The Umbrablade's weight was a cold promise in Kael's grip. He sheathed it in the shadow at his hip; it had no physical scabbard, only darkness, and turned to lead the survivors from the chamber. But the obsidian tablets had not finished speaking.
A door irised open in the far wall, revealing a passage that had not existed moments before. From its depths came a scent of an ancient, musty, but unmistakably wolf. Living wolves.
Kael's shadow surged protectively around Elara. Thorne's blade came up. The survivors tensed for battle.
Three figures emerged from the darkness.
They were impossibly old, their fur grey-white, their forms gaunt with centuries of hiding. They walked with the aid of staff carved from shadow-stone, but their eyes... their eyes held the depth of ages, the weight of a
