Starker had no plans to die tonight. The men following him, however, did have such plans, and despite his best arguments, they had not been particularly flexible on this point.
His breath sawed in and out, louder than his pulse. Louder even than his hammering feet. Each harsh exhale sent blood splattering from his nose, and each inhale filled his mouth with the tang of it.
His vision blurred. He shook his head, blinking… then swaying. No, no—he could not black out right now. Grig and his gang would slash him apart, and Starker greatly preferred his body in one piece.
He pushed himself harder, straining to stay upright and see in all the darkness. It was a Cobra’s Moon, and though the stars shone brightly, they weren’t that bright. Especially when the sandstone buildings blocked out so much of the sky.
Landcursed outpost and its Landcursed design. Right on the cliff’s edge and all winding streets, Carst was almost vertical in its steepness. Starker was fit and young, but there was only so …
