Sekhmet, the lion-headed lich, gasped for air as she pushed on toward Stalpia. The city rose in the distance, built into the hill range that held Vet Channel.

  She doubled over, breathing hard. She was out of tiles, out of Tijd. The natives had managed to cut the liches from their power supply. She and her comrades had been reckless and failed Court Rahashel. She wasn’t worthy to show her face in Stalpia again. Yet duty required her to report their defeat.

  She looked behind her. The Priest was following her, hunting down the last of the combative elder liches. Somehow he had a Druk. She shook her head and willed herself on. Her energy waned and her body ached. What she would give for a single tile. Her armor was heavy, and her large Khopesh almost seemed to drag her down.

  She stopped suddenly, tilting her head to better hear an unexpected noise.

  Running water? she thought in confusion. There wasn’t a stream here when they first moved on Julleck, yet now there was. She struggled on, a sense of curiosity joining her desperation. She saw the sparkle of water ahead.

  She ran to it, on legs heavy with fatigue. She took a few steps into the shallow stream and dropped into the cool water. Her large enhanced lich body felt like it was overheating and the water came as a refreshing change.

  What did it matter? The priest would catch up and she would be killed.

  She growled in frustration and fear. She was scared, there was only one thing to do.

  She bowed her head.

  “Father, Rahashel.” She felt a stirring within. “Please. I know I am an unworthy servant, but I need your help.” Her prayer was simple, but it made her smile. What happened next would be her God’s will.

  She opened her eyes and gasped. Half buried in the sand at the bottom of the stream, purple light reflected back.

  She seized the tile that lay forgotten. How had it gotten there?

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  She grinned. There was only one way it would be there. Through Rahashel’s providence. It wouldn’t be enough for her to fight the human priest, but it would be enough to keep her running until she reached the city.

  “It looks like they missed one.” A shallow voice made her jump.

  She looked up. A tall thin man watched her from the bank. He was shirtless, showing off a defined, slender, knotted body. He wore baggy black pants and had a mane of thick fiery red hair that dropped back to his waist.

  “Mortal!” She growled and siphoned the single tile, feeling her strength flow back into her. It wouldn’t be enough to fight the priest, but killing this peasant would be easy.

  She lunged at him, striking with her khopesh. The axe-sword hybrid cut deep and the man collapsed.

  She smiled. She loved killing; it was part of her altered programming.

  The man groaned and started to rise. Not climbing up like a human would, but drifting up as if pulled up on invisible marionette strings. Once on his feet, he smiled.

  Blood flowed freely from his chest, making his bare skin wet with blood. “Not exactly,” He said, his voice soft and broken.

  Sekhmet fell back, the panic rising. “lich,” she gasped.

  As blood poured from the newcomer's chest, the red in his hair started to drain, replaced by jet back.

  He held his hand to his side and the blood on his body lifted off of his skin. It began to swim the air. Thorny tendrils of blood danced and whipped like a vicious living whip.

  “Wraith,” she muttered, all hope gone from her voice.

  The man grinned. The last of the red in his hair had evaporated, leaving his thick mane pure black at exactly the same moment his wound stopped bleeding. The blood thrashed and writhed in strands dancing around his body like violent strikes of liquid lightning.

  “Which Court do you belong to?” she asked.

  “Seventy-three,” he said through his grin. His eyes were grey, like a stormy sky.

  “Why?” she asked as she sunk to her knees.

  “It would have been better for the priest to finish you.” He said. “With that tile, you would have outrun him.”

  “Why me?”

  The wraith shook his head. “It’s not about you. It’s about Rahashel. His momentum must be lost completely. You’re the last piece.”

  She looked up at her killer with the last ounce of pride she could muster.

  The wraith whipped the animated strands of blood at the lion-headed lichess. They grew taught and wrapped around her neck. She choked once. The wraith pulled. The thorny chain of blood circled around her neck, and her lion head dropped beside her human body.

  He breathed in deeply. His job was done. The tendrils of blood lost their harsh form and began to flow back into his wound. Blood from his victim animated and swirled through the air towards his wound as well.

  As blood flowed back into the wraith’s chest the blood red color returned to his hair and his wound closed.

  He sniffed the air. The priest was near. It was time to disappear.

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