The silence of the Ashlands broke, not with a roar, but with a snarl.
Kael was already awake. The cylinder had been humming against his chest all night, a low-grade fever that kept his nerves raw. He heard the scrabble of claws on stone before he heard the men.
"Up," Kael hissed, kicking the embers of their fire into dust.
Jax rolled to his feet, dagger already drawn. "What?"
"Dogs," Kael said. "Big ones."
Elric struggled to sit up. He looked worse. His skin was the color of parchment, and the black veins radiating from his wound had reached his neck.
"Not dogs," Elric wheezed. "Hounds. Vane breeds them. Fed on alchemy and raw meat."
The first shadow detached itself from the gloom of the corridor. It was a mastiff, but monstrously swollen. Its muscles bulged under mange-ridden skin, and its jaw was hinged too wide, dripping phosphorescent saliva.
It didn't bark. It just stared at them with milky, intelligent eyes.
"Back," Kael ordered, pushing Elric toward the rear of the chamber.
"There's only one way out," Jax panicked, backing away until he hit the stone altar.
"Then we make them pay for the entry," Kael said. He drew his sword. The grey steel looked dull in the dim light.
A whistle echoed from the tunnel. Sharp. Commanding.
The mastiff lunged.
It was heavier than a man and faster than a wolf. It hit Kael's shield—no, he didn't have a shield. He had only his blade.
Kael dropped his shoulder, taking the impact on his armored pauldron. The beast's teeth scraped against the steel, snapping inches from his throat. The force drove him back, slam-ming him against the wall.
He smelled rot and sulfur.
Kael drove his knee into the creature's belly, then stabbed downward. His sword punched through the shoulder, pinning the beast to the floor.
It screamed—a high, human-like sound—and thrashed.
"Right side!" Jax yelled.
Two more hounds poured into the room, followed by a man. The handler.
He wore light leather armor and a full-face mask of stitched skin. He held a whip in one hand and a short, curved bil-hook in the other.
"Meat," the handler grunted.
One hound went for Jax. The thief scampered up the broken pillar like a monkey, slashing down with his dagger. The hound snapped at his heels, tearing away part of his boot.
The other hound went for Elric.
"No!" Kael ripped his sword free from the first beast, leaving it twitching in a pool of black blood.
He threw himself between the hound and the old Knight.
The beast leaped. Kael didn't have time to swing. He thrust his left arm forward, feeding it to the wolf.
The jaws clamped down on his forearm. The pain was blinding—white-hot needles piercing leather and flesh. But the arm held.
Kael roared, ignoring the agony, and drove his sword into the beast's neck. Once. Twice. Three times. Until the head was nearly severed.
He shoved the dead weight off him, gasping. His arm was a ruin of blood and shredded leather, but the bone was whole.
The handler laughed. He cracked his whip.
"Good boy," the handler said to the dead dog. "Softened him up."
The handler stepped forward, the billhook raising. He was fresh. Kael was bleeding, exhausted, and barely standing.
"You have the rock," the handler said. "Give it."
"Come and take it," Kael spat blood.
The handler lunged. He was fast, feinting high with the whip to blind Kael, then sweeping low with the hook to hamstring him.
Kael stumbled back, parrying the hook clumsily. The whip cracked against his cheek, opening a gash.
He was losing. He knew it. He was too slow, too weak.
...use me...
The voice in his head was a shout now.
...burn him...
Kael felt the cylinder pulse. Heat flooded his veins. It wasn't adrenaline. It was magic. Violent, raw, and angry.
He didn't think. He let it in.
Kael's vision turned red. He didn't dodge the next strike. He stepped into it. The hook caught his shoulder, biting deep, but Kael didn't feel it. He grabbed the handler's wrist with his mangled left hand, crushing the bones.
The handler screamed, dropping the weapon.
Kael drove his sword into the man's gut. And he didn't stop. He twisted the blade. The heat in his blood surged, and for a second, the wound in the man's stomach didn't just bleed—it smoked.
The handler collapsed, eyes wide with horror. "Demon..." he gargled.
accused.
Jax dropped from the pillar, landing on the last hound's back and slitting its throat.
Silence returned to the chamber.
Kael stood over the bodies. The heat faded, leaving him shivering and cold. The pain in his arm returned tenfold.
"Kael?" Elric's voice was terrified.
Kael turned. His eyes were wild.
"We need to move," Kael said. His voice sounded strange. Dual.
"Kael, your eyes," Jax whispered. "They were... glowing."
"I said move!" Kael snapped.
He grabbed his pack. He didn't check the bodies for loot. He didn't clean his sword. He just wanted to be away from the smell of burning flesh.
Because he knew, deep down, that the fire hadn't come from a torch.
It had come from him.