They traveled steadily downward now, following a rapidly flowing river through a cleft in the mountains. The lower they went, the higher the canopy rose, and the darker their world became. They camped along a bank where the river swirled around a break of boulders. With no fire or tent, it was not much of a camp. They huddled on a bare sandy patch exposed by a shift in the river’s bend, eating cold salted meat. Royce sat at the edge of the camp and watched Thranic watching him.
They had played this game each night since the village. Royce was certain Bernie had filled Thranic’s head with numerous stories about his reign of terror against the Diamond. Thranic appeared aloof, but Royce was certain Bernie’s words had wormed in nonetheless. Without Staul, and with Bernie no longer a trusted ally, Thranic was dramatically weakened. The sentinel’s confrontation with Wesley had revealed Thranic’s growing desperation—his failure another setback. The balance had shifted, he slipped from the hunter to the hunted, and with each day Royce grew stronger.
Royce enjoyed the game. He liked watching the shadows growing under Thranic’s eyes as he got less and less sleep. He savored the way Thranic spun, his eyes searching rapidly for Royce, whenever an animal rustled branches behind him on the trail. Mental torture was never something Royce aimed for, but in Thranic’s case he was making an exception.
Royce’s quick turn had saved his life. Although he might have bled to death if Hadrian and the others had not found him, or died from fever if the Tenkin woman had not helped, the wound itself was relatively superficial. For several days he had portrayed being weaker than he was. He had pain when pressing on his side and was still experiencing some lack of movement, but for the most part he was his old self again.
Royce might have continued the game longer, but it was becoming too dangerous. Wesley’s defiance had changed the playing field. The sentinel’s options were diminishing. The ploy to force Wesley’s hand had been his last civil gambit. As long as Wesley remained a legitimate leader, those like Wyatt, Grady, Derning, and Poe would side with him. Royce knew Thranic saw Wesley as a pawn blocking his forward movement, one that he would need removed. It was time to deal with the sentinel.
Royce curled up to sleep with the rest of them, but selected a place hidden by a small thicket of plants. In the darkness he lay there only briefly before leaving his blanket filled with brush and melted into the jungle.
Thranic had chosen to bed down near the river, which Royce thought considerate, since he intended to dispose of the sentinel’s body in the strong current. Royce slipped around the outside of the camp until he came to where Bernie and Levy slept, but Thranic was missing.
Thwack! A narrow tree trunk splintered.
At the last moment, Royce had moved. A crossbow bolt lodged itself in the wood where a second before he had been crouching.
Thranic struggled desperately to crank back the string on his weapon. “Did you think to find me in my bed?” he said. “Did you really think killing me would be that easy—elf?”
He cranked back on the gear.
“You shouldn’t fear me so much. I’m here to help you. It’s my responsibility to help all of you. I’ll cleanse the darkness in your hearts. I’ll free you of the burden of your disgusting, offensive life. You no longer need to be an affront to Maribor. I’ll save you!”
“And who will save you?” Royce replied.
He was just a few feet from where he had been. Thranic glanced down to set the bolt in the track. He lifted the bow, but when he looked up, Royce was gone.
“What do you mean?” Thranic asked, hoping Royce would reveal his position.
“You see awfully well in the dark, Thranic,” Royce said from his right.
Thranic turned and fired, but the bolt merely ripped through an empty thicket.
“Well, but not perfectly,” Royce observed, appearing once more, but much closer. Thranic immediately began ratcheting back his bow.
He had two more bolts.
“You also managed to slip into the trees without me seeing you. And you crept up behind me. That’s indeed remarkable. How old are you, Thranic? I’ll bet you’re older than you look.”
The sentinel loaded the bolt and looked up, but once more Royce was gone.
“What are you driving at, elf?” Thranic asked, holding his crossbow at his hip. Backing against a tree, he peered around the jungle.
“We’re alike, you and I,” Royce said from behind him.
Thranic spun around. He saw movement slipping through the brush and fired. The shot went wide and he cursed. Thranic began cranking back the string once more.
“Is that why you do it?” Royce asked. “Is that why you torture elves? Tell me, are you purging them—or yourself?”