"We found the heir."
The man's smile showed narrow teeth filed to points.
He stood at the tree line with two others spread behind him like wolves keeping flanks. All three wore travel leathers stitched with strips of gray fur. Hooks, knives, short bows, cords, and trophies hung from their belts.
The severed raven dripped black onto leaves.
Sun rose in one motion, sword already in hand.
The last coals of the fire painted the hunters in low red light. Their eyes glinted with practiced cruelty.
Varen remained seated.
"Late," he said mildly.
The lead hunter tilted his head. "Traffic."
He tossed the dead raven aside.
"We tracked you since Road of Bones."
Sun's grip tightened. "You followed us that long?"
The hunter sniffed.
"You killed sloppily. Fear has a scent."
"That's unpleasantly poetic," Sun muttered.
The man bowed mockingly.
"Hask, pack-leader of the Gray Trackers. We sell runaways, fugitives, rare beasts, and now—"
He pointed at Sun.
"Rare blood."
The two flanking hunters laughed.
Varen finally stood.
"You should leave."
Hask spat.
"You're one man."
"Yes."
"We are three."
"Yes."
Hask grinned wider.
"So you understand numbers."
Varen looked genuinely sympathetic.
"So little."
The two flankers loosed arrows simultaneously.
Varen moved one hand.
The arrows stopped in midair.
Hung.
Then reversed and buried themselves in the throats of the men who fired them.
Both hunters collapsed without a sound.
Sun stared.
Hask stared.
Varen dusted his sleeve.
"I dislike being interrupted."
Hask turned and ran instantly.
Sun barked a shocked laugh. "That's your terrifying hunter pack?"
"Competence often travels alone," Varen said.
Then Sun saw it.
Hask wasn't fleeing blindly.
He was sprinting toward the narrow ravine path behind camp—the only easy route forward.
A choke point.
Trap terrain.
Sun cursed and ran after him.
"Where are you going?" called Varen.
"To learn competence!"
The ravine twisted between shoulder-high stone walls and thorn scrub. Moonlight barely reached the floor.
Hask's footsteps scraped ahead.
Sun followed hard, lungs burning.
The sword thumped against his back.
"Come on," he muttered. "Come on—"
A wire snapped across his shin.
Sun threw himself sideways by instinct.
Three hooked spikes whipped from the wall where his chest had been.
He hit dirt, rolled, came up breathing hard.
"Right," he said aloud. "Trap man."
From deeper in the ravine came Hask's laughter.
"Good reflexes, heir!"
Sun moved slower now.
Every shadow became suspicious.
Loose stones.
Bent branches.
Fresh scrape marks.
He advanced with the blade drawn.
Another step.
Nothing.
Another.
Still—
A net dropped from above.
Sun slashed upward.
The runed blade sliced rope and weighted cords before they touched him.
The severed pieces fell around him.
Hask's laughter stopped.
"That sword is expensive," the hunter called.
"Thank you," Sun answered.
He edged forward.
Then pain exploded across his left shoulder.
A hidden dart from the wall.
Sun staggered, ripping the tiny barb free.
Numbness spread immediately.
Poison.
"Cheap," he hissed.
"Effective," Hask replied.
Sun's fingers tingled.
His vision swam at the edges.
Panic threatened.
Then Ling Han's voice returned from memory:
When weaker men set traps, become terrain.
Sun looked around.
Narrow walls.
Loose shale overhead.
Dry thorn tangles.
He smiled despite the poison.
"Found you," Hask said from a ledge above, drawing a short bow. "Goodbye, princeling."
Sun didn't look up.
He kicked the ravine wall with all his strength.
Once.
Twice.
Third time with Qi in the leg.
Cracks spidered through stacked shale above Hask.
The hunter's eyes widened.
"What—"
The ledge collapsed.
Stone and thorn brush buried him in a crashing wave.
Sun lunged forward through dust and drove the sword down where Hask had fallen.
A wet gasp answered.
Then stillness.
Sun leaned on the blade, breathing hard.
The numbness in his arm deepened.
"Well," he muttered, "I hate practical lessons."
He made it back to camp by stubbornness and poor judgment.
Varen sat exactly where he'd been, drinking tea.
Sun glared.
"You have tea?"
"I made some while you were maturing."
"I'm poisoned."
"Yes."
"Could've mentioned antidotes earlier."
"You didn't ask."
Sun nearly fell onto the bedroll.
Varen caught his wrist, inspected the dart wound, then sniffed the blood.
"Sleep-thorn venom."
"That sounds fake."
"It will feel real in one minute."
Sun's tongue already felt heavy.
Varen crushed herbs into a cup, poured steaming water, and shoved it into Sun's hands.
"Drink."
It tasted worse than goat.
Then Varen sliced the wound open with a tiny knife.
Sun yelped. "Warn people!"
"I am warning you now."
Blackened blood dripped onto the dirt.
The numbness retreated slowly.
Sun lay back panting.
"You enjoy this."
"I enjoy you surviving."
"That sounded almost caring."
"Fever hallucination."
Dawn approached in pale gray bands through the trees.
Sun sat wrapped in a blanket while Varen packed calmly.
Three bodies now cooled near camp.
Sun watched the sky lighten.
"Rogan sold my identity," he said quietly.
"Yes."
"How do you know?"
"Hunters carried village directions and your description. Someone local profited."
Sun nodded once.
No anger showed.
That worried Varen more than shouting might have.
Sun looked at his palms.
Yesterday blood shocked him.
Today it instructed him.
"They'll keep coming."
"Yes."
"Good."
Varen paused.
"Good?"
Sun stood.
"They save me time."
The morning wind moved through the trees.
Something in Sun's face had changed during the night—not hardness exactly, but arrangement. Grief was still there. So was rage.
Now they had purpose.
Varen handed him a strip of dried fruit.
"You're becoming dangerous."
Sun took it.
"I was hoping for handsome first."
"You can pursue both."
They broke camp and entered the eastern trail.
Behind them ravens descended on hunters and heroes alike.
Ahead, the road bent toward Blackstone City.
After an hour of walking, Sun asked casually:
"How many more trackers?"
Varen considered.
"Gray Trackers? None."
Sun smirked.
"Good."
"Bounty guilds, clan assassins, mercenary companies, bloodline collectors, debt hunters, spirit hounds, and one monastery that kills politely?"
Sun sighed.
"I asked a small question."
Then the sword on his back pulsed once.
Warning.
Varen stopped.
From the ridge above, dozens of arrows drew taut in unison.
A voice called down:
"By order of House Teryn, surrender the heir!"
Sun looked up at the line of silhouettes.
Then at Varen.
Then smiled slowly.
"This day is improving."
To be continued...