Rayghast snapped his fingers, and a gray-cloaked man, his spy Falien, came out from the corner of the room, and handed him a pile of letters and scraps of paper.

“These rumors are getting out of control. Notes full of lies have been found scattered around the city.”

Untidily scrawled on scraps of paper were accusations and conspiracies about Rayghast, himself. One of them claimed he was an illegitimate son of the late King Hershen. Absolute nonsense, of course. His birth had been overseen by Cronhold. Each stage of his life had been documented.

But the “curse” theory had evolved, now stating that Rayghast had killed his three previous wives and his unborn children. That he was losing his mind, or that he’d never had one to begin with.

“My guards found one of these notes in a stable. Five tavern patrons were overheard discussing it, and were arrested, then beheaded publicly as of this morning,” Rayghast said with quiet authority. He hadn’t taken part in those killings. He’d been alone, kneeling on the moor outside the city, releasing his pent-up aggression and dark magic through the earth by sucking the life from Nevandian lands. This was a weekly ritual for him; an invisible way to expel the dark magic that writhed in his bones, aching for destruction. To anyone watching, it appeared as if Rayghast were praying. “Another note was found by a servant in this castle’s own library.”

The council murmured and grunted as they passed the notes down the table.

“Are they all written by the same hand?” asked Dobbs, analyzing two letters.

“It’s not one individual,” said Rayghast’s spy, voice rasped like a crackling fire. Rayghast didn’t even know the man’s name. “It’s the same four or five people writing them. We think one hand might belong to the author of those coded messages, as well.”

“What is the morale within the barracks, Commander?” asked Cronhold to Shaff. “Are the soldiers hearing these, uh, rumors?”

Shaff’s mouth tightened in hesitation before he spoke. “The men are certainly hearing these conspiracies, my lords. Those who repeat them are being punished appropriately.”

“We cannot afford to lose the loyalty of our soldiers,” stated Dobbs, pounding a fist onto the table. “Doubt among the men could weaken us.”

Dark magic and frustration made Rayghast shiver.

Release, that oily, sinister voice demanded inside his head.

Rayghast was about to satiate that need, to prowl down to the dungeons, when a soldier burst into the room.

“Your Grace, Commander, forgive my intrusion, but I have news,” he said, tucking his helmet in the crook of his arm. The man’s face was splattered with dirt and blood.

Rayghast halted. A vein throbbed in his temple as magic rushed through him, restless and annoyed. He had no desire to stay in this meeting a moment longer. The magic needed to be expelled now before he combusted in this very room.

“My unit was attacked on the road last night.”

“By Nevandian patrol?” asked Cronhold.

“No, my lords, their bodies were . . . ripped apart,” the soldier said with a disgusted grimace. A ripple of concern traveled up and down the council table. “I could hardly see in the darkness, but the attacker used magic, creating strange burn marks on the bodies.”

Rayghast tensed. Another magic user?

“Was this the work of that faerie girl? The one who rescued the prince?” asked Wattling, eyes wide in his fleshy face.

No, Rayghast knew this wasn’t the Lady Butcher. He’d been obtaining information on her for weeks. Spies discovered her relation to the hidden town of criminals in the Greltan woods. The Nest or Den it was called; a place where magical folk still visited, and mercenaries contracted work. Rayghast tried to gather what information he could on her, and by now, he had a clear picture. The faerie was the first and only being to ever breach the fortress at Dul Tanen by creating a doorway from thin air. Rayghast wanted her dead.

“She doesn’t tear people apart,” he said. “The Butcher is a skilled swordsman. The cuts from her blade are clean and precise.”

As for the scorched flesh, it was possible. Dozens of his men had been turned to ash in the Tacornian woods well over a month ago. But still, this recent attack was not the work of the Butcher girl. Why burn the victims and tear them to shreds at all? It was wasted effort. With her magic, the faerie could incinerate them.

“Was it one of those, uh, creatures?” asked Cronhold, voice wavering. Sometimes, it was hard to tell if he shook from nerves or absurd old age.

“I have reason to suspect one, Your Grace,” the soldier said. “It made such horrific noises, like a bear or wildcat, but it stood on two legs. I barely escaped with my life, Your Grace.”

“It’s possibly the same creature that attacked the peasants in the slums,” suggested Shaff, and Cronhold’s face lit up with recognition.

As if in response, Rayghast’s magic leapt, pouncing on Shaff’s words. A new magical creature.

Rayghast stalked out past the council table; a maelstrom-like sound rushed in his ears as he hastened to the courtyard.

“Your Grace?” called Shaff, armor clanking behind him, the other soldier in tow.

“Take me to the site,” Rayghast said, mounting his massive warhorse.

“It’s too dangerous, Your Grace.”

Dark magic pulsed in his chest. Use me, it said. Yes, use me . . .

“Not for me,” Rayghast stated, then spurred his horse onwards. The sound of hooves behind him said that Shaff and his men followed.

Night fell by the time Rayghast arrived at the scene of the vicious slaying; only an hour’s ride, indeed, far too close to Dul Tanen. The soldier’s flickering torches illuminated what was left of the bodies lying scattered across the road. The dead soldiers had been utterly ravaged by claws, bloody gauges pierced their thick armor. However, their bodies hadn’t been eaten. This wasn’t a normal animal hunting for food. This was a purposeful attack meant for the mere enjoyment of killing.

Rayghast snatched a torch from Shaff and knelt down to examine a body. The blackened flesh on the hands of some soldiers was oddly familiar to him. Dark magic in his veins thrummed in recognition of a similar power.

Whatever these creatures were, they were unlike any others on this continent.

Rayghast stomped into the woods, and was swallowed up by the dense foliage. The torchlight created spectral, snarled shadows from the branches of the trees. An owl hooted, deep and forlorn, a ghost’s moan in the darkness. Rayghast followed the footprints of a claw-footed beast with a massive gait. Shaff and his men unsheathed their swords, keeping in close range of their king.

Unnecessary, Rayghast thought. He could handle this creature on his own, whatever it was.

Magic shoved against his skin, trying to break out of its container. Rayghast let it seep through his feet, subtle enough not to draw the attention of the soldiers behind him. Black smoke wove through the leaves and dirt, twigs and grass around him, draining the natural life. Thriving plants shriveled and withered away. He may have given the land this abundance, but the magic could easily take it away.

Heavy footsteps pounded against the earth. Something enormous huffed and sniffed within the dense tree line.

Shaff and his men whirled, chasing shadows, hunting for the source of the sound.

Rayghast’s magic lured the beast to him, and he did not quake when two luminescent yellow eyes peered out from the shadows.

The creature materialized, as if from the darkness itself. Its nostrils flared, slitted pupils dilated and then constricted as it honed in on Rayghast in recognition

This was no faerie. No vampire. No werewolf, even. This creature was entirely new.

Part lizard, part wildcat, a hellish mutt with a striking human-esque face: pale cheeks, a human nose, mouth and forehead. A strange indigo half-moon symbol sat between its brows. The torch flames emphasized the shadows across its grotesque visage. Dark magic drifted from its shoulders like a cape.

Shaff and his men gasped and stammered.

“What the fuck is that?” one of them squawked.

Rayghast’s magic thrashed in response to the creature’s similar dark power.

How strange that this beast possesses the same magic. But Rayghast didn’t have time to ponder what it was or how it came to be there.