magi's flames, lay there in greater number than the enemy. Thousands upon thousands of soldiers had perished, their armor melted from the searing flames. Claudio would have to do a count of his soldiers, but he had underestimated the power of the fire-storm; he guessed half of his men had gone to see the gods.

The Asa had fared better. Only a few of their number had passed on.

Claudio looked back at the bodies of his troops. A weight fell over him; a weight for the wives and children of these brave soldiers, of their lives suddenly taken from them. They had succeeded; Claudio had succeeded. Archamenes, King of Kings, the self-proclaimed God Manifest, was now bound in chains and en route to Imperial City. The lord, now withoutbeaten her savagely, and now—now!—she would fight him with everything she had in her.

She underestimated Antonio, yes; he was strong beyond any man she knew. But she used her intellect against him, kicking a foot beyond his calf and launching her entire weight onto him. Even he, an athlete, could not prevent the fall.

With a grunt, Antonio hit the white salt of the pan. "Lupa!" he hissed.

He had called her worse.

He flipped her around, digging his hands into her shoulders, brown eyes blazing with incalculable rage. The basilisk was almost upon her. Then, a noise so faint it was hardly perceptible; a puncturing of flesh.

Antonio let out a hoarse gasp. Anthea savored the terror in his eyes, the subtle trembling of his lip as the poison coursed through