...Sento stood with his back to his chamber, staring out across the plains toward the distant mountains. He was more worried than he had been for many seasons, yet he could not really say what was causing his concern. He had studied his manuscripts, searching for reasons for what he sensed—they told him nothing. Yet he knew that something strange was occurring out across those plains. And it boded ill for Thurgan, or more particularly for Jason.

“What is it this time, old master?” a voice said gently from behind him.

Sento spun around to see Charni standing in the entrance to the chamber. He had been so engrossed in his thoughts that he had not heard her enter. This was not good. It showed that his senses were not on the alert. Was it a sign of weakness—or of growing old?

“I’m sorry, Princess. I did not hear you enter.”

“Do not apologize, Sento,” Charni said with a smile. “Tell me, what is it that worries you so much?”

“Nothing.”

“I don’t believe that,” Charni said. “You have not been your usual cheerful self for many days. Something worries you. I can tell. Jason suspects that it may have something to do with a pending attack on Thurgan. But I wonder if the attack might not be planned against him in the first instance.”

“That is what concerns me,” Sento admitted. “I sense trouble, but I cannot discover what it is or from where it originates. I only know that it is out there somewhere. We must remain alert. We cannot risk any surprise attack.”

“No surprise attack will be successful against Thurgan,” Charni protested. “Herus will ensure no enemy force penetrates our walls.”

“Of that I am sure, but I have a strange feeling that the attack will not come from outside our walls,” Sento muttered.

“A traitor.” Charni gasped.

“I wish I knew,” Sento muttered. “Tell Jason to remain on his guard. He is as much a target as Thurgan—possibly more so. If he falls to an assassin, then the people will mourn and while they mourn, a land attack could be successful.”

“I will tell him of your concerns,” Charni whispered, her lovely eyes showing the depth of her own concern for the safety of her husband and lover. It would be the end of her world if he was taken from her.

Shartan placed the rib and remnants of hair inside the carefully drawn circle, then sprinkled his magic powder around the outer ring. He stepped back, carefully reciting the words of the ancient incantation designed to attract the spirits of the dead. It was a complicated ritual; if he didn’t get it right first time, there might never be another chance.

The black candles flickered in the corners of the dark cave, their light barely showing the outlines of the two figures crouched on either side of the circle.

While Shartan performed his rituals, Khuramani crouched silently on the opposite side, hoping that nothing would go wrong this time.

The bone started to glow, dimly at first, but slowly brightening as Shartan raised the volume of his incantations. With a puff of white flame, the hair disintegrated. An angry scream filled the cave, echoing off the barren stone walls. The bone glowed a bright red, then faded as a ball of red mist filled the circle. It beat against the sides, but was unable to reach the two crouching figures. The cave was filled with mocking laughter, then the mist rose upward toward the roof of the cave. Shartan muttered some new words. The mocking laughter stopped as the mist was drawn back toward the bones to hover an eter above the floor. It hung there silent, pulsating with a slow and steady rhythm, like a leia waiting to pounce.