She hurried ahead, abandoning her plan to try to get back to the exit she had found before, concentrating now on reaching any opening at the rear of the complex where she might find a way out. All she wanted was to escape, to get clear of a place that was beginning to feel like a tomb.
While she floundered like a rat in a maze, sunshine and fresh air waited outside. She would recognize features in the wall of the distant mountain peaks, and then forests and hills and trails she knew well would guide her home. Somehow she would find her way.
She kept that thought foremost as she searched for an exit. But the corridors ran on, twisting and turning, the arrows pointing this way and that, and eventually she realized she no longer knew which way she was going.
She stopped then, took a deep breath, and tried to think clearly. She was lost, but she could still find her way if she kept her head. The sounds of pursuit were still audible, but they didn’t seem to be quite as close as before. Maybe she was wrong about where she was. Maybe she was farther back in the complex than she had thought.
“Where do you think you are running to?” said a voice in the darkness just ahead of her.
She started so badly that she dropped the bow and arrows. Snatching them up again, she backed away from the voice, terrified. She had reason to be. The old man was standing there looking at her, tall and lean and bent, ragged clothing hanging off his skeletal frame, narrow head cocked to one side, obsidian eyes fixed on her.
“Get away from me,” she whispered.
“Well, I can’t do that until we’ve talked. But I can stand right where I am, if it will make you feel any better. All you have to do is answer my questions.”
She took a deep breath, steadying herself. “What kind of questions?”
He gave her a tight smile. “Nothing much. Like what sort of magic you possess, for instance?”
“None. I don’t have any magic. I’m a Tracker.”
“Oh, you have magic, all right. I can sense it. I don’t make mistakes about that sort of thing. What can you do that no one else can? Tell me.”
She swallowed against her fear. One hand snaked into her pocket and her fingers closed about the automatic weapon. “I can sense danger. I can tell when it’s close to me.”
The old man nodded. “Really? Do you sense it now, from me, when I am close?”
She shook her head no. “It doesn’t always work.”
“What an unreliable gift! Sometimes it helps and sometimes it leaves you hung out to dry. Like now.” His smile returned, colder. “You really shouldn’t think about trying to use that weapon on me. It won’t work. Those sorts of things can’t hurt me.”
She was trying to think what to do, how to get away. She could run, but what was the point if she didn’t know where she was going? “I only have your word for that. I don’t think I should take your word about anything. I don’t think you can be trusted.”
“Oh, but I can. I will tell you exactly what I am going to do before I do it. Just so long as you don’t attack me. Fair enough?” He glanced around. “Why don’t we go back upstairs and outside? It would be much more comfortable out there. We could talk just as easily. You might feel better about things. Trackers live outside, don’t they? You must feel trapped down here under all these tons of stone. Don’t you?”
“I’m fine where I am.”
“I doubt it, but it’s up to you.”
“Why don’t you just let me go?”
“Questions, remember? Do you know a man who carries a black staff? Ah, your face gives you away. You do know such a man, don’t you? Tell me where he is. Tell me how to find him. Then you can go on your way.”
Sider Ament. He was looking for the Gray Man. Prue was furious with herself for giving anything away, but she imagined that where this old man was concerned it didn’t take much to reveal yourself. “He’s dead,” she said quickly. “Killed a month ago.”
The old man shook his head admonishingly. “You’re lying, young lady. How unbecoming. I can tell when people lie to me. It’s a waste of time to try doing so. The man who carries the black staff is alive and you know where he is. So now you had better tell me or things will quickly become very unpleasant for you.”
She hesitated only a moment, and then she jerked the automatic weapon from her pocket and fired it at the old man until it clicked on empty. She was running by then, tearing back down the corridors, racing for a freedom she had no idea how to find. She threw away the weapon and began struggling with the bow and arrows—although if the Flange 350 wasn’t enough to stop the old man, she had no reason to think the bow and arrows would work any better.
Risking all, she glanced back to see if her pursuer was anywhere in sight. Her heart sank. A shadowy form was cleaving the darkness, keeping pace with her, coming much more quickly than should have been possible for someone so bent and old.
She pounded ahead, running faster, her stamina already waning, her breathing uneven. The old man continued to draw closer. She could not outdistance him.