Morag signaled the dark horse to stop, no longer certain she was moving in the right direction. But Death was out there, ahead of her, whispering. Not the kind of whisper she was used to. This was almost wary, almost a warning. What would Death be warning her about?

She dismounted and moved forward, letting the dark horse follow on his own. Guided by Death’s whisper, she walked until she saw flickers of light among the trees. As she moved closer, feelings scraped along her skin. A prickle of warning. A prickle of fear.

Still moving closer, she saw the small clearing lit by torches, saw the shape of a man at the other end of the space, heard the struggling efforts of someone on the ground between her and the man.

She moved through the trees, circling toward the man. Power swirled in the clearing, but it didn’t feel right somehow.

Then the fog tore, and she saw the man clearly. She heard the voice she’d heard once before at the dock at Rivercross. In a moment of pity, and in the hope that mercy shown might produce a seed of mercy inside him, she had let the Master Inquisitor live, leaving him with a dead arm to remind him that there were powers in the world that were stronger than his.

He lifted his right hand, aiming it at the person on the ground.

“Twist and change. Change and twist.”

She saw the faint glow of a circle of power. What was he—?

Children. Bad things. No. No!

“Become what I would make of thee.”

Rage blinded her as she charged out of the trees, straight toward him.

“As I will—”

Little flashes of fire in the clearing. The sound of leather snapping as a man hurled himself out of the circle.

“so mote it—”

She was almost on the Master Inquisitor. His head whipped around.

“—beeee.”

He screamed the word as she slammed into him, knocking them both into the circle. His right hand closed on her arm. She screamed as the power he unleashed ripped through her body. He screamed as the power ripped through him as well. The circle crackled with it while they rolled over and over. She tried to gather him, but she couldn’t find his spirit in the storm of power.

Then the power was gone. She rolled away from the Witch’s Hammer, clawed and scrabbled until she regained her feet and stumbled toward the trees. She almost fell on the man who had hurled himself out of the circle. Grabbing his arm, she helped him to his feet.

“Come on,” she gasped, her voice scraped raw from screaming. “We have to get away from here.”