Valen watched from the shoulders of an ird as the enormous baskets of squealing animals and humans were carried away by the gnals into the moonlit night—food for the budmother. He rubbed one hand absently over his metal skull, observing the devastation around him. Beneath him, the rock troll stomped through the remains of the Hahn village, grinding homes and shops to powder. Satisfied, his right hand made a flourish before him then grabbed the glowing red orb that appeared in the air.

  He was about to send his report to Nilrem when he noticed the screams and cries of the captured humans were not diminishing as they should be. Brow furrowed, the Angel turned about and saw that one of the huge, bloodied rope baskets—still squirming and writhing with its cargo—remained in the middle of the village street. Confused, Valen searched with his eyes, ears, nostrils, and his non-human senses.

  The gnal that was to have taken these humans was gone. Not just absent from the village … it had vanished completely from existence. This disturbed him in many ways, but Valen was most bothered by the fact that in his very long life, he had only known the demonspawn to vanish from his sight once and that was nearly five thousand years ago. Members of the goblin horde were all projections of the budmother and as long as she lived, they did until they were no longer needed, at which time she consumed them. Only one weapon had ever been able to dispatch demonspawn, and that weapon had been destroyed ages ago. Unless…

  A roaring crash exploded nearby, nearly knocking Valen from his ird mount. He whipped his head around to face the southern mountain canyons as a thick cloud of dust rushed toward him, pouring through the rocky crags and chasms. The billowing dust turned the brightly lit night sky to an inky blackness without stars or even the Great Moon.

  Valen didn’t need eyes to pierce the dusty fog; the ellgru soldiers’ restless movements told him they were looking for his instruction. In complete darkness, he quickly picked three of the largest troops and dispatched them to reconnoiter the situation. They loped away—a cross between hounds and crocodiles—using their sense of smell and hearing as well as their bulbous eyes. Moments later he could see the source of the disturbance through their eyes: the North Pass had been destroyed by a landslide. Boulders and rocks were still tumbling down the mountainside. Valen grimaced, then held the red orb of Nilrem’s Incarnate at his eye level and at arm’s length. He did not speak, just thought “I need you.”

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  The swirling, powder-choked sky above him shimmered as Nilrem’s image materialized. The flesh of his current body clung tightly to its bones. The skin was sallow and thin. He looked like an enormous living skeleton, dressed in the black robes and armor.

  "What is wanted?” the necromancer asked in a deep, booming voice that echoed loudly through the mountains.

  “The final village of the traders has been destroyed. We are making our way to the body of the witch, as you commanded. But the North Pass has been blocked by a landslide, most likely started by the humans to block us.”

  “Their pitiful attempts to thwart our mission are of no concern.”

  “No, my Lord,” Valen replied, bowing his head momentarily. “We will get past this obstruction without much effort.” He paused and took a slow breath. “What disturbs me is that one of the gnal has vanished.”

  "Yes,” Nilrem’s form said slowly, his voice rumbling like distant thunder. “The budmother cried out when a piece of her was lost.”

  “How is it possible?”

  “There is only one weapon that could do this. We thought it long gone, but there is one person who may have brought it to this world. One person who could wield it. The Soul must have survived.” Valen stifled a gasp. He had never considered facing this formidable foe again.

  “Press forward, my servant,” the necromancer continued. “Overcome this obstacle. Take the mining town. Send its people to the budmother. Bring me witch’s body undamaged.

  “And slay the sorceress M’Randa! Bring me the Soul's head.”

  “As you command, my Lord,” Valen covenanted, placing a hand over his heart and bowing. The glowing bloody eyes of the necromancer looked pleased as it vanished in a clap of thunder. The radiant orb in Valen’s grasp created a red globe of clarity around him in the settling dust. He clenched his metallic jaw and determined he would fulfill his master’s dark wishes. Nothing could stop him, he decided. He rubbed his hand over his metal skull again, remembering when M’Randa had taken his scalp. Not this time, he thought. Now, the power of the necromancer was vast and terrible. With Nilrem’s help, nothing and no one could stop him.

  Not even the Soul of the Vessel.