They never slowed as they raced through the woods, and though Verdan saw dips, pits and dry river beds that would have interfered with them, their path always took them around such obstacles before they became a problem.

This was the power of Parada, it was hard to quantify, but the effects were terrifyingly broad.

Verdan’s mind did feel a little sluggish with the extra partition, but he was aware enough to realise that there was no way they were following the path of the Sorcerer.

A horse might make it through these woods, but not at speed, and Verdan doubted that someone on the run would settle for anything less than a gallop.

Seemingly between blinks, they were out of the woods, emerging onto the crest of a hill that overlooked a curving stretch of path, one that currently held a single horse and rider fleeing north at a fast pace.

Even from this distance, Verdan could recognise the rider as Malk, the ‘guard’ that had tested with a high energy level.

Verdan’s veins thrummed with anticipation, both from the Pack and from his own desire for vengeance.

Sylvie came to a halt atop the very peak of the hill and howled in a way that seemed to shift the focus of the Parada. No more did it spread out endlessly. Instead, it started to constrict, drawing them forward towards the quarry.

Answering howls came from all around them as the Airta answered Sylvie, and so did the dark shapes that Verdan had seen in the woods.

A dozen mundane wolves had seemingly joined them, as well as a pair of feral dogs that were tagging along at the rear.

Sylvie burst into motion down the hill, the whole hunt following along beside her as the magic surrounding them built in intensity, pushing them onwards with growing speed.

The rider saw them coming and urged his steed on, but it was too little, too late. The constant outpour of Parada was coming to a head, and already they were drawing close, barely moments behind them.

The part of Verdan that was still removed from the experience lifted his hand and cast a quick spell, snagging the rider from the horse with an invisible noose of Aether.

The weight of the Pack swept down on the Sorcerer before he could do more than cast a single spell, which Verdan blocked easily.

The Sorcerer’s anger gave way to a pleading expression and fear, his eyes meeting Verdan’s as Sylvie crashed into him, bearing him to the ground with a powerful lunge.

The almost hypnotic nature of the Airta’s working was broken as the Hunt came to a close, the four humans coming to a stop as their quarry was literally torn limb from limb by the Airta.

“What was that?” Tom asked in a dazed voice, shaking his head a little as he seemed to regain his focus.

“That was Airta magic,” Verdan said, using a muttered spell to draw the tester out from the dead man’s belongings. It was a little banged up and had a few teeth marks on it, but otherwise, it was in one piece.

“I feel odd,” Tim said with a frown, one hand coming up to rub his forehead as he gently swayed from side to side.

“That was a powerful piece of magic. I’m not surprised,” Verdan said as Tom moved to his brother’s side, steadying him with one hand.

“An end fit for a traitor,” Kai said softly, his eyes on the remains of what had once been Malk.

“Indeed,” Verdan said, though he wasn’t quite as willing to look at the gore as Kai was. “Though my main concern was getting this back.”

“As expected,” Kai inclined his head before casting his gaze over the mundane wolves and the two dogs that had joined them. “The hangers-on are somewhat unexpected. This Parada is so different from my Essence.”

“You don’t know the half of it. I advise you all to stay very calm and make no sudden moves,” Zhalia said, approaching them in her human form once more. Her bow was loose in her hand, but there was a tension in her posture that screamed out a silent warning.

Verdan very carefully turned around to face where Zhalia was looking, his eyes widening as he saw something he’d only ever read about. A Laethir, or as they were commonly known, Hounds of Gwyll.

The terrifying creatures were associated with Gwyll, the God of Judgement and Punishment, a morally ambiguous god at the best of times.

The Laethir was different from how Verdan had imagined. He’d always assumed they would look akin to the Airta, like giant wolves. The reality was that the creature was the same height and general size as Blane’s wolf form, but where Blane was muscular yet agile, the Laethir had the bulky build of a mastiff.

The Laethir was easily broader than any of the Airta, its chest and shoulders thick with muscle that carried on down its sleek flanks, its short fur highlighting the raw power on display.

What really set the Laethir apart, however, was its thick, scarred muzzle, slight jowls, trademark white fur and bright red ears.

Verdan could only just tell that there were scars around the Laethir’s face. The creature’s skin was just as white as its fur.

“What in the name of the gods is that,” Tim muttered as the huge Laethir padded over to the dead man, the Airta, wolves and dogs scattering before it.

“Do not worry, the Laethir are mighty, but they do not kill indiscriminately. I believe our hunt called to it,” Zhalia said softly, her eyes not leaving the creature.

The Laethir flicked one of its blood-red ears before it rumbled a growl deep in its chest, one that seemed far quieter than it should have yet struck a chord of fear in Verdan’s heart all the same.

Its examination complete, the creature raised its head and sniffed the air, eventually turning its gaze on Verdan and taking a single step towards him.

Verdan felt the shift around them as the Laethir seemed to calmly step across the twenty feet that separated them, ending within arms reach as its surprisingly brown eyes bore into Verdan’s.

“Lord of Nature, bless me with the understanding needed that we might commune with this noble creature,” Zhalia said, her bow shining with light as Exeon flowed between her and the Laethir.

The Laethir’s gaze rested on Verdan for a few more moments before it turned to Zhalia, nodded in a surprisingly human motion and left.

Each step the creature took covered a large amount of ground, its motion hurting Verdan’s eyes as he tried to keep track of it. In no time at all, the Laethir was long gone, though Verdan knew if it wanted, it could be among them in mere heartbeats.

“Zhalia, are you alright?” Sylvie asked, suddenly beside the cleric in her human form as she supported the other Airta. Sylvie looked exhausted from leading the Pack, but Zhalia’s skin had gone pale, and sweat beaded her forehead.

“I’m fine. That just took a lot out of me,” Zhalia said, thanking Sylvie as she wiped her face with a shaking hand. “I’ve never communed with anything as powerful as that before.”

“Yes, and you’re not going to like it,” Zhalia said, a queasy expression on her face. “The Weeping Death have seemingly allied with another sect and are attacking villages along the Grey Peaks, gathering those of fighting age, plundering their supplies and burning those that resist.”

Silence followed Zhalia’s announcement as they all tried to take in what she was saying.

“What sect have they allied with?” Kai asked eventually.

“I saw Sorcerers wielding flame, dressed in red and black. I believe they were the Defiant Flame,” Zhalia said, making Kai close his eyes and nod slightly.

“The Defiant Flame have an extremist faction that advocates the use of mortals to soften up any powerful enemies,” Kai said, opening his eyes once more and looking over to Verdan, none of his posture reflecting the blossoming anger in his gaze.

“What are you saying?” Verdan asked with a sick feeling in his gut, hoping that he was misunderstanding Kai.

“I’m saying that they will likely force those villagers to attack the city, forcing us to either slaughter them or somehow fight them off. No doubt they will hold the rest of the village hostage to enforce cooperation. There is no limit to where people like that will go to achieve their goals.”

“The news is not all bad,” Zhalia said, drawing their attention back to her once more. “There are several powerful figures that the Laethir was aware of helping the villages. They seem to be helping them flee west, away from the approach of the Sorcerers, but it did not know their true path.”

“How does the Laethir know any of this?” Kai asked with a touch of doubt in his voice.

“A group of Sorcerers came and tried to provoke them into leaving,” Zhalia said before pausing and shivering. “Needless to say, the Laethir didn’t appreciate anything endangering its family. It has been watching them since then.”

“Provoke them into leaving,” Verdan said, sharing a concerned glance with Kai. “That sounds familiar.”

“How long ago would you say that was?” Kai asked, grimacing as Zhalia shrugged uncertainly.

“Hard to tell. In the last few months sounds about right, though. We didn’t communicate so much as he dumped a lot of memories and information into my mind. He recognised the dead man as one of the Weeping Death and judged us their enemy.”

“Somewhat terrifying in itself,” Verdan said, his skin crawling at the thought of just how intelligent the beast had been. It wouldn’t be so bad if it was something else, but Laethir were highly territorial and known for being merciless and unrelenting.

Not the sort of creature to mess with, that was for sure.