Bulwar was the first Adventurer to die, and he died well. He was the greatest warrior among them, but foolish to think that his enchanted usik, the pubic bone of the sacred walrus, could stand against the Terichik. Even faced by a beast to dwarf ten killer whales, Bulwar roared defiance and sprang forward. His ice-caked black beard flagged in the frigid air. His mightily thewed arms coiled beneath the bear furs that lent him strength and courage. Bulwar had once been an ordinary man, a “systems analyst” in the white man’s world. Here where the heavens met the earth, he was a great warrior, a great force for good.

His magic, his courage, his strength were not enough. The Terichik crushed him, savaged his body with fanged cilia. His screams echoed in their heads long after his body had vanished into its gaping maw.

The humans retreated. There were twelve now, people of the tundras and the people from the white world beyond.

They ran until the sound of rifle shots split their screams. Two more of their number fell, trapped in a withering crossfire.

Agile and lithe, beautiful Eviane rolled to safety behind an abandoned boathouse. Even as she hit the ground, she unslung the automatic rifle from her back and braced the butt against her shoulder.

She was a woman of flaming red hair and sparkling green eyes. Her mouth was generously wide, quick to laughter or rage. Now it was flattened into a fighting grimace cold enough to freeze the stars in the sky.

She peered along the rifle barrel and then glanced back over her shoulder. Her companions were holding the Terichik at bay. The sky shimmered with power, enchanted flame searing away the clouds. It was Eviane’s task to break the back of the ambush, to send the minions of the Cabal howling back into the wastes.