He doesn't finish.
He doesn't have to.
I'm already moving.
"Annora,no—" Eska starts.
I don't stop.
I run.
The courtyard is a slaughterhouse.
Bodies everywhere. Crown soldiers and Vorak's men both. The smoke is thicker here, acrid and choking, making it hard to see more than a few feet ahead.
But I can hear him.
Snarling. Roaring. The sound of something that stopped being human.
I push through the smoke, candlestick still clutched in one hand though I know it's useless now.
And then I see him.
Vorak is in the center of the carnage, and he isterrifying.
He moves like a storm given form—all violence and precision and inhuman grace. Every strike kills. Every movement flows into the next with the efficiency of something that's been hunting for a thousand years.
His horns gleam red in the firelight. His claws are slick with blood.
And his runes—
Oh gods, his runes.
They're not just glowing. They'reblazing, so bright they cast shadows, so hot I can see the air shimmering around his arms.
But it's his eyes that stop my heart.
Empty.
Feral.
Gold, yes, but wrong. Animal. No recognition in them at all.
As I watch, frozen in horror, he turns on one of his own men.
Captain Rurik barely gets his shield up in time to block the blow that would have taken his head off. The impact sends him stumbling back, and Vorak follows, relentless.
"My lord, it'sme!" Rurik shouts. "Rurik! Your captain!"
Vorak doesn't hear him.
Doesn'tseehim.
There's only the curse and the blood and the endless, mindless need tokill.
"Get back!" someone screams at me. Garrett, I think. "Run! Get inside!"
I should run.
