The wood shattered, bursting inward, the splinters shredding the guards braced in the hall beyond. The handle struck a man in the side, breaking his ribs and flipping him onto the stairs. Another length of wood pierced a man’s stomach like a spear, pinning him to the wall.
The shards of wood embedded into walls and shattered glass. As the dust settled, fires licked at the broken remains. Draeken advanced to the threshold and called into the interior, his tone amused.
“Will you come out and speak to your guests?” His voice echoed down the hallways. “Or must I further destroy your home?”
He waited, half hoping they would continue hiding, and half hoping they would come out. One meant he could destroy more, the other meant he would get what he sought. A thudding of boots sounded in the distance and Draeken glanced to the streets with a frown. He did not wish to be interrupted by the city guard, so he motioned to Serak.
“Don’t let the city guard interfere.”
“As you will,” Serak said, his tone worshipful.
Draeken glanced to Zenif and Zoric, the two mind mages, father and son. “Is she still inside?”
“They have not escaped,” Zenif said, and Zoric nodded.
Draeken gathered the fire in his hand. The flames spilled onto the floor, turning into paws and legs, a large, muscular body, and powerful jaws. Draeken cast the reaver entity as easily as he would pour a mug of ale, and the beast pawed the entranceway, its claws digging burning grooves into the finely tiled floor.
“Last chance,” he called.
A door slammed open and a woman appeared. The Lady Dentis. Her husband sought to drag her back into the room but she shook him free. The nobleman hesitated, the terror on his face evident before he leapt after his wife.
“Let the guard deal with them,” he growled.
Draeken grinned. “Your hope is misplaced, Lord Dentis, for we are no common thugs.”
“Then who are you?” Lady Dentis snarled, all the haughtiness of her birthright twisting her features. “Do you have any idea who I am . . .?”
She slowed to a stop in the corridor, her eyes going wide in recognition. Zoric smirked, while Draeken merely offered a short bow. From the memories of the fragments, he knew the Lady Dentis recognized him, but she also saw that he was no longer a fragment. He was Draeken, the fragment of Power.
“Indeed I do know of your identity,” he said. “You are the Raven, powerful head of the bandits known by your name. It is a pleasure to meet you.”
“You think my wife is the Raven?” Lord Dentis scoffed. “She is a noble of Talinor, and I am—”
Draeken pointed to the man, and a needle of light burst from his finger. Three inches wide and three feet long, the bolt of light pierced his chest and sent his body tumbling down the corridor. He crashed into a cabinet of fine ales and fell in a heap.
Lady Dentis stared at the body of her husband, her eyes wide and unblinking, her chest heaving. She swallowed and turned back to Draeken, her haughty pride leaking from her features and turning to fear.
“Walk with me?” Draeken turned and motioned out of the house.
Trembling, the Raven glanced to her dead husband, and then did as Draeken requested. She joined him on the threshold, and followed him into the ruined grounds of her once beautiful estate. She glanced back again, and Draeken chuckled.
“Do not pretend you loved him. He was not as vile as you, but neither was he a good man. You used him and his position to cover your bandits; a well-executed persona, I must say.”
“What do you want?” she asked.
He mentally applauded her bravery. “You,” he said simply.
“For what?” Her eyes narrowed.
Draeken motioned to Zoric and the mind mage pulled a dark cloak into view. Like liquid ink, it poured off his fingers, a sheen of material that made the woman shudder and retreat a step. Zoric advanced and handed the cloak to Draeken.
“I’m not going to wear that,” the Raven said flatly.
“It is unkind to refuse a gift,” Draeken chided.
“I know who you are,” she said. “You are Draeken, the guardian that was once broken into five fragments.”
“True,” he said with a smile. “But I am so much more than you know. You see, the fragments are not part of me. They are separate and broken. I, on the other hand, am the fragment of Power, and my will is untarnished by their impossible quest to protect the people.”
She swallowed and shook her head, her eyes on the cloak. “What is that thing?”
“Isn’t it beautiful?” he asked, his smile turning soft. “I wish I could take credit, but my servant Serak prepared it.”
Men shouted in the street, followed by orders as the city guard arrived. But the orders were cut off with a brutal crunch that echoed into the estate. Armor cracked and bones were broken beneath Serak’s magic. The flicker of hope in the woman’s eyes died and she shook her head again.
“What will the cloak do to me?”
“It will give you power,” he said.
“What sort of power?”
Draeken smirked at the touch of desire in her voice. “I know you from the memories of the fragments. Your ambition is insatiable. You hunger for power, for gold and possessions. And that is why you are perfectly suited to be one of my four horsemen, the destroyer who will be known as Famine.”
The Raven gazed at the cloak, the greed alight in her eyes. The cloak would indeed give her power, but it would also destroy her flesh. Half-truths were so much better than lies. The Raven glanced to him and back to the cloak, and then to Gendor as he glided close.
“It will rob you of your will,” Gendor said. “Do not fall for Draeken’s—”
“Gendor,” Draeken said. “Must you continue to resist? Must I punish you?”
