“They didn’t bring anything modern,” said Max, scanning the assembled army. “No guns, no tanks . . .”

“The Demon needs no such toys for little Rowan,” muttered Cooper.

“It’s more than that,” whispered Max, thinking aloud. “I spoke with him in the Sidh—he doesn’t approve of the modern world. I think he wants to turn back time.”

“Good for him,” said Cooper. “Coming here without guns and tanks. Shows dash.”

Max grinned at the Agent’s black humor as he watched small groups of dark shapes creep from the warmth of the campfires to head off in all directions—just as Cooper had predicted.

“There are our scouts,” muttered Cooper. “Remember, Max—absolute silence. And, whatever happens, do not lead them toward the gorge. Direct any pursuit toward the dunes or the western range.”

Max nodded, and the two dropped silently from the tree. They padded off through the forest, a pair of twilight shadows that stole quickly toward their quarry. Twenty minutes later, they intercepted their first patrol—five vyes and a bottle-nosed imp that crept along an old path. Max slipped the blackened gladius from its sheath.

There was a soft thump, a choked-off gurgle, and then silence. Max had dispatched the Enemy so quickly that he had not even frightened a nearby nest of sparrows into flight. One peered at him curiously while Max wiped the gladius clean on the matted fur of a stiffening vye. Cooper crouched nearby and set to work on the unpleasant task before them.

Minutes later, Max surveyed the six grisly bodies piled near the edge of the clearing. Cooper had propped them against a tree, taking care that the shock and horror frozen on their faces was made apparent to any passersby. Cutting a thick branch from the tree, Max carved in the wood the ancient Ogam runes he had learned from Scathach. The runes were a series of cryptic slashes, and Max knew they would be taken directly to Astaroth.

Be wary, those who walk these woods. The Hound of Rowan walks them, too.

“What is this?” whispered Cooper, glancing at the stake.

“A message for Astaroth,” said Max, examining his handiwork.

“This is not a game,” said Cooper, disapproving. “The bodies are enough.”

“But it is a game,” said Max, thrusting the stake into the ground. “And we have to make the rules. I’m letting Astaroth know I’m here—that I’m here and I defy him. Astaroth is prideful, Cooper. He can’t resist such a challenge. The Demon will hunt for me, and that’ll buy us time.”

Cooper nodded, peering closer at the Ogam runes before following Max into the wood.

By dawn, many such stakes ringed the clearing. Max and Cooper chose a different perch and listened alertly as howls and horns began to sound in the chill morning. Their message had been discovered. Black crows—witch familiars—flew high into the air and wheeled about the sky as they searched the open clearing and the forest roof below. When the birds dipped lower to scour the trees, they found naught but bark, branch, and stone.

“I’ll go alone tonight,” he said. “You need to rest.”

“I’ll be fine,” replied the stoic Agent. “And it is too dangerous to go alone. They’ll increase the size of the patrols.”

“It doesn’t matter,” replied Max, and he knew it to be true. “The patrols could number a hundred, and it wouldn’t help them.”

“Don’t get cocky,” growled Cooper, applying balm to a superficial wound he’d sustained on his shoulder. “It’s foolish to tempt a broader battle, Max. Stealth must be our way.”

“It’s foolish to hunt half asleep,” replied Max. “You know you need rest.”

Cooper gave a reluctant nod and sat in silence for several moments. “And where would you lead them?” he asked reluctantly.

“Back toward the dunes,” said Max. “That’s where the last patrols thought we were hiding.”

“A good plan,” said Cooper, closing his eyes with meditative calm.

Max saw that a thin sheen of sweat now covered the Agent’s forehead, and it worried him.

“You’ll feel better tomorrow,” said Max, shooing a fly away from Cooper’s chin.

“Of course I will,” whispered Cooper before dozing off.

Max watched the Agent for a moment, but he seemed to be sleeping peacefully. Pushing up from the rough bark, Max dropped from the tree. He stalked through the woods feeling powerful and predatory, winding his way through the forest toward the flickering firelight of the clearing. He stopped there a moment and peered out at the many tents, siege engines, and witch carriages that littered the open space.

A twig snapped behind him.

Max whirled and unsheathed his gladius in a blink. Its lethal point quivered at a pair of luminescent eyes several feet away. A deep growl sounded in the darkness, but the creature was no vye. Lowering the gladius a fraction, Max peered closer at the creature, whose dark coat rippled like a bolt of silk.

At first, Max thought it was a larger version of his mother’s charge, Isis. But on closer inspection, he saw it wasn’t so. The creature before Max looked like a blue-black tiger except that its legs ended not in paws but human hands tipped with hard, curling claws. He had never seen such a thing in the Sanctuary before and knew it was a wild charge. Max saw there was blood on the creature’s claws and could further smell it on the animal’s breath, which came in slow pants from its wet muzzle.

“I’m on your side,” whispered Max, gripping the gladius tightly.

“S-s-s-si-ide,” said the creature, repeating the word and stretching out its syllable in a sibilant hiss as though rediscovering it had the power of speech. Cocking its sleek head at Max, the creature backed into the forest. Its yellow eyes narrowed to blinking slits and then it was gone. Taking a deep breath, Max continued on his way.

It was some time before he encountered his first patrol; the soft clink of metal was a giveaway amidst the natural surroundings. Leaping into a tree, Max waited as the first of a dozen dark shapes emerged from beyond a thicket. A thin shaft of moonlight showed the telltale ears of many vyes, bent and wolfish with their long jackal snouts pressed against the ground. Something else, however, stood in the midst of them, and Max felt an unnatural cold seep into his body. He peered curiously at the hidden figure. An unnerving thought entered Max’s mind, but he dismissed it—revenants could not venture aboveground. When the figure spoke, however, its hollow voice erased all doubt.

“What does the earth tell?” demanded Marley Augur.

“Shhh,” hissed a vye. “Begging pardon, but we must be quiet! The Hound may be about.”

“You should hope he is,” replied Augur, turning to reveal cold pinpoints of light in his sunken sockets. “Our lord’s pets would welcome a little Hound to fill their bellies.”

“Do not tempt him here!” hissed another vye, licking its needle teeth. “He took Thera and Myxll near this very spot! As wicked as a wraith, he is—I stood within a stone’s throw and heard not a thing! Let us find their secret place and hurry back to camp!”

There came a sudden, sickening sound.

Max watched as the vye staggered forward and collapsed against a nearby tree in an awkward splay of limbs. Its head had been bludgeoned from its body. There was another clinking of metal, and Augur emerged into a patch of moonlight. The undead blacksmith leaned upon the long handle of his hammer and gazed thoughtfully at the severed head. The other vyes backed away on all fours, their eyes gleaming white with terror.

“I fear nothing that runs and hides and preys upon the likes of you,” said the voice. “Who else wishes to run back to camp?”

The vyes said nothing but whined deep in their throats and lowered themselves to the ground in a display of trembling subservience. Augur turned slowly about the moonlit clearing, looking at the vyes, who could not help but retreat on their bellies, slinking away from the undead creature. Max held his breath as one of the vyes came to a stop at the base of his tree. His throat was within arm’s reach, and Max took full advantage.

“Astaroth grows tired of this game,” said Augur, straightening. He beckoned at something large that had been camouflaged among a thicket of trees. The blacksmith’s skeletal horse trotted forward, its metal barding clanking on bone. Swinging stiffly up into the saddle, Marley Augur stabbed a mailed finger at the vye slumped beneath Max’s tree. “You there, take up point.”

The vye did not respond, but lay motionless while a dark pool spread beneath him. Another vye loped forward and lapped once or twice at the pool with her long tongue before giving a whine of terror.

“He’s dead, my lord!” she hissed, her eyes darting about the dark underbrush.

With a sudden twitch of her ears, the vye looked up, straight into Max’s eyes. The gladius stabbed forward and the vye gave a surprised grunt, toppling onto her back.

Max sprang from the tree into the midst of the clearing. The vyes howled at the sight of him and seemed poised to flee until Augur’s great voice rose above the din.

“Seize him!” roared the blacksmith, turning his mount and hefting up his murderous hammer.

Spurred by terror, the vyes converged on Max, who stood ready. Suddenly a dark shape darted from the woods and cut the vyes down in a blur. With a grimace, Cooper let the last vye fall from his grasp, its matted body sliding to his feet like a bearskin rug. The wavy-bladed kris leapt from the base of the vye’s skull, flying to the Agent’s hand as he turned to gaze upon the revenant.

“I see,” intoned Augur, looking from Cooper to Max. “Lord Astaroth will be most disappointed. I can imagine what he’ll say: ‘The Hound is but a pup and needs others to do his business.’ ”

In one seamless motion, Max sprang at Augur’s steed and swung the gladius down. The undead creature gave a dreadful cry as Flamma’s weapon sheared through its ancient barding to split the bones beneath. With its forelegs severed, the horse collapsed as abruptly as a broken table. Augur was thrown from his saddle, landing heavily on the ground.

Before the revenant could stand, Max sprang again.

Sparks flew and Augur staggered back against a tree with great gashes in his armor. He grasped wildly about, but it was several seconds before the revenant realized Max was well out of reach, already crouched and waiting in the clearing’s center. There was a grating sound as Augur’s undying steed clacked its bones together and made a pitiful attempt to stand.

“And what will Astaroth say when he finds you at the clearing’s edge?” said Max, wiping his blade on a nearby vye before rising once again.

The possibility seemed to weigh heavily on Augur. Instead of hefting his hammer, the revenant grasped unsteadily for a signal horn at his side.

“I already knew you were a traitor,” hissed Max, “but you’re a coward, too.”

“A change in days is coming,” said Augur coldly. “Rowan will not write my history, boy.”

Laughing grimly, Max called to his comrade. “I don’t think he likes our chances, Cooper.”

But the Agent did not answer.

Max glanced where Cooper had been standing only moments earlier. Now, however, the Agent was slumped against the trunk of a nearby evergreen. Even in the dim light, Max could see sweat pouring off the man’s face as he took slow, laboring breaths.

Augur laughed.

“Don’t speak to me of shame and cowardice. Rowan brought this upon herself.”

It was the witches’ curse, coming home to roost at Rowan’s hour of need. Raising a mailed hand toward Cooper’s helpless body, Augur clenched his fingers shut. Roots and branches snaked about the Agent, pinning him to the trunk and binding him fast. Max darted to the Agent’s side as stinging pine needles flew in his face. Several branches had already found their way about Cooper’s neck, but the man could merely tug feebly at them while his eyelids fluttered with fever. Max sawed frantically at the branches with the gladius.

Behind them, Marley Augur sounded a great blast on his horn.

With a determined cut, Max severed the branches and wrenched Cooper from the tree. Hoisting the Agent upon his shoulder, he turned just in time to see the blur of Augur’s hammer arcing toward him.

Max twisted away, but the blow still caught him beneath the ribs. The impact sent him crashing into a nearby tree and caused him to lose hold of Cooper. For a moment, Max lay stunned. Breathing was painful and he became dimly aware that, despite Señor Lorca’s shirt, several of his ribs had been broken.

He heard sounds all about—birds calling through the air. There was a rustling, and Max felt something dragging along his foot.

Turning his head, Max saw Cooper being pulled away from him. Marley Augur held the Agent by the ankle even as he raised his hammer high for another blow at Max. Max rolled away as the hammer crashed down in a spray of bark and earth. Springing to his feet, Max ducked another blow and slashed the gladius across Augur’s face.

The revenant released Cooper and toppled backward, clutching at its mouth, which had split from ear to ear. Gasping from pain, Max snatched up Cooper’s kris and hoisted the Agent on his shoulder once again as he scanned the forest.

The surrounding trees were filled with crows—witch familiars—sitting perfectly still among the branches and watching the scene with glittering eyes. One opened its sharp beak to issue a hoarse croak, followed by another and another until the forest erupted into a mocking chorus. Max knew only one option remained.

He turned and ran.

Despite Cooper’s earlier counsel, Max made straight for the gorge. He had no choice: Cooper was sick and the only help lay in that direction. Gritting his teeth, Max hurried through the woods, doing his best to keep the jostling Agent steady on his shoulder. Behind him, he heard the echoing call of horns and booming drums while the crows wheeled above, croaking with their sharp black beaks.

Pursuit came quickly.

Dark shapes flitted through the trees on either side—vyes. Some of the creatures ran on two legs, others on four; all were very swift. Max dashed over a narrow stream and ducked into the thick stand of fir trees that marked the entrance to the gorge. The vyes funneled in after.

Max had nearly made it through the dim gorge, his lungs afire, when he realized that he could no longer outrun his pursuers. Gasping for air, he stopped and turned. Some thirty feet behind him, their yellow eyes gleaming in the gloom, were hundreds of tall vyes, lanky as greyhounds and clearly bred for speed. One rose on two legs and beckoned at Max.

“Leave us the man and we’ll let you run a little longer,” it chided with a cunning smile.

Max did not reply, but caught his breath and backed away, running his hand along the sheer rock wall until he felt it begin to narrow once again. The vyes hissed and laughed and crept forward, some wholly wolfish in appearance, others displaying decidedly human noses and lips and ears in a hideous, slavering visage.

Where the canyon pinched to a breadth of less than ten feet, Max ventured a look behind him. Just ahead were the hidden plains, an open space of gloaming gray. Once there, he knew they would surround him. Keeping his eyes locked on the vyes, Max slowly lowered Cooper to the ground. The Agent moaned and slumped against the rock while Max rose with a weapon in each hand.

“Nowhere to hide, little Hound,” said the closest vye, baring its teeth and bringing up a short spear meant for stabbing. The other vyes rose on their hind legs and howled until the canyon walls shook and pebbles rained upon the hard-packed riverbed.

Despite the howls, Max’s world became eerily silent. Standing to his full height, he walked forward to face his enemy and offer the curt soldier’s salute that Scathach had taught him. The vyes hesitated, talons twitching as they squinted and balked at this unexpected turn. When Max’s hands began to shake, his pursuers came into sharp focus—every hair, tooth, and glittering eye visible in the most marvelous detail. The lurking presence within him began to boil and rage and this time he did not fight it. The Old Magic gathered force and rose within Max like a spring flood, so swift and dreadful that all would be swept away before it. When it burst its banks, Max screamed and the canyon erupted in a sudden flash of blinding white light.

Max turned to see Astaroth sitting by the fire. The Demon’s face was luminescent in the dark, his eyes merry little slits. The composed Demon seemed utterly different from the wounded monstrosity Max had last seen in the Sidh.

Max laughed.

“I’m dreaming.”

“No,” said Astaroth, smiling serenely. “You are not. This is all very real, I’m afraid.”

Max frowned and gazed about at his surroundings. It was night—some dark, damp hour well before dawn. He and Cooper were camped a stone’s throw beyond the gorge’s opening. Behind Max stretched the river and the broad expanse of plain before the cliffs. Behind Astaroth were hundreds—perhaps thousands—of vyes, ogres, and goblins assembled in stupefying silence before a series of wagons and carts.

“Why aren’t they attacking?” asked Max, reaching for the gladius, which was thrust in the ground beside him.

Now it was Astaroth’s turn to laugh.

“They would like that,” he said with an acknowledging smile. “You see, you frighten them, Max McDaniels, and thus they very much want to kill you.”

Max looked warily at the vyes—some lean trackers, others bloated and boar-like. Sharp-toothed goblins crouched on their haunches, looking no bigger than cats, reclining at the feet of hunched, brooding ogres. Every creature’s eyes were fixed on Max, and they practically simmered with hatred.

“Don’t think them savage,” said Astaroth. “After all, most creatures respond to fear in such a way—humans most of all. The gorge was nearly choked with their fallen kin, and they’re understandably angry and fearful. I daresay you’d blanch if you knew what they wished to do to you—Marley most of all. He’s been demoted, you see.”

Max heard a hoarse muttering and saw Marley Augur, the ugly gash in his mouth sewn shut with crude stitching. Without his mount, the blacksmith was forced to stand, leaning on his hammer amidst a troop of ogres.

“And why didn’t you let him?” asked Max, flicking his attention from the revenant to Astaroth.

“Because I am not afraid of you,” replied the Demon. “And thus I labor under no blind instinct to destroy you, but instead can admire you as a worthy adversary. Your greatness burned so bright the poor things could not even look upon you. A worthy adversary, indeed. It is not my nature to dishonor such a foe or permit such a thing in my presence.”

The Demon’s red lips curled in a sly, conspiratorial smile.

“I must confess a certain temptation to consume you, however. I have desired to do so ever since your foolish gesture ’neath Brugh na Boinne. Such pain I haven’t felt for an age! I nearly indulged myself until Lord Aamon reminded me that you have not yet earned such an honor. Thus I have restrained myself and offer other gifts as befit your noble stand.”

“And what have you to offer?” said Max, still half convinced it was a dream.

“Several things,” said Astaroth, smiling. “But let’s start simple. Should you surrender the Book, Rowan shall be spared and be allowed a little place beneath its own banner. Should you, Max McDaniels, also agree to become my champion, your reward and renown shall rival that of the kings of old. Should Rowan continue this futile resistance, all it holds dear will perish in agony.”

Max glowered and he began to speak, but stopped as Astaroth raised a warning finger.

“Consider well, and let wisdom temper pride,” said the Demon. “Like your handsome friend, all of Rowan lies helpless within those walls of rock, weak as women in the pangs of labor. And thus they shall lie for many a day. While a son of the Sidh might evade the witches’ curse and make a valiant stand, even he cannot stand forever.”

Max looked hard at Astaroth, whose face was grave and contemplative.

“Yes, you will fall, Max, and you will do so having sacrificed many innocents at the altar of your pride. This is the second time I have stayed my hand and made a handsome offer. I’m sure you can understand that there will not be a third.”

Max climbed painfully to his feet, clutching his side. He gazed back at the river gurgling behind him and the dark walls of rock in the distance where his family and friends lay defenseless. We need time, Max thought. Time to endure the witches’ curse, time for David to heal and use the Book, time for something—anything—to turn the tide. Max looked down at the grass and felt the cool air wash over him.

“I need time to think,” he said at last.

Astaroth smiled and shook his head. His silky voice fell to a whisper.

“Very well,” said the Demon, also rising to his feet. “You shall have your day and we shall hope it brings good counsel. As a token of faith, we will not cross the river till you have answered. You have until sunset, and I pray you will think carefully about all you have to lose.”

At a gesture from the Demon, the armored ogres stood aside and made way for a horse-drawn cart pulled by two emaciated mares. A boy sat upon the driver’s seat and offered a smile in greeting.

It was Alex Muoñz.

The older boy had changed considerably since Max had last seen him in Marley Augur’s crypt. Alex’s skin had assumed a deathly pallor, and his eyes were faintly luminous. Witch-like tattoos covered the hands that held the reins. He looked down from his perch, proud and disdainful.

“Hello, Max,” said Alex. “Long time.”

Max nodded, speechless at how his former schoolmate had been transformed. He looked hardly human.

“We’re doing things,” said Alex. “Great things—and you can be a part of it.”

“Alex,” said Max, “I tried my best to get you out of there. I’m sorry.”

“I’m sure you did,” said Alex with a disbelieving smile, “but don’t be sorry. You did me a favor, Max, and I’m here to return it.”

There was a triumphant, sadistic gleam in the boy’s face, and Max felt a prick of nausea in his stomach. Alex reached for a leather satchel and unclasped it to reveal a row of medieval torture implements. He plucked a small, scalpel-like blade from the grisly kit and thumbed its edge.

“I’m not a fighter like you, Max, so I’ve been trying to make myself useful in other ways,” said Alex thoughtfully. “We all need information, and I’d like to think I have a talent for getting it. I’ve gotten a lot, you know,” he boasted, glancing from the knife to Max. “Generals . . . diplomats . . . I even convinced a prime minister to share the most amazing secrets before he died!”

“What’s your point?” snapped Max.

Alex climbed into the back of the cart and dragged up two hooded figures so they were propped against the side.

“Well, as good as I am,” huffed Alex, “I can always use more practice.” He hefted up the limp, masked bundles so Max could see them better. “And right here, I’ve got two fine specimens to work on—that is, as soon as this little curse has passed and they can really appreciate my work.”

Max braced himself as Alex yanked the hoods away.

For a moment, he stared dumbstruck at the pair of prisoners. Max was not surprised to see Connor Lynch.

But he had not expected Ms. Richter.

“That’s impossible,” breathed Max, gazing at the Director, whose blinking eyes stared blankly ahead. “It’s an illusion.”

“No,” interjected Astaroth, “she is alive, Max. This little bauble protected her from me, you see. An unexpectedly powerful trinket.”

Max glanced at the Founder’s Ring on Astaroth’s hand.

“Give them back,” Max whispered, half pleading. “All of them.”

“Sorry,” said the Demon. “The ring is not for sale at any price—I’ve got rather skinny fingers and it adds a pleasing bit of heft. The prisoners, however, are available for purchase. We’ve already discussed the price. You have until sunset.”

Max had never felt so alone. He nodded at Astaroth’s words, but his eyes never left Connor and Ms. Richter, who lay feverish and helpless in the cart. Stepping wearily to Cooper, his broken ribs sent stabs of pain down his side as he slung the Agent onto his shoulder once more and marched off toward the cliffs. When he had crossed the river, Max turned to see Astaroth’s army resume its flow from the dark gorge, as silent and steady as an oozing wound.