The distortion snapped shut, even as Silenos was through it. He realised that its destination, this time, was different. A foolish oversight. The Dark Lord had more control over his construct than Silenos had considered. That lapse may now cost him his life.

  But why did I?

  Silenos was…No, not wrong, but lying to himself. He hadn’t overlooked this possibility, he’d simply dismissed it. Why? Why had he saved Galukar, knowing it may well sentence him to death in his place? What had possessed him to do what he had done?

  He searched for his answers, and found none. Around him enemies emerged.

  The Dark Lord’s forces had been decimated nine times over at the last battle, and Silenos saw it reinforced that he had no great reserve of servitors to unleash upon him. Still, the entities closing in were…Potent.

  The tall, lithe beings Baird knew as Fomori were among them, numbering perhaps a dozen. Two Liches of power enough that Silenos had no doubt they had been near to Heroes in their own lives accompanied them. Fourteen in all. Alone, he’d have beaten them.

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  But they were not alone. The Dark Lord seemed to have regained his breath and steadiness as he stood among them, while Silenos’ own wounds throbbed. His odds of withstanding whatever fight was coming were slim.

  Oddly enough, he felt a strange strength at that. Born from the very same sort of defiance which had so inconvenienced House Shaiagrazni in the past. Now he knew, he supposed, what it was to be a weakling.

  “Have you nothing to say?” Silenos asked his enemy, speaking more to buy time than for any genuine interest. He was actually surprised when the Dark Lord’s head tilted, hand raising up to gesture his minions into stillness.

  Slowly, the Dark Lord’s gauntleted hands came up. The tension in his servants told Silenos that this was no opportunity to strike, and so he remained quiet and watched as latches came undone and air hissed from impossibly-tight seals. The black helm- now battered and lumpen where it had been impacted by too many blows- was lifted. Below a crop of curled hair emerged, brown. Below that came bronze skin, and eyes bronzer still. An aquiline nose, thin lips, slim jaw and high cheeks. Lined, worn by age. Maturer, without a doubt, than the last time Silenos had seen it.

  But so very, dreadfully familiar.

  “Hello Silenos.” Said Adonis, speaking with the same voice he’d used all those years ago when he was still Silenos’ apprentice in House Shaiagrazni.

  Silenos remained silent.