of his ideas about how to survive the night had just been shattered, and he needed time to regroup, time to think.
He knew it was time he wouldn’t get.
Aron had been prepared for any number of beasts, birds, and even the blood-hungry dead attacking him in force. What he hadn’t thought to prepare for—what he hadn’t imagined he would need to contend with—was what tracked him with increasing speed.
Human predators.
Aron sensed skilled and seasoned minds bent on murder. These were hunters with no heart and no conscience, and they shared only one unified thought that pounded down the path toward Aron as steadily as their boots.
His name.
Aron Weylyn, once Aron Brailing of Brailing.
Aron was their quarry, their prey. He knew that as certainly as he knew the rest of the brutal truth—that he had very little hope of escaping them.
CHAPTER FIFTY-SIX
ARON
Fog distorted the landscape of the Ruined Keep until Aron could see nothing but twisted, dark shapes looming like giant beasts all around him. The pounding of his heart competed with the crush of his boots against the path’s rocks and branches.
His pursuers could hear him, just as he could hear them.
Would that he were a Sabor, with the talent to walk the earth without making a sound. Aron’s jaw ached from grinding his teeth.
The running footfalls behind him grew louder.
Another few strides …
He had only seconds to live.
He didn’t even have time to concentrate enough to use his graal. Gods, but he should have practiced more!
Aron reached the door of the Ruined Keep and smacked his hands against the rough wood to slow himself. His arms felt stiff and jerky as he shoved the outer bolt aside and charged into the Keep’s entry room, which was about the same size as his bedchamber. Dim, gray sunlight illuminated the square, foggy space as the door banged shut behind him. He slid the inner bolt into place, then turned and clambered up a stack of ale barrels and crates of dried meat. Dust clogged his nose and made his eyes run, but he reached the darkness at the top of the stack just as his pursuers threw their weight into the door.
The ancient wood splintered and cracked, letting in more light and fog.
Aron snatched up one of the smaller barrels and held it to his chest as he closed his eyes and hurled his awareness through the Veil. The abruptness of the transition between states of awareness rattled his senses and sapped him like a day-long hike. His breathing took on the sound of thunder, and the next smash against the door of the Ruined Keep blasted against his ears like a mountain exploding at its core. The sound hurt Aron so badly he staggered backward, teetered on the stack of crates, and let out a grunt of pain as his shoulders and back smacked against the jagged rock wall behind him. He strained every muscle to regain enough balance to raise the small barrel over his head.
The door below him broke open, and at the same moment, he hurled the barrel as far as his strength would allow. With much of his remaining vigor, he threw up a thick mental shield around his essence and his graal.
The barrel crashed against the far wall and shattered into a wash of ale and splinters as four blond, muscled men in hunter’s leathers tore through the archway and rushed past Aron, targeting the noise made by the wrecked barrel.
Two had bows. Two had broadswords.
All four bore tattoos on their corded necks—a Great Roc clenching arrows in its talons.
Aron cursed to himself.
These were warbirds. Altar hunters, with great copper waves of tracking graal spilling from their shoulders as they used their mind-talent to locate their prey. When they found him, he’d be dead before he had a chance to speak. It was kill or die—and he had to kill them all, as fast as possible.
His heart seemed to crush into pieces as he whipped out his throwing knives and sent them spiraling toward the backs of the hunters. One knife bounced wild and wide. The other struck its target, and a bowman collapsed.
Aron leaped down from his hiding place and swung his short sword.
He struck the second bowman in his belly, ripping the man open. As blood sprayed across his face, Aron shouted with all the force he could muster. The sound expanded in the Ruined Keep and on the other side of the Veil before Aron jerked his full awareness back to his