world, but Jayson was not humanâat least not entirely.
Jayson had been born of a forbidden union between human and Agoran. Like his Agoran mother, Jaysonâs eyesight, hearing, and sense of smell were far more acute than his human cousinsâ. What he gained from his father was a strong skeletal system and powerful human muscles.
He used these attributes now as he prowled the marshlands of Taktani, the northern part of the island where the Agorans had lived for most of Jaysonâs life. Creeping through the underbrush, he pursued the scentthat had attracted him hours earlier. He could have ended the hunt in minutes, satisfying himself with a warm meal, but he delighted in the hunt itself, savored the act of tracking and trapping his prey. In truth, he doubted he would even make the kill. There was no need. There was food to spare in the village, but still, something in him felt driven to this occasional pleasure.
He pressed on as daylight continued to fade, his catlike vision unhampered by the dimness. Several yards ahead, a warboar grunted and pawed at the ground, preparing its nest for the night. Jayson, hunched and ready, extended his claws. His muscles twitched anxiously, but still he waited.
There would be a midnight feast, he decided at last. He would resist the urge to eat the kill himself and instead carry it back to the village where the elders would prepare it. A bonfire would be lit, and everyone would gather to celebrate the return of his people to their homelands in the forests of Imaness.
Jayson smiled. Yes, this was reason to celebrate. The village he had called home as a child would welcome his hunt. It would be his gift to them, his offering of goodwill.
The warboar was resting now, unaware of Jayson lurking behind the willows. Jaysonâs attack would catch it by surprise, rendering it helpless before it could consider the possibility of escape.
Jayson flexed his muscles and pressed his heels into the soft earth. He would need instant speed. His claws glistened in the moist, night air. They would make quickwork of the warboarâs thick hide. Steady now, thought Jayson, pacing the warboarâs breathing with his own. Steady . . .
In the distance, a voice called out. The warboar shifted in its sleep. The voice called again, strained, worried. Jayson knew that voice well, and immediately the thought of the hunt left him. He turned and sprinted off toward the village. The warboar would live another day.
Eleven
T he hours passed too slowly, and Marcus wished more than anything that he could travel faster, but if he pushed himself too hard, the pain might come back. He would be useless to Zyll then. Better slow than not at all.
Clovis didnât seem to mind. He passed the time by describing every detail of every hunting trip heâd been on in the past few months, none of which interested Marcus, but listening to Clovis did keep Marcusâs mind off Zyll for a while.
As daylight faded, Marcus started to feel anxious. The last time he had spent the night among these trees, he had nearly become a giant snakeâs meal. He was sure there were other creatures lurking in the shadows, and he did not want to meet any of them.
Marcus walked faster. He couldnât shake the feeling that he was being stalked.
âYou must be feeling better,â said Clovis.
âWhat?â asked Marcus.
âYouâre walking faster than before.â
âI just want to get out of the forest.â
Marcus wasnât afraid of the dark, at least not anymore. He had overcome that fear months ago in the shadows of Dokurâs watchtower when he fought Arik, the man who betrayed Dokur to the Hestorians. However, Marcus still didnât like the darkness. Darkness had a way of settling into his bones, like a winter chill or a sickness. At home, he always managed to have his chores done before nightfall. By the time the sun said its last goodbyes and tucked itself behind the mountains,