She thought of her father one last time: Never hesitate, he’d told her. Opportunities in battle last shorter than breaths.
Kepi lunged for her sword. She turned it roughly, snapping the blade free of the rocks, breaking it about halfway down. Still sharp, still usable. Before her enemy could recover, she used the sharp edge of the blade to slice across his gut, spilling entrails and gore onto the rocky earth, his blood red and viscous. His intestines slithered out like a nest of snakes, which the great bird snatched at and ate with relish.
Coils of viscera hanging from its beak, the kite fixed its gaze upon her and Kepi found herself momentarily transfixed. She gaped at the creature, the kite beating its wings, rising into the air, its dark silhouette vanishing into the night sky.
Awestruck, Kepi threw down the sword and fled deeper into the stones.
She ran, following the rocky terrain upward to a high point, where she cocked her ear to the sky and listened for more shuffling footfalls, for grunts and curses. She listened, but heard only the wind whistling between the crags. She was alone in the forest of stone, but her heart would not stop pounding and her limbs would not stop shaking. She wandered the tall rocks exhausted and thirsty, nursing her bruised forearm. After a few paces, she collapsed, but forced herself to stand, to keep walking. The grade changed, the earth sloped upward. She moved from stone to stone, resting when she could, exhausted, out of breath, but determined not to stop.
The moon circled the sky, the air cooled, and she lost track of time.
Heartsore, stumbling, and feeling closer to death than when she had been attacked, she fell down among the tall rocks. Darkness. Pain. Silence. She could not give in to it. Her head jerked back and her eyes flew open.
The darkness resolved into gray columns. A circle of stones stood not more than ten paces from her spot. The King’s Throne. The meeting point. Seth. She scrambled up the slope, the grassed-over ruins of an ancient castle, to higher ground where the stones had been arranged in a wide ring.
A sculpted gray monolith stood in the center of the circle, a throne carved into the stone. The sun was going down, and the last rays lit the middle of the throne like an ancient fire. But there was no Seth, not that she had truly expected him, she had only hoped.
Still, it was a good high place from which to keep watch, so she settled into it and waited all the rest of that evening and into the night, which was cold and dark and full of the rustle of the wind down the stone canyons. Kepi was too frightened for sleep, and so she sat there on the stone, shivering under the stars, waiting for Seth.
She was still alone when the first rays of the sun illuminated the forest, when she heard a long, piercing cry coming from somewhere overhead—the same cry she had heard in the forest.
A large bird disappeared behind the tall rocks, a familiar shadow fluttering across the stones. She turned and caught sight of it approaching from behind.
It was beautiful but unnaturally large, gray, and fiercely clawed.
It circled—over and over until it wound a broad arc around the throne—its small eyes tilting toward Kepi.
25
The hunting grounds were dense with rocky hills and sharp, broken outcroppings that provided little shade in the noonday sun. It was his third day in the reserve, but he had not yet seen the eld. Ren searched for the wispy grass with the white flowers Dakar had described, but found little in the blighted landscape that was alive. As he climbed, he thought of Tye, and the Priory. And Adin … he would find out what happened to his friend, if he was dead or alive. He wanted his friends to find their freedom. For his part, it felt strange to acquire his independence and at the same moment lose the only life he had ever known and the friends who had surrounded him. It was as though he were moving between two lives, but neither one had yet taken hold. The Priory was behind him, but he was not yet a Hark-Wadi, he had not met his sisters, nor had he stepped foot inside the Hornring. Why must I pass one more test? Was the Priory not enough?
He spent the day hiking up a steep and narrow mountain trail, chasing after his black-haired hound, following the spine of an ancient path that led to a row of narrow, rotting wooden stairs. A rope handle fastened to the rock with iron rings allowed him a little balance, and he felt the air become cooler as the slope went higher, up toward the clouds. Pausing now and then to look down into the valley, he saw nothing of the eld. I’m alone here. He’d once seen a herd of deer, but they were gone, and he’d seen nothing since.
Ren reached a narrow ledge. He made his way along the flat rocks, sliding with one foot in front of the other. A tree blocked the path, so he grabbed a branch and swung himself around the trunk with the dog leaping behind him. Ren’s foot landed on a loose plank and he teetered before he caught his balance. The dog whimpered, his big brown eyes looking to Ren for reassurance. “I know, I know,” Ren said, to calm the dog as much as himself. “I’m nervous too, boy.” On the far side, there was a gap in the planks, a void that stretched to a bottom that he couldn’t see. He leapt across the gap, falling clumsily down to the other side. The dog jumped as well, tongue wagging in exhaustion. “Good boy,” he said. “Stay close now.”
Beyond the gap, the planks angled upward, the wood wet in spots—remnants from the morning. He placed both hands on the guide rope, holding tightly, skirting the mountain and looking for some end to his climb. The guide rope was so old and worn that he dared not use it in some spots, and the planks were not in any better shape. Dust thick enough to grow moss covered the wooden surface, and in the middle was a sandal print. Someone had walked this path before him. I’m not alone after all. The mark certainly didn’t belong to Dakar; he was too old to make the climb. So who made it? He recalled the horse he had seen tethered to a tree. Were the gray-cloaks still following him?