Rachel d’Astatic brought her horse to a stop and sniffed the air, raising her slender hand to halt the column of Tempestrian knights behind her. There was something very wrong here, even if she couldn’t put her finger on exactly what it was. Bearing the army battle standard, Ford galloped out of position and came up alongside her. “What is it your majesty?”
Ford cantered back toward the column but Rachel did not watch him go. She was thinking about Methuselah and of the doubts she had felt lately; the questions in her heart about this man she was married to, who she was meant to love, that had no answers. More and more lately, she couldn’t quite recall the moment when they fell in love; the reason that had drawn them together. And another face loomed darkly in her dreams that she could not identify – a tall pale skinned man with strange flickering eyes.
The Bloodthirster glided across the road, there where it was widest, roaring in exultation at its victory, circling its great brass axe.
Rachel unleashed the dark magic at her command, blasting it at the oncoming Greater Daemon, screaming as she did so. There was no one left. There was only her. But the fire did not stop it. If anything, the Bloodthirster thrived on it.