Darkness swallowed him, and the massive maw crashed down on empty air, on bones and dead bodies. Leagues above, the streets of Mair trembled finely with the force of it. Those magically sensitive paused, had to shake off vague seconds of dread before returning to the routine of their lives.


The Brucolac, with his burden, found himself in the garden of Redgate. Stone-carven statues, grim-featured guardians, flanked red stone walls along which hardy soft-colored tea roses had been encouraged to vine. Several blooms still clustered here and there, defiant to the cooling weather. Raised planters grew thick with practical, medicinal plants. Evergreen shrubs encouraged the illusion of privacy, but the benches, the small seats beside small tables, were all empty at this hour.

Further away on the high walls of the fortress, the torches of guards at their watches moved at leisurely paces. A trick of the cleaner air made the stars seem very close, brightening the night, painting the sky a spectrum of blues rather than an ominous black. The strange light glinted off the ranks of snow-capped mountains in the distance.