The keep shook violently above Kevlin. Then it collapsed.

Towers, roof, and walls imploded into one gigantic heap. The collapse shook the ground, and fear clamored along the outer edges of his magic-soaked senses.

Clouds of smoke and dust billowed up, obscuring everything. Kevlin’s column of fire settled over the broken remains, and stones melted from the supernatural heat.

Nothing could survive the inferno.

Kevlin stared wide-eyed at the spectacle. What a mess.

When the raging fire consumed all but a fraction of the power he controlled, he cut off the flow, keeping just enough rippling through him to keep him from collapsing.

The fire winked out, leaving a deep silence behind. Harafin was kneeling on the ground nearby, panting with exhaustion.

Kevlin glanced up to see who had dragged him away from the keep. It was Leander, but before he could thank him, the stalwart raced for the pile of rubble.

He’s going after Tanathos.

Antigonus was dead, beyond Tanathos’ power. Kevlin stared at the sheer cliff looming above the ruins of the shattered keep and struggled to understand.

His connection with Tia Khoa faded as the presence of the stone withdrew from his mind. He wanted to pull the rock from its rune-covered bag and connect with it again. A final thought floated up to him from the stone, the reassurance that it would come to his call again when he needed it.

Then it was gone.

He was left wondering what it all meant. How could he, the steward, ever summon Tia Khoa again? Who was going to be bearer since Antigonus was dead?

He’d failed--and yet, perhaps he hadn’t.

“Kevlin.”

Drystan’s voice snapped him out of his reverie. The lanky soldier settled Indira on the ground nearby. She was glistening with sweat and shook like she had a fever. Her face was deathly pale and haggard.

“What happened?” Kevlin rolled over, and nearly fell on his face. Every muscle ached as if he’d been beaten with a stick for a year. Only the sight of Indira gave him the will to move. He crawled to her and gently wiped her sweat-streaked face.

She opened her eyes and murmured, “Ceren.”

He glanced around but didn’t see the auburn-haired noblewoman. “Where is she?”

“The keep.”

Kevlin blinked in shock and turned to stare at the clouds of smoke marking the devastated keep. Ceren was in there? The thought struck him like a hammer. How did Ceren get in there? What was she doing?

Indira clutched his arm. “Not dead. My shield.” She paused, then whispered, “Not much time,” before sagging back to the ground.

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“We have to find her,” Kevlin shouted.

His gallant words failed to motivate his body. Kevlin barely managed to stand, and Drystan had to support him as he stumbled toward the still-burning rubble.

# # #

Despite the intense heat, Leander vaulted onto the pile of rubble. He reached for a gift he’d renounced a century ago. Weak from disuse, the power came slowly. This magic, so different from the pure light of faith granted him as a stalwart, seeped back into his soul and rattled him with remembered insanity.

Abaval. The murderer of his family. He was close.

Memories laid bare by the identification of his family’s murderer burned with undiminished clarity.

Breathing hard, he drank in the power and let the pain augment his strength. A desire to see justice done tempered his rabid need for vengeance, lifting him just a little from the roiling madness.

He pushed air away from his body, creating a void between him and the searing heat. He filled that void with water to protect his skin, and scrambled over the rubble until he reached the sheer wall of the cliff. Lifting his hands high, he focused his will and released the magic.

Debris fountained up and away from him in a showering cascade as he tore through the debris with fingers of power. Dust heavy with ash clogged his nose and coated his throat with the taste of cinders.

The clattering of rocks and splintered wood drowned out the calls of his companions as they approached. Piles of slate, brick, charred timbers, and twisted steel grew around him and he sank through the shifting debris.

Within seconds he disappeared into a deepening hole.

# # #

Tanathos howled.

Kneeling on the dead corpse of the halimaw, he raised his hands and shouted until his voice cracked. The echoes bounced around the cavern, amplifying his frustrated rage and mocking him again and again.

Yanking the dagger from the halimaw’s chest, he plunged it in again and again, driving the blade with all his anger until his crimson robes dripped a deeper red from the monster’s blood.

A loud boom rolled out of the passageway from the keep, and the stone floor vibrated under some heavy impact. Dust drifted into the cavern a moment later, tasting like ash.

Tanathos rose to his feet and forced control over his emotions. From behind the roiling blackness of his eyes, he considered the fallen monster. It lay dead, its heart pierced, but the aegis had not shattered, nor had titanic waves of magic been released through him.

That could mean only one thing. Tia Khoa’s next bearer had taken up the stone.

He’d been so close! He wanted to scream again with impotent rage and shred the corpse to assuage his anger.

The next bearer had to be a powerful sentinel. Surely they had been in Tamera or the distant sentinel island of Il’Marinen. How had Harafin gotten the stone to them so quickly? Tanathos should have had plenty of time.

He wanted to race back up the passage to the keep and unleash deadly vengeance on those who had thwarted his victory, but he could not. Something had changed, and that meant his life hung in the balance. He would wreak vengeance on his enemies, but not today.

Today he needed to live. To live, he needed to run.

He couldn’t escape the way he’d come. That way lay danger. With a bit of focused energy, he magnified his sight until he could pierce the surrounding gloom. He spotted a shadowy doorway in the opposite wall. It offered the only other way out.

Abandoning the bloody ruin of the halimaw on the floor, he ran for the exit. The echoes of his footfalls chased him across the vast, empty cavern.

He reached the doorway, panting from the unfamiliar exertion without the reinforcing strength of his slaves’ life forces. Glancing back, he saw no movement, but a sixth sense of danger clamored that time was short.

He strode through and followed a squared passage upward. It curved in an ever-ascending spiral. The silver glow of the rune-covered cavern gradually faded behind him until the darkness pressed so deep that even he had difficulty finding his way.

He raised a hand and summoned a ball of crimson light that pushed the shadows back like a bloody curtain. He climbed for what seemed like hours until he emerged into another huge cavern that must have lain directly above the heart of the mountain.

Although smaller than the lower cavern, this one still extended hundreds of yards into darkness. No runes covered its rough obsidian walls, but a faint light shone from above. He smiled, and for a moment stared up at the great chasm of the dormant volcano’s cone.

To his right, a rough stair with no rail rose above the jagged floor. Carved into the wall, the stairs spiraled up into the shadows.

Tanathos began to climb.