Chapter EighteenDarkness spiraled upon billows of smoke that swirled in the raucous clamor of the reeking encampment and shadows lurched within the thick bleakness. Through this writhing miasma, a barely perceptible shape moved along the main roadway travelling more rapidly than the ordinary onlooker might be able to follow and heading towards the only black tent in camp. No sounds came from this tent, not any longer, although the cries of a childfey had recently been heard echoing through the neighboring hovels and unkempt buildings lining the street. These sounds had caused many of the resident Dark Ones to withdraw to the farthest end of town or drink more fervently from the nearest bottle. This tent was known for its horrors. It was the Centurion's tent and he frequently took pleasure
