She took a step back and clenched her hands, suddenly unsure as she watched him vanish. She wasn’t powerful enough to summon him.
Calavia looked at the three remaining bulls that stood before her.
One of the three remaining minotaurs had long hair, braided with bones. She imagined they were trophies collected from his many enemies. She liked that. His appearance told her more than she could hope. But his face was wicked and his mouth full—his eyes were young. There was so much life left in him and she knew, instinctively, that she could not hold him in a place of the dead.
She stumbled to the fourth minotaur whose hair was short. This one held two giant butcher cleavers with blades nearly as long as herself. She liked that even more. They reminded her of meat. He reminded her of a life destroyer. This bull was better than the last, but she wasn’t looking for mindless violence.
Calavia turned to the last minotaur. Her hands dropped to her sides, her throat constricted.
She stepped up to him, wincing with pain. His brooding demeanor drew her closer. Even within the shadows of her temple his prowess called to her, his strength potent. She could see his eyes with clarity, even amongst the red smoke and black murk of her magic. They followed her every move.
Calculating.
Intent.
A shiver snaked up her back.
He did not threaten onlookers with the bones of those he killed or with giant, deadly weapons—this minotaur was cunning and in control. Even if that control seemed barely contained.
She could have sworn his muscles tensed at her perusal, that he could see her through the barrier of her magic.
His eyes narrowed upon hers.
Calavia straightened, but cringed and bent over again, tears leaking from her eyes.He sees me even though there are leagues of real distance between us.He sees me!Terror threatened to close her throat and she took a step back.
He took a step forward.
He is the one. Even if she was afraid of him, he would best protect Prayer. Even if his willpower rivaled her own.
With her eyes still locked with his, she thanked the human female, Aldora, and her minotaur’s sacrifice. They’d unknowingly given her the power to keep Prayer alive.
Calavia peered into the darkening eyes of her chosen champion and hoped she wasn’t making a grave mistake. She steeled her fear and reached out to touch his dark presence through the smoke. The other minotaurs vanished.
“Come to me,” she begged, compelling him from afar.
She fell to the floor with an agonizing scream.
* * *
Astegur grabbedthe hobgoblin by the scruff and tore it from his back, slamming it down onto the bloodied ground. It released a high-pitched squeal. He held it there for a moment as it clawed at his hand which he pressed over its throat.
Frenetic fear blazed across its malformed, scrunched up face, and Astegur relished it, relished knowing another battle had been won and another hobgoblin’s neck was soon to be broken.
He leaned in as it squirmed. Its wrinkled eyes widened as Astegur’s face drew nearer.
Astegur snarled with victory, blowing a hot breath over the hobgoblin. “Where is your leader?”
It screamed and clawed harder at his wrist. He squeezed its neck a little harder.
“Where is your leader? I will make your death long and painful if you continue to fight me,” he threatened. He released the pressure of his grip slightly to allow the creature to answer.
The hobgoblin shrilly screamed and began to laugh with rampant glee. “Gone! Gone! Goone! Goone lost its legs, its arms, and its head when Burlox fell.” The goblin snickered, then screamed and tore at his arm again with renewed hysteria. “Gone! Gone! He fell dead and all the hums and blood was stolen.”
“By who?”
“Horsebeasts!” it shrieked.
It took Astegur a moment to realize the hobgoblin was referring to the town to the south—and the humans who dwelled within it. He had heard of its fall to the mist a fortnight ago. The town succumbing to the mist had caused pandemonium for the southern tribes along the Greymis coast and the western borders of Savadon.
