“Harafin,” Tanathos snarled. Although he couldn’t see the cursed sentinel yet, only Harafin could disrupt his glorious victory.

It did not matter. Harafin was too late.

Pointing to one of the seven shadeleeches, he commanded, “Take three of the others and half the slaves and stop that rabble before they cross the bridge.” He pointed to a halimaw still crouched nearby. “Take that one too.”

The shadeleech started shouting orders and within seconds the army split, half of it racing down the slope toward the bridge. It was going to be close.

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Tanathos turned back to the keep, dismissing everything in the lower valley. The useless attack by the new army didn’t matter. Once he reached the heart of the mountain, not even Harafin could stop him. He’d love it if the sentinel tried. Consuming that old man’s soul would be a fitting capstone to his victory.

He spared a glance at the unconscious white-robed figure strapped securely to a stretcher at the rear of his force. Antigonus barely lived, but it was enough. Tanathos needed only a tiny spark of life remaining when he slaughtered the old man.

Near Antigonus, a large bear cringed in its cage, silently eyeing the blond halimaw crouching nearby. The hulking monster growled low and tore its eyes away from the walls to meet Tanathos’ gaze.

It was beautiful.

He smiled again, and shouted, “Charge!”

The makrasha howled and began racing for the wall like a tide of doom.