For a long, long moment, Craig Nesom slumped beside him.
It was no end for genius. Not here, in a dirt-floored hovel off an alley.
Only that was death's way. It paid no heed to propriety or convenience.
Nor to right, either, nor the needs of men.
Without Tumek, the Baemae cause might go down to disaster. Lord Zenaor could yet live to fulfill his dream of conquest, carve his path across the universe with the ourobos.
Unless the crystal stopped him.
"The crystal"—that was all Tumek had said about it. Not what it was, nor how to use it.
But ... there was still Narla.
Narla, of the cool grey eyes and flaxen hair. Narla, who laughed and tempted—and then went cold with sudden fury.
Narla, Lord Zenaor's own daughter.