The shark lunged.

He swung his arm and smacked the emerald crystal into its nose, bracing for the impact; but it never came. As the stone struck, the shark froze in midair. Its writhing body hung for a breath—then its flesh went gray and quickly shriveled down to its bones. Like fast time-lapsed photography, even those bones began to crumble.

Suddenly, the monster’s skeleton crashed to the sand and blasted apart into a cloud of dust.

Jake coughed as he breathed in bits of shark dust.

Kady appeared through the cloud, waving a hand before her nose, a shocked expression fixed to her face.

A screech of fury sounded behind him.

He twisted, still weak.

From the lower stands, a familiar dark figure—all shadow and robe—flew over the bleacher’s wall and landed in the arena. It was Heka, Kree’s witch. Her skeletal arm pointed at him.

“He’s found the sssecond timestone!”

Jake stared at the crystal in his hand.

From the stands, Kree ordered, “Guards! Kill the outlander! Now!”

But before they could be obeyed, a horn sounded from inside the stadium. With a roar, Grymhorst led his warriors, both men and women, into the stands. They flooded down from all directions.

How had they broken through the ranks of the palace guard?

Then Jake saw that many of the warriors were simple townsfolk, both slaves and Egyptians. They carried whatever weapons they could find: clubs, knives, even broken pieces of statuary. The flames of a few had ignited a true wildfire.

Palace guards closed ranks around Kree, whisking him away from the battle; but the witch, Heka, stalked across the sand toward Jake.

The sharks all retreated from her wake, keeping a safe distance back.

With a shake, she parted her robe and pulled out a weapon: not her bloodstone-tipped wand, but a wooden staff about the size of a cane. A fist-sized stone sat atop it and reflected the sunlight into a thousand jeweled shades. It was a ruby crystal, one Jake had seen before. It was the same as the stone held by his mother in the mural.

For a moment, a fleeting fear passed through him. Could it be his mother hidden inside those robes? Or had the witch killed his mother to obtain the ruby crystal.

He refused to believe either scenario.

The witch pointed the staff at him. The crystal glowed like a ruby eye. “My massster is not done with you!”

Something about the sibilant, hissing quality of that voice struck Jake as familiar. Not his mother … but instead …

Then he remembered.

Oh, no.

As if sensing her ruse was exposed, the witch leaped and burst high up in the air, shedding her robes in a blast of shadows. Scabrous wings unfolded, clawed hands and feet scratched free, and a porcine visage hissed at him, revealing needle-sharp teeth.

A grakyl.

This was not one of the smaller harpylike ancestors, but one of the Skull King’s true creatures. Plainly female. She stood tall, her claws sharp and long, with an intelligence shining in those eyes that was more wicked and keen than any harpy’s. But she also looked battered and scarred. One wing was torn and shriveled. The side of her face was gnarled.