CHAPTER 3“MY NAME IS VENGEANCE!”
When Carthalla woke next morning, she was alone in the cave. The fire had burned to cold ash sometime in the night but she had slept warmly in the furs he had given her. With a little shiver, the girl recalled the weird manner with which Kellory had made the fire. He had simply laid his left hand on the pile of wood—the left hand, which wore a small iron ring on the middle finger, a ring engraven with a glyph in no language she had ever seen—and he had spoken a Word. And fire blazed up! It was uncanny. She wondered idly, stretching and yawning under the warm furs, why he had not used his terrible black Staff—his “blasting wand,” as he called it. If it could melt the Thungoda chieftain’s sword like a lightning bolt, surely it could set the twigs afire. But,
