Arvin squirmed, trying to find the dagger again, but now the larger man was kneeling on his chest. Thick fingers pried at Arvin’s lips, forcing his mouth open. Arvin tried to bite him-then immediately thought better of it, not wanting to sink his teeth into the man’s pockmarked flesh, which exuded the same tainted-meat smell the doxy’s had. Realizing this, the larger man laughed. He shoved Arvin’s head to the side, forcing his cheek against the stone, and held him there while he popped the cork out of the flask with a thumb. Then he jammed the flask into Arvin’s mouth. A vile-tasting liquid rushed out of it, making Arvin gag. He tried to wrench his head away and spit, but the larger man forced his jaw shut. The bitter liquid slid down Arvin’s throat like a snake finding its hole.

“Embrace him,” the pockmarked man chanted. “Enfold him, endure him.”

The man’s four companions were also chanting. Above the drone of their voices, Arvin heard the female captive shouting violent curses and the boy screaming. The larger man released Arvin suddenly and clambered to his feet then reached down for Arvin’s ankles. Instead of wasting time kicking, Arvin fumbled for the dagger that still lay under his back and at last managed to close his fingers around it. He tried to saw at his bonds as the large man dragged him across the island toward the statue, but the dagger was nearly ripped out of his hand as it grated against the stone. Just before it left his fingers he spat out the command word that made it vanish. He’d try again in a moment, but first, a distraction.

“Naulg,” he shouted, “now!”

Then a wave of agony gripped him. It felt as though a hand were reaching into his guts, twisting them. Arvin’s skin suddenly went ice cold and violent trembles raced through his limbs. His jaw clenched and his neck spasmed, jerking his chin down against his chest.