Page 131 of On Brutal Thrones

I take another step, and the reddish earth beneath my boot seems brighter now. Almost glowing. I stare at it for a second, but even wondering why feels like too much effort.

Keep moving.

My legs drag. The next step requires concentration. Lift my foot. Move it forward. Put it down. Then do it again.

Why is this so hard?

I look toward Thorian. He’s still moving, although his pace has slowed. Fenric is a few steps beyond him, and Talon is farther to my right.

If they can keep going, so can I.

Another step sends pain through my knees. My back screams with the next. I’m tired, but not in the normal way. This is deeper. It feels as if the mountain is hollowing me out from the inside, draining me down to whatever part decides whether standing is worth the effort.

And suddenly, it doesn’t feel worth it at all.

I could sit down. Just for a minute. The ground is right there. I could close my eyes and breathe without every breath being followed by another miserable step.

Why did the gods make this the final Trial? Why make us climb after everything else? We’ve done enough. We’ve survived enough.

Maybe I’ve done enough.

My foot catches, and I stumble forward. My boot comes down on one of the scrubby plants growing through a crack in the earth.

Relief floods through me so suddenly that I gasp.

For a second, I don’t understand what happened. The pain is still there, but it’s distant now. My legs no longer feel chained to the ground, and my thoughts sharpen so quickly that I suck in a deep breath and straighten.

“What the hell?”

I look down at the little gray-green bush crushed beneath my boot, then cautiously step off it.

The exhaustion slams back into me.

My knees buckle, and I lurch sideways, planting my foot on the bush again before I fall. Relief rushes through me a second time. Not complete relief. I’m still exhausted, still sore, still desperate for sleep. But I’m myself again.

My heart starts pounding as I look at the others.

They’ve kept walking. Or trying to.

Thorian’s shoulders are bowed. Fenric is dragging his feet. Talon has slowed almost to a stop. As I watch, the earth beneath Talon’s boots pulses red, brightening when his foot lands and dimming when he lifts it.

As if the mountain is drinking from him every time he touches it.

“Talon!”

He stops, but his head hangs forward.

“Talon, look at me!”

Nothing.

Fear cuts through the last of my fog. I search frantically and spot another scrubby bush only a step to his left.

“Stand on the plant!”

He doesn’t move.

“Talon!”