The smoke from the extinguished indigo flames curled into the black canopy above, twisting like the ghosts of the Deadmore Forest. Hebner Grand stood in the center of the clearing, his chest heaving, his eyes burning with a golden, predatory light that seemed to pierce through the very soul of the withered sorcerer standing before him.
"What is required?" Hebner hissed, his voice a low, jagged tremor. "Speak, Jojofulo. What is the price to sever this rot from my blood? I will pay any tribute, I will offer any sacrifice, but I will not remain shackled to this... this thing."
He gestured toward Hannah with a flick of his wrist, his gaze not even landing on her. Hannah hung from the tree, her wrists still bound, her heart hammering against her ribs with a rhythmic thud that Hebner could feel—disturbingly, physically—within his own chest.
