It was Garrick, he realized, the wrinkle Garrick made in the fabric of this little plane upon his arrival in Nestafar. He sensed the intensity of the battle between Garrick and Alistair. He felt the web of the plane split with each spell casting, felt the zombies’ hunger—it was a hunger that was unsurprising in its desperation given that he, Ettril Dor-Entfar, had already absorbed every bit of life force on the plane. The creatures would ache forever, but this was of little consequence to him. He felt Garrick’s triumph over the snakes, his sense of achievement at reaching Alistair. The inclusion of Garrick’s old superior in this game was a masterful stroke that had raised the plan from merely a satisfying work of substance to a rare piece of art. The final explosion startled him. He gazed again at the boy. All that sacrifice for a single child. It made no sense. There was nothing special about him. He was small, with freckles over his nose. He wasn’t particularly well kept. He had no foreseeable future.
What do You think about Changing Of The Guard (Book 6)?
