Heirs of the Fallen: Book 02 - Crown of the Setting Sun by James A. West Page B

began to wonder if the Hunter really was a man. Adham had told that
Mahk’lar
, before they began breeding to humankind, and thus transferring their essence into a human womb, had gone about possessing men, women, and even children, transforming them into walking horrors. Such abominations did not last long, for with the loss of its true soul, the inhabited flesh perished and began to rot. Usually within a few days, the
Mahk’lar
would burst free, seeking new flesh to control and destroy. Although a long generation had passed since the emergence of the vile
Alon’mahk’lar
race, Leitos supposed it possible that stray
Mahk’lar
could still roam the world.
I have to get away!
    “I can see your mind working, boy,” the man said, as if sensing Leitos’s last thought, “but you will not escape me. I can track a lizard up a bare stone cliff, even a soaring bird. It is not the tracks the lizard leaves, boy, or the feathers that fall from the bird’s wings, but the reek of fear they leave when they know they are sought. I can smell that fear on all creatures, great and small … and I can smell it on you, even in this damnable rain.”
    “And you smell like the piss of a leprous goat,” Leitos snapped with a flare of irrepressible malice.
    The back of the man’s rough hand crashed into Leitos’s cheek before he registered movement. His head rocked back, and a warm trickle of blood mingled with cold raindrops on his cheek. Dazed, Leitos righted himself. He peered at the man with narrowed eyes, a smoldering hatred searing away his entrenched humility, daring to imagine that someday he would seek out such despicable men, as well as all
Alon’mahk’lar
, delivering upon them the bloody justice they had earned—
    The Hunter struck him again. The blow, harder by far than the first, knocked Leitos sprawling. Stunned, he floundered about, eyelids fluttering. He did not know how long he wallowed in the gritty mud of the riverbank, but eventually his head cleared.
Cunning
, he thought.
You must use your wits
.
    Storing away that precious tidbit, schooling his features to meekness, he pushed himself up and bowed his head in a show of surrender. The Hunter laughed, a deep mocking rumble that made Leitos’s stomach clench.
    “You cannot fool me so easily as that,” the Hunter drawled. “I can smell defiance as well as fear—and the first is fairly dripping off your skin … at least for now. By the time I return you to your masters, you will be timid as a suckling babe.”
    “Where are they,” Leitos asked, “my masters?” He needed time to plan, and if any
Alon’mahk’lar
were close, time would be all the more precious.
    The Hunter lashed out again. Leitos made a show of trembling before the man, even as the tip of his tongue ran over his split lower lip. If the abuse kept up, he might have to act sooner than he would like, which could only be to his disadvantage.
    “First lesson, runt,” the Hunter said, “is to speak only when I give you leave to do so. The second lesson is that you do what I tell you, when I tell you to do it. Stand up.”
    Leitos got to his feet. Falling into the role of the compliant slave was easier than he liked, but he would use that to his advantage … somehow he must. His cheek and jaw throbbed from the Hunter’s blows, but those pains were the least of his concerns. What mattered was getting far away from the man, and the
Alon’mahk’lar
that he served.
    The Hunter stood as well, towering half a pace over Leitos, a creature of menacing power with broad shoulders, a deep chest, and fists seemingly carved from stone. The dark hollow of his hood turned slowly. Leitos felt as if he were looking into a yawning mineshaft that delighted in destroying anyone foolish enough to enter. This man was as dangerous, maybe more so, than any
Alon’mahk’lar
he had ever encountered.
    The Hunter struck Leitos again, a vicious backhand. He reeled, trying to stay on his feet. Blood ran freely over his