He had never seen human Blood become demon-dead. He didn’t know how long it would take for Morton to wake and reclaim the dead flesh. But he did know that when Morton woke and found himself in a strange place, he would wonder if the enemy had put him there.

Kaelas pressed a forepaw into the snow near Morton’s head, leaving a deep imprint, then put a shield over the print, so that it couldn’t be brushed away carelessly. Morton would see the print and understand.

Pleased that he had worked out the complicated thinking required to deal with humans, he covered up the den, leaving a small airhole. A dead human didn’t need air, but the freshness would show Morton the easiest place to dig free.

Now to take care of the bad winged males.

After sending out a summons for the dark-Jeweled Arcerian Warlords and Warlord Princes to join him, Kaelas headed back to the village.

9 / Kaeleer

Ignoring the official landing web, Daemon dropped from the Winds as close as he could get to Karla’s home. The moment he appeared on a street, he wrapped a Black sight shield, psychic shield, and protective shield around himself. He ran a couple of blocks, turned a corner, and stopped.

The street was full of struggling, fighting men. Blasts of Jeweled power made the air smell like lightning. Those who had already drained their Jewels, or had never worn them, were fighting with mundane weapons. He spotted some women, fighting desperately but ineffectively.

So familiar. He didn’t need the whiff of rot present in some of the psychic scents to recognize Dorothea’s hand in this. He’d seen it too many times in Terreille. Those whose ambition far outstripped their ability would sell their own people for Hayll’s “assistance.” The fighting would eliminate the strongest males and females, the ones best able to oppose Dorothea, and the ones who were left…

This time he didn’t have to be subtle. This time he didn’t have to dance around the agony Dorothea would inflict on him if she suspected his interference. But being subtle had become ingrained in him. Besides, a silent predator was the most feared.

Smiling a cold, cruel smile, Daemon slipped his hands into his trouser pockets and glided between clumps of fighters—invisible, undetectable—and left devastation in his wake.

He entered Karla’s mansion. The fighting must have started here and spread into the street. He stepped over corpses, homed in on the psychic scents that had a flavor he associated with Dorothea, and killed those fighters so swiftly, so cleanly their opponents froze for a moment, stunned and confused.

A Warlord Prince wearing the badge of the Master of the Guard was fighting off other males near the staircase, using the last of his Jeweled strength to shield himself against three men who were still fresh.

Three flicks of Black power. Three men fell.