had to believe he would have noticed it, legacy or no. Even the air and mists felt unnatural, if anything could, in fact, be natural along the worst miles in all of Eyrie. His first thought was that some lethal type of mocker had attacked the cats and frightened away the manes, but that didn’t feel correct to his instincts.

From somewhere behind Aron, he heard a rustling and crunching along the path, almost at the same time as his graal absorbed and deflected a hot wave of menace. The sensation crested and broke across his face like a hot curtain of flame.

Not real fire. No.

It was legacy energy.

Aron gripped the hilt of his blades, then thought better of it. He started running toward the Ruined Keep again, this time pushing himself beyond all reasonable limits. His pulse roared in his ears, blocking out all other sounds except the inexorable crunch of gravel behind him.

Aron pumped his arms hard, driving himself harder with each stride. He leaned forward, digging his toes into the rocky ground with each long stride. His focus narrowed to the thought of getting to the fortress, because that part of his plan was the only aspect of his survival strategy that was still viable. The rest