As dawn crept across the world, a crow flew over the devastated remains of the fort. Unlike the other carrion birds hunting for warm flesh, the crow did not slow, but circled low overhead. Its eyes sought the living, not the dead.
As it flapped its wings, feathers began falling away. Its claws cracked, and its beak split. After one final turn, it fell like a stone, landing in a puff of dust just outside what remains of the fort wall.
Only three miles away, Tanathos cursed. That rubble held both the tantalizing promise of glory and the threat of destruction.
The man Kevlin was so close, and with him the prize that would assure Tanathos’ seat on the Sigrun council. He yearned to take it. He could taste the sweet power of Kevlin’s soul. He would rip it out of the man and suck it dry. It would feed him for weeks. The more powerful and cunning the enemy, the more glorious the victory over their souls.
Kevlin, the man who made him a fool.
To think he had held the man’s life in his hand but squandered the opportunity. The memory of falling in that cell seared his mind.
Kevlin was no sentinel, yet he had done more damage than Tanathos could have imagined. He had stolen Tia Khoa right out from under their noses, killed Haraz, and taken Bajaran’s marvelous amulet.
With that powerful relic, Tanathos could have faced Harafin without fear. Kevlin had singlehandedly destroyed everything Tanathos had worked so hard to gain, snatching it from the jaws of victory.
He’d never longed to annihilate anyone so badly.
Snarling with fury, he took a step toward the fort concealed by the heavy forest. There lay glory.
He stopped. There lay destruction.
Harafin. With that name came fear and a return to reason. Harafin was the most hated of the sentinels. Merely thinking the name filled Tanathos with dread. Harafin, who always seemed to find a way to thwart the Sigrun. Any other sentinel, and he would throw himself into battle, confident of victory.
Such irony that it was that man standing between him and Tia Khoa. The quorum of masters had attempted to destroy Harafin many times, yet somehow the sentinel always prevailed.
Even Kyllikki and Nyyrikki, the twin rulers of the quorum, had been defeated by him when they first rose up in rebellion, murdered their teachers, and launched the Great Revolution. They lived by his mercy, marred permanently with skin and hair tinged blue by the after-effects of his power.
Sigrun Zvonko, humiliated after a particularly disastrous attempt on Harafin's life, had hunted the man down alone. He'd left a seat open at the council table as a result.
Tanathos was one of many who yearned to fill it and had plotted and murdered and maneuvered through the past decades to win it. For with acceptance at the table of Sigrun, with passage into the quorum, came unbelievable power.
Tanathos had proven himself so many times, positioned himself with excruciating care to win the coveted seat. He struggled to maintain control. He, Tanathos, who should be preparing to return to Grakonia carrying Tia Khoa and glory in his wake, was instead running for his life from the one sentinel he could not defeat.
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He took several deep breaths to calm himself. There had to be a way. Facing Harafin was suicide, but returning empty-handed would be worse.
Only half a hundred makrasha, whose souls he could suck dry, remained to him. The halimaw crouched on the ground nearby, emanating raw power even while inactive. As its amber eyes met his, it opened its long maw and growled. Even the power of that mighty beast was not enough.
Antigonus lay bound in a stretcher carried by two of the makrasha, while the new prisoners lay unconscious nearby. Even if he could use them, the risk of facing Harafin was too great.
They could keep Antigonus alive a while longer, but without Tia Khoa, the old man was virtually useless. It would be better to kill him.
A sudden idea burned so bright that Tanathos gasped at its audacity. He stood still for a minute, breathing fast. The more he pondered it, the quicker his heart raced.
He threw his head back and laughed long and loud as he gloried in the revelation. If the Sigrun knew what he planned, they would rip out his soul. That made his smile widen. The next time they saw him, they would bow down and worship him.
Glory be mine.
Defeat, an unfamiliar taint, would never threaten him again. His very first command had won an overwhelming victory. He had personally tortured dozens of women and children taken prisoner from the village his force had destroyed.
That day, he had tasted true power for the first time as he glutted himself on their pain and the undefiled essence of those innocent souls. That glory had launched his career, and never had he bettered the accomplishments of that day.
Soon he would rise above even the greatest of the Sigrun.
His first victory had given him a new name. In the ancient tongue, it meant 'Destruction of purity,' and he allowed it to be spoken only as his force’s battle cry. The power of that name had never been stained with defeat. With his next conquest, he would assure victory everlasting, and his new name would be revered by all.
His mind raced as he orchestrated the components of the plan and considered how to place his assets. Concentrating, he shielded his mind and cast a thought over the forest. It took a few minutes to find the mind he sought, and every mile his thoughts traveled consumed ever greater amounts of power.
The risk of detection by Harafin or the other sentinels increased equally. Although he would soon be above worrying about them, for the moment they remained a very real risk.
There. The one he sought sharpened into focus in his mind’s eye by its unique signature. The connection solidified, and without preamble Tanathos projected a thought down the length of the magical channel.
The plan has changed. Commence your attack immediately.
It is too soon. The shadeleech was cautious, his mind well shielded, and his response exactly what Tanathos expected.
You question me? Tanathos asked.
Never. But can you escape with the prize? Once we attack, the response will be swift. You were supposed to be gone already.
As I said, the plan has changed. Your task is to obey, and to launch the first attack with the rising sun.
It will be done.
Tanathos severed the connection and paused a moment to wipe sweat from his brow. The connection had been taxing. He needed to ration the souls still at his disposal, so instead of destroying one of the beasts, he drew a little power from each of them.
Over the next half hour, he contacted four other shadeleeches to give them new orders.
The board was set and the pieces moving. Only Dhanjal remained. He summoned the Blade Stalwart, and the man approached with his normal, confident stride.
“What is it you wish, son of EnKur?” Dhanjal asked.
“What word of your brothers?”
“There is one in Fiachra.”
“What force does he command?”
“Four hundred.”
Perfect. “Summon him.”
“He cannot arrive in time. Let us go and dance the song of Savas together.”
Tanathos waved a hand dismissively. “This battle is of no moment. The plan has changed.” He outlined what he needed.
Dhanjal nodded. “I will see it done, but I do not understand why you request this.”
“My reasons are my own, but be assured that through this, war will soon consume the Six Kingdoms.”
“Too long has the song of Savas been absent from these shores.”
“That’s about to change. Forever.”
Dhanjal spun on his heel and strode back to his men. A moment later, a pigeon shot skyward with a note attached to its leg.
The final piece in place.
Tanathos smiled. Mounting his horse, he spurred the animal north along the narrow path, racing toward destiny and glory everlasting.