Creost’s mount, like Oklar’s, was a grotesque, predatory, caricature of a horse, but it was covered with scales, and it glistened with a clinging dampness that was not that from the teeming rain. Dar Hastuin rode Usgreckan.
Both carried swords whose wrongness bit into Loman’s soul as deeply as had Oklar’s, but they offered him no temptation now and he tried to watch the approaching figures as he might any other two opponents.
As they neared, he noticed that both the Uhriel had newly healed and livid scars about their faces.
Gavor, he thought, finding strange solace in the sight. His trembling grip tightened on his sword.
He felt Yengar and Olvric come to his side again, swords raised, though neither affected anything other than terror in the face of the slowly advancing Uhriel.
‘If th
