Sal swore and kept his eyes on the night sky. Colored bolts cut through the haze and smoke that obscured the moon and the stars—stealing the moisture from the air. Blue, red, silver and green flashes represented almost every magician clan in the area. That couldn’t be good. Especially now, with so much at stake.

That’s where he and others like him came in. Arbitrators between humans and the ever-feuding wizards and magicians. Not that the favored ones ever listened. They had their own ideas, their own agendas and heaven help the mere mortal who tried to tell them otherwise. And now they’d awakened the Ill-begotten.

He shuddered and ran the back of his hand across his forehead. In this heat he should be sweating, but his skin felt like leather, warm and smooth, not remotely damp. Sal licked his lips, for all the good it did him. Like everything around him they felt brittle, dry. And that wasn’t likely to change any time soon.