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He didn’t care what came of it. No one
would care if he made it back to the keep
anyway. He didn’t balk as he engaged the ten
soldiers who charged for him.
Perhaps he deserved what happened next.
Deserved it for his pathetic thoughts, or his
arrogance in lowering his shields.
One moment, he was handily sending the
Morath grunts back to their dark maker. One
moment, he was grinning, even as he tasted
their vile blood spraying the air.
A flash of metal at his back. Lorcan
whirled, sword rising, but too late.
The Valg soldier’s blade swept upward.
Lorcan arched, bellowing as flesh tore along
his spine. No armor—there had been no armor
to fit them across their torsos.
The Morath soldier moved again, more
adept than the others. Perhaps the man he’d
infested had some skill on the battlefield,