Two hundred feet above Kevlin, an owl floated on silent wings as it stared down at the running figure and the line of white-robed men and women. Movement under the trees drew its gaze and that of Tanathos, who controlled it. Following his mental command, it flapped its wings, and several withered feathers fell away.

The owl coasted over the forest while small cracks formed in its beak and its claws blackened, consumed from within. It stared down at a large company of men running up a narrow path, led by an old man glowing with power.

The owl shuddered and pitched to one side. Suddenly-brittle bones shattered, one wing crumpled under its own weight, and the bird began a silent death spiral. It hit the ground a few heartbeats later, a dry husk that ruptured into a cloud of dust.

# # #

Tanathos reeled when he returned to his body. The owl, its life force sacrificed to his need, had shown him far more than he’d wanted to see. He clutched the top of the parapet and stared toward the edge of the forest where magic flared anew.

Could that really be the man Kevlin standing against so many sentinels? How was it possible? He wasn’t actinopathic.

And yet, hadn’t Kevlin made him the fool? He still couldn’t explain by what power Kevlin had struck him down in the cell.

So many sentinels. . . but that wasn’t even important. It was the man leading the other force of soldiers into the clearing whose face burned into Tanathos’ mind and filled his heart with terror.

Harafin.

The name was a death knell to any shadeleech, and Tanathos wanted to scream in rage. Kevlin was running toward him, alone, bearing with him the prize for which Tanathos desperately hungered.

There was nothing he could do about it.

He had to get away, or Harafin would kill him. Not even the massed power of all the other sentinels drove such fear into his heart.

Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

“What did you see?” Neasa asked, her milky white eyes watching him intently. “What’s going on?”

“There are two groups,” Tanathos said. “They seem to be fighting.”

“No single sentinel can throw around all that power.”

“There are at least two.” Before the ugly toad of a woman could speak again, Tanathos continued, “Their argument provides the perfect distraction. I will lead the ambush.”

Casting out fingers of power, he pulled on the minds of half a hundred makrasha. The creatures came running to the northern wall and began pouring out through a small sally port. One of them fetched Tanathos’ horse from the stable.

The Blade Stalwart Dhanjal exited the command building, flanked by his men. The big, dark-skinned fellow approached with his normal confident stride.

“You’re coming with me,” Tanathos said. “Gather your men.”

Dhanjal smiled, a flash of white against his dark skin. “We will dance the song of Savas this night.”

Tanathos turned at the sound of a deep growl and grinned at the sight of the halimaw lumbering into view from behind the command building. The monster radiated lethal power as it stalked toward the wall on long-fingered paws tipped with curved claws. Covered in dense blond fur, its limbs bulged with impossibly huge muscles that strained the limits of its thick hide.

It was as beautiful in its new form as it had been as a human before Neasa changed her. Rhea had never imagined she’d serve them so well. As much as Tanathos yearned to rip out Neasa’s heart, he had to admit she’d done an excellent job creating the halimaw.

When the monster reached the wall, it reared up on its hind legs and lifted its massive head until its glowing amber eyes came level with Tanathos atop the wall, a full dozen feet above the ground.

It opened its long, heavy maw to reveal row after row of sharp, triangular teeth, and its breath washed over him in a deliciously fetid blast. Its face, a twisted mixture of bear and human, still bore a striking resemblance to the once lovely woman that had been Rhea.

Tanathos placed a hand between the halimaw’s eyes, exulting in the sense of power that came with control of such a primal force. Still smiling, he said, “Fetch the sentinel Antigonus.”

The monster spun away and raced for the command building. It landed on the narrow porch in three leaping strides, and the entire structure shuddered under the impact. It ripped open the door and squeezed through the opening, disappearing in a flash of blond fur.

“Why take Antigonus?” Neasa asked suspiciously. “He’s safest in his cell.”

Tanathos chuckled. “Think deeper if you ever hope to lead.”

She frowned, and Tanathos hid a smile. The cryptic answer would keep her busy long enough for him to get away. Finally, the white-eyed hag would serve him well.

It was just too bad he wouldn’t get to kill her himself.