But the monster swung the dreadman around, the thick rope making a deep swoosh and hiss as it sped in its circle.

The Skir Master saw it, but he was not fast enough, and the dreadman swinging from the end of the rope slammed into both the Skir Master and Uncle Argoth, sending the two men flying.

The monster ignored the third line about its neck and charged after the Skir Master, dragging the dreadman attached to the line like a toy attached to a child’s string.

A Fir-Noy standing just beyond Uncle Argoth shouted. He leveled his spear and charged in for a death blow. He struck deep, but the monster simply ran him over, then plucked out the spear.

The Skir Master rose and began to search the ground about him frantically.

There was a movement at Talen’s feet. He looked down at the Crab. The man’s tunic had begun to smolder; but that wasn’t what had caught Talen’s attention. Something moved at the man’s ear. A glint of silver, and the long hag’s tooth came wriggling through the skin at the man’s temple.

Talen backed away.

The tooth curled an end as if sniffing the air. Then it wriggled the rest of the way out of his head and dropped to the ash.

Sugar pulled on Talen. “Lords!” she said. “Run!”

He scrambled to his feet, stumbled backward. He turned, only to find a dozen Fir-Noy, weapons drawn, charging straight toward him. Sugar and Legs ran one way. Talen was not quick enough and had to dive the other way to avoid them.

The men sped past and attacked the monster, but with one, two, three backhand swings the creature slew that many men. The remaining Fir-Noy hesitated.

The monster took a step and closed the gap between itself and the Skir Master.

The Skir Master turned and looked up at the beast.

At that moment, Leaf, who had retrieved his sword, screamed his battle cry and charged the monster again. His sword cut into the monster’s neck.

The creature grasped Leaf by the throat and lifted him up. Leaf yanked the sword out of the monster’s neck, then drove the blade deep into its chest. But it had no effect on the creature.

What kind of nightmare was it that could withstand a black sword of the Kains?

Then the monster twisted its grip and snapped Leaf’s massive neck like a twig. The big dreadman sagged in its hand.

The Skir Master rose in fury. In a flash, he charged the monster’s back. But instead of striking it with a weapon, he punched into it with his fist, going in up to his elbow.

The monster cast Leaf aside, the black sword still sticking out of its chest.

“Where is it?” the Skir Master cried. “Where is your quickening!”

The creature wrenched around, trying to get at the Skir Master, but the Divine was too quick.

“Clansman!” shouted the Skir Master, feeling inside the monster.

Uncle Argoth lay upon the ground, unmoving.

No, thought Talen. He can’t be dead. Lords, no!

Two more dreadmen closed on the creature. They carried spears and harried it, thrusting repeatedly at its head. Their movements were blinding fast. But it was useless, couldn’t they see that?

The creature grabbed one of the spears and jabbed it into one of the dread-man’s faces. The other dreadman struck, but the monster swung the spear and and gave the dreadman such a blow to the side that Talen was sure half his ribs had been staved in. The dreadman fell over backward.

The Skir Master withdrew his arm and punched into the back of the monster a bit higher. His arm sunk almost up to the shoulder. “Yes!” he said.

The monster reached behind its back. The Skir Master moved to one side, but then in a blinding flash the monster’s other elbow slammed into the Skir Master and sent him flying.

The Skir Master landed with a grunt many yards away on a clump of scrub.

The monster made a sound. A loud, horrible sigh. And turned toward the Skir Master.

Men littered this small battlefield. Talen looked around and saw a number of the Fir-Noy running. Those that did remain hesitated. The only dreadman still alive of those that had stayed by the cave was the one the monster had been dragging behind him. He stood, holding his side. He’d cut the rope connecting him to the monster, but had left the portion of the rope he’d knotted about his waist.

The Skir Master shook himself and rose, distaste and anger twisting his face. He held up something dark. Something he’d taken from deep within the monster. “You will not prevail,” he said.

But the monster seemed not to be affected.

The Skir Master stood his ground.

A sudden gust of wind kicked up dirt and debris. A huge crack sounded from the far side of the meadow. Talen looked and saw tree limbs as thick as a man’s body tossed into the air, swirling in a violent wind. The wind sped across the meadow, flattening the scrub of the clearing as it came.

The monster charged. One, two, three paces. It was almost upon the Divine.

But the wind was faster. It sped past the monster. The Skir Master stretched his tattooed arms out wide. The wind whipped about him. Then, before the monster could take another step, the wind picked him up and carried him into the air like a leaf in a storm.

The monster took two steps and sprang after him, leaping a dozen or more feet into the air.

Talen thought he saw it catch the Skir Master’s leg, but the wind thrashed the bushes, casting debris into his eyes. Then a huge gust slammed into Talen, knocking him onto his back. Something struck his face, nearly blinding him, and Talen covered his eyes.

The wind howled about him, then as quickly as it had come, it was gone.

Talen rolled over and brushed dirt from his eyes, careful of the knife cut. Debris that had been cast into the air still fluttered about the whole meadow. He looked up. At first he saw nothing, and then, hundreds of yards above him, he saw the Skir Master and monster. He watched them sail upward into the morning sky until they were nothing more than black dots.

Talen’s hand stung. He found a thin twig sticking straight out of it, which he plucked out and cast aside.

Uncle Argoth shouted in pain.

Talen ran to him. He found Uncle Argoth huddling on his knees, the case of hag’s teeth lying in the grass beside him.

“Uncle,” Talen said. “Uncle.”

“No,” he said. “No, no, no.” Then he winced as if someone had struck him. He cried out in extreme agony.

Talen stepped back, expecting a hag’s tooth to wriggle its way out of him.

Argoth jerked. And then the terror fled his face and he sagged.

Talen put a hand gently on his back. “Uncle?”

Uncle Argoth turned, looked up at him. And then he heaved a great sob. He began to weep like a child.

“Talen,” said Sugar from behind. “Get the horse.”

“You’re going to be all right,” Talen said to Uncle Argoth. But it was a lie. “We’re all going to be all right.”

“By all…” said Sugar.

The fear in her voice made him turn. He followed her gaze into the sky and saw the Skir Master plummeting from the sky. Down he fell in a slow turn, one leg in front of the other as if he were taking one long lazy step.

He landed with a large, sickening thud at the edge of the clearing.

“Men!” the dreadman who had been dragged behind the monster shouted. He ran toward the Skir Master. One dreadman, the last that had manned the outer perimeter, followed. All the other dreadmen lay upon the ground. A group of the remaining Fir-Noy soldiers moved to join the dreadmen, but then exclaimed and shouted and pointed toward the sky.

Talen looked up. Another figure, larger and darker than the Skir Master fell from the heavens. It slammed to the earth only a few dozen paces from the Skir Master.

The Skir Master did not rise. But the monster did. It rose up, towering and fearsome.

It was impossible. This is the end, Talen thought. The very end.