Then the Highlander and the Tracker were in the clear once more. Quentin risked a quick glance over one shoulder. A gleam of metal in sunlight and the sounds of something huge thrashing after them told him the wronk was still coming, and it was coming for them.
"This way!" Tamis hissed, dodging deadwood and scrub like a rabbit as she plunged down a ravine.
They ran in silence for a long time, neither one speaking, trying to put as much distance as possible between themselves and their pursuer. It was growing dark, twilight settling over Parkasia, shadows lengthening into night. It was difficult to pick up all the obstacles that hindered or blocked their path, especially when they were running, and more than once Quentin almost lost his footing. All the while, they could hear the sounds of pursuit, the breaking of branches, the rending of brush and grass, the steady, relentless clump of heavy steps.
Something unexpected and frightening insinuated itself into the Highlander's thinking as he fled. At first he discounted the possibility, pushed it aside angrily, but then he began to wonder. Both times, here and there, the wronk had made it a point to come after him. He had seen it in the monster's attack on the Rindge defensive formation, back in the ruins, where it had rushed the natives first, then turned directly for him. Again, in the woods, after striking down those closest, it had chosen to pursue him. It seemed paranoid to think like that. Why would the wronk be after him in particular? Had his attack on it in the ventilation shaft provoked it? Was there something about him especially that drew it?
Then he remembered something Walker had said during their final meeting aboard ship before disembarking for their ill-fated journey to the ruins, and he had his answer.
It was completely dark when they finally stopped, miles from where they had started, deep in the woods. The only visible light came from moon and stars, the forest around them layered with shadows and cloaked in silence. They crouched on a ridge, concealed in a stand of brush, and looked back the way they had come, listening. The sounds of the wronk's pursuit had faded, disappearing almost without their realizing it, as if the creature had stopped, as well. Neither Quentin nor Tamis moved or spoke for a very long time, waiting. "I know what it's after," Quentin whispered finally, staring off into the dark. "It's after me."
She looked at him without speaking.
"It wants the sword. It wants the magic. Remember what Walker told us about why we were lured here in the first place? For our magic, he said. I think Antrax knows all about us, maybe even about Bek. It wants everything we have." She thought it over. "Maybe."
"That's why it sent this wronk made of pieces of Ard Patrinell. It's using his brain, his instincts, and his fighting skills to get what it wants from us. From me. I thought at first it had chosen Patrinell because he would know us best, could kill us easiest. But why send a wronk after us? Why bother, when we were so easily cut apart in the maze and pose so little threat?"
"So you think it constructed the wronk deliberately," she said. "It used Patrinell's head and sword arm, so it had to have a specific purpose in mind."
"It used those parts it needed to make the wronk function as closely as possible to the real thing. None of this happened by accident. The wronk was constructed and dispatched for a reason. It's after me. It keeps coming right for me. I didn't think anything of it at first, back in the ventilation shaft. But it came after me again once we were outside and again in the forest, and now it's chasing me. It wants the sword, Tamis. It wants the magic."
For a moment, she was quiet. He went back to staring off into the impenetrable dark, listening. "You haven't thought it through far enough," she whispered suddenly. She waited until he turned to look at her again. "Think about it. Your sword won't work for just anyone, will it?"
Her steady gaze unnerved him. "No. It only works for me. So you're saying it wants me, too."
"Or parts of you, like Patrinell."
His throat tightened, and he looked away. "I'll die first."
She didn't say anything but put a hand on his arm. "What were you trying to tell me about his eyes back there in the tunnel? When we were running, you started to say something. You asked me if I'd seen his eyes."
Quentin was quiet for a long time, remembering what he had seen, trying to overcome the revulsion that even thinking of it caused. Tamis kept her hand on his arm and her eyes on his face. "Tell me, Highlander."
He sagged a little as he spoke, despair and fear taking fresh hold. "When we struggled underground below the ruins, I got a good look at those eyes. While I was grappling with it, I got close enough to see into them. They weren't dead eyes. They weren't soulless. They weren't filled with anger or madness or anything I expected. They were frightened and trapped and helpless. I know it sounds impossible, but he's still alive in there. In his head and brain. In what he sees and feels. He's shut away in there. I could see it. I could tell. He was asking for help. He was begging for it."