JUST AFTER DAWN, Morrigan the Bright stood n***d on the Weave, her feet placed with precision within its triskelion pattern. She stood between two hospital beds. On each bed lay an unconscious man, stripped to the waist.
Runes covered not only her arms, but her entire body. Her face and neck. Her belly and back. Her breasts and buttocks. Her long legs. Front, back, and sides. All of her now carried the ancient symbols. The runes formed over a dozen scripts, each part of the three most complex spells she’d ever attempted.
On the bed to her right lay the body of Karmalov, the surviving mercenary. Karmalov’s body, yes, but Karmalov no more. Morrigan had earlier transferred Marell’s astral spirit into the soldier. Marell’s recent vessel had once more not survived. The boy Rattle was gone. He
