He straightened and continued backing away, his hand returning to his pocket and gripping the viper-prick anew. The demon continued to watch him, ambling ahead slowly, not bothering to try to close the gap between them just yet. It was playing with him, Hawk realized. It was enjoying this. It knew he was trapped and could not escape. It knew he could be killed at leisure and without interruption. And Hawk knew, in turn, with a certainty that was chilling, that the viper-prick was useless. The memory of his boyhood dream of the dark and malevolent presence he could not escape resurfaced, a wraith from a past that was all too uncertain, but felt real nevertheless. This creature, this monster was the embodiment of that dream; he had known as much at their first encounter. He had known, as well, that he had no defense against it. There were things in this world that were too much for you, no matter who or what you were. This creature was one. Hawk was born of magic, and he had magic at his command, but he was helpless here. He could feel it in a way that defied explanation, but was no less real. This demon was anathema, a force of nature he could not withstand, could not escape, and could not survive. He had a moment of regret that it was so, that all those who were depending on him would be let down, that his efforts to find the King of the Silver River had come to nothing. Disappointment washed through him.

I should have been smarter than this, he thought.

He stared into the eyes of the predator that had brought him to this end. By the time he decided that flight was his only option, fear generated by the creature’s terrible eyes had locked his legs in place and he could not move.