But when I looked more closely at the commander of the dark army, when I saw his shark eyes and contorted face, I wondered how I could have thought him the other commander’s twin. Cruelty sprung from his eyes like smoke and fire from cannons. He gloated and taunted, now no longer on the edge of the foray, but wielding weapons of destruction, pulled at will from a massive armory cart dragged along by his servants. Cursing the air above and the ground beneath, he fired flaming arrows and poisoned darts into people who did nothing to defend themselves.

My heart stopped when he turned toward me and saw me watching him. He stared at me like a stalker. His eyes flashed, and for a moment, though nothing physical had touched me, my skin seemed to burn under the napalm of his hatred. Why was he looking at me when countless others filled the battlefield? Why should he bother with Nick Seagrave?

Then the dark commander picked up a gigantic harpoon, waved it in the air, hoisted it, and pointed at me. Just as he threw it, I rolled and heard a loud swoosh as it cut through the air with hideous fury. It passed but inches from me, then grazed the black-haired warrior by my side. He cried out and grasped his left leg, but he stood his ground over me. I panicked, got up, and ran, stumbling, unsure where to go.

The dark lord opened his mouth in mocking laughter, a sound so great it rose above the roar of battle. Then he swung a bola in the air, round and round, eyes bent on me. When I could hardly stand the sight of one more circle of those metal balls, he released the weapon. It flew, hitting my legs and wrapping itself around me. I heard the sickening crunch of my own bones. It beat me to the ground, pummeling me even after I fell.

A horrible pain racked my left side, and I heard a sucking sound. I could hardly breathe. My ribs had been crushed, and one of them had pierced my right lung. The eerie gasping sound grabbed hold of me. Broken and bleeding, my breath escaping me, I knew I would surely die.

Shark Eyes glared at me, then marched across the valley, taking huge strides toward me. As he advanced, he swung a great battle-ax with one arm and a mace with the other, cutting and clubbing his victims, people who seemed never to see him coming until it was too late. I could see him coming. But it was too late and I was too little.