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Then, as swiftly as it had risen, the wind died as though it had
never been. Tanis looked around in the stillness, placed Riana
where she stood, frozen, across the fire from him, and Flint who
braced just behind him, his axe in his hand. He read the danger in
the old dwarf's eyes and spun back, his hand on the hilt of the
dagger at his belt.
They might have been creatures of the smoke, so dark and
insubstantial were they. But their eyes, four sets of crimson
embers, spoke of some kind of unholy life. One separated from
the group, taller, darker than the rest, and took a bold step toward
where the camp-fire, now scattered coals, had been.
Riana's gasp was a shuddering sound of terror and dread. Tanis
saw his sword lying just out of his reach and felt his heart sink
even as he realized that these must be the creatures who had
attacked Riana's camp three nights before. If her tale was true, no
sword or dagger would prevail against these phantom raiders now.
As though he realized Tanis's thought, the leader of the black
shadow attackers laughed, a high keening sound that chilled the
very bones of those who heard it.
"Do not regret your sword," it said, its voice hollow and fell. "It
would do you no good did you have it."
"Who-" Tanis's words caught in his throat, constricting with
his fear, and he drew a sharp, tight breath. "Who are you?"
"It cannot matter to you. What matters is that we have been sent
to stop you
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