Marek was leading the way. His black robes swaying in the wind. It was strange to have his arm once more.
He didn't know what Albert would ask for it, but he was sure that it would be quite the price.
Marek glanced at Valentius, who was riding atop Brutus. It was a grand name.
The name of the traitor.
But Marek didn't care much about whether the wolf mauled the Nightshade or not.
Valentius treated him like a mercenary, Albert was fire and brimstone, just like that dragon of his, if Marek so much as looked his way.
No, his only companion was the ghost.
Freydis.
A good name, he told himself, as he tried to think of a way to get the woman out of her ghost form and back to the world of the living.
The first thing that would happen, Marek knew from experience, was a drought.
He could already hear the crowds fighting over wells, trampling over streams for the last water droplet.
Killed animals for their blood. Until the drought became so bad that, well…
Marek smirked.
